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The Missing Piece

The Missing Piece

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“Yes, but can’t you see how blessed you are?”

“I know you are struggling, but have you heard about what happened to Sylvia, she’s got it way worse. Be glad you’re not her!”

“I think if you focused on being grateful for what you have you’d feel a lot better right now.”

“I know exactly how you feel!” (proceeded by a recitation of a completely unrelatable experience that seems much less compelling than yours).

Have you ever heard a retort similar to these when you have shared a difficult experience with another? Did it make you feel unheard and dismissed? Did the interaction seem as if it missed a much-desired piece, namely, empathy and compassion? I certainly have.

It is not a strength I come by naturally to open up and be vulnerable about how I feel. I have survived most of my life by being the “brave little soldier” and buttoning up my truth. That no longer works for me. But it is a challenge when I try to test out this fledgling vulnerability skill and I hear comments such as those outlined above. I think that for the most part people have good intentions and mean well. They don’t try to blow another person off or make them feel small for their genuine feelings.

But still…

I hope I have never been that individual, but I know for certain that I have been uncomfortable with the strong feelings of others and struggled to sit with them in their pain. It is so much easier to issue a platitude and move on to safer ground than to reckon with my powerlessness to change a difficult situation for someone I care for yet still witness and try to share their pain through silent listening.

Back in 2012, when the age was lowered for missionaries, my daughter now could serve a mission and suddenly we were preparing for her to leave. She departed to go across the world and serve in what seemed to me record time (in reality, a year). I was thrilled and proud of her, but it was also very tough. I missed her terribly and worried about her constantly. I struggled through some dark days, and, of course, at that time was living in a covertly abusive marriage. I literally felt like I had no one to talk to. Missions are sensitive subjects which bring up complicated feelings in people. Sometimes, when I shared that I was sad about my daughter being gone, people would stare, offended, and say, “You know what I would give to have a child worthy to serve a mission?!” So to top off my sadness, I then felt bad about unintentionally upsetting another.

The mother of my daughter’s MTC companion somehow found me and reached out. This was not her first experience of having a child serve and she understood everything. I still say she is the reason I was able to get through the rough bumps those eighteen months.

When my daughter returned, I promised myself I would be that person to other missionary moms. When missionaries are getting ready to leave, I’ll take the mom aside or shoot them a text. Essentially I say: this is a wonderful experience, but there are going to be some tough days. Please know, I am a safe person for any of your feelings. There is nothing that you are experiencing that I have not. I have taken many a tearful phone call. One day, I answered the phone to a yelling voice, “Are you kidding me that the church doesn’t let me know the address of my own son’s apartment?!” That was a valid worry for a mom sending her son to South America. I honored that I had felt the same way. When my daughters served, I imagined natural disasters and me not being able to know where rescuers could find my child. It is a huge leap of faith to not know anything besides the city your child is living in. But, I talked with this woman about my personal discovery why the church makes those kinds of rules—to protect the missionary. We both felt better after.

I recently went through a re-traumatizing decision. I decided to sell the home I have lived in for over a decade. The place where I raised my children. Though I knew moving made the most sense, it still was a challenge to part with a home I loved. I believed I would live there the rest of my life, or at least for many more years. But then my husband betrayed me and I needed to file for divorce. That changed everything. As I settled in a new home, I kept thinking about how this was yet another thing that my ex had taken away from me. Our family home. It was not a favorable transition for my kids. The house was put on the market and sold basically in one day for over asking price. It will close in a few weeks. While this is wonderful and I am grateful, I still am feeling unmoored and adrift. I decided to open up to a friend about how I am struggling. She said, in essence, “There is so much to be grateful about and I choose to be focused on that instead of the things that are going wrong.”

Ouch.

At her hasty comment, I felt that the very real pain I am experiencing was somehow wrong, or that I was some kind of a cold monster, incapable of seeing the good in my life. I am grateful, but also struggling. It made me feel bad about myself again, when I really just needed someone to listen to, and validate, my sorrow.

What I hoped she would say was, “Oh, I’m so sorry. This must be very difficult for you. Though I’ve never personally had this experience myself, I can only imagine how sad I would feel if this happened to me. Though I have not had a parallel experience, I hear your words and want you to know I support you and am here for you.”

If there nothing else I have learned through my recent life experiences, it is this: I can try to be that safe person. Just listen. Validate. It’s okay to say, “I wish I had something amazing to contribute right now, but I don’t. But I do want you to know that you are loved and I honor your experience.” Or, “I’m so sorry. I wish I could offer you some help or change this for you, but for now, I am here and want to listen and understand more.” For the most part, people are not looking for you to solve their problems or come up with solutions. If they are, let them ask. Instead, simply provide the missing piece: a listening, empathetic ear. It’s something we all have to freely give!

It’s Not Fair!

It’s Not Fair!

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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.

How Will I Know?

How Will I Know?

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But what if he never faces any real and lasting consequences for his actions?

Have you ever laid awake tormented by the fact that perhaps your partner or ex is going to get away with everything they have done? That justice will never be served? That the world will never see the true monster behind the mask? I have. In fact, that question plagued me to such a great degree that I honestly wondered at times how I would be able to live with it.

This man has destroyed your family. Ripped apart covenants. He used, abused, and neglected you while you exerted every power available to you to try and save your marriage. And then, just like that, he goes off on his merry way. If your situation is like mine, he’s in a rebound relationship before you have even been able to pick yourself up off the floor. My ex, within days of embracing the reality that I indeed planned to file for a divorce, was in a new on-line relationship and had booked a vacation with the woman—while we were living under the same roof! There was never a solitary tear shed over the loss of his wife, who had prayed, fasted, sacrificed, and given him everything. This is not a romance novel ending; he has never looked back with any sorrow at the loss of our relationship. He tells our children all the time how great his life is without me.

Then there are the sometimes lacking consequences from earthly and heavenly courts. We trust these third parties to understand and discern traumatic events. And let’s be honest, we look to them for validation of the incidents that have transpired in our marriages. Everyone’s experience with church  discipline is different. For me, while I knew I was loved by church leaders, I did not feel settled that the initial outcome of his discipline fulfilled the laws of justice. In addition, there is a high probability that your ex/husband is engaging in illegal behavior as well. But, often to your relief, he’s never been arrested or paid any penance for his risky behavior.

The reality is that addicts and our friends in the Cluster B category are often quite successful. Psychopaths, sociopaths, and narcissistic are known for rising up through business ranks. The fact that they possess no discernible soul serves them well in corporate America. Oh, you want me to lay-off that man whose wife just had twins and whose mother is dying of cancer? Not a problem. That older gentleman who has served our company for thirty years but is starting to slow down a bit, let’s cut him and strengthen our bottom line. This lack of remorse allows them to see humans as mere tools to profit and loss. These behaviors are often highly rewarded in business settings. So while you are eating questionable food because you don’t know how you are going to pay your mortgage this month, your ex just got a nice promotion and is taking the new girlfriend on a trip.

Talk about riding off into the sunset. How can their life be so amazing when yours is a wreck?

Rest assured. There will be a price paid. Isn’t their shallow, emotionless existence enough of a high toll in and of itself? Their loss of trust and esteem by people who used to care for them? My ex may not be able to feel anything, but I do. That makes me realize a full human experience. Despite the difficulties inherent in a normal mortal journey, I wouldn’t trade his life for mine under any circumstances.

Perhaps your ex will not discernibly pay for his sins in this life. But, we have to trust in our loving Father. I believe that Heavenly Father allows the laws of agency to move forward with little intervention. I, however, will never for one minute believe that we have a hapless God who is easily duped. Oops, turned my head there for a minute and missed that one. Unlikely. He notices and sees. The scriptures are replete with admonitions that we will be held accountable. We need to turn no farther than those sacred books to be assured.

Alma 5:17 says about our judgement, “Or do you imagine to yourselves that you can lie unto the Lord in that day, and say—Lord, our works have been righteous works upon the face of the earth—that he will save you?”

King Benjamin told his people in Mosiah 2:39 when speaking of those who come before the Lord unclean, “And now I say unto you, that mercy hath no claim on that man; therefore his final doom is to endure a never-ending torment.”

And, I have always taken great solace in Jacob, Chapter Two. I think he saw valiant sisters in this day of rampant sexual sin. I particularly feel resonance with verse 33. “For they shall not lead away captive the daughters of my people because of their tenderness, save I shall visit them with a sore curse, even unto destruction;…”

There was a time when I was wracked with so much emotional pain, it translated into physical pain. One day, I knelt down, my chest blazing with sorrow, and asked my heavenly father how…? How could Cory not feel anything and I, who had done nothing to shatter my vows, was harrowed up in darkness unimaginable? I received an undeniable witness that my ex-husband’s actions are known. I was given an assurance that all things will be made right. I was told that my trial is noticed, seen, and honored, and that I would receive compensatory blessings.

The point of this discourse, of course, is not to flame fires of revenge or propagate the idea that we would greedily relish the idea of a man we loved, possibly had a family with, and spent years of our lives with suffering torment. On the contrary, this prospect is a nightmare and a tragedy. My intent is to soothe that we can be assured that although it may seem as if our exs are getting away with everything, they indeed are getting away with nothing. Just like us, they are known and seen. I hope this idea can offer some respite and comfort from the distress of considering that he lives a life with no consequences. None of us are above those. 

I was so grateful for this illumination in my mind. I now spend little time worrying about whether or not justice will be served. And when I do catch myself falling into obsessive thought patterns, I turn it back on myself and say, “What am I doing to live a life that will qualify me for the Celestial Kingdom? What am I doing today to make sure I can spend eternity with those I love?” This shift in focus calms me. Ultimately, I tried my best to save my husband. But now, it is time for me to save myself.

At some point, all of us—good and bad—are going to leave this life and move on to our father’s kingdom. Personally, I cannot wait for that blessed day. When it comes, it won’t matter what Cory did in this life to me and others, that will be his sole accountability. What will matter is what I did to refine myself and become more of what I hope to be during my precious mortal existence.

Heavenly Father is in Charge

Heavenly Father is in Charge

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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.

I am Not a God of Fear

I am Not a God of Fear

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On Thursday, I returned home from a short vacation with my kids. Of course the virus was in the news before we left, but it was not a serious issue yet. We returned home after a wonderful time together and it felt like we entered a war zone. I ventured out to the stores yesterday to pick up the things from my lengthy shopping list. I don’t stock up on perishables before I go out of town because why buy things that will just spoil? In addition, since I might be moving in the near future, I have been actively reducing my food storage so I don’t have to transport it. I had heard the lines in the stores were crazy, so I felt pleasantly surprised when I saw the normal amount of cars in the parking lot. I walked in to see the produce section quite well stocked and heaved a sigh of relief. Everything was going to be okay.

But then, I started to walk up and down the aisles. The milk and egg coolers were barren. The aisle that normally contains soups literally had nothing on it. I have lived through a lot in my life, including natural disasters, but I have never seen shelves empty to this level before. My heart began to accelerate as I abandoned my list and began to wander the aisles aimlessly looking for anything that I needed.

Virtually nothing.

I began to get that alternatively hot and cold feeling racing down my spine. I’m sure there is a medical term for this sensation, but I like to call these the “creepy crawlies”. I went into full-on panic mode. Was my family going to be okay? How long was it going to be until there was food on the shelves again? Then, my mental frenzy became more global. Surely, this kind of event was going to cause the economic free fall we’ve anticipated looming on the horizon. My business would most likely implode immediately. And I had a house to buy in the next nine months. How would I do that if my business went away? How would I sell my home if the housing market shut down due to economic worries like it did during the last recession?

By the time I got home with my meager spoils, I had transitioned out of panic mode and moved into a spot I find quite comfortable: poor me mode. Why does my life have to be so difficult? Why do I have to navigate everything by myself? Why did I have to marry a man who is so awful, even after we are divorced? How come I have to live without security and peace in my life? Don’t I at least live a life worthy of that? Seriously, what did I do to deserve my miserable existence?!

Yesterday was a fearful day. This morning found me searching the scriptures for verses that would calm me and put me back in a healthy mindset. I eventually found my way to 2 Timothy 1:7 “For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.”

Yes, these are scary times and it is possible that I might temporarily lose a lot of my income. Of course it might become almost impossible to sell my home if our economy falters. Those are terrifying unknowns. In times like these, which we all will experience, I must turn my mind to what I do know. I know that Heavenly Father is in charge of my life. I know that He perfectly understands my pain and worry. I know He cares and is blessing my journey. I know that I would rather live every terrible and frightening day alone than with a man who hides in a disingenuous life. I know the Spirit can dwell unconstrained in my home because there is no one actively mocking God, affecting everyone with his sin. Those are things I can rest on while the world goes mad around me.

I am going to do everything in my power to keep my family afloat. I will work hard at the business I have now. When supplies return to normal, I am going to beef up my food storage. If I have to move it, so be it. I will continue to live a frugal life. More on point, I will be on guard for the messages of the adversary. He delights when I transition into that scared, lonely, confused, and helpless woman. When I forget I have power. That’s a big win for him. But most importantly, I am going to pray more fervently, listen more carefully, and diligently build my faith levels. I become scared when I think I have to figure this out all on my own. I can’t do this by myself, and I don’t want to try.  When panic takes over, I can take a deep breath and remind myself to lean on my heavenly helpers, because they never fail me. Heavenly Father does not desire for me to live in fear; He alone gives me everything I need to navigate the vicissitudes of my life.

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?

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