Tag: self-care

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.

“What If…?”

“What If…?”

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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.

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.

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.

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