Stagnant

Since the excitement of our re-engagement (and, I might as well say it, my husband's return to the bedroom), life's challenges keep coming at us. It's evident to me that the depression my husband was self-medicating with sexual behavior still has him in its grip. He grew tremendously in the last few months, and now, though still unhappy, he has decided that this is as far as he can go. This is as good as life is going to be for him.

He'd better be wrong. I will not settle for that kind of life for myself, or for one whose life is so entwined with mine.

It's maddening to see the things he needs to change, and be unable to advise or force or conjure the changes. Only God can do that--and that is the key. My husband has reached the highest satisfaction he can find for himself. He needs an experience with his Creator to find life that is not just good enough, but abundant.

The Other Ring

One August afternoon, seven years ago, an adorably nervous young man took me hiking in the hills, got down on his knees, and asked me to be his wife. He presented me with an heirloom ring; two-tone with one small diamond. To me, that ring was perfect. It came from the past, from his family, not from a jewelry store. With its slender band, modest stone, and white gold decorations it resembled nothing that graced the ring fingers of my peers.

One April evening, months ago, after learning of this man's betrayal and seeing his persistent self-justification, I gave back the ring and its accompanying wedding band.

One August afternoon, just weeks ago, a confident yet contrite father of two took me hiking in new hills. He got down on his knees and told me he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. He presented me with a familiar yet transformed ring; a larger diamond flanked by my birthstone and another small diamond on each side. To us, that ring is perfect. It retains its heirloom look, but includes new completely unique designs. The new diamond's value represents his desire to invest in the one he loves. It has been re-shanked, and now faces life's wear and tear with a stronger foundation.

Seven years ago, I received a perfect gift, and I wanted it to stay the same forever.

This year, I lost that gift. And a new one took its place. One that promises better things than I ever knew how to desire.

I Said No

My husband's "mammary fixation" is one stubborn beast. A longstanding, pointless, conflict between us has been his request that I get breast implants. The very idea nauseates me. But I was going to do it. Before he decided to expedite matters and get his "needs" met elsewhere. Even after that, two months ago, I said I was willing. It soon became clear to me that I was not. But I couldn't say anything. His definition of hope for the future was me getting breast implants. I couldn't take away his hope.

Now, he's done a tremendous amount of work to change how he thinks and behaves. He's shot ahead in therapy faster than I dreamed possible.

He became healthy enough for me to drop the bomb.

So I said, "I cannot do this." If this is really what he wants, he must drum up the courage to leave me.

He's devastated. I'm relieved.

Time and Healing

I am happy to say that over the past four months, my husband and I have managed to work our way back to where we left off in our relationship. We're even moving into a better place than we were in before. A new start: the passion of our dating days enacted by the more mature people we both are now.

But it is bittersweet, especially as our physical relationship intensifies (slowly!). When I hear his sincere "I love you," and respond with my own; when I see real desire in his face and feel it in his touch, the pain of betrayal pierces me to the heart again. It's not the all-encompassing greif of the early days of shock or the deep hopelessness of the time afterwards in which he still hated me. It's a poignant sadness intertwined with dual joys: the renewed passion we are enjoying in the present and the beauty of the future to which I look forward.

But for now I still grieve. And finally, I have someone to hold me while I weep--for the pain he himself caused.

Twisted Reality

He still hates me. He still actually thinks I did something to drive him away. The family "values" he picked up say that parents will fight with each other and love their children. So he created conflict where it did not exist.

Once he fights his own demons, he'll have a chance to find out who I really am.

In the meantime, I will be very lonely.

Now I know why people get divorced. I have chosen the more difficult path.

Alone

Do you know anyone married to an alcoholic who also cheated on them after psychologically raping them?

If so, please introduce me.

What Do You Call a Dyslexic Agnostic Insomniac?

A person who stays up all night wondering if there is a Dog.

It used to be funny, before I developed the bad habit of becoming one under stress. I just spent several weeks in a state where sleeping and waking were not too different. I have forgotten how to feel anything but regret for letting my husband treat me so badly for so long.

The person I'll have the hardest time forgiving is myself.

The Language of Pain

I have never been able to figure out why perfectly good and reasonable things people say about God, the Bible, and Christianity hurt me. There are all kinds of phrases, snatches of verses, and similar things that trigger negativity in me.

That's because the language of Evangelicalism is the language of my childhood.

It's the language of my pain.

Everyone gets hurt as a child by things adults do not understand. Those things--words, images, even dreams, color our view of reality for the rest of our lives.

We'll always feel hurt when we hear phrases that trigger our personal pain.

Unfortunately, mine come from the Bible. No wonder I squirm in church (and feel guilty for it!).

Mommy Issues

"When we got married, I wanted a partnership where we could work together, but you have been constantly fighting to be in control. You use all kinds of weapons to control me."

That's kind of how I feel. Except he was the one who said it. In counseling. To me.

"I don't think I really do that."

"Yes you f***ing do!"

These words still sting, even though I now I am firmly convinced it is not me he is angry with.

It's his mother.

And not the real, kind, strong, wise woman I know, but a frightening amplification of her. The version that a two-year-old might see. I saw it today when she was determined that my two-year-old would give her a hug, and wouldn't let him go play til he did. There wasn't anything inherently wrong with the interaction, but it is easy to imagine how, when repeated over and over, that might erode a child's sense of autonomy. Especially an exquisitely sensitive child. Like my husband.

I was drawn to that sensitive child in him. I longed to give him the unconditional love I thought he needed to help him be the impressive man that I also saw. But the child has taken over. He cannot receive love from me because he sees a controlling gesture when I move a can he placed in the garbage to the recycling bin. He hears a domineering woman when I tell him which dishes need to be hand washed.

He must discover and put to rest the monster-mother in his brain. I fear for his actual mother, when he turns his wrath from me to her as this begins to dawn on him. But she is a strong adult capable of handling it. And eventually, he will learn to separate her too from his demons.

His Great Pain

Tonight's "date" of marital counseling and dinner left me feeling more affection and compassion for my husband than I have all month. However, I still had to ask him to leave after putting the kids to bed because I needed space to grieve.

What came out in counseling was powerful. Tears filled his eyes as he expressed his "need" for the kind of feelings in sex that seeing large breasts gives him. (Don't laugh! I have made light of this, but can't now that I've seen his tears.) He wants that feeling in sex with me, and has not found it. Apparently he did find it with the prostitute, but it was worth little without the emotional connection he has with me. Right now he feels hopeless ever to have both. He sees faithfulness to me as a death sentence to any hope of the fulfillment of his "need." And he still wants to be with me! I've never received a better compliment, twisted though it is.

Of course, I don't think this "need" is exactly rational. Our therapist hinted that it probably stems from my husband's own body image struggles. It adds up: he has long felt insecure about his skinny body, so of course he obsesses over an aspect of me he feels is too small. And since he feels like an inherently incomplete person, he can't really have much respect for any other person who loves him deeply. Anyone who wants him must be inherently incomplete too.

Boundaries

Why didn't anyone tell me that I can say things like this?:
"If you talk to me that way I will go spend the night at my friend's house."
"If you look at porn you will not be sleeping with me."

In my case, following my parents' excellent example of a healthy marriage went terribly wrong. My parents were loving and giving to each other, putting each other's needs first. But it takes two to have a relationship like that. One person doing it becomes a slave!

My father made it a point to teach my brothers to treat women with respect. Both parents taught me and my sister to only date men who would respect our physical and emotional boundaries. But no one told me I was responsible to see that I was treated with respect after marriage. My husband seemed like the kind of man who would. He was raised to respect women too.

Maybe pornography warped his view of women.

Or maybe I did, by letting him control me.

Either way, it ends here.

Mournful Celebration

We had our anniversary this week. It was the saddest yet, but also the first time in a long while he's given me presents. An expensive piece of jewelry, not something I had been interested in until recently, made a big impression. He's showing me he values me. He was sweet, kind, and continually resolute in wanting to change for me.

And yet being with him wears me out. I'm still caught in a swirl of anger, greif, and hope, and don't really want him to see any of it.

New Normal

We're slowly settling into a new routine. He's coming over in the evenings after work to be with the kids, and he's doing dishes and other chores like a responsible adult!

Our relationship is cordial, but love is on hold. I don't want him to know how much I miss him. To miss him less I have been spending more time on the phone with girlfriends; that helps.

Most importantly, we are developing new, respectful communication patterns. Though we know each other well in some ways, our atrocious communication has given us erroneous views of each other and ourselves. Newlyweds, don't confuse talking with communication!

I've changed since he last checked. A lot. One of these days he's going to realize the little girl he married has grown up, and he was too busy thinking about boobs to notice.

Iron Anniversary

So far I've been saving my delicious words of sweet revenge for this blog and my journal. I finally delivered some to him with the following e-mail:

I just learned that the traditional gift for our upcoming sixth anniversary is iron. (See list at Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wedding_anniversary)

This inspires me with a ton of good ideas for anniversary gifts for you:

1) An iron anvil on your head.
2) A rod of iron to beat you with.
3) An iron spear. You decide exactly where you would like to be impaled with it. I suggest your personal spear.
4) You're really into other women, so how about an iron maiden?

Oh, the irony!

ShouldaCouldaWoulda

Whenever the fighting in our marriage got bad, we both had to wonder: Would marriage have been better if I had married someone else?

His answer: Yes. I should have married someone with bigger boobs.

My answer: No. My happiness is my choice.

Our answer together: Let's have sex and make up.

Leaving that last bit alone for the moment, it's time for me to go back to the beginning and admit that yes, I could quite possibly have had a better marriage with someone who wasn't already a manipulative sex addict before I met him. But there could have been other problems. My husband claimed to know this when he talked about choosing me, knowing that things would be difficult. Since this was quite wise and practical and fit with the real me, I assumed it was the real him.

But it turns out, the real him was the love letter guy: "I need you, you complete my world, blah, blah, blah." That was fun and mushy, but I didn't expect to make a marriage work on that. He found out pretty fast that I did not complete his world in any way at all. So he took it out on me, and stuck me to him with more I-still-love-you talk.

And somehow, even though this relationship was all about him, we still managed to have something special. Still, taken as a whole, there's not much that's worth saving.

So I'm back at the beginning: Could I start over again with someone else and be happier? Probably. But I chose him, and I choose him again, not because of him, but because of me. That's who I am: a loyal person, and a happy one by God's grace alone.

But this time, no more needy love. Time for him to prove himself.

New Beginning?

"I am sorry I didn't realize that the reason I thought the last year was going so well was because you were shielding me," my husband said before leaving tonight.

I could have kissed him right there, but my boundaries are up now. They have to be.

He's starting to get it. And I'm starting to get it.

He was literally insane for the past year.

"I thought the only thing wrong was the sex." Ummm, what?! We bought a house, I had a baby, he got promoted to a more difficult job, and (this alone should be enough) we were trying to raise a two-year-old. I did much of the work, and took all the blame, and he was blind. That sounds so selfish and whiny, but it was true.

He had a complete break with reality. He deflected it in all kinds of clever ways, with his brain and his tongue. This is all typical of addiction, I guess. I finally got a glimpse into the insanity, and him into the real world...I think.

Falling Out

I've gotten over serious infatuations and short-term relationships, but that is nothing like falling out of love. Falling out of love is more like falling in love than it is like anything else. Being around the person sends chills into your body again...coupled with utter nausea. You can't stop thinking about them. They rule you. As I said before, that power, once given, is not easily broken. I'm convinced it will have to be if we are ever to have a healthy relationship.

Everyone's talking about him earning my trust back by staying away from porn sites and yada yada yada. But it's waaaaay more than that. He has to earn my love back.

After I finish getting over him.

Power

I went away for a few days, to a place I'd never visited with him. I journaled, cried, wandered around aimlessly, visited a church and took care of the baby. Oh, and I got a speeding ticket. Do they have an extreme emotional distress excuse?

I came back feeling completely out of love with him and stronger in myself than ever. I've lived with seven years of emotional abuse and a year of increasing abandonment during which time I had a baby. If I can handle that I can certainly handle whatever is next.

And then he came over. According to the terms of "The New Normal," a plan I had arranged for his evening visits with us, he came over from 5-8, did the dishes (for a change), and put our two-year-old to bed. And being with him melted me. I couldn't stop thinking of all the things I wanted to tell him but couldn't because I feel violated even sharing my pain with him. Once he left I was too much of a wreck to even brush my teeth before falling asleep in my clothes.

Tonight he came again, with his dad because I couldn't be with him alone. I was calmer, stronger, and we were able to talk. This melted me in a completely different way. He told me some of the things he was doing to try to prove himself to me, to try to win me back. I'm almost ready to fall for it and kiss him. But I have absolutely no framework for evaluating anymore whether it is the man I love or his addiction talking, manipulating. Both have such power over me.

"Abusive"

I was so afraid to put that label on it before, but meeting with a marriage counselor today gave me the courage to do so. I've always been afraid to, because I have no desire to cast all the blame on him and try to make myself look like a saint.

But I can finally have the courage to simply say: I was RIGHT. He was WRONG. He still is. He still doesn't think what he did was that big of a deal.

He keeps telling me I don't understand because I am a woman. But I talked to his dad and to E tonight, and you know what? All men are not like this! They can make a choice.

This was an abusive relationship. I've been an enabler. And it ends here. And that's all I have to say about it. No throwing it back in his face, no acting like he owes me a lot because of all the years he's taken from me. He does, but it's not my job to make him figure that out. That never worked.

Frankly My Dear...

...I don't give a damn!

I've always loved Gone With the Wind, but never realized I identified with Rhett Butler til now. (Separate from this insight, the words "frankly" and "damn" have studded my speech about this situation with amazing frequency.)

"You're throwing away happiness with both hands, and reaching out for something that will never make you happy," he tells Scarlett. That's exactly what my husband has been doing for a very long time, and it isn't just me who has told him that he needed to choose contentment. It won't matter in the slightest what he has or doesn't have.

I've been kicking myself for not saying, "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn," much sooner.

But guess what? I did say it!

I've also been analyzing the point at which he crossed into deception.

That was when I said it, not in so many words but to myself and God. I realized I could never control his actions and had to stop trying. Had to stop knowing about them too, to protect myself. I started worrying about me, then, maybe for the first time in our marriage.

That's why the last six weeks were pretty good for me! After the first crushing blow I looked back and thought, "What a sham; I thought things were better." But they were better for me because I had finally frankly-my-deared him in my mind. He had to let his thoughts and actions take their own disgusting course, and now he'll have to take the consequences.

And other than communicating how I feel and doing what I need to do to protect myself without concern for his feelings, those consequences are entirely in God's hands.

And frankly my dear, I don't care how damned awful they are.