Author: Lainey

Recognizing a Miracle-Finances

Recognizing a Miracle-Finances

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I promised awhile back, after processing some darker feelings through my blog posts, that I was going to keep an eye out for miracles and post about those as well. I have no doubt that miracles exist everywhere in my life and that angels surround me. It is up to me to be in tune, or not. Today, I want to note a seemingly tiny miracle, but one I am incredibly grateful for.

When I first found out about my husband’s sexual addiction, I went through the normal, devastating emotions of shock, denial, anger, bargaining, etc. However, as I worked and worked in an attempt to try to understand my new reality and how to get better, I realized that there were many layers to my recovery and multiples of trauma that I needed to mourn. One of those was my husband’s financially disingenuous behavior. When I discovered his porn usage and other ways he acted out, I realized that this involved a lot of hidden money. Even though my kids were small, I always worked, even if just part-time. Prior to discovery, it seemed like we never quite made ends meet. I would try to pick up extra freelance work and always operated our household as frugally as possible. When I discovered that the truth of our financial struggles lay mainly at the feet of my husband, who had been consistently hiding and siphoning off money, it was another unfathomable betrayal in my already complex network of grief.

At that time in my life, I had decided to stay married to Cory because I believed and hoped his earnest protestations that he had changed and would continue to evolve as a man of God. I felt terrified, unsure, and definitely had not surrendered the illusion of control in his recovery. I had always kept ahold of the reins of our finances, but I went into hyper-drive, obsessively accounting for literally every penny that went in and out of our home. I spent hours over my Excel spreadsheets reckoning and reconciling. I figured that if I could track the minutia of expenditures, I could control his addiction.

How wrong I was. I knew my husband was gifted, but I had no concept of what he could accomplish when he combined his intellect and desire to sexually act out. Of course, the money manipulation never stopped, it just became more deeply hidden and grew exponentially as the years went by.

Last night, I mobile deposited a check for thirteen dollars and change. As soon as the deposit was accepted, I made my way to my computer to note that tiny addition to my income. And then I stopped…and I realized that I don’t have to obsessively track thirteen dollars, because I don’t have anyone in my life who is stealing from me. Nobody is taking the funds I am saving for my daughter’s college education and spending it in strip clubs. I’m not figuring out how to buy groceries while the man I should trust with everything in my life is dating other women. My heart swelled with joy as I halted my progress toward the computer. I’m free!

Of course, I still budget and watch my finances, but what an indescribable blessing in my life that I can work hard for my money and that no one is going to use my own drive and ambition to cheat on me ever again. It is beautiful and I thank the heavens for reminding me of a miracle that might seem small, but is actually huge in my recovery.

My Self-Care Myths

My Self-Care Myths

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Everywhere you turn in the world of betrayal trauma recovery you seem to hear something about self-care and how essential it is to healing. I have had a somewhat lukewarm attitude toward self-care because I didn’t truly understand what it entailed.  I made the mistake of believing that self-care looked like the lives of one of my friends, who I’ll call Sandra.

Sandra posts a lot on social media. A LOT! She talks about how she takes care of herself by getting pedicures every few weeks. Oh, and when her hair is bugging her, she nips over and gets a whole new look in one afternoon with hair extensions. She recently hired a running coach to help her perfect her gait. We won’t mention the bikini-clad pictures uploaded from every exotic location you can imagine. She recently launched her own YouTube channel to talk about lash extensions, make-up, and fashion.

Somehow I convinced myself that Sandra’s life was the sum total of self-care. And, good on Sandra, but that is not my kind of life. I was raised to be a frugal and practical gal. I honestly went most of my life believing that reaping an honest paycheck for a day’s work is enough of a reward and anything above and beyond that was frivolous and self-indulgent.

And the fact of the matter is I barely have time to do my hair, not to mention worry about its length and luxurious fullness. My idea of fashion is matching a different sweater with the same five pairs of jeans as I rush to get ready for a client conference call. And you’re just going to have to trust me on this one: nobody wants to see me in a bikini. See, I’m a divorced, single mom, and business owner. Time and money are precious commodities.

Since I couldn’t, and didn’t want to, live a life like Sandra, I thought that self-care was something that was not ever going to be in my wheelhouse.  When therapists would ask about it, I would offer vague and perfunctory replies about my progress in that area. It felt awkward to openly admit that I simply didn’t have the time, energy, or cash for self-care. However, as I did some research on self-care around the Valentine’s holiday, I found  an enlightening article which stated that self-care can be as basic as taking a few minutes a day to have quiet time.

Excuse me?! Could it really be that simple? It didn’t have to be an over-the-top, guilt-ridden exercise in pampering to be effective?

What did I have to lose?  I gave it a shot because surely I could find a few minutes in my day to practice self-care if that was a true definition of what it entailed.  I have a cat who cries to be petted each night. I decided to make that my self-care time. It is calming to be next to her warm body, feel her thick fur, hear her content sawing-purrs, and view her face as she stares at me in utter adoration. Simultaneously giving and receiving love—well, there isn’t much better in life, is there? In the past, while we had our bonding time, I used to check email, catch up on social media, or perform some other mindless task. Now, I sit at the top of my stairs looking out the window at the glorious night sky. I consider the vastness of the universe and the love of a precious house cat. I think about my day. I dig into my thoughts and feelings. I notice pain and worry present in my body. I speak kindly to myself, reminding myself of all the people who love me, and that I am in the care of a loving Heavenly Father.  I tune into my truth: this is a really rough time of my life, but I’m going to be okay.

I am happy to report that indeed self-care doesn’t have to involve expensive spa treatments or social-media-post-worthy events. If all you have are a few reflective minutes each day to give to yourself, you are on the right path. And you are most definitely worth it!

Honoring ALL Pain

Honoring ALL Pain

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As I’ve dedicated myself to fully working through my betrayal trauma recovery, I’ve learned and grown so much. I truly feel that over the past year and a half I have been completely reborn and am an entirely different person. But this process is a journey. Inherent in epic undertakings, there are starts and stops. Sometimes we even take a few steps back. That’s all okay. Worthwhile endeavors lend themselves to a non-linear course. I think if I visually represented my process, it would appear like a meandering stream with many off-shooting tributaries. I often have experiences that remind me that I have much to still grasp and process. And sometimes the old Azalee gets in the way.

As part of my divorce decree, we agreed that I got to stay in the home for two years, mainly because we had a missionary out when we divorced. Of course, all along I’ve known a clock kept a countdown to the time where I would have to deal with the house. In January, a real estate agent reached out to me on LinkedIn and asked if I wanted to meet about my real estate goals. It felt like a gentle nudge from above. I agreed and met the agent at Starbucks and we had a lovely, surface-level chat.

Two weeks later, he came over to my house to give me an analysis. As he sat there in my kitchen, further explaining the market, I went into a full-on PTSD “freeze” mode—my brain unable to keep up with the basic things he explained. While we were married, my ex and I worked hard to pay off our home. We made a lot of sacrifices and it was with tremendous joy and pride that we made our final house payment. Now, as this agent explained how deeply into debt I would need to go in order to buy my own, paid off house in order to give half of the equity to a man who had already taken so much, my brain went into full spin out.

That night, as I lay in bed, I went back to a place I know all too well. Where I couldn’t sleep because my stomach churned and my head struggled to grasp the truth. Where I wept silently through the long night while everyone else slept. Where I got up to crawl through the next day feeling trashed and numb, wishing for nighttime, only to lie down to repeat the nightmare once again. That awful pattern repeated itself over and over the next few weeks.

Enter the old Azalee. I began to castigate myself for my reaction with thoughts such as: it’s just a house. A possession. When did you become so materialist? Just move. Why are you being so weird and dramatic? You knew this was coming. Get a grip.

Because, you see, old Azalee wasn’t so skilled in honoring pain. She lived with an addict for far too long and had embraced his blame-game explanation of events. Sometimes it was easier for the old me to accept that everything was indeed my fault than try to grasp who my husband truly was. But now I know better; it was time to take action. I purposefully stopped the circular thoughts and took some quiet time to think and feel. I talked to myself like I would a beloved friend. No, I wasn’t being weird nor dramatic. This is my home that I love. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to go into debt. This is about the precious safety and security of me and my daughters. This is a heartbreakingly expensive reminder that I once had what I thought was a stable and loving relationship and now I know I don’t. As I began to gain some clarity and kindness with myself, I realized that I was missing out on an opportunity to help others by not sharing something that on the surface seems so simple. I know there are many who are experiencing similar issues of grief, and you are not alone.

I won’t say that through the realization that I had failed to honor my pain that it is over. I acknowledge that losing a home is a big stressor, dogpiling on top of the betrayal from a man who I truly loved and supported with my whole being. It’s a lot and it is completely okay for me to feel abandoned, frightened, and traumatized. I have noticed that when I fail to honor my feelings, it is hard for me to connect with the Spirit. I’m too busy running myself down. As soon as I noticed and honored my pain, there flooded in the peace that even though I don’t know what is going to happen, I know I am going to be okay.

No More Words

No More Words

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When I was a small child, I discovered a gift that would be one of the most momentous influencers in my life: words. Words created sentences, which created paragraphs, which created books. Stories carried me off into other worlds and allowed me to experience adventures I might never have had on my own. It became my life mission to follow my siblings and parents around the house haranguing them to read to me. This love affair with words has never ceased. I make a portion of my living using words to write for companies and help individuals to effectively use words to create their own stories. What a blessing in my life.

Unfortunately, unlike the false proverb of sticks and stones, words really can hurt us. Especially when wielded by addicts, abusers, and Cluster B personality disorder types (narcissists, psychopaths, sociopaths, etc.).

I was cleaning out a cabinet the other day and found  a letter from my then-husband. There was no date, however, judging by the contents, I figured it was something he wrote to me about eighteen years ago when I very first discovered his pornography and sex addiction. It said: I know we are going through a rough patch, but I love you, and I promise I will never do anything to hurt or betray you ever again.

It renders me speechless to attempt to describe much I wanted to believe those words. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more.

Sadly I’ve learned the hard way that words can be empty nothings when produced with sole the intent to falsely influence. I have experienced this so painfully that I literally do not take anything my ex says for truth unless it is somehow verified by a third-party source. He could tell me the sky was blue today, but I’m going to look up and see for myself.

I often hear people question aloud while they struggle with the heartbreak of their new reality, “How do I know if my spouse/ex-spouse has changed?” May I suggest it is not through his or her words. It is through action where we notice authentic efforts in the journey to become a transformed person.

My ex-husband often exclaims to our children sometime along the lines of, “I am doing so much better! I’ve changed! I won’t ever fall into temptation again!” Yet, in that very same conversation, he will also break firm and communicated boundaries and display complete emotional disconnection. His actions are in direct opposition to his words.  

The fact of the matter is that it is unnecessary to crow about how hard of a worker we are, of what an amazing parent we are through copious posts on social media, or how incredible our recovery is going, because some truths are self-evident. Others around us will feel, see, and notice how our efforts are yielding a new path by how we behave.

Our Savior was a quiet and ordinary man in the eyes of the world. He did not need to shout about his miracles and service. People around him saw what he did. They felt his devotion and power. Our loving Father sees and gives us, through the gift of the Holy Ghost, the power to understand transformative change for ourselves. I’ve learned that when words and actions don’t mesh, I always have spiritual power at my behest to let me know what is truth and what is a carefully constructed act by a spin doctor. All I have to do to access that saving truth is to live worthy of the spirit and then humbly ask.

Staying in My Lane

Staying in My Lane

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Once upon a time, I used to go swimming on a weekly basis. Swimming is a tough workout, but since you are in the water, it is a surprisingly calming, womb-like experience. I’d get up early, jump in the pool, and start my day by logging in some laps. Fantastic. As I cruised back and forth across the pool, I’d think and dream about my life and everything would be going along, well, quite swimmingly. But then, sometimes I’d notice someone else in another lane. They’d invariably be swimming so much faster than me or their form was much better than mine. When I started to pay attention to my neighbors and stopped focusing on my own personal time in the pool, stuff happened. Like me colliding into the lane markers (which really hurts!) or crashing into the wall. Focusing on others had a way of ruining my otherwise peaceful time exercising.

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been getting some pretty strong messages that I need to remember to stay in my own lane.  The lane of where I choose to focus my head and heart, that is. The place where I embrace that I am an empowered survivor. The beautiful, freeing space where I own my happiness. Because, for many compelling reasons, I forgot about that for a minute. I’ve been worried about the manipulation my ex is inflicting on others. I’ve been preoccupied by who he’s going to hurt. I’ve been stewing a whole lot about how I can’t foresee and control my future.

Frankly, I’ve been miserable.

The other day I was in a class and we read 2 Nephi 10:23 “Therefore, cheer up your hearts, and remember that ye are free to act for yourselves…” Okay! Thanks for the reminder Heavenly Father, I sure did need it!

Make no mistake, I’m no Pollyanna. This is not to say that we don’t recognize abuse. No, ma’am. When my ex is pulling his manipulative tricks, l actively refute his nonsense with retorts such as, “Nope, that’s not true. That’s gaslighting.” Or, “Not playing the blame game with you today.” It’s important for me to name the emotionally abusive behavior. I find by doing that, I can honor my feelings and not just stuff them inside of myself like I did for oh so many years.  It is a trial being married to or divorced from a partner who purposefully throws attention away from him/herself by blaming or projecting their sins on to others. I choose to recognize that, honor my feelings in response, and stay in my own ever-loving lane! I spent most of my adult life trying to change my ex-husband. He is not going to change. But I can.

We can enjoy abundant peace when we work on our own healing and our own self-care. I can’t control the future and what my ex does to others. I wish I could have more power, but I don’t. I do have power to exercise agency in my life and my recovery. This is a difficult road, but I have a lot to be grateful for. Instead of wallowing in abject misery, I’ve decided to actively watch for the miracles in my life. I’ll be happy to report on those soon. I’ve purposefully pulled myself back from the ledge of victim mentality and life is an altogether sunnier place. Still tough? You bet. But I’m managing it better while focused on me, not on those other swimmers in the parallel lanes of my life.

How are you staying in your own lane during your recovery?

I Choose

I Choose

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Every day, my life as a single mom is tough.

Every. Single. Day.

Let me give an example. I live in Northern Utah. As this year’s snow season started, we wondered when we should put on our snow tires. This is an event we dread and avoid as long as possible. Not only due to the expense, but because it makes the cars run rougher and louder. At the end of October, I was scheduled to fly to Los Angeles to attend a client open house. The night before I was set to leave, a winter storm warning was issued. My kids were worried and upset because we still had not put on the tires and things appeared as if they were going to be messy and dangerous. Their worry and fear led to, of course, my worry and fear. I laid awake all night wondering what to do and chastising myself for not having the foresight to put on the snow tires earlier in the year. Now, I had a plane to catch in the morning and no recourse. Finally, I came up with a solution. I got up while the night still slept, loaded the tires in the separate cars, took a shower, and was parked at the tire shop the moment they opened. I explained my dilemma: I had three cars that needed snow tires put on in a few hours. They said they could help. Then I said, “K, um, I have a plane to catch, so I’m going to be doing my hair in your bathroom.” The guy laughed…but then he saw I was serious. And so it went. In between sessions of driving to drop off and deliver cars, I curled my hair in a public bathroom. Yes, it was awkward and embarrassing, but what choice did I have? I made it to the plane okay, and the kids were able to travel to work and school safely. But long about the time when I was supposed to be chipper and upright for the client open house that evening, I was crashing in a big way from my lack of sleep and early morning activities.

It’s the life of a single mom. Maybe if you are reading this you understand. I’ve got to earn a living and I’ve got to keep my kids safe. Somehow, I also am supposed to run a house, keep up the yard, hold a church calling, and delve into recovery self-care.

Yeah, I’m not keeping up.

I own my own business, which is capricious to the tidal shifts of the economy. It is true feast and famine and I never know which environment I will be operating in on any given day. It’s scary not to have a financial safety net of benefits and a steady paycheck. My worry for my kids never ceases. Whether quiet or vocal, I have serious concerns about how they will ever come to terms with what happened with their dad. My house is always a disaster—ranging in status from erupting whirlpool of chaos to World War III ground zero. When I take care of one thing, two other equally important things plop themselves unbidden onto my never-ending to-do list. It just doesn’t end…ever.

Every once in a while, particularly when I am tired or overwhelmed, I wonder why I decided to end my marriage. Why I would choose a life of stress and tumult over my old life where at least I had financial security and someone who mowed the lawn.

Then I take a deep breath. I remind myself that I made an impossibly hard choice for the happiness of myself and my children. I am a warrior-mommy. There is no doubt in my mind that even my most difficult day as a single woman is infinitely better than any day with my ex-husband. Because now I choose.

-I choose spiritual health and safety. Today, I live in a home where the spirit of my heavenly father soars unconstrained. There is  no one here covertly watching or participating in behavior that is in opposition to the vows we made at marriage. No one shares the same walls with me who is breaking covenants with intent. The adversary no longer is allowed free reign in my home.

-I choose love unfeigned. I now only have relationships with ethical individuals who do not live false lives. People who share my values. I don’t have to live with a man who is not worthy to be my husband and who doesn’t try, even as years pass where I yearn and beg for him to be the man I hoped he would be. I am better off with the difficult days rather than spending time with someone who does not even attempt to understand my physical and emotional needs. I now nurture myself.

-I choose peace. I don’t have to look over my shoulder every waking moment, anticipating when the dam of secrets will break open. Wondering—really knowing—that my worst nightmare is going to come true. It has already happened. It’s over. I can focus on healing myself and my children. I am free from terrifying discoveries always lurking around the corners to blow up in my face.

-I choose freedom. Yes, I am ridiculously busy. But I now unabashedly spend the limited free time I have in self-care and chasing the dreams I desire for my life. I don’t have to cater to the needs of a man who selfishly takes and takes and takes yet has nothing to give.

I read a statement recently that said something to the effect that loneliness is not a physical state, it is about the quality of your relationships and getting out of them what you want and need. I love this definition because it confirms what my instincts have been telling me all along: I am actually less lonely now that I am divorced.

I embrace each and every day of my messy, lonely, stressful life. Because I choose to.

Say What?!

Say What?!

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I had a highly triggering experience this past week. There was a death in the family of my ex-husband. After careful consideration, I decided to attend the funeral to support my former-mother-in-law, who was in my life for over thirty years, but also to be an anchor to my children. I knew it would be a difficult experience, particularly because my ex is a narcissist and I could already see traces of manipulative behavior starting before the day of the funeral even dawned.

When we arrived at the church viewing, we knew that my ex’s new fiancee, her children, and even her parents would be in attendance. As my mother and I moved into the chapel while the family said their final goodbyes and closed the coffin, I was approached by one of the new fiancee’s daughters. I was impressed and touched by this young woman’s bravery. That must have felt intimidating, making the first move to break the ice. Once we chatted for a few minutes, she invited me to come over and meet the rest of the family. I took a deep breath and accepted her kind invitation.

Her grandmother immediately reached in for a hug, such a sweet action. While we were hugging, she whispered in my ear, “Your ex-husband is a good man and you can take some of the credit for who he is.” A tingle of ooey-gooey horror raced down my spine that she would say such words. I actually held the hug longer than I normally would in order to give myself an extra second or two to process her statement. I finally pulled away, saying nothing. She grabbed my arm and said, “I’m serious. You should take credit for what a great man he is.” It took every bit of training in basic principles of polite behavior and therapeutic work I’ve completed since this all started not to blurt out, “Excuse me?! The thought of taking credit for who he is is entirely abhorrent to me. I want nothing to do with any kind of credit for such a horrible, abusive man.” The extremely awkward and painful conversation when forth, with me tilted a bit off axis by her highly curious remark.  

That interaction left me in a semi-state of shock and I sat numbly through the service. All the rest of that day, I kept thinking: How could she have said such an insensitive comment to me? After all the pain, abuse, and anguish I’ve gone through, how could she say that he is a good man? How could she think I would ever want to claim credit for who my ex is? Was she mocking me?

But, no, it didn’t seem like the comment was made with ironic intent. She presented herself as a genuinely earnest and compassionate woman.

I didn’t sleep that whole night and woke up feeling emotionally hung over. And completely puzzled.

But then I remembered. This is my ex we are talking about here. This is the master manipulator. More and more people are informing me that he is spreading a rumor that we divorced in a mutual, amicable fashion. He sadly states to our shared acquaintances how we simply fell out of love with each other and it was time we finally end a mutually unhappy reunion. Of course, he fails to point out that after giving him every chance to change and be a better man, he couldn’t, wouldn’t, and is still full of the same enmity to this day. He somehow forgets about his years of cheating, lying, and betraying our relationship. He doesn’t remember to mention that his own children will do anything to avoid him because they are tired of his constant boundary-breaking cruelty. His soon-to-be-wife nor her family can see how he is isolating her and already grooming her for future abuse. I will give him credit, because the act goes on—at least he is dedicated to that.

I’ve now been divorced for over a year and I lived with the puppetmaster reality-shifter for twenty-nine years. I don’t know how I continue to be caught surprised by what he is capable of. It’s still difficult for me to believe that such profound levels of human evil exist and that people can find personal fulfillment through play-acting. I don’t live in or understand that kind of world. Of course that sincere woman was not mocking me. She is being manipulated by the master. She really believes that her daughter has caught a wonderful man who was just the unfortunate victim of a relationship with a cold, distant wife. And guess what? I bet my interaction with them seemed cold and distant because I was completely taken aback by their “everything is awesome” attitude and open admiration for my past husband. When she hugged me, I wanted with everything in me to whisper in her ear, “It’s not too late! You can save your sweet granddaughters from a sexual predator. Please save them!” But this isn’t my place. I’ve already warned their mom. Yet, there she was at the funeral, staring at my ex with eyes overflowing with adoration and with a sparkling, new engagement ring on her finger.

This is just another example in a long list of how I need to turn this situation with my ex-husband over to Heavenly Father. I can’t change what is going to happen to those innocent girls. I tried. The interaction with the grandmother was a difficult reminder that when innocents are caught in the concentric circles of an abuser’s grasp, they may say things that seem harmful, cruel even. But the truth is they are victims too, being fed a completely false story. Their concept of reality is being purposefully altered by a person who has no empathy, compassion, or true ability to love. These are decent people who believe, because they have no reason not to. I’m grateful that I was reminded that this family is one who deserves my prayers and sympathy, not my ire.

Save Yourself

Save Yourself

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I have the great honor to volunteer as a betrayal trauma mentor. One of the common themes which comes up in our discussions is the wish that we could save the future romantic “victims” of our ex-spouses. I feel so blessed to work with incredibly amazing women. Their capacity to love and feel concern for others touches me continually. Even though they are barely figuring out how to survive themselves, they are worried about another daughter of God.

I too used to suffer with this need to rescue. Okay, let’s be honest, sometimes I still do. My ex-husband moved on from his relationship with me at lightning speed. Of course, it was easy for him because he never was faithful and he never felt emotions of true love for me. He had two new girlfriends before he had even moved out of our home and after he had promised to be faithful.

One of those relationships stuck and he was discussing his potential engagement two weeks after our divorce finalized. I was absolutely paralyzed with worry for this woman and her teenage daughter. I wanted to warn her! Help her to see! Save her! My mind churned with what I could do to get this innocent woman away from Cory.

Well, that relationship petered out, probably when she found out he had been lying to her all along, but then the next woman came along. Immediately. And my worry began to churn anew. One day, this new girlfriend reached out to me. I’ll admit, I was initially freaked out, but then I felt a surge of hope. Finally! A real opportunity to save a woman and her children from my ex!

Well, guess what? I was vulnerable and transparent, telling her a LOT of information. Details that she could not deny were true and should have sent her running for the hills. This woman also has teenage daughters (do you see a theme here?) and when I could not appeal to her own personal safety and worthiness for better, I appealed to her as a mother for her children’s safety.

And it backfired in a big way.

I don’t know what my ex is telling her, but she just wanted more and more “proof” that what I said was true. Finally, though devastating, I cut off contact with this woman because engaging with her was not emotionally healthy for me.

This girlfriend recently became engaged to my ex-husband. It makes me sick to think of what will happen to her and her children. I lose sleep over it. However, my experience with her taught me a valuable and needed lesson: I can’t save anyone but myself. As people who are trying to live the best life we can after divorce, we have a natural desire to help. However, some people are not emotionally healthy enough to receive our assistance. Perhaps, as in my case, the ex is a brilliant narcissist who plays the role of “good guy” so well that he could win an Academy Award. I am not match for his cunning deceit. I don’t want to try to be. I suppose I can see why she would believe him over me.

I realized the worry for this woman was hijacking my thought processes and emotional well-being. It was circumventing my own necessary efforts at healing. As a result, I went to the temple, the place I go with all of my problems. After a session, I spent considerable time in the Celestial Room. I told Heavenly Father I was turning this woman and her children over to Him. I needed to mentally walk away. After, I put her name on the prayer roll and I said out loud, “It is finished.”

Heavenly Father is in charge. He loves every single one of us, even our deeply misguided ex-spouses. I don’t know why He doesn’t stop my ex from hurting others. However, I do believe the principle of agency must be allowed to follow its natural course. When given a chance, I attempted to save this woman. Oh, how desperately I wanted to save her! But ultimately, I learned I can only save myself. This is something I have to remind myself of, at times, on a daily basis. I hope that as you navigate your journey you too can remember that the only person you can save is yourself. You alone are worth that time and energy.

You Hang in There

You Hang in There

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One of the surprising aspects of being a divorced woman is the amazing people I meet and talk to as I go about the business of changing my life. As I shift names on credit cards and other personal details, I spend a lot of time telling a lot of strangers about what is going on in my life. And here’s the weird thing: most of them have gone through it too. As a whole, I have found these individuals to be infinitely kind, patient, and willing to help.

The other day, I called up the credit card company to get my name changed. When the customer service representative asked me for the reason why and I explained, she said in a lilting Southern cadence, “I know what you are going through, when I went through my divorce, I got down to 82 pounds.”

As we concluded the call she said, “Now, Miss Azalee, you hang in there. Things are going to get better.”

I wished I could record her affirming voice, filling in the names of all the ladies I know who are traversing the living hell of ending a marriage and navigating the unbearable pain of betrayal trauma. So, I’m going to say what that sweet lady said: you hang in there. Things are going to get better. You are going to heal.

I am fascinated by the picture that I have used to head this post. The woman appears to sit on a swing over a chasm. Yet, she doesn’t give off the sense that she is desperate or unsure. She’s got her hands on a safe surface, but she’s not gripping in panicked desperation. Though it seems she is perched over an abyss, there is a confident command in her posture.

She’s hanging in there.

We may be hovering over own personal abyss. One that was not of our making or choosing. I would have given anything to save my marriage and keep my family together. The tumult of an unknown future may be all that we can see when we look forward. But we can face this with quiet confidence–because we’ve got this. Many of us haven’t been given any other choice.

We’re going to hang in there. We are going to trust that a loving Heavenly Father knows us and is in charge. Always. Forever.

Terminator Ex

Terminator Ex

By |

I am not what you would call a highbrow kind of gal, but I do love all the arts. Opera. Symphony. Theater. I suppose because duality makes folks more interesting, I also love things that do not fall anywhere in the arts category. Like demolition derbies.

And the Terminator movies.

I know, I know. The premise is ridiculous, the acting atrocious. Maybe the allure is because I adore the complexity of stories about time travel (still trying to figure out a way to have that work for me) but I was a huge consumer of the early Terminator movies.

Now, I’m not such a devoted fan because I have a Terminator ex-husband.

If you have seen the movies, there is that scene in the initial one where the Terminator leans in and with a menacing expression promises, “I’ll be back.” Well, my Terminator ex, he’ll be back…and back…and back.

I think we all hope that if we find it necessary to end our marriages, we can let each other go with love and an aim of forgiveness. Sure it’s sad it didn’t work out, but if nothing else but for the sake of the children, let’s metaphorically shake hands and wish each other love and light.

My ex-husband is a narcissist. Narcissists don’t let go. They don’t kindly shake hands, metaphorically or otherwise. Because these are vicious emotional vampires who do not like to lose. They can’t live with the fact that their exs now stand for themselves, are becoming strong, and are finally able to clear away the fog to discern through the nonsense.

When I first separated with my now-ex after months of him refusing to move out of our home (that’s a subject worthy of its own entire post), I could not initially distance myself emotionally. I had two self-destructive aims. First, I wanted to get some kind of rise out of the man. A hint of angst for destroying our decades-long marriage? Maybe one tear? Gosh, even the glimmer of sincere show sorrow?!

Unrealistic and unrealized expectations.

The second thing was that I kept looking to him to answer the why of what he did. How could he turn his back on his own children? How could he leave his family and rush into the next relationship with literally anyone who would engage with him on dating apps without a backward glance? I was not well enough at the time to see how fruitless it was to ask for rational answers from a man steeped in the insanity of addiction.

But I learned.

Eventually I saw the psychologically critical need I had to distance myself from his madness. The second he sensed me drifting away, he went into panic mode. The manipulation and cruelty, all packaged up in niceness, rocketed to a whole new level. Like, for example, when he had a rental car company leave a voice mail on my phone to confirm that my “family-sized van” was ready to pick up. Yep, he definitely wanted me to know that one month after our divorce finalized he was taking his girlfriend and her whole family on a trip to California.

Over time, I healed and I learned about boundaries. It was tough to let go of the control I thought I had, but I set rock-solid rules of how he could and could not engage with me. He is not allowed to contact me in any way except if it has to do with the division of our assets or our children. He can’t even text me to wish me a happy birthday. As his control over me started to fade, he did the only thing left—he turned on the children, because that is a great way to trigger me into defense mode. He is an absolute emotional brute to our kids, but couches his behavior in language of he is “just being sensitive to their needs”. When the kids see him and come home upset, it almost kills me to not defend them, but confronting him does nothing except to add fuel to his narcissistic fire. I have to remind myself that when you have no empathy, you don’t care that your children despise you and that you’ve lost their trust. My comments do nothing to change him or help him see some kind of a healing light.

I’ve come to realize that like the Terminator, who couldn’t be reasoned with or couldn’t be bargained with, my ex is going to attempt to punish me for the rest of my life. But my strong boundaries are barriers that block him at every turn. Terminators can be rendered powerless! We can transform from victims to victors!

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