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. 

He Still Loves Me

Peter told me he still loved me on Sunday.

It was one of those moments where that tween phrase “I can’t even!” seems to fit perfectly.

He said it was hard to be around me because often times, he still has strong feelings for me. And I just sat there and wondered what that even means to me.

Because it DOESN’T mean I want to date him or marry him.

And it DOESN’T mean things are fixed.

He also said that his feelings for me are often the reason he doesn’t treat me well “because it’s so hard and confusing to be around me so he can’t control his feelings.”

Umm…

I asked him how that was MY fault---that he gets to treat me like shit because he likes me? How does that even make sense?

My mind went to the stories of little girls getting their hair pulled by the boy who had a crush on them---stories that SCREAM rape culture.

Stories of inequality for women---because if he’s mean to you, that means pay attention to him because he likes you.

Barf.

So much barf.

I’m still trying to process these feelings---and honestly, I don’t even know what it means to process these feelings. I don’t know what that looks like or feels like. I don’t know how to do it.

I’m just so frustrated. With myself. With Peter. With this entire situation of divorce and everything that has tail-spun out of control since then.

I don’t want to go back to “back then” but I’m angry about where we are right now also.

I think summer is just hitting me really hard. It’s easier to be a working mom when my kids are in school because I don’t feel like I’m missing out on as many things with them.

I hate the stress of getting babysitters and my kids complaining that we aren’t doing much this summer because mom has to work.

I remember the summers when I stayed home, when we would do swim team and water parks and vacations and the Harkins summer movie passes.

We no longer do those things---because mom works.

And I resent Peter for that. Because if he loved me, WHY THE HELL are we in this situation right now?!

Back then, I told him I would fight for him and he didn’t believe me.

And now this is our life.

This is our life because of addiction and lies and secrecy. 

Forgiveness is Freeing

The beauty of life is that although really hard things happen, we can move on.

We can pick up those broken pieces and fight like hell for what is important to us.

Lately, I've been thinking about forgiveness and how powerful it is---or more-so how freeing it is.

Two years and one month ago, I was in a marriage that I had fought for, living each day and believing that I would be married forever---and then my husband came home and told me he no longer loved me.
Two years ago, I was told by some of my family members that I needed to fight harder to keep my marriage together, even after Peter had left me.
Twenty-two months ago, I was told on two separate occasions that I should "lose weight to show him what he's missing out on".
Sixteen months ago, I found out that my ex-husband had hidden a pornography addiction from me our entire marriage.
A year ago, a family member told me they didn't understand why I felt the need to broadcast my pain all over the internet and that it could ruin my family.
Six months ago, I lost a friendship I thought would last forever.
Three months ago, there was a stream of hateful comments on my blog that stabbed at my character.
A month ago, my Bishop told me that all I needed to do was pray and read my scriptures to find my faith in the LDS church again.
Three weeks ago, I tried to open up to my mom about leaving the church and the first thing out of her mouth was, "Aren't you worried about ruining your children?"

It's been a painful few years---and not all of the pain is listed above.
But the reason I brought that pain up is not to relive it---I've done that enough in the past two years.

The reason I bring those painful memories up is to remind myself that I am a different person, a better person, because of each and every one of those comments and trials. I am stronger and I have forgiven.

This past month, it started to hit me just how much I have moved on. I woke up one day and realized that I hadn't thought about my pain in over a day---and then sometimes it'd go two days or three days or a week.

And the dreams have stopped. That might sound odd but for me, that is an indicator of my healing. For at least a year after Peter left, I had nightmares almost every night about him. Once in a while, I'd have a good dream with him in it but for the most part, my dreams brought out so much of the pain I was feeling and wasn't able to articulate.

I survived the anger phase---I survived so much that I thought I wasn't capable of surviving.
I can look back to six months ago as I sat in my therapist's office and sobbed for the first time in front of her (after seeing her for 2.5 years) and how much pain I was trying to unload. I can look back at that moment and marvel that I am here---that I am not only breathing but smiling and focusing on so much of the good in life.

God has been working miracles within me. I have faith that the journey I am on is exactly where He wants me to be.
I have faith that whatever I decide will only bring my children and I closer to God.

Forgiveness, for me, starts when I am able to see the perspective of the other side and feel empathy for the other person's pain.
I first felt this a week after Peter told me about his pornography addiction. I remember him sobbing on the phone and apologizing over and over again. I wasn't yet able to forgive him in that moment but it was my first glimpse of empathy for him. I realized how scared he had been for years leading up to the day he left.
And God allowed it to happen many more times in the past two years, from realizing my family was trying to grasp the reality of divorce just as much as I was to realizing that the hateful comments I've read about myself came from a place of love and protection for another person in their lives.

We can choose what we want to see. 
We can choose to see the hate and label it as such or we can try and look through it to see the fear or the protection behind the choices people are making.

Today I choose to look beyond and find empathy for everyone around me.

We are all fighting battles. We are all trying to do what we believe is right.

Forgiveness is freeing and I am choosing to be free. 

Neverland

I used to feel like Peter Pan was our story because of my husband's choice to leave his family and never grow up.

But maybe it isn't.

Because today all I want to do is fly away to Neverland and never return.
I feel like I'm good at making other people happy. I try to serve others. I do my best to be a good mom.

But what about me? When do I stop feeling so alone?

Sometimes I feel like Neverland would be an easier road than the one I'm currently on. If I stopped going to church and I stopped going to school and I moved away from all of the people who have brought immense pain into my life---if I did all of that, would life be better?

If I stopped eating and I ran miles every day and became a better looking me, would life be better?

If I skipped back in time and made different choices, would life be better?

Because tonight I'm obsessing over "back then" again. But so many different "back then"'s. There are way too many.

I wish I wouldn't have married Peter. I should've just gone to college and stayed single longer like most normal human beings.
I wish I wouldn't have been so stupid in regards to Peter's addiction. If I could've caught him or confronted him, maybe we would be married and he would be in recovery and we would have an amazing life together.
I wish I wouldn't have found out about Peter's porn addiction after our marriage ended. If I could've just stayed in denial and thought he was just an idiot who left because his wife didn't cook/clean enough, maybe I wouldn't feel so traumatized about pornography and how effing stupid and life-ruining it is.
I wish I could go back. If I rewound some of these events, MANY of the hurtful events that have happened these past few years would be non-existent.

And tonight ALL I want them to be is non-existent.

I hate men tonight. All of them. Ok, maybe not ALL of them but most of them. I feel so much anxiety when I think about relationships. I hate them. I hate relationships tonight. I want to run away and ugly-cry and punch things until my knuckles bleed and I'm too worn out to keep going.


I believe Neverland is whatever we want it to be. So for me, Neverland is a place where pain does not exist, where people are incapable of telling lies, where bad memories are erased forever.
I want to fly away to Neverland and forget all of the hurt feelings.

I want the fear to go away.

It's hard, living life and being naturally optimistic when you're going through things that make you want to scream and plead insanity. I feel like my deepest, darkest fear is life---fear of whatever is coming next. Because there is always something. It never seems to take too long before the next huge-ass trial is punching me in the face.

Right now, I'm coming out of one of those cycles and it isn't good. It isn't pretty. Because instead of being thankful that life seems to be getting better and maybe, just maybe, I'm getting stronger again, I am just fearing the next time life will send me a debilitating trial.

Because my experiences have taught me that it will happen and I HATE that I am not able to just enjoy the peace for a little while. Instead I'm just fearing the next thing.

I am so sick of "overcoming" shit.

Tonight I want to run away to Neverland, where none of my fears exist.

Because I am Not a Prostitute

I am not going to sit here and tell you that it is always going to be ok.

 

Because some days will be really shitty.

 

I don't care who you are or what your life is like, you will have bad days.

 

So it isn't necessarily a matter of making every day amazing---it seems like the heart of the matter is making sure we are strong enough to handle the days where we are punched in the stomach over and over.

 

Sometimes our safe places are compromised.

We build them. They seem like they're strong. And then someone finds a way to destroy a piece.

 

We have to learn to rebuild them over and over again.

Because we are going to have to.

 

I was so happy yesterday.

My safe place was life yesterday.

I had counseling and had almost nothing to talk about---which is good because I truly wasn't hiding anything. I wasn't being afraid. I was just doing good!

I felt like life had hit a stand still of happiness.

Just give me a few days, please?

 

But my life just doesn't seem to work that way.

 

I hit a bump in the road.

 

 

Last night, Peter accused me of being a prostitute. And I'm not joking even a little bit. Like not even the teensiest, tiniest bit. He was acting like an ass and kept sending me weird texts about photography and when I'd ask what he meant, he would reply, "You know what I'm talking about...", as if I'm the world's greatest ass hole reader.

 

Unfortunatly, I am not.

 

And after a bit of asking and a while of ignoring his idiocy, he told me a friend had showed him pictures of me from a Craigslist ad.

 

What. The. Fucking. Hell.

 

I'll tell you what my first reaction was---I wasn't worried at all. Because even as a rebellious teenager, I have never in my life taken and/or released inappropriate pictures of myself on the internet. Ever. But my next reaction was anger and hurt all mixed together.

 

I told him I would not be playing his mind games and that if he would like to email me proof, he could do so and then we could discuss it further---or not---because really, either way, it's none of his business.

 

With some coaxing and then a little more ignoring, Peter called me on the phone to apologize for upsetting me---because apparently, that was never his intention. Who knew!?!

 I told him without him sending me proof, our conversation would be over so as I sat on the phone with him, he sent an email with a picture attachment.

 

A picture attachment that consisted of a busty woman's cleavage---and her head cut out of the picture.

 

And I couldn't help but bust out laughing on the phone.

Is he really this much of an idiot?

 

Well, my laughter offended him---because remember, he is just looking out for me. He claims there were multiple other photos that were more inappropriate and showed sides of this woman's face and that it looked like me.

I asked how "his friend" would even be able to recognize me. I also pointed out that his friend {and he} needs therapy. Like yesterday.

He claims he matched my freckles to the freckles in the picture because, remember, "no clear-face pictures were involved in the making of this soul-selling ad"

 

And all I could think to say was, "Peter, it really offends me that you would even consider that being something I would do."

 

And he replied, "We haven't been together for a year. I don't know what you are doing with your life."

 

And I felt waves of trauma hit me because right then and there, I remembered how little Peter knows me. I remembered how little he gave to me in the seven years we were married. He doesn't know the real Wendy because he could never see her for who she is.

 

She isn't a prostitute. I can assure you of that.

 

 

I'm not better. In fact, most of today I have been feeling anxious and jittery and dirty---which is confusing because those pictures weren't even me. But I feel dirty even thinking someone was looking at pictures BELIEVING it was me.
I cannot imagine Peter would spread rumors but the worst part is, Peter has done a lot of things I never would've imagined he would do.

Never in my life would I have thought I would be accused of being a prostitute. That just wasn't even on my radar.

So it's thrown me for a loop which is just so effing ironic because I was GOOD in counseling yesterday. And now I want to go back today but because I've been doing good and I'm trying to save money and I'm trying to be brave, I go to counseling every two weeks now.

Awesome, Peter. Thank you for that. youareaneffingasshole

Thank you for reminding me why I have to fight the urge to hate you. Thank you for reminding me why my worth has nothing to do with your broken brain. Thank you for reminding me that YOU are the one with more problems than I can even count on this page.

And to think, I was planning on using my Friday night to write about my eating disorder. I was planning on getting on here and telling you how, for the first time in...ever..., I am struggling to eat every day. Where the hell is my bulimia? At least that was familiar.

This isn't.

None of these feelings are familiar today.

I'll get to that post someday. I'll write it out and process it and learn things from it.

Today my writing taught me something I hope to never forget---I cannot rely on the actions of other people to determine my life. I am fighting against the urge to hate Peter. I am fighting against the urge to swear at him and post nasty things about him all over the internet. I am fighting the urge to lay in bed all night and cry. I am not a hater. And I am not going to become something that I'm not just because someone hurt my heart.

I am going to spend tonight with friends and I am not going to let my fears override my fun.

Not this time.

You can't take that away from me, Peter.

Today I am Wendy

My high's have been higher than I've felt in a year.
My lows are crazy low in comparison.

My heart is angry a lot when I'm alone. Put me in a group of people and I'll perk up. Put me in front of the cyber world of friendship and I'll perk up. Put me in my classrooms at school or at my work desk and it doesn't compare to the thoughts going on in my head.

Am I just an effing crazy person?

Because as I sit and fight for recovery to win again, I truly believe that I love myself. Am I just stupid? I love who I am on the inside. I still don't like who I am on the outside. I am fat. I am truly, by definition, overweight. Am I obese? No. But I'm not skinny.

A lot of my choices at home are stupid. A lot of them directly conflict with my Christian beliefs. Am I just so weak that I can't get my shit together when I'm not being watched?

I'm eventually going to get a tattoo. I know...right?! I have it drawn up. It's just going to happen. But when I found out about Peter's tattoo that he lied about, I flipped out. We were up until 2am fighting that night. So am I just a hypocrite?

A lot of times, I don't feel like I'm genuine because how the hell can I be this awesome serving Christian and in my mind, the most constant phrase that plays is, "Who fucking cares?"? It doesn't make sense.
Like at all.

How can I be angry at Peter for looking at pornography when sometimes I consider just sleeping around because I like sex and I want to feel connection---even fake connection? I hate that I like sex. I know that's ironic. Sex is good. It is natural. It is fun. But I hate liking it because I hate missing it. I hate struggling with the loss of connection. I don't want to struggle. I don't want the struggle to get harder the longer I go unmarried. I thought it was supposed to get easier.

I don't know if there is a bigger contradiction in my life than the fact that I teach my children gospel principles and yet, I struggle to pray. I have a strong testimony and yet, I struggle to go to church. I do not doubt that every word in the scriptures are true and yet, I don't open them up for answers.

I know my Heavenly Father loves me but I don't get why He can't just answer the prayers that I do pray. I don't understand all of this. I wish it weren't so hard.
I can give you every "correct" answer of why I've been given the specific trials in my life. I can point out the blessings from each and every one of them. But that doesn't mean I want them to continue just so I can grow more and get more blessings from hard trials.

I'm done.

I'm done being single and not knowing if there will ever be someone to love me on this earth. Everyone says he's out there. I'm supposed to trust that I'm worthy of a man's love. But have I had a single second date since my divorce? No. Have I kissed anyone? No. Have I had any type of relationship where the guy wanted to be with me more and more? No.

I can trust facts. Facts are facts. They don't need arguing. They just are. So everyone in the world can tell me I'm going to be loved by a man but how am I supposed to trust that? Dream Boy didn't have feelings for me. And I thought I was dealing with that ok but it really freaking hurts. Not because he rejected me. It's ok that he was honest. I kinda like him even more for being honest with me /damnit/. It isn't the simple form of rejection that hurts today. It is the fact that Dream Boy having any inkling of interest would've shown me that love---someday, today, a hundred years from now---is possible. Because I just don't have enough hope that it is. There's a little hope---but each day that passes, a piece of it dies.

I just don't know what I'm supposed to do. Am I supposed to just be perfect and not make any decisions against my religion because that would just make me a liar and put me on the highway to hell? Am I supposed to recognize that I am imperfect and give myself a break? What the hell is my next step? Because the one I choose will probably so freaking contradicting that I am going to go crazy.

Like literal crazy.

There is so much good. I shouldn't be struggling because I am able to recognize the good. I feel like such an ungrateful bitch for NOT acknowledging gratitude in my every day thoughts and actions and feelings.

Today I am Wendy. I am the part of me who is struggling with faith and security and connection. I am the part of me that still gets angry and ignore the empathy I've felt toward Peter's decisions. I am the part of me that is stupid and irrational and unsettled.

My Burden

I had a dream last night and in my dream, I loved him. I felt the way I used to feel about him.

In my dream, we told our families we were thinking of getting back together. Most of them were happy, although some weren't.

I sent Peter a text last week that said, "I'd love to have another conversation with you in the future when it's appropriate." I sent it out of the blue. When I left the conversation last week regarding another relationship with Peter, it seemed pretty final. In my head, it was final. The words I said to him were pretty final.

But I couldn't stop thinking about it all week.

All damn week.

How would it even work? Would I be able to love him again? How would I learn to trust him?

That "meeting" took place two nights ago. I allowed Peter in my home after the kids were in bed as long as he promised to respect my boundaries and sit across the room and talk cordially.

Throughout the conversation, Peter told me a lot of things that hurt my heart but one in particular I'm still struggling with to this day.

You see, I have suppressed a lot of memories in my life. I'm really, really good at suppressing memories.

I had forgotten about a few incidents in the second year of our marriage when I viewed pornography with Peter. I don't want that to be a part of my life. I really hate that I have that truth to tell you. But the thing is, it's true and I'm owning up to that.

When Peter told me his addiction got bad after we viewed some "informational pornographic dvd's" together, I could hardly catch my breathe. The room seemed to be spinning. I couldn't focus on the other things he was saying.

I had forgotten those horrible times. I had forgotten the immature choices I made when I didn't know any better.

I had no idea about Peter's previous pornography problems. I had no idea how addicting pornography could be for him. I would never have agreed to something like that had I known what it could do to his brain.

Although I am stuck on blaming myself---in reality, I had no idea!!! In a world where I don't doubt myself, I know that my choices don't make me responsible for Peter's choices.

The problem is that I do doubt myself.

The problem is that I now remember those memories so vividly that I want to scream.

So it didn't matter that Peter told me about his testimony of God and how he hasn't looked at pornography in 5 months and how he is trying really hard to recover and how he loves me and wants us to be a forever family.

I was long gone before he said any of those things.

My brain had already detached as much as possible so I wouldn't feel so much of the pain.

How could I have not known that even viewing pornography (informational or ANYTHING) with my husband wasn't safe? How could I have NOT known that it would stay in his mind and cause him to crave it more and more?

I feel like I now have blame in my failed marriage---a large portion of the blame. But from an outside point of view, that doesnt make sense.

So why is my heart telling me it's true?

He Wants Me

A year ago, I wanted him. I wanted him to be the Peter I had married. I wanted him to come home and be the husband he promised me he would be.

And now I don't want him. I don't love him. In fact, the thought of being too physically close to him makes me want to vomit. It makes me uncomfortable.

When I think about taking Peter back, it is only something I consider when I'm feeling low and self conscious. It isn't something I actually want. I only consider it when the fear of never being loved consumes me.

In my last post, I spoke about how my daughter overheard Peter talking to his grandma about getting back together with me.
Tonight I spoke to Peter about this problem and how I'm angry that I had to be the "bad guy" again.

And instead of apologizing or even acting awkward about the conversation she repeated to me, Peter said, "Well, is it a possibility?"

No. It isn't a possibility.

I told Peter a thousand things would have to change for me to even consider it and his response was, "I know and I'm willing to work on that." He told me he has been going to counseling for his addiction.

And yay, right?!! I SHOULD BE SCREAMING FROM THE ROOFTOPS, RIGHT?

For years, I prayed for this. For years, I would cry and hope that there was some way I could help Peter find his way back. I wanted him to know he is a child of God. I wanted him to have the drive to provide for our family. I wanted him to be respectful and compassionate toward me. I wanted to be his number one.

But that was then and this is now. And now I can't even think about bringing Peter back into my life.

I think of all the pain he's caused me and I can't do that all over again! I cannot picture a beautiful life with him in it. Because no matter how beautiful it gets, it will contain the ugly defects of the past year.

Peter said he's proud of me because I seem so confident and like I'm moving on. And the thing is, it makes me angry that he wants me because I seem to be doing fine without him. And him "working on his shit for me" isn't a good enough reason. He should want to work on his shit because HE wants to be a better person. If he does it for me or for someone else, it isn't going to last.

I was shaking when I walked away from his car. I told my sisters and they rolled their eyes and gave me the response I needed in that moment (thank the frickin heavens!). I texted Alice and reminded me that Peter wants me back because he realized what he gave up. This isn't something I have to decide yes or no on. He is the one who gave up. This is NOT my problem.

I needed those reminders. Because the second Peter asked me that short-but-not-simple question, I started to get anxiety that if I turned him down, the divorce would be my fault because I wasn't willing to take him back when he got his crap together.

I keep having urges to text Peter and ask him what he will work on, if he's willing to go back to church, and if he would go to counseling with me, BUT I DON'T WANT TO! I don't want to be in counseling with my ex husband. I don't want to find out what things he's willing to do.

I don't want to be in a relationship with him!

And tonight, I feel so scared and worried that I'm making this decision to irrationally. Why? Why am I so scared that this decision is wrong? Why am I even being put in a place where I have to consider any of this?

Wouldn't this be better for our kids? And wouldn't I have the support I want and possibly be able to stay home with my kids again? Aren't those things worth being married to Peter?

The short answer is no. They are not worth my failed marriaged to Peter. They are not worth any more heartache or lies or secrecy.

We will be just fine without him.

I will be just fine without him.

So who wants to send me reminders of that every day so I can actually begin to believe it?

We Are Not Ok

How do you break your child's heart over and over again and ever have time to heal?

I don't get it. I don't know if I ever will.

My oldest child has slumped into a hard stage again, aching for her dad to come back home and having moments of anger that our family isn't what it used to be.

Last night, she cried and told me she will never be ok because our family isn't together. I told her that I know this is hard but that I believe we will be ok someday.

She overheard a conversation between Peter and his grandma that she never should've heard. It wasn't fair for her to hear and have more confusion in her life. When I picked the kids up from his house, the first thing she said was, "Mom, Dad was telling his grandma that 'dad's best friend' really likes you and 'dad's best friend' said dad should try to get back together with you. Is that going to happen?"

And guess who had to be the one to break her heart and tell her no? Guess who was the bad guy again?

This isn't fair. It isn't fair to be the one perceived as evil because your children can't understand everything right now. I'm angry at Peter for allowing her to hear this conversation. I'm angry at Peter for even talking about getting me back. I'm angry at Peter for ever ripping our family apart in the first place.

Peter can't just realize his mistakes and think he is going to be able to win me back. I don't even know why this would be a topic of discussion. Months and months ago, Peter had made a joke about this very thing and I looked him straight in the eyes and said, "You know that will never happen, right?". I wanted to make sure he didn't think it was a possibility...because it isn't.

I'm so frustrated today that I'm divorced and that my ex-husband is a porn addict and that my children have broken hearts and that MY heart is broken. I'm frustrated that the choices Peter made have brought so many of my deepest fears to the surface and that they all seem to be magnified by a thousand. I'm frustrated that I have to leave my children every day to go to work and school and that I can't spend the time with them that I used to.

I'm super frustrated that after not acting on my eating disorder for over a month, I did. And then I did again. And some days I still do. And I'm gaining weight because I'm never able to go to the gym and I eat out a ton. I just don't know what to do because I feel stuck. I feel stuck between bulimia and a happy life, but a life that I don't believe can actually attain happiness because my weight will always be in the forefront of my mind.

My eating disorder brought security and stability and I felt so in control. I felt like I had something I was conquering but what I really had was an addiction that put chains all around me and held onto me for months before I started to fight back.

Today I don't know what to do to be ok again. I am battling between decisions of how to live and how to parent and how to spend money and what to eat and although those choices might be small for most people, they seem so big right now.

Fears and Being Vulnerable

I feel like I utilize this saying in almost every area of my life, mostly because fear is usually right beside me while I do anything and everything.

It's hard to allow fear to be a part of my life without letting it consume me. I try to accept that I have fears but I haven't figured out how to let go of my fears.

This post is hard and vulnerable for me and I'm shaking while I write it because it isn't a post I'd like to discuss. I'm ok with talking about fears---OCD fears, fear of death, fear of the future---but my deepest, biggest fear keeps coming into my mind these past few weeks as I've been spending time with a boy. A boy that I might have a crush on. A boy that might be the first boy I could see myself trusting. A boy that hardly knows I exist. Dating is stupid...

But everytime I think about him or am around him, I feel it.

The fear that I'm not loveable.

The fear that a person could not physically love me.

Because I am not skinny enough or pretty enough and my teeth are crooked and I have a double chin and my stomach is all sorts if ugly and I have stretch marks. I just can't imagine someone picking me when they could pick someone better.

I spend my days with girls prettier than me who have flatter stomachs and better smiles. I try to tell myself that my personality will make up for my lack of physical beauty but it won't. There are pretty girls with great personalities.

And boys like pretty girls.

I keep having this reoccuring dream that isn't actually a dream but more of a daydream. It'll happen sometimes when I'm driving or when I'm laying in bed or even when I'm at work. I'll picture myself being intimate with a man and most times, the daydream ends with him sizing me up and choosing to leave instead. Each time I feel it, the pain in my heart is physical and gut-wrenching. I start to get anxiety. I overanalyze everything I'm doing. And I consider that someday, this could happen. It doesn't matter that it hasn't happened---I still feel like it has. I don't know if my heart could've broken anymore had Peter walked out on me in the middle of sex. Because I just don't know if it's possible to hurt more than my heart has been hurt.

Because intimacy is such a vulnerable activity for me and the ONE person I've ever had sex with left me.

He left me.

And even when he was with me and complaining that we didn't have sex enough or that we should be more adventurous (whatever the hell that means), he was viewing pornography. I wasn't enough. I don't give a damn whether his brain was broken---I still wasn't enough.

And I don't know if I can ever forgive myself for not being enough.

A thousand people can tell me it had nothing to do with me but I'm sorry---it did. Whether it had to do with me not being sexually pleasing or whether it had to do with me not being a trusting enough wife that my husband could talk to me about his addiction, I wasn't enough.

And now I just don't know if I have it in me to do this all over again because the pain of rejection gives me a severe amount anxiety. The pain of rejection is something I fear more than anything else in the world.

My eating disorder feeds lies into my head and tells me I'll never be good enough and guess what? I think she's right. I think that although I can focus on the happiness of motherhood and the great friendships I have, I just won't ever be able to heal from the trauma of being rejected.

Doing this all over again, this time with a ruined body, just seems too much. I look at the guys I'm attracted to and think, they would reject me in a second. I'm not good enough for them.

And what if that's really true? What if I'm not good enough? What if I ask someone on a date and they say no because they aren't attracted to me? What if I never get asked out on a date because of how unattractive I am? What if I am never loved like that again?

That last question pisses me off just thinking about. Because what the hell does "loved like that again" mean when I wasn't loved enough the first time around? Why do I look at my marriage and see so much happiness when I think about the physical intimacy between Peter and myself? It makes me feel stupid and horrible for even having memories like that. Because he was probably looking at me the whole time and wondering why the EFF he was with me when he could go look at skinny porn stars instead. He was probably thinking about other women while he was having sex with me.

My heart hurts from writing this out because I don't want to acknowledge it. I don't want it to be real. I want to be strong Wendy, the girl who fights and is brave and loves herself. But instead I'm codependent Wendy, the girl who fears ever being loved.

In a perfect world, men would look for a wife who had a great personality but especially now with the effects of pornography, I think men want a wife who is gorgeous and as close to perfect as possible.

And I am not that. I don't think I can be that.

So now I have to choose whether I'm going to swear off men forever so I don't have to think about the pain of rejection or whether I'm going to be brave and fight for myself.

I can't think about this any longer tonight. I can't feel this way and feel vulnerable because I feel so freaking unsafe! I don't want to push "publish"...which is exactly why I'm going to push it. Because this is me practicing vulnerability. It's the best I can muster right now so if it doesn't seem like much, sorry.

I Am More Than Just Wendy

I feel so broken and yet stronger than I have in days. I'm hurt by Peter but I also feel so much gratitude for the real person he is. Not the addict---the guy I married seven years ago. Sometimes he is still there.

Sometimes it's hard to compare the two and realize that I put a lot of my heart into loving a man who didn't reciprocate that love back to me. It's painful for me to think about.

I loved a man that preferred porn stars over my real body. I don't get that. I am reality. I am real love. I am real happiness. Pornography is not.

Peter was over today for almost four hours. Four hours. That is the longest I've been in the same room as Peter in months. I needed my garbage disposal fixed and I asked him to do it. Was I thinking clearly? I honestly don't know. I don't know if Peter was confused or happy or annoyed or excited. I really don't know.

I do know that he fixed my garbage disposal and that I paid him by buying dinner for our family. I do know that he helped put the kids to bed and we talked about his new job and how that changes our parenting plan a lot a lot a lot a lot a lot. And I'm nervous about those changes because I no longer have free weekends and Peter is now responsible for a few school days with the kids and I'm overbearing and feel like I should take charge and now I'm having to release some extra reponsibility to Peter.

Sigh...it's ok, Wendy. He can handle it. You can let go.

It's just really hard for me to let go. It's hard for me to be a working mom and a full time student and still have time and patience for my children. It's hard to think that I probably won't get married for years and years or ever because I'm just so damn busy right now. And the thing is, I want to get married again. I don't care how traumatic my marriage was---I fully believe marriage can be beautiful and wonderful. Maybe that's stupidity but it's all the hope I can muster right now.

I feel like I'm drowning in this new life. My anxiety has been at an all time high, especially today. I sat in the school pick-up line and had to talk myself through a panic attack---an attack that came on for no apparent reason. And tonight I'm still feeling that panic and fear and I don't understand why it's happening. I wasn't even thinking about anything specific when it started happening.

Eff you, anxiety. You stupid dumb piece of crap.

It's hard to be this exhausted but to feel like this is your first time to really have a break. After the kids were in bed and Peter left, I spent two hours doing homework and I craved being here. I craved writing and doing something that helps me sort through things. But it had to wait until my homework was done. And now it's 11:00pm and I'm exhausted and I still need to shower but I'm here.

I'm drowning and I'm here.

I'm here because I need this. I need this safe place to write about my thoughts and my fears. When I talk to friends or am sitting on that couch across from my counselor, I have a hard time putting my thoughts into sentences but here...here everything flows more naturally. I feel a release when I come here. I feel like I'm making sense.

My counselor and I have been working on the fact that I have different parts of me. I refer to the negative, fearful part as Wendy, mostly because when I come here, I often feel like I am her. And I refer to the loving, compassionate part of myself as my real name. There are other parts and sometimes my brain hurts from trying to remember what that all means and how it applies but I do know that I want to be me. I don't want to be Wendy.

I want the real me to merge with Wendy and teach her how to trust herself and love herself. I want this battle to be over. Wendy isn't evil but she doesn't know any better.

Wendy has an eating disorder. She grew up thinking she wasn't very important and because of that, she craves being important to other people. She craves attention because she was sandwiched between talented siblings and special needs siblings, all who seemed to get more attention than her. Wendy has so many fears, one of the biggest is being unloved. She has a hard time really trusting that people can love her because she has a hard time loving herself.

Wendy is me but I'm glad she isn't all of me. I'm glad my counselor pointed out that I am more than her. It is possible to be Wendy and to still be the compassionate, brave warrior that I often am.

And tonight, I keep repeating that over and over again in my mind because I need to hold on to that. I need to be remined that Wendy is me but that I am also the me I want to be. I am a good, loving person. Even though I think I fail a lot, I still succeed too.

Tonight as I layed with my crying daughter who was sad that her dad had to leave at bedtime, I was reminded that I am not always a horrible mother. Sometimes I am the best mother my kids can have. Tonight I was everything my daughter needed.

Tonight for a few minutes, I won a battle. And since that is more battles than I've won in days, I am going to celebrate my one small victory and try to go to bed without saying negative things about myself.

Emotional Emotionless

Counseling was horrible today.
I was so incredibly stupid today.
Just one thing after another---I was beyond agitated.
Not with my counselor but with myself.
I couldn't spit my words out. I couldn't feel my emotions. I was obsessing over what my hands were doing and how even everything felt. OCD was horrible.

I seriously felt more stupid than I've felt in a long time. I was so angry with myself. I can't remember if I apologized but I feel like I just wasted an hour of both of our lives because I just couldn't work.

I think it might have had to do with the fact that the past few weeks of counseling have been overly incredible and I've worked so hard to be brave---have I mentioned I didn't like it? I know, confusing... I was so uncomfortable but each session, I left feeling like I had accomplished something great. I felt myself understanding the different parts of me a little bit better.

But I went into counseling today with a lot of fear that I had placed on myself to be more open and have more emotion. I told myself I would open up however much I needed to. And I think in doing so, I psyched myself out and just acted stupid the whole time.

So then I was mad.

I was a weak Wendy today. I tore myself down and was so incredibly hard on myself and I just couldn't imagine a world where I don't feel like this. How is that possible?

And tonight I broke down at my meeting. I was feeling so happy to be back among my support group and all of a sudden, a friend I've known literally since birth walked in the door.

No.

Hell no.

This stupid ass addiction has affected way too many people in my life.

For some reason, I just couldn't handle it. I wanted to scoop her up in my arms and just run away to a world where pornography does not exist.

This isn't fair!!!

I cried the entire time she was speaking. I cried a little bit while spilling a few of my thoughts. I cried even harder during the closing prayer and I gave her a huge hug when it was all over.

You guys, I don't cry in front of people. I am so out of touch with my emotions these days. But I just could not hold it in tonight.

I hated pornography more than ever before. I hated what it was doing to some really incredible people that I know. I am just so angry about this.

But among the crying and my aching heart for my wonderful friend, I saw a small glimpse of a positive attitude toward myself. For a few seconds, I thought, "Good for you for caring so much about her, enough to cry in front of people. You are compassionate, Wendy. You have goodness."

It didn't last very long but it was there for a minute.

You have goodness, Wendy.

You are filled with so much light and only a little bit of dark---so stop focusing on the dark.

I want to be that girl. I want to love myself. I want to give myself a break.

I just don't know how.

Triggers

My story fits in nowhere, which kind of makes it fit in everywhere.

That's logical, right?

I don't like so many things about my story tonight. I don't like that triggers have started in places there were no triggers before.

What the hell? It's been a year. That isn't fair!

I got through the aftermath of Pan leaving me so quickly...but I didn't get through it at all. Like at all.

I was used to being single right away...but I'm still not used to being single at all.

It was a plague that started within the tiniest part of my being and eventually consumed me.

It consumed me, friends. It got to the point where I had to physically stop myself from driving to the store on my weekend without kids to buy alcohol. And although I did that very good thing that one time {last week}, I am not healthier now than I was then.

Because all I want to do is buy alcohol on my weekend without kids next week. And my brain says, "It's no big deal. It's one time. And for a few hours, you will not feel the things you are feeling and that will be wonderful." It would be wonderful. For a few hours, it would be wonderful. But the aftermath would be horrible. I already know that.

I can't become an addict like him. I am already wrapped up in my own world of addiction. I cannot use the same supplements he used to rid myself of pain. I just cannot.

But I also cannot keep living without healing. I cannot walk around throughout the day like everything is A-OK and expect that to heal me. It won't heal me!

What will heal me? God? A therapist? Anti-depressants?

The triggers have gotten to a point where I can't shave my legs without feeling some sort of anxiety. Because holy shit, I DIDN'T SHAVE MY LEGS ENOUGH AS A MARRIED WOMAN AND PETER ALWAYS, ALWAYS ASKED ME TO DO A BETTER JOB WITH PERSONAL HYGIENE. And that makes me part of the problem. That makes me the very reason Peter left and looked at pornography and didn't love me anymore.

I should've listened. Not respecting his simple request of shaving my damn legs is part of the reason that I am now a single woman. It has to be. Even if it wasn't the actual act of shaving my legs, the fact that I didn't respect Peter enough to do something that was NOT A HUGE DEAL makes me selfish.

But that only seems logical in my head---not in my heart. Because my heart says I tried and that I am a good person and that I am strong. My head says none of those things.

I kind of feel like vomiting but that is probably impossible since I haven't eaten in a long time. And not making-myself-throw-up-vomiting but holy-hell-my-stomach-is-in-knots-vomiting.

I hate coming on here and complaining. I want to come here and tell you how awesome things are. And the truth is, awesome stuff is still mixed in my life. It isn't all bad. It isn't all triggery and failure and crying. I've been having fun with my kids and laughter with friends but I still have a lot of healing to do.

There is so much that is still one big mess. And I'm sorry if everything seems so negative on my blog. I am genuinely sorry. This isn't me. I know I keep saying that but it isn't. I am a laugher, a smiler, and a helper. I know I am those things.

I know I used to be those things.

Am I still those things? Am I ever going to be the girl I thought I was?

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.

Breaking Your Own Heart

Peter lost me. I can honestly sit here and tell you that he lost more out of this than I did.

He lost his wife, the woman who had loved him from the start. He lost out on so much of the memory making with our children because he no longer sees them every night. Most of all, he lost out on support for his addiction.

You see, Peter's family isn't very supportive. In fact, most of the time, they're the opposite. They have always been harder on Peter than any of his brothers. It's almost like he could do no right in their eyes---which isn't how it should be.

I was Peter's support. I stood up for him when his family wouldn't. I sided with him and he confided in me about his heartache over his family's lack of showing love. But he never confided in me the one thing that was eating him inside more than any other thing.

He never confided in me about his addiction to pornography. Instead, he left me...and he lost me.

I am no longer Peter's number one supporter. I am no longer there for him when he needs someone.

He gave that up because addiction was harder to deal with than losing the one person who tried so hard to root for him every step of the way.

I wasn't a perfect wife but I supported Peter.

Sadly, when I sit down and think about the things I lost in our divorce, the two that come to mind the most are money and sex. Yeah. About that. There is a part of me that feels like she lost out on support or love but I lost out on that much sooner than the divorce. I had lost that years ago. When I read old journal entries, that was non-existent the last few years of my marriage.

I was already alone in my marriage.

I took a roadtrip this past week and had rented a few new cd's from the library to keep me company. One of them was a Kelly Clarkson cd and as I listened to each song, I knew why I had been drawn to that particular cd.

#13: Breaking Your Own Heart
Shaking your head like it's all wrong
Before you're here you're already gone
And even with the light all around you
You're all alone in the dark

Your breaking your own heart
Taking it too far down a lonely road
You say you just want love
But when it's close enough you just let it go
The very thing you've been the most afraid of
You've been doing from the start
Breaking your own heart

It's now too late, I am not here
If only you let go of your fears

Peter may have broken my heart when he left me. I may have been a target of his ultimate rejection. But the day he called me sobbing with apologies for his 6+ year addiction and how it affected us and how he knows I was a huge loss for him, I understood whose heart had broken the most---his.

I listened to that Kelly Clarkson song close to 100 times in the past 5 days and today, I recorded my own cover of the song and wanted to share it with you.

I did change the last verse a little to fit our story because although I wish I could say I'm still here for Peter, I'm not. It isn't healthy for me to be there for him and I am healing more without him in my life because I'm learning to be my own person.

{Thank you, Alice and Kate, for teaching me that recording my own voice isn't as scary as it used to feel. It isn't an amazing voice but it's the one God gave me and I really do love using it.}

The Lost Boy

I lost myself.

Marriage was supposed to be a place where I found myself and was able to trust in who I was.

But I didn't.

A few years into my marriage, I lost who I was. I became Peter's wife. I wasn't funny to him. I was just a stay at home mom. I didn't feel like much nor did Peter treat me like I was much.

I'd leave the house with friends and see glimpses of who I used to be but it wasn't the same. I still wasn't me. I was often worried about the future because Peter didn't know how to grow up. Peter couldn't provide for us the way he always talked about doing.

Peter was a lost boy. Peter is a lost boy.

Lately Peter has been so nice. We talked on the phone about all of the amazing things the kids are accomplishing and it felt like the old Peter---the guy I married. I was confused because talking to him made me smile. I wanted to push it down and throw it away because I just cannot handle the confusion of Peter.

And then tonight, I had asked Peter a sincere question via text message and he threw some of the stupidest, nastiest comments back at me.

This is life.

But I learned something after our petty conversation tonight. I am not lost like Peter anymore. I am a different person---the same person but stronger, smarter, and more caring. I don't let Peter's crazy bother me the same way it used to when we were married.

When we were married, I would worry about which Peter was going to walk in the door at the end of the day. Would it be the kind, caring Peter or the irate, impatient Peter? I'd wait for it every night. I'd hope it was the kind Peter because I was usually exhausted from being with the kids all day but more times than not, it would be the impatient Peter. He would walk in, complain about work, and retreat to the bedroom for the rest of the night. I'd get no help, no sympathy, and certainly no physical affection.

I think about those nights and wonder how often Peter was viewing pornography in our bedroom, while our children ran around the family room and I sat on my computer because I was in dire need of a break. I wonder how many times he was choosing fake women over a real wife.

I'm real. They are not. Pornography is mechanical love. I am real love.

Peter has complained that it happened because I wasn't there for him. I was doing things for the kids too often and I didn't give him any attention. I used to believe him but when I think back, I realize just how wrong Peter is. He didn't even give me a chance. He wrote me off because I was the mother and the housewife. He chose mechanical over real because he was addicted, not because I wasn't there for him. I've learned about addiction and realized that it doesn't matter how often I would've thrown myself at Peter, he still would've struggled. He still would've looked at pornography.

Real love lost and in the process, I was left to feel alone and deserted most nights.

Sometimes when I'm feeling extremely alone as a divorced woman, I remember back to when I was alone in my marriage.

Being alone is really hard for me. It's taken a lot for me to get to a place where I like my independence. I crave romantic relationships because I have faith that I can find something real---and I want to find it. But I don't know how or when or if I ever will. So right now, I'll find solace in the fact that I am liking parts of my independence. It is teaching me a lot about me. It is helping me find myself.

I may feel lost sometimes but I am not lost---because I know who I am and I have faith that there is a specific reason I am on this earth.

Like A Boss

It has been an incredible week. An incredible week filled with good days and bad days---but every day has brought an experience I have learned from. Every day has taught me something about myself and brought a little bit of hope to my soul.
I had forgotten what believing in myself felt like.

Today I believe in myself. I believe I have worth. I look at dating and am determined not to settle. I believe I can bring something to the table in a relationship.

I'm not saying this will last forever or that I won't struggle. I'm not saying I love every inch of myself. I still struggle with my body image daily but today, I believe in my capabilities and I even believe a man could overlook my body imperfections if he truly sees the kind of person that I am.

I feel worthy of love today. The things I usually easily love about myself are back in plain view. I didn't have to search to find them this morning. They were just there.

My fear is that this won't last. My fear is that I still have spirals and hurdles to overcome.

But today I feel the possibility of healing. I do not want to be affected by divorce my entire life. I am a determined person. I will not let my past decide who I am supposed to be. I will fight my body image issues. I will fight pornography. I will fight for my friendships. I WILL FIGHT FOR MYSELF.

Because I am worth 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."

Neverending

Trust him, they said. It will be different this time, they said. You need to give him the benefit of the doubt, they said.

But they were wrong.

Because I trusted him when I shouldn't have and he hurt me. I learned to love him through my pain and he stuck a knife in my heart.

I don't agree with advice. I don't agree with telling people how they should or shouldn't feel because everyone is different. Finding out about my ex husband's pornography addiction could be equal to a person losing their job or a person losing their spouse. Because we are unique individuals, the way we deal with trials is different. If I tell you I am hurting and that I'm not healed yet, you need to take my word for it instead of comparing me to someone else with a similiar trial.

I am my own person.

Yes, I was divorced when I found out about the pornography addiction. Yes, I don't have to see the man that hurt me so badly every day. I don't even have to interact with him daily. But he hurt me. I still have a brain that has a damn memory in it and when I replay old memories, I hurt. I ache. I don't like to think about what might have been fake.

I used to think people shouldn't be angry after a while. I used to think they should learn to get over their problems on my time frame---because my time frame must be bible. But I've seen real pain. I've seen real anger. I've also felt these emotions in my own life. And not a single person gets to tell me how or when I should get over these things.

Life really sucks sometimes.

I feel my eating disorder like a constant rain cloud. Although I've done better at fighting him, Ed isn't much smaller than he was a few weeks ago. He is still just as loud. I still question him daily. And I feel like I have no one who I trust enough to be an available support in my life. I wonder if that's because I actually don't have someone or if I just often feel alone because my spouse is gone.

My freaking spouse is gone.
Damn divorce.

I trusted someone that screwed me over. For years, he screwed me over. For years, he lied and made me feel like an effing crazy person. And as soon as I had started to heal and accept this as my life forever, he left.

He left at the worst possible time. He left when it would hurt me the most. I cannot think of any other time in our marriage where it woud've hurt more than it did when he chose to leave. I was happy. I was truly happy. I had accepted all of this. I had learned so much about myself. And then he left.

I hate manipulation. When I hear about husbands manipulating their wives, I want to scream and then punch their husbands in the junk. Seriously. Because manipulation is the worst. Manipulation is the perfect way to make a person feel bat-shit crazy when the manipulator is the real monster of the situation. As the manipulatee, you start to feel like you are the one who is wrong and you question yourself.

I used to question myself daily. I used to wonder why the guy who "loved" me so freaking much was the same guy who hated so many things about me. I used to wonder why I couldn't live up to his expectations.

And my eating disorder tells me I should keep questioning myself. My eating disorder tells me that I should settle for another douche husband because douches are the only ones who will take me "as is". But oh my gosh, I am not going to settle!

Because damnit, I deserve better than a porn addict, lying, ass face of a husband. I deserve someone who can look at me and see the good and accept the bad. I deserve someone who supports instead of manipulates.

We all deserve that.

And some of us don't get it. Some of us have to live with manipulation and lies and unsettling amounts of fear. Some of us have to wonder what life will feel like at the end of the day when our husbands walk through that front door.

And it isn't fair.

But life isn't fair, right?

Tonight I pray for you. I pray for my friends who are stuck in situations that seem hell bent and neverending. I pray for those of you who feel weak and unloved. I pray for those of you who question why you stay.
I love you and I am rooting for you.