I went over to my mom’s house the other day. She has a new computer and didn’t care for the default settings in her Word documents. I took about five minutes and set everything in a manner that worked better for her…and then realized I have never done this basic and simple thing for myself. For years and years, when I opened a Word document (which happens numerous times a day), I have automatically gone through the motions to change the font and spacing.
Why? Why did I do something so easily for my mom that I have failed to do for myself.
Because for such a long time I lived in a marriage which gave me nothing. And I taught myself that it is okay to accept the unacceptable. It is okay to give, and give, and give and show up with my A-game year after year to only receive leftover scraps of nothing in return. To endlessly cater to another’s demanded needs when that person had no care for mine whatsoever. Without knowing it, I deeply embraced the message that I wasn’t worth being happy. That if a situation wasn’t okay, I had to simply endure it. That I had no choice but to hang on in a relationship that was sucking my soul dry. That message has been so ingrained in my mind through years of emotional abuse, that I have been incapable of feeling worthy of something as basic as changing my Word settings such that they work better for me. I could do this action so happily for someone else, but not for myself.
When I moved into my new place, I felt frozen every time I thought about hanging artwork and making my house into a home. As I examined why this was going on, I realized a part of it was overwhelm, but a great majority of my hesitation was because I had a deep-seated belief that I don’t have the power to change things I don’t like. I believed somehow that if there is anything in my life I am unhappy with, I am stuck with it…kind of like I was in my marriage for so long.
No more! So I picked up a hammer and some nails and I started pounding holes into my walls. If the pictures don’t work and the wall is dinged up, that can be fixed. Because I have the power to rectify that which does not work for me. I have the power to do whatever I need to do to make my life comfortable and happy. I’m worth it…every human is worth it.
I don’t always love the journey of recovery I am on, but sometimes it yields these incredible gems of truth. It helps me to embrace mental blocks which have held me back for far too long. I never will allow myself to wallow in that mental headspace again where I believe I am incapable of changing the things that are not acceptable in my life. Hello, sweet freedom!
Oh, and yeah, my Word setting are all fixed now too…
I have a wonderful friend and fellow traveler on the path of betrayal trauma recovery who said something the other day that rocked my world. It went something like this: Don’t be sad for me because I am alone; be sad for the one who stays.
A little over two months ago, I moved into a new house. As a single mom, there was a lot of physicality that went into downsizing and preparing the house to sell. I spent the entire summer in the yard essentially replacing all the sprinklers. I super-deep-cleaned a 3,500-square-foot home and performed a lot of minor repairs. And that was before I began packing and moving. The people at the donation center became fast friends. By the day of the move, it was obvious that things were not well with my knees. Fast forward to two weeks after when I went to Urgent Care (something I have never done for myself) and was diagnosed with an “extreme overuse injury” and was sent home to heal and rehabilitate.
Time went by. I rested. I stopped all physical activity. But I wasn’t getting better. And then the battle morphed from a purely physical one to a mental one. I anguished for the next two months of what I would do if I needed knee surgery. Suddenly, all the crowing I had done about rocking my single life went out the window. I felt truly terrified of what the future looked like as a woman with a severe injury who perhaps wasn’t going to fully heal…ever. The strong health I’ve enjoyed my entire life suddenly appeared to evaporate. How I would live and take care of myself? It was a truly dark time and I kept dwelling on real truth of my situation with a hollow echo back: “I am alone”.
But then my friend said her inspired statement: don’t be sad for me because I am alone; be sad for the one who stays. I remembered that being alone is not a new phenomenon for me. I have been alone for decades. True, I had a husband physically present, yet, he wasn’t really there. For many years, I didn’t understand why a malaise of isolation seemed to follow me around, never imagining the reality lurking around the corner. You are alone when you live with a person who operates a double-life, because you are not able to make informed decisions about your safety, health, and sanity. There is no real connection and bonding. Choice is removed for you personally, without your knowledge, when your partner does not honor marital covenants. Indeed, I feel far less lonely now than I did when I was in my marriage.
I’m not an advocate of leaving a relationship—I stayed in mine for twenty-nine years and I nearly wore myself out trying to save my marriage and my family. This is not a lighthearted subject for me. However, I realize that though I am now single and “alone”, I have far deeper relationships because the nature of living with an addict or a narcissist is they intentionally isolate. Your support network shrinks down to nothing. Now, I have incredible relationships with new friends who mean so much to me. I have an amazing family. I have a wonderful religious community. I am a much deeper person, because for most of my life I bottled myself up, believing the covert message that my needs didn’t matter. I feel like me again for the first time in decades. I am richly blessed.
In my journey of healing and trying to help others, it breaks my heart to see how many women feel like they have to stay. That they don’t have any options other than to live with someone who doesn’t care about them and won’t change. They don’t even have basic respect in their lives, not to mention honor and love. Being a divorced mom was always my worst nightmare and the life I live now is one I would have never even imagined five years ago. But God doesn’t expect his fair daughters to live with abuse. God doesn’t expect us to live a life where we are constantly checking our husband’s phone, monitoring his every move, and inspecting search histories to the point where we can’t eat and we can’t sleep. This is not agency, this is not living. That was never the plan—and it will never be the plan.
Don’t worry about me. I am going to figure out my health concerns, and I am going to rely on my network of genuine relationships to help me if I need it. I am going to express daily gratitude for the gift that I can live a life where the behavior of another, who is supposed to be my closest friend, impedes the Spirit in my home. Yes, life is hard, but don’t feel sorry for me. Worry and pray for the one who is so beaten down by the actions of another that she doesn’t know that she deserves more.
Each night, it takes me a good long time to fall asleep. So when I lay down, rather than stewing about why I can’t snooze off, I let my mind wander. I usually try to direct my thoughts into pondering happy scenarios like what my dream future house would look like or what it might feel like to be completely healed from the effects of my narcissistic ex. Recently, as I was drifting off, an unbidden thought floated out of my subconscious: I should have never divorced Cory.
This unprecedented idea jolted me awake. As part of my healing, I try not to judge myself when unusual thoughts jump into my head. Instead, I simply try to pause and be curious. But this one really came out of left field. I know that I made the right decision to end my marriage and it’s been a long, long time since I had any compunction that my divorce was anything other than a divine blessing.
After some consideration (and not much sleep), I realized that I was experiencing my own version of survivor’s guilt. My daughters are really struggling at this time. There are many reasons, but one of the key sources of grief is the cognitive dissonance they experience as they come to grips with their addict dad. Cory presents himself as the nicest, most low-key guy in the world. This version of their dad is the man they have known their whole life. But the true Cory is a narcissist. And like all people in the Cluster B spectrum, he is spiteful and aggressive. When you back him into the corner, he comes out swinging. My daughters have now had ample occasion to see that narcissist—the true man their dad is. One of my daughters described his behavior perfectly: vicious.
The real Cory, with his facade laying shattered on the ground, is unbelievable when first encountered. Particularly when his monster-like behavior comes at a juncture where he is vying to reestablish his membership in the church. He texts and talks about the atonement and Christ’s healing power, all while behaving in an emotionally abusive manner. There is no humility, there is no grief, there is no sorrow. It’s just a DARVO message of how he is tired of being judged and that he is a changed man…and the kids better get on board.
I am used to this and I’m not sure whether saying it doesn’t bother me much anymore is a triumph or a tragedy. But for my kids, this confusing behavior is relatively new.
Before everything about Cory came out, my kids had a great life. They enjoyed two parents who seldom fought and seemed happy, at least on the surface. They had the security of a decades-long marriage and the stability of a traditional family life. But now they have the reality of a single mom who struggles on a daily basis and a dad who is essentially out of their lives.
Enter in my survivor’s guilt.
I couldn’t sleep because I kept thinking that if I had just stayed married, this wouldn’t have to be my children’s experience. I had not been happy for a long time anyway, so why couldn’t have I made the long-term sacrifice—their happiness for mine? It’s not as if I am shouting my joy from the rooftops now. My life is a significant daily challenge. Why not just stay the course and let them at least enjoy personal peace?
Because I deserve happiness. Because my children’s struggles, while awful to behold, will make them stronger, more compassionate individuals. Because we all have a right to live in a home with unfiltered access to the spirit. Because our loving Heavenly Father would never say it was my fate to exist in a marriage with a man who mocks everything sacred.
It was interesting that a year and a half post-divorce this was the first time I’ve ever had a dialogue like this in my own mind. It is always going to be awful to watch my kids in pain. I would give anything to take that away. But I know that once we all come out on the other side of this awful grief, there will be beautiful takeaways we will be able to share with the world. I may not be able to automatically turn off the survivor’s guilt, but I can look for the lovely miracles that will happen as we fully accept our reality and process our pain.
As I have increased my volunteer work as a betrayal trauma mentor, I frequently hear reoccurring themes between my groups and in my one-on-one meetings. When a message keeps coming up over and over again, I feel it is something I need to pay attention to and perhaps publicly address. For the past several weeks, one message has risen above all the others: it’s not fair.
The main idea that seems to be floating out there is that it’s not fair that women who only want to be a wife and mother now find themselves in the situation of seeking work in a glutted and depressed job market. These women were assured by their husbands that they would be supported in leaving behind their careers and attending to their families full-time. This aspect of betrayal trauma is particularly compelling because often these same women put their husband’s through school, neglecting their own education and career aspirations in anticipation of their protected role as wife and mother. This is such a difficult scenario and I am deeply sorry if it is where you find yourself.
I have been struggling with multiple “it’s not fair” complaints of late. Indeed, one of the reasons I have neglected this blog for a few months was because I felt weighed down by all the ideas of what is not fair in my life and I even dabbled for a time in bitterness. I believe that if I am going to speak out, I need to honor my feelings, but also be a place where people can come to glimpse an offer of hope for their future. These past few months, I have not felt capable of those dual roles. I chose silence as the best course of action.
My “it’s not fair” is very compelling to me at this time. It involves my housing security. One value my ex-husband and I shared was the importance of being debt-free. So, when others of our acquaintance were buying boats or adding theater rooms, we scrimped and saved and paid off our home. That indeed was a glorious day. But now, I have to pay my ex-husband his portion of equity in that very house we worked so hard to have as our own.
Back in January, I had a real estate agent come over to give me an idea of my options. As I sat and listened to him explain the lack of inventory in my housing market and how deeply in debt I would need to go into to buy my own, paid off home, I had a full-on PTSD reaction to this news. It is incredibly unfair for me to have to start again in order to stay in a place I live today debt-free just because my ex chose to follow a life course that was contrary to my values. Particularly now when my business had been greatly impacted by COVID and I have no idea what my financial horizons hold.
I needed to sit with this for a time and really honor how painful this feels and how difficult the future will most likely be. I felt weary while contemplating the years of struggle behind and those inevitably to come. Instead of saving robustly for retirement as I planned in this season of my life, I am going to be forced to take out a mortgage again. I’m not ashamed to admit that I dwelled in a pity-party land for several months. I spent many a night crying in my bed about the lack of justice in this situation. Where was my recompense for always attempting to do what was right by my marriage? I have turned my face up to the heavens and said, “Haven’t I suffered enough? When will it be ever enough?!” As if the number of trails I need to live through in this life were pre-set and I feel justified complaining that I’ve met my quota.
But life doesn’t work that way. Our mortal existence is beautiful, but it is also designed to be an experience that engenders growth. It’s not like we suddenly hit the pain-threshold lottery and a game show announcer voice booms, “Congratulations, Azalee! You have passed through your required grief portal and now you will be rewarded with an all-expenses paid vacation to Hawaii!”
Last week, I finally tired of being around myself. I was an onerous companion. One morning, I woke up and said out loud, “Enough!” Though I was proud of myself for leaning into my feelings instead of dismissing them as stupid or irrelevant (what I did for years), it was time to move on. I needed to go back to my basic values. I believe with utmost certainty that Heavenly Father is a compensatory God. I know that he is aware of how frightened and distressed I am. I’m working my hardest to make things right, and I know he will help me to make this all be okay in the end.
Even though I trust completely in my Heavenly Father, this does not mean that my fear vanishes. I remain quite terrified of the future and some days it threatens to overwhelm me. But, I have chosen to change my head-speak message. Knowing that I will be guided and led, I now think for the first time in my life, I get to pay off my own home and be able to say that I am a kick-butt single mom who made it through her own faith, hard work, grit, and determination. My grandmother was a single mom in an era where women simply endured dysfunctional relationships. Throughout her entire life, she was proud of the fact that she had worked hard and paid for her own home. Now, I get to channel and take courage from the difficult lives my ancestors lived. I will live and learn what my grandmother experienced.
I bet you have several things at the top of your mind that could fit into the “it’s not fair” category. There is nothing fair about being betrayed by the person you loved and trusted most in the world. But, is there a way you can honor those feelings, but also change the message in your own mind – and truly own that new message? Yes, it’s not fair. However, spending an inordinate amount of time dwelling on injustice will never change the facts. It will simply rob you of the joy that is available to all of us every day of our lives.
A little over a year ago, when my divorce was fresh, I would often stop in the middle of an ordinary task and wonder aloud, “How did I get here?” It seemed impossible that my temple marriage of twenty-nine years was just…over. I made sure to fill my days with much activity, so there wasn’t much time to ruminate, but in the quiet of the night, I suffered greatly. Calm rest and happy dreams became things I felt sure I would never enjoy again, something then unappreciated that now seemed like a luxury. Each night, as the dark hours inched by, my brain tormented me with questions of how I would survive emotionally, physically, spiritually, and financially in the months and years to follow. Would I ever be whole again? Would my kids be okay? And as the behavior of my narcissistic ex devolved into the cruel and calculated “discard” phase, as narcissists are wont to do, I fell farther and farther down a gulf of grief and disbelief.
At a certain point, I became desperate for sleep. I had to find a way to turn my mind off and I did not want to resort to sleeping pills. So I began to play a mental game I called “what if…?” Instead of dwelling on all the terrible things that might befall me, I repeated positive “what if…?” statements in my mind:
What if…I established and enforced strong boundaries such that my ex’s mind games were no longer allowed in my life?
What if…I was able to continue to grow my business such that I would become a wholly self-sufficient woman?
What if…I successfully taught myself how to be father and mother to my children, including all the now-overwhelming chores around the house and yard?
What if…I found genuine peace through the only true, lasting way – the atonement of Jesus Christ?
Rehearsing those affirming what ifs in my mind saved me. Thinking of potential positive outcomes for my life allowed me to at least fall into the respite of sleep I so desperately needed. These weren’t fake, fairy tale fantasies that a mind in denial makes up. These were beautiful, uplifting scenarios I could reasonably expect to happen at some point in the future. And, indeed, many of them did come true.
As I have grown and healed, I have found the need to play the “what if…?” game has decreased, until recently. I am located in Northern Utah and between Covid-19 and a major earthquake a few weeks ago, I once again found myself suffering panic episodes rather than sleeping. I’ve stated before that my business thrives only when the economy is strong. On top of everything else, I lost the majority of my income stream literally overnight. I’m not entirely sure how I am going to take care of my girls. Nor do I know how I am going to purchase a house as required this year.
Enter the “what if…?” game yet again.
What if…all of the frightening events of late are in part taking place because Heavenly Father has a higher plan for me?
What if…I wouldn’t be able to hear an incredible message designed specifically for me during my normally busy work life?
What if…I looked back on this time years from now and blessed the adversity because it helped me to grow into what I am meant to be?
Focusing on these, again true and realistic, statements has transformed my quarantine and economic downturn into a time of quiet introspection and communication with a power much greater than myself. My “what if…?” has provided me hope and meaning during an unprecedented time of trial and testing.
I’m so sorry my friends for my absence and lack of attendance to this
blog the past few weeks. I’ve mentioned before that I am a self-employed woman
and my business is subject to the vicissitudes of the economic market. My
reality is that in light of our global situation, I am losing my business. It’s
not a matter of if, it’s a matter of when. While others are complaining of
boredom, I have been working as many hours as I can to eek out a final few
projects before it all goes away, most likely for several years. It’s survival
right now, but I suspect soon I will have much more time to speak about
betrayal trauma. I look forward to communing then. You have all been close in
my heart and my prayers. I send heartfelt well wishes.
I did want to pop on and implore any who might read this to hang in there. The emotional grief of betrayal trauma combined with worries for our personal health and that of those we love and possible financial ruin is a great burden indeed. Honor that pain. It is real and should be felt. In my mind, it must come down to the simple fact that Heavenly Father is in charge. Always and forever. Sometimes I forget that truth and want to control and influence in places I shouldn’t. This always sends me into the emotional weeds. In order to remind myself of this conviction, each morning as I stretch after exercising I go into the child’s pose and repeat this mantra in my mind:
Be still.
Be humble.
Heavenly Father is in His heaven.
Let him be.
I KNOW that Heavenly Father has a plan for us. I KNOW that we are going
to get through this – the sun will shine again and someday this will be only a
bad memory, but hopefully one we will have learned from. I KNOW the only
respite we have from fear and uncertainty is to lay our burden at our savior’s
feet. He understands everything and has personally experienced all that we do
during our mortal journey. I KNOW we are never alone.
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!
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.
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.
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?
