Five Years Ago

The five year anniversary of my d-day happened two days ago.

And it's hard to put into words how I currently feel about that because it has been so good and so bad.

I felt so panicked leading up to the d-day anniversary. I took off work and kept Cubby home with me. I had lunch with my daughter at school and then my mom took me shopping at the mall and I tried on a bunch of clothes for her as if I was 16 again.

It was actually a really great way to spend my day and I came home that night, wondering if I would start to obsess over the anniversary or whether it would be ok and guess what?!!

I was ok! I was happy! I sat down and blogged on my non-anonymous blog and talked about how hard that day was 5 years ago and how I am so glad to be where I am now.

I talked about how I wouldn't trade those times for anything because they taught me so much.

I love who I am post-d-day. I truly do.

I know it won't ever be rainbows and butterflies. Divorce is such a hard thing. I am reminded of that almost daily.

But looking at my personal growth, I'd take who I am now vs. who I was then any day of the week.

It's miraculous to realize that only five years after my husband told me he no longer loved me, I am doing ok. I am still standing. I am thriving. I am close to ADOPTING A CHILD! {But that's for another post}

This life I'm living---it's beautiful. I am so grateful for all of the knowledge that has occurred in the past five years.

I Won

A few weeks ago, I put my story into words once again. I actually like how, each time I write it out, it sounds a little differently than the last time. I like that it captures different parts of the struggle and beauty from the past ten + years.

I entered my story into a Mother's Day contest and last night, I found out I won.

And so, I wanted to share this version here to have it saved.

Hi. 

My name is Wendy and although I am many things, warrior is certainly at the top of that list. 

I was a fairytale lover --- boy-obsessed from 1^st grade until I graduated from high school. Fairytales taught me that I needed a man to take care of me and I believed from a young age that if I was loved by a man, I would have infinite worth.

I was married at the age of 19 to a man who loved me. And the thing is, he truly did love me. That part was not a lie. But he loved me conditionally. He loved me for certain parts of who I was and began to tear down the parts of me he didn’t like.

Early on in our marriage (and unknown to me until after our divorce), my husband was viewing pornography and taking intimacy outside our marriage. I became a pawn in our marriage and learned that I was not the most important thing to him. But why? I couldn’t figure out what was more important.  I just knew things had shifted. He hardly ever wanted to be intimate with me and would stay up all night playing video games, claiming he had insomnia. I got used to marriage feeling mostly one-sided and found myself justifying the way he was treating me --- because at least he wasn’t physically abusing me. But I still wondered if the shift in our marriage was my fault.

I had given this man two beautiful children --- was it my body? Was I not sexy enough anymore?

For a girl who claimed to be strong and independent, I am surprised when I look back and realize how much I lost myself in my marriage. Then again, for a girl who claimed to be strong and independent, I had held the belief that my worth was dependent on a man for as long as I can remember.

Five years into my marriage, I was arguing with my husband one day when he told me he no longer believed in God and would not be attending church with us any longer. This shook me but I held my ground and poured myself into being a better wife and mother. I could fix this. I could mend this part of our world that felt bruised and broken. I felt our marriage falling apart but I wasn’t going to let it. I needed him and I felt he needed me too.

I found myself drowning while trying to save him. Often times, he came home from work angry and unresponsive and he would lock himself in our room or go outside to clean his guns or work on the car he was fixing up. The emotional abuse was weighing me down and I started to have panic attacks about seemingly normal things like what brand of food to buy.

And in the midst of me trying so hard to fix us, he abandoned our family in August of 2013, after seven years of marriage. Our children were only 5 and 4 years old and did not understand what was happening, so on top of being abandoned by my husband, I was left to tell my kids about the divorce by myself and deal with their heartache. And in turn, they knew I was their safe space and so they directed all of their anger toward me for months while begging me to bring their daddy back home. 

Throughout the 6 month process of separation and divorce, I found out that my husband was not the man he had claimed to be. He was addicted to pornography and was secretly numbing his feelings of guilt with alcohol. I tried so hard to stay afloat throughout this time but I began to drown in the form of an eating disorder and severe anxiety.

I felt so worthless. So used. So unloved.

And the thing is, my ex-husband is not a monster. We don’t always get along and he certainly makes some poor choices when it comes to his treatment of myself and our children but he isn’t a monster. He is an addict that struggles with knowing how to treat the people he loves most. He pushes us away in fear of us rejecting him. Does that lessen my pain? No. But it helps me to understand that I was not the problem. I could not have been prettier, smarter, or more subservient. This battle wasn’t mine to win or lose. It was, and is, his battle to fight and he chose to fight it without me by his side.

I’ve endured a lot since my divorce 4 ½ years ago. My ex-husband has crossed the line between discipline and abuse with our children. He has continued to treat me in a way that is disrespectful but about once a year for the first three years of divorce, he would come to me and tell me he loved me and wanted me back. He got remarried last year and immediately served me court papers for half custody, a battle that ultimately went to trial and ended up in my favor (and what is best for our children). He is there for us when it is convenient but the truth is, I am ok with that. Because I’ve got this.

I was forced to find myself when my husband abandoned me. That event, although extremely traumatic for me, has shaped me into a person that I very much like. I did not curl up in a corner and die --- I fought for myself and my children. I graduated from Arizona State University with a bachelor’s degree last summer. I am working two jobs to provide for my children. I got certified as a foster parent and was the mother of a sweet and sassy toddler for five months last year and last week, I was asked to take in a two-day-old baby boy and have been killin’ it in the motherhood department. My children are healthy and loved.

I still struggle with loneliness, especially when my kids go to their dad’s house but I know that my worth is not dependent on others. I will still live a beautiful life, even if I never remarry. I will continue to persevere when life slaps me in the face because I know for a fact that I can do hard things. 

Three Years

The odd thing is that I thought this was going to be the 4 year anniversary.

I don’t know why I was adding an extra year on there. Probably because it feels like I’ve been on my own for much longer than three years.

I knew August was creeping up on me. I could feel it even without looking at a calendar.

There’s just something about August, about school starting and schedules changing.

And the night before school, I’m lying in bed and praying for my kids and thinking about another year alone.

Another year where I go to parent-teacher conferences and schedule extra meetings to make sure my son with ADHD is getting the schooling he needs alone.

Another year where I help with homework and book reports and reciting poems alone.

The irony is that Peter left me just 3 weeks into our oldest child’s Kindergarten year so I’ve never really known what it’d feel like to have a spouse more involved with those school activities.

So I don’t know why it always hits me hard in August.

I’ve been doing this all alone since the very beginning.

But this anniversary always hits me the hardest---because it is my D-day. Three years ago, I was in a relationship and since then, I haven’t been.

In fact, I can count on ONE hand the number of dates I’ve been on in the past three years.

I’ve tried. I’ve done the online dating thing a few times and it’ll seem to be working for a week or two and then all of a sudden, one guy will ruin it for the rest by texting me something dirty or I’ll read the profile of a guy who says extremely provocative things in his bio and I take ten thousand steps back and think to myself, “Oh my gosh, being single forever would be better than this!”

Because at least if I’m single, I won’t be getting my heart hurt by the extremely douchey guys that seem to exist in this world.

Another thing that really triggers me about online dating is the fact that 90% of the profiles say they’re interested in someone “slim and slender” or “athletic and toned”. And any time I see that on a profile, I feel like I’m reminded of why I’m single.

And then I have a hard time not listening to ED because it seems like he’s telling me the truth.

It’s just one big ball of frustrations and disappointments and there are days I consider just getting back together with Peter because, you know, he still loves me and maybe he is the only guy who ever will---because am I even loveable? 

I realize how irrational this is. 
Or maybe I don't. 
But I want to realize how irrational this is. 

It's just that dating with an eating disorder is not easy.
I'm pretty sure dating in general isn't easy either though.

So I tell myself most days that I'm ok being alone because, most days, I am.

But some days, it just hits me that it's been 3 years since I've been in a relationship and had another adult living in this home with me.

August is a messy month for so many reasons. 
Six years ago, tomorrow, I was diagnosed with infertility.
Four years ago this month, Peter left the church we were both attending and I felt so scared.
Three years ago this month, Peter walked out on me.
Two years ago this month, I had to stop being a stay-at-home mom and went back to work.
Last year this month, I was dealing with some after shocks of some traumatic events earlier that year. I also started telling others that I was questioning my faith and wanted to attend a Christian church.

August is my messy month and every year, I brace myself for what is to come.

And this year, I found myself quitting my job recently and dealing with some after shock and anxiety from that.

I'm not doing well right now. I'm hanging in there because I know it will get better but I've not been handling life well.

Because my body just senses the unsafety of August and every day feels unsure. 

Thankfully, I've got my tribe of people who are patient with me while I struggle through the shittyness of August.

Thankfully, thankfully, thankfully. 

One Year of Pain

Yesterday was my one year anniversary of the day Peter left me.

I cried a few times yesterday. I got so FREAKING angry a few times. I grieved my past life and my new life.

I didn't know how yesterday would hit but it hit like a ton of bricks. It felt like I was reliving that very day, a year ago. I kept replaying moments and feeling anxiety and wondering how the hell I am still standing after such a horrible experience.

I reached out a lot yesterday. I reached out to WoPA friends, my friends who were there on d-day, and I even reached out to my parents who are on a cruise right now. Everyone reached back with loving words and validation. Even people I didn't reach out to were sending me texts and emails, reminding me that I am strong and that I can get through this really hard thing.

Yesterday was hard.

Today was even harder.

This morning, I called Peter to ask him a question and he didn't answer. No big deal. He does that a lot.
But then he texted me almost immediately and said, "Can't talk. What's up?" and to any normal person, that text wouldn't have been a big deal. But in my story, that text is an extremely triggering text to receive.

Because it is almost the exact same thing Peter texted me the day I called to check on him at work. It was the very last text he sent before our phone conversation about the lies and the secrets---the very conversation where he told me he no longer cared about me. It was the last text I ever received before my husband left me.

I didn't text him back. In fact, I threw my phone across the car and tried to focus on something else the entire drive to the gym. But it didn't work.

All day, that text has been running through my mind.

Just breathe, Wendy. Just breathe.

I knew I wanted to come on here tonight and talk about those triggering moments. I knew I wanted to remember how I felt this morning. But as soon as I started to type, I decided it would be a good idea to link back to my d-day post.

And when I linked to it, I decided to read the post.

And when I read the post, I started breathing heavily and my heart was pounding and I started to sweat. I was frozen. I was frozen and my chest was physically hurting and I couldn't move out of my chair.

That day was real. There is no escaping the painful memories of that day.

I panicked. I knew I was having an anxiety attack but I've never been frozen like that. I wrote on a message board and reached out to some loving friends and started receiving message after message of comfort. I also received messages telling me things my brain couldn't even think of.
Wendy, have you asked anyone for a blessing? Can I call the temple and put your name on the prayer roll? Do you have Xanax in your house?
One by one, I did the things I was being told. The Xanax started to kick in and I called a friend sobbing, asking if her husband was available to give me a blessing.

Within minutes, he was in my home and we were talking about what had happened.

And then I received one of the most powerful blessings I have ever received.

I had recently lost hope in a few things and in that blessing, those things were promised to me. And I felt my Savior comforting me, telling me it is ok to break down and cry and be worried. It's ok to feel scared and need to reach out to others. It doesn't make me a weak person.

It just makes me a person.

There have been so many lonely nights were I sobbed and screamed and panicked late into the night. I'm glad tonight wasn't one of those. I am grateful for people in my life who can help me get through some of the roughest shit I've ever, ever had to deal with.

Tonight I am broken but I am still alive. Tonight I know that with my Savior by my side, I can handle nights like tonight.

I am going to fight. I am going to get through this hell. And someday, I am going to get remarried and feel real love. I don't doubt any of that tonight.

The triggers aren't over. They will keep happening. But I have hope that when they come, I will be surrounded with the love of my friends and family and the love of my Savior.

One year down, eternity to go.

I can do hard things.

Twenty-Seven Days

I stare at the same bed, in the same room, in the same house. It was once ours.
Ours.
What does that mean to me now? What does any of it mean?
I am 27 days from my d-day anniversary. Twenty-seven days from the day my life would forever change. Twenty-seven days from my worst fears becoming my new reality.
Things have been extremely hard. I can feel that anniversary looming over me like a constant dark cloud. I have been on the verge of tears for five days now but they have yet to be released. I cannot release them. I cannot give in to the tears or the heartache because I'm worried I will completely fall apart.
But I'm already falling apart. I am already on the verge of another breakdown. I am already shutting down and giving up and worrying and obsessing. My OCD is getting the best of me. My eating disorder is getting the best of me. My heartache is getting the best of me.
It all hurts. Everything hurts today. Everything feels so real and painful.

Twenty-seven days until the anniversary of the day Peter said I was not good enough. Twenty-seven days from the day Peter looked me in the eye and told me he didn't love me anymore. I don't care if he was lying or not---it is a dagger to my heart and I cannot forget that pain. I cannot forget what it felt like to have my eternal partner look me in the eyes and tell me he didn't love me. The only other thing I have engrained in my memory from that day was right after the "I don't love you anymore." He looked at me and said, "I don't care about you anymore, Wendy.". He no longer cared. The person who promised he would always care no longer cared.

So when other people promise me they will never leave or that they will always care, how am I supposed to believe them? How am I supposed to feel like I can trust anyone or get close to anyone again?

I am a mess when it comes to letting people get close. I am a mess when I believe people are annoyed or don't love me or have found someone better. I hope now you'll understand why. I hope you can see why I act needy and annoying and afraid of abandonment.

I am a broken woman still. I thought a year could make a difference. I thought I would be OVER THIS MESS but I am not. I am still weak. I don't feel like a warrior. I feel like an overweight, obnoxious, and heartbroken woman. I feel traumatized. I feel worthless. I feel like my children would be better off raised by someone who actually plays with them and doesn't yell. I feel like every guy I could potentially like is off-limits because I am not good enough for any of them.

I wonder if I'll get to a point where I am good enough. I wonder what that would look like. Hell, I wonder what not having an eating disorder would look like. I wonder what not being divorced would look like.

I wonder what not being me would look like---because it seems like it might look better than this.

Twenty-seven days will go by quickly and soon, I will have to face the anniversary of the worst day of my life. And yet, it already feels like I'm facing it. It already feels so close and so painful and so fresh.
I can't stand it today. I can't stand the thought of where I was and where I am. I can't see hope today. I wish I could erase all of the pain and fear from my life but today, I can't. I'm not strong enough to overcome this fear.

The Tornado

She shakes, anticipating the outcome. It is here. The tornado has arrived. Her legs quiver with each sign of lightning. The earth beneath her cracks and the sky is full of grey.

Life as she knows it is over. Everything she has trusted to keep her grounded is now uprooted. The steps she will take will determine parts of her outcome but it is not all up to her. Forces cause her to tremble, to fall, to move in directions she never planned on going.

She runs. She walks. She crawls if she has to. Determined not to let this hell engulf every part of her, she continues on her journey. She will make it. She has to make it.

The only other choice is to give up but she is a warrior.

Her army rallies around her. They can see that she is struggling to find a path around the tornado and she needs their help. And help, they will. They have been there before. They know what this tornado feels like and they know how to find a way. They provide her with flashlights, food, a first-aid kit, and water so she is prepared to make her journey.

She is never alone. Some days, she stands tall. Other days, she lays down on the ground. The tornado lasts longer than anything she has ever experienced. She wonders when it will end. She wonders how it will end.

Can her marriage survive? Will her children survive? Does her soul survive?

She braces for the storm and she prays. With everything she has, she prays that she is strong enough to handle the outcome.

Suddenly, the tornado has wrapped around her. She couldn't get past it, no matter how hard she tried. In the middle of the tornado, she remembers all of the hurtful things her husband has done and said, all of the insecurities she has about herself, and all of the ways she has failed as a mother. She falls to the ground and tries to come to grips with her ending. This must be how it ends. Nothing this painful can possibly be endured by one person.

But when she looks up, she finds her warrior sisters fighting to make their way to the middle of the tornado. They have come to be with her. They realize they cannot rescue her. They cannot pull her from the middle of the tornado. But they can wait with her until it is all over. They can make sure she isn't alone.

The storm finally ends. She is bleeding but not completely broken. Her arms are filled with cuts and bruises and her heart is still aching. Her sisters gather her in their arms and help to heal her. The process is slow. She doesn't fully believe she can ever be healed from the trauma of her tornado. But she lets them in anyway.

She trusts her warrior sisters, for they have been there when no one else would come. They have taken on her heartache and empathized with her pain. They have given her tools she couldn't find on her own.

She used to look at tornados and wonder how anyone was able to survive them but now she knows. She has done it. She has survived the very thing she thought was unsurvivable.

She will make it. There may be other storms that come her way but she will make it.

She is a warrior.

Dear Mr and Mrs Pan

Peter comes from a home where his father is the chief. He runs the household, almost by himself, while his wife is subservient and is expected to tend to his every need.

I used to think I wanted to be in a household like this. I grew up seeing my mom and the amazing housewife she is and I wanted to be just like her. I wanted to cook and clean and raise children. It looked so glamorous from my young point of view.

But the difference between Peter's family and mine stems from the patriarch's point of view. In our household, my parents were equal. In Peter's household, his dad was the boss.

Often times, we would visit and I would witness scenes that would make me cringe. I would hear harsh words spoken about Pan's mom from his dad and also from his younger brothers. They were being raised in this environment to believe this was the norm.

Peter often had to promise me this wouldn't be us. I am too headstrong to be subservient. I am his equal. I may end up a stay at home mother but I would be his partner, his equal partner. Peter always reassured me this was the case, although I still found it odd that he would defend the way his parents' did things.

His parents and I have never completely seen eye to eye because there have been times I've spoken out against the things said in their household when I cannot stand the emotional abuse one more second. They always knew I was strong-willed. Peter's mom would joke about "the teenager I used to be" often, as if she knew anything about my teenage years. We may have grown up attending the same church but Peter's mom has no idea what I endured in high school---just that I was rebellious.

Because of our not-so-wonderful relationship {and that fact that they have an incredible relationship with two of Peter's brother's wives...awesome}, it was weird trying to figure out where we stood after Peter left me. I knew I wasn't going to cultivate a relationship with them any longer but they are still the grandparents of our children and I have our children the majority of the time.

A week after we separated, Peter took our daughter to visit his family, who live an hour away from us, for the weekend. Upon their return, I received a call from the one sister-in-law I get along with telling me that my mother-in-law had been talking about how horrible it was that I kicked Peter out because he wasn't attending church. I mean, what Christ-like wife would do such a thing?! I sighed and grunted as I tried to figure out what my next move would be.

At the time, I was so incredibly worried about Peter. I was still in love. I wanted him to come home. I wanted this mess to work out in the end. In my mind, he would tell his family what he wanted but his parents needed to know the truth because he would be needing their support. So I wrote them a letter.

And tonight as I was moving my bed from one wall to the other, I found the letter on the floor. I never did send it because I could never find the right wording. But here was the first draft:

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Pan,
I've been wanting to sit down and write this letter since the day Peter moved out. I need you guys to know certain events, not because I need your support but because I know your son needs you.
Peter and I had a conversation after Labor Day weekend where he eluded that he told his family our separation was mutual. You need to know that isn't true. Four weeks ago, I was sitting at home on a Saturday with our kids while Peter was at work. Things had seemed to be remarkably better in our marriage the past couple of months and I remember thinking how blessed I was. In the afternoon, I received a warning from the Holy Ghost that I needed to check on Peter at work. I put the kids in the car and we drove to his work and his car wasn't there. I called him and he said he couldn't talk because he was working. I know angels were with me because I was not my normal, feisty self. I calmy confronted him about his lie and he admitted that he was hanging out with friends. He proceeded to tell me that he wasn't happy in our marriage and that he wanted a divorce. I was completely blindsided. I asked him to meet me at home and I dropped our kids off with my sister.
We talked for a while at home and Peter decided he wanted a separation. He told me he no longer loves me or cares about me. I told him to take a month to make his decision, even though his mind seemed to be made up already. He told me marriage shouldn't be this hard and that he didn't want to keep working at it.
When he left, I was not emotionally stable enough to pick up the kids and so I went to the temple to find peace.
Over the last four weeks, I have found that peace. Everyone seems confused as to how I'm doing so well but I know it is because I've never felt closer to the Spirit. That isn't to say I'm happy about any of this or that every day is great. I still have hard days and I've told Peter numerous times that I'm willing to work on our marriage. I understand the covenants I made six and a half years ago and I'm willing to keep them but there isn't anything I can do if Peter does not want to be married to me.
It has been a hard year since Peter decided to stop going to church. I have seen so many changes in him in that year that have made me worry about him. He has admitted that I didn't catch him the first time he lied about being at work. He is very closed off and I can see that he is unhappy. That is why I'm writing you this letter. I don't want anyone to be upset with him for leaving me. He needs you guys now more than ever before. He needs reminders that you love him and that God loves him. He needs support. He also needs help regaining the testimony he had when we got married. He would never tell you this but he has had a hard time watching all of the help you guys give to his brothers and sister. Often times he has told me he doesn't feel as important as his siblings to you guys. I'm praying that you'll be able to show him the love he wouldn't accept from me. I will always care about him and I pray he finds the happiness he is searching for.
Please keep this information between us. I don't mind that he is telling people it was a mutual decision or that it was my decision. I know he is saying that because he is afraid of being abandoned by his family. I know you love him and want what's best for him. Peter and I have discussed not talking badly about each other so that our kids can someday heal from all of this. I pray everyone in both families can do the same. Thank you.
-Wendy-

I'll never send that letter. I don't feel as strongly as I did back then to protect him. I've been open about this being his decision. I've learned that in order for me to heal, I needed to own my side of the story and that means not allowing him to lie about what happened.

They have since learned that he left me, although I don't think they'll ever fully believe it. But that's ok. All I can do is tell my story and hope they give their son the love that he needs. Aside from that, I can do nothing for him.

This divorce has been a learning curve for all of us. I have seen firsthand how insensitive people can be---including and mostly limited to Peter's mom. I've been hurt by her multiple times throughout this mess but every time, I've stood back up and confronted her about her behavior.

I haven't had contact with his family in months. Of course, just this week my mom received a message from his mom for my dad to call Peter's dad. Uhh...my dad did not call him. I wish I could figure out what that conversation would've been about but I probably never will and that's ok.

I hope Peter's family continues to rally around him, more than they've ever done before. I hope they show him the love he deserves as an equal member of their family. I often pray for that because Peter deserves what the rest of his siblings have---and I've never understood why he wasn't privileged to receive it.

I Choose NOT to Give Up

I stare at that quote a lot. I question it a lot. Because I often do feel like I give up on myself. When I listen to the lies of my eating disorder, isn't that giving up? It sure does feel like it.

The day Peter told me about his pornography addiction felt like a normal day. I didn't ever cry. I didn't really freak out. In fact, other than texting a few close friends to tell them about it, I did nothing. But the next day, I started getting chest pains every few hours. I'd be driving and I wouldn't even realize I was thinking about his addiction but all of a sudden, I'd feel short of breath and my chest would hurt. I was having small anxiety attacks multiple times a day but I brushed it off because, well, I do that!

A few days after that started, I began to convince myself that I am a hard person to love. I started pulling away from my faithful friends who have been there from day one and I started overly obsessing over my new friendships from The Togetherness Project. I told myself that only the Togetherness people could love this "new me" because they had all been where I was and on days when my new friends weren't available, I sunk really far into myself and was even more convinced that people have a hard time loving me. I didn't realize it consciously at first but I was pulling away from my two best friends and slowly shutting them out of my life.

I didn't realize how bad it had gotten until last week, when a third friend mentioned that my friends were feeling abandoned and hurt by me. I had done the very thing I was so afraid of people doing to me. My immediate reaction was panic and guilt. How could I have done this? I am a horrible friend. I was afraid of contacting them and in most situations, I would've just given up because I don't like any type of confrontation. I stewed over it for a day before realizing that the person in my head telling me I was a burden to my friends is a liar. I was choosing to listen to Satan and he wanted me to abandon the supportive people in my life.

So I broke free. I apologized. I cried. I did things that are hard for me to do because my friends are worth it.
My friends are worth it.
My friends were the shoulders I cried on the night Peter left me. My friends were the people who showed up when I was crying over how much I had started hating myself. My friends were the first people (besides a therapist) that I told about my eating disorder starting to consume me once again. My friends have taken my children countless times and cleaned my house and had me over for dinner and let me hang out when I was feeling lonely on weekends without my kids. My friends have been there through all of this. They never abandoned me.

Satan wanted me to worry about them abandoning me and so I started to abandon them slowly to detach from the pain I thought would be coming in the future.

Although I was feeling panic and guilt about this last week, my heart feels lighter today as I think about the apologetic conversations I have had with my friends over the weekend. I treated them poorly and they allowed me to come back. I made the wrong choices and they gave me the opportunity to start making it right.

My friends mean everything to me. My faithful friends and my new friends are some of the biggest blessings in my life and I am so grateful that I am surrounded by all of them. But I owe so much of my blessed experience to my two very best friends. I am so glad they love me. I am so glad they want to help me. Today, I feel like the luckiest girl in the world to be friends with my friends.

I've learned from this experience that I am not going to give up on myself. If other people stick with me through some really stupid decisions, I feel like I can stick with myself too. This journey has been so hard and it will continue to be hard but I am not going to give up. Because "if it's worth doing, it's worth doing poorly."

Disclosure

I'm gonna go ahead and laugh about all of the posts before this one, especially posts talking about betrayal trauma.
TRAUMA.
Because that was nothing like this. That didn't make my chest tighten and make me feel like I legitimately could be having a heart attack. I am serious. If I hadn't heard what I had just heard and know what I know about anxiety attacks, I would call 911 for a possible heart attack.

Today is what will now be considered Disclosure Day for so many shitty reasons.

I am a part of a women's group who call themselves WoPA's (Wives of Pornography Addicts). I was added because the betrayal trauma I had experienced from my husband's other addictions and abandonment made me "fit in" to their community. I've been a part of that group for maybe 6 weeks now.

Tonight I learned that I am actually a WoPA. My ex-husband's addictions are not just alcohol and drugs, they involve pornography and they have for a long time. A long time. Like most of our marriage.

I had suspected it for a long time but I never knew the truth and I didn't know how I'd find out anyway.

And when he told me, I told him I had suspected it and he started to BLAME me and tell me I should've confronted him and tried to help him if I had suspected it. Umm, gaslighting much? As if feeling like I wasn't a good enough sex partner wasn't enough hurt, apparently I should've figured out a way to HELP him when he was so busy lying about everything damn thing in his life.

And now that we are divorced, I didn't think the truth would make a difference. I didn't expect it to hurt this much. I didn't expect to feel gross and unworthy and worthless.

I WAS ALREADY DEALING WITH FEELINGS OF WORTHLESSNESS!

I can't seem to process this right now. I'm so thankful I'm already a part of support groups and have so many loving people in my life---I just wish I didn't feel like this.

Along with alcohol and drugs, my husband chose pornography over me. I should have known. I should have asked. I should have done something. Anything! But I had no way of knowing. I had no idea what to ask about. I had no idea what to do.

Seven years of my life are seven years that make me feel STUPID tonight.

I need a bath and a hug. And since I'm all alone in this damn house, I guess a bubble bath will have to suffice. I'll get the hug later.

Deceiving is Lying

November 18th, 2013: The day I filed for divorce.

That night, it was eating at me that I had no real definition for why this was happening. Were there really just a bunch of little lies? Or were things worse than they seemed?

I was going through a bunch of Peter's and my stuff in our closet because I was angry and wanted some evidence---evidence of what? I didn't know.

I went out to the garage to throw away a bag of aluminum cans Peter had been saving to turn in for cash. I dumped them into the recycle bin and my eye caught what looked like a beer bottle. I began to rummage through the trash I had just thrown away and I found cans upon cans of alcoholic beverages, all hidden in my own damn garage!

I was furious. Mr. I-Would-Never-Drink was drinking in my garage, while I was home, with my children close by.

For some of you, that doesn't seem like a big deal. Let me explain my tangent just a teensy bit for you. I have a strong testimony of the Word of Wisdom. I don't believe in consuming alcohol, coffee, certain types of tea, among many other things. If you'd like to learn more, click on the link above.

Furthermore, the biggest problem was the LIE. Peter Pan had promised when he left our church that his standards hadn't changed. For a year, he lied. For a year, he promised he wasn't drinking and that his irrational escapades were due to lack of sleep or problems at work. You know that emotional abuse and manipulation I'd been experiencing? There was NO WAY it was due to anything other than sleep or work problems...he promised lied to me about that.

The truth is, these were signs of an addiction. You can call it an alcohol addiction or you can call it an addiction to lying. But the manipulation made me feel like I was wrong for not trusting him. Anytime a problem would arise, he would turn it into my fault and most of the time, I ended up believing him and second guessing myself. The anxiety I had been experiencing didn't make sense until after D-day because I had nothing to base it off of, other than "bad feelings". I think deep down, my intuition was gearing me up for D-day. I think I knew things were so much worse than I had proof of. Anxiety is a funny thing. Well, actually, it isn't funny at all. But anxiety was my inner feelings trying so hard to yell at me and tell me things were WRONG and had been wrong for a long time---a lot longer than I would've guessed.

That night, I dug deeper and found more. I found things from 2010 (three years into our marriage...you know, when things were "good") of him drinking and lying to me. I found a letter from a few months before he left, during the months I thought were good in our marriage, where he told a friend he wasn't happy and wanted to leave.

What I wondered is why the HELL he didn't just come clean?

Why lie? What was in it for him? Did he really think he could live his entire married life that way without me ever finding out?

December 14th, 2013, I wrote this in my blog:
I have a love/hate relationship with old blog posts. I'm grateful that I can be reminded of the ups and downs but it angers me to read and remember those times where I was really trying. A year ago, we were in marriage counseling. What in the hell happened? I read an old blog post about "Peter's" birthday and how he'd been working hard on a Saturday and the emotions surfaced. Was he really at work that Saturday? How many other days did I think he'd been working when he wasn't? Why? Why does he have to be a liar?!! Why did I marry a liar? I'm angry at him tonight but I blame both of us. It was my decision to marry him but the lying? The heartache? The emotional abuse? That was all him. I hate him tonight.

The addictive lying has made it so I don't trust very much. The addictive lying has made it so I question everyone, including myself. The past seven years have taught me so much---some of it good, some of it crap. You know those rose-colored glasses that most people have when they're getting married or watching love stories? Yeah, those don't exist in my world.

Love requires a lot of trust and that is scary. Worth it but scary.

My heart is healing from the "learning experiences" I've had. And in the mean time, if there is one thing I have learned, it's that deceiving is lying---it's the same damn thing.

D-Day 2013

I've heard it referred to as D-day many times since my own personal D-day. This can mean a myriad of things: disclosure day, discovery day, etc. To me, it stands for Damn Day.

My D-day was August 24th, 2013. I've already told you the story.

The days after D-day are foggy. I spent most of the time crying and trying to figure out how in the hell I was going to be single again---this time with two kids in tow.

Xanax was my friend a few of those nights because I couldn't stop my mind from thinking of the horrible situation I was in. I was alone. I had no one. No one understood.

I was being given advice left and right. Don't rush into a divorce. Give him boundaries. Give him deadlines. Give him space. Tell him how much you love him. Beg for him to come back. Kick him to the curb. It was all so confusing.

The night Peter Pan moved out, he was unreachable. I had family members calling me to see if I'd heard from him for the next 3 days but I couldn't get a hold of him either. No one knew where he was staying or what he was doing.

During this time, I cried all of the tears I possibly could. I layed around the house and tried to be a mom as best I could but I was scared. I had a hard time being around people because I wanted nothing more than to just stop crying and seeing people made me cry harder.

I've always been fearful of showing emotions in front of other people. If anything, the past 8 months have made this worse.

Three days after my D-day, I had no tears left. My brain still couldn't fathom how I was going to continue living so I made 3 simple goals for the day. Cook dinner, do a load of laundry, and do an act of service for one person. I knew if I could try and focus on helping someone else that my problems would seem less daunting.

I finished all of my goals that day. All I could muster for an act of service was baking cookies for a neighbor but it was good enough for that day.

My first counseling session post-separation was 5 days after D-day. By this time, my emotions were shut off and I sat and talked very non-chalantly about what a jackass Peter was. I talked about my plans to give him 30 days to himself before having a serious discussion with him. I talked about the child support he had agreed to pay, you know, to get me on my feet again before I'd have to get a job---his words, not mine.

I had just started full time school and I had no intentions of getting a job. Our daughter was struggling with the separation and I have no intentions of getting a job. I was already working two side jobs from home and I have no intentions of getting another job. Did I mention how much I DON'T plan on getting a job?
But Peter like to remind me that I would need one when all of this was over---as if his mind about the divorce was already made up.

On and off, we would fight. On and off, we would get along. Separation was difficult.

Days after Peter had left us, I had been praying and had received an answer that this was going to end in a divorce but I fought that answer and had no intentions of telling him or pushing him to make the decision right away.
His 30 days were up but I didn't remind him. I was so scared of the outcome.
I prayed daily. We went camping twice and I went out into the middle of the woods by myself to pray and try and find peace.
Peace was what I was searching for because I had already been prepared for the outcome---I just wanted peace so when the outcome was decided, it would be ok.

On November 17th, 2013, as I was picking my kids up from a late night at their dad's, I decided to ask him about his decision. Note that we are now way past the 30 day mark I had originally given him. I wish I could give you the exact conversation but here it is the best I could remember it.
Wendy: So have you made any decisions yet?
Peter: No.
Wendy: Are you planning on figuring it out soon?
Peter: I don't know.
Wendy: Do you want to move home?
Peter: No.
Wendy: Do you want to work on our marriage?
Peter: No.
Wendy: So that pretty much leaves one option. Are you going to file for divorce?
Peter: No, you can do it.

If you're wondering, the next day I filed for divorce. That conversation was the answer I needed. He didn't understand why it wasn't ok to keep living with no responsibility, he had started holding child support over my head and hadn't paid me in a month, and it was time.

Yes, I am the one that filed for divorce. According to that statement, you might think I wanted to get a divorce.
I didn't.
What I wanted was my husband to realize how much he was hurting his family and soften his heart.
I was willing to try harder and he wasn't and because of this, we were divorced on February 20th, 2014.

I claim no perfection in this matter. I don't write this to show you how bad he is and how good I am. I write this to show you that it takes two willing people to keep a marriage going. You can push and push and try as hard as you want to succeed but without your partner doing the same, it just won't work out. And in the end, you will be exhausted.

I pray for those of you in Limbo right now. I pray that you find the answers you need and that you don't give up too much of yourself fighting for something only you are fighting for. I also pray that if you're the one not willing to fight, that you make your decision with a clear mind and do what feels best for you.

There is no one right answer.

We all live with the choices we make so make sure you are making choices you can live with.

You are not bad, no matter what your final decision is.

Our Flawed Love Story: Part 6

To start from the beginning, click here.

August 24th, 2013 seemed like a normal Saturday. Peter Pan headed to work in the morning and said he would work a half day and then we could do something as a family. The kids and I spent the morning cleaning and playing and having a good time together.

Lunchtime passed and there was no word from Peter so I tried calling him. He didn't answer but immediately texted me back, "What's up?"

I had no reason to think anything of this. He was supposed to be at work and I could've assumed he couldn't pick up the phone at the moment. But I heard a distinct voice in that moment that said, "Go to his work."

I didn't text Peter back. Instead, I packed our children in the car and drove the 15 minutes it took to get to his office building. They questioned where we were driving but I didn't want them to know so I told them we would find a place to get a treat.

I pulled into the parking lot and not even one car was in sight. My heart sunk. Where was he? The questions started circulating of an affair or some other huge secret he was hiding from me.

I called his cell phone. He didn't answer. I called a second time. He didn't answer. When I called the third time, he picked up and angrily said, "What? I'm at work and I can't talk right now!"

It wasn't in my nature to stay calm but I did. I explained to him that I knew he wasn't at work and I just wanted to know where he was and why he was lying.

In the next 15 minutes, I heard a lot of things that I still struggle with. I heard complaints of unhappiness in our marriage. I was told I wasn't good enough for him because I didn't cook or clean well enough. I was told I was ignoring him and spending all of my time with the children.

He claimed to just be at his friend's house because "he needed a break from our family". He claimed he had been doing this most Saturdays for the last few months. He claimed he wanted a separation and when I asked him to come home, he refused.

I drove straight to my sister's house because I didn't know what else to do. She kept my kids and told me I needed to meet Peter at home to talk face to face.

I called him and he finally agreed to come home.

I didn't know what I would say or what I would do when I saw him. I paced back and forth until he drove up.

Talking didn't really help. He had already decided he wanted to separate so the only thing we did was figure out the logistics of this. He decided he would pack up and be gone by the time I came home with the kids so I left.

I felt like my heart had just shattered into a million pieces.

I didn't feel stable enough to see my kids so I drove to my best friend's house and melted on her shoulder. When I calmed down a bit, I noticed she was dressed up and I asked her if I was ruining date night. She said they were on their way to the temple and I was coming with them. I didn't even try to say no because I knew the temple was the only place I wanted to be right then.

The temple was an interesting experience that night. The first person I saw when we walked in was Peter's grandpa. Then, his aunt and uncle ended up being in my same temple session. It was an amazing Spiritual experience for me and I knew that I was supposed to be there that night.

My best friend's husband gave me a blessing that night before I headed over to my sister's to cry myself to sleep on her couch.

Fear was my companion that night.