Hope

I think my body must've known it'd been three years, even though my brain didn't know until a memory popped up on Facebook. 

The anxiety I've felt all weekend has been pretty severe---chest pains, numbing, considering giving up on everything I've worked for. 

I couldn't figure out why I felt that way. Was it a money issue? A friend issue? A parenting issue? A divorce issue? 

I still don't quite know. 

But what I do know is that yesterday marked three years since my deepest heartbreak as a single mom. 

So maybe that played a part. 

When I realized this, I thought back on the past three years and all of the changes and healing that have taken place. 

I lost support. 

I left the church. 

I cut a lot of ties. 

I made new, genuine friendships. 

I came back to church. 

And I realized just how seldom I think about that day anymore. 

A portion of the past three years was spent being kicked down, building myself back up, only to be kicked down again. 

But I've learned how to better dodge those kicks. 

You guys, the remarkable thing is that I'm grateful for everything I've been taught in the past three years. I'm grateful for my time away from my church and the time I've spent back there. I'm grateful for a God who very promptly put healing tools in place when I felt like suicide was the only way to break free from my heartache. I'm grateful for the atonement of Jesus Christ and the ability He gave me to forgive myself for "hindsight" and also the ability He gave me to forgive others for the pain they caused. 

I don't know if that is why my body is feeling so much anxiety right now and I hate that. I hate how anxiety since the court trial has become hard to identify. It comes and goes fiercely, often times without explanation or warning. 

But I know it won't always be this way. I know the effects of the court trial won't last forever, just as the pain and anxiety of three years ago eventually dissipated. 

So at least there is hope. 

Selfish

The thing is, you can’t fully trust that anyone will be loyal to you. I think that’s something I’ve learned as I still find myself struggling to fit in to my support groups without feeling this urge to take a huge leap backward.

I still find myself struggling to trust anyone. And I still question whether any of them trust me.

Although the messiest parts seemed to have passed, it isn’t magically over and fixed. I still find myself feeling traumatized and scared to move forward.

And maybe that’s because I had trusted that the messiest parts had passed last summer---and they hadn’t.

So I find myself pondering and learning from this and saying, “Well, Wendy, life is always going to be somewhat messy. You can’t control other people. All you can do is decide how you’re going to handle the messes.”

And that’s kind of what I’ve done.

Because a few weeks ago, I met with an old friend to talk about some of our past messes.

And I started out really optimistic.

And days later, I got extremely pessimistic.

And then I was more realistic.

And mixed in there were really great days and some more messy days.

And now I’m just here---back to mostly optimistic but making sure I’m also being realistic.

Or maybe I’m not optimistic. I don’t know right now.

Today I’m really confused.

Or maybe just sad.

Because I had these high levels of optimism that fixing this would fix other relationships and that we could just move on from here.

But that isn’t always how it works.

Because I don’t get to tell people how to feel or how to act or what to say.

And. That’s. Just. Life.

I was going to attend the Togetherness Project this next August, thinking it was what was best for me, but now I’m quite certain it isn’t.

I had convinced myself that I deserved to go, that I deserved to be there just as much as anyone else and I’ve realized that was my main reason for wanting to go.

And although I DO deserve to be there just as much as anyone else, I don’t need to go just to prove myself.

Because I’ve learned that people are going to hate me if they want to hate me. People are going to believe I’m a liar if they want to believe I’m a liar.

I can’t change any of that.

People can live their lives without trusting me pretty darn easily. That’s not the main problem.

The main problem is when I don’t trust myself because that is when I start to unravel.

When I trust in myself and have faith in myself, I don’t feel this urge to prove myself to the world.

And so, right now, that is what I am working on.

I’m sad about my decision because there are people I’ve wanted to see whom I truly love so deeply.

But today and tomorrow and the next day---I need to be a little more selfish and do what’s best for me. I need to learn to trust more and recover more and worry about the outside stuff less.

I need to save me before I can save anyone else. 

The Grief Cycle

Never is an awfully long time.

I've been studying the stages of grief, not really for school but because I'm a nerd and like to read my textbooks if I feel like they can help me in certain situations.
And I thought that I had passed the stage of anger.
I really did.

I hit a breaking point a few weeks after my recent friendship d-day where I was angry. So effing angry.

But I was proud of myself. I did not allow my anger to burst out of me and poison the surrounding friendships we both shared. I did not gossip. I did not fight for my side to be told.
I got help.
I spoke about it in therapy. I spoke about it to my parents. I spoke about it with my best friend who does not know these other friends.
I didn't want relationships to be poisoned just because I was experiencing anger.

Ironically, that was not emulated on both sides.
My friendships were poisoned.
Regardless of what I had or hadn't done, I became very unpopular in a lot of people's eyes.

And maybe this is me trying to force my way through to acceptance. Because hell, I know I don't want to hit the depression phase. I'd rather just skip it.
But the acceptance isn't coming. The anger is raging. My mind is more clear now. I can look back and see what has transpired these past few months and I am angry that so many people left me. I am angry that I gave my heart to so many people who misused it.

I want to lash out. Oh heaven only knows how much I want to lash out.
Because it isn't fair.

Unintentional mistakes shouldn't turn you into a monster. And when they do, it hurts.
It hurts like fucking hell.

And it's worse than Peter's betrayal because frankly when he left me, I didn't trust him. He hurt me in so many ways but I already knew he was struggling and a bit crazy.

But when I gave my heart to friendships that I believed were firm and when I think back on all of the times I had strived to be an amazing friend, only to have it shatter into a million pieces, I cannot help but be so angry.

Angry that some of you chose to take a side when this wasn't even about our relationships. This had nothing to do with our support group.

Two people had an issue and for some reason, it turned a majority of my support group away from me.

How am I supposed to trust support groups anymore? How am I supposed to feel like I'm equally as worthy of support when THIS, this is what happens?

This is NOT what I envisioned a support group to look like. This is NOT what I envisioned my life would be like.

Shit isn't supposed to get harder in a support group.

But it can and it does.

Because among a group of hurting women who find themselves barely staying afloat most of the time, maybe support isn't healthy. Are we even healthy enough to support each other without going bat-shit-crazy if we feel like others aren't reciprocating?

That is my ginormous question of the day.

What the hell kind of support group deserts you when you need them most? And what the hell kind of extremely close friend decides that you are THE WORST PERSON IN THE WORLD after all of the things you've done for her?

You hear about this shit happening to other people but when it happens to you, the pain is almost unbearable.

I've never felt betrayal like this. Ever.

And that is saying something because I am divorced from a porn addict.

It's All A Bit Tragic

I don't get it.

I don't understand taking sides when you've only heard one side.

How is that even considered taking sides?

It's all a bit tragic, really. The way things ended and the trickle effects of things that continue to happen. I'm trying to breathe and let it go and move on but that isn't as easy as it might sound.

This was my life. Those were my friends.

And it took seconds for it all to be over but it seems to be taking forever to move on. It seems like it'll be years before the effects have stopped, before I feel like I'm not being ganged up on.

This tragedy---it is between two people but somehow it became much bigger. Somehow it became about all of us.

Somehow it turned into a group effort, a war between myself and a group---and I don't find that fair.
Believe what you want, it isn't right or fair to single out one person for a mistake that they've made. It just isn't.

If I jumped back to a little over a year ago, I wouldn't have even known any of these people and as sad as that makes me feel, maybe that would've been easier.
Maybe...but not really.

Not really. 

It's all a bit tragic but it isn't the end of the world---for any of us.

For any of us. 

I wish that mattered the most.
I wish the unimaginable heartache that we have all experienced together and helped each other through was worth more than a mistake---a mistake made without vengeance or deceitful intent.

What our husbands have done to those of us who have married addicts is messy. It is deceitful and dishonorable.
I wish this wasn't categorized in the same way.

It's all a bit tragic, the way things went down. It's all painful and I'm sad that I misread the type of people I was becoming close to. I'm sad that I trusted when I shouldn't have.

And isn't that the story of my life, of most of our lives? 

It's so hard to trust others. It's scary. Quite honestly, it's one of my biggest fears. But once in a while, I do it. And even less times than that, I do it wholeheartedly. I give every ounce I can to the people whom I trust with my heart.

And sometimes, I get hurt. I get burned and my heart aches and I stop believing that trusting anyone is safe.

It ruins me for a while---not forever---but for a while. It's painful and I replay everything I've done for those people that should've counteracted any of the mistakes or the messes.

But burns happen. We don't get to choose who trusts us, even if we choose to trust them.

I hate that it happens but there is really nothing we can do about it. We can't control others.

Tonight I'm sad that I received more news of some after-effect retaliation. I'm sad that very few people seem to understand or give me a chance to explain. I'm sad that my heart aches as I try to move on to a place where I stop caring so much about people who have hurt me.

I wish it was a switch I could just turn off. Oh how I wish there was a switch.

My Fuzzy Gray

I had a date last night.

My favorite date so far in the history of dating.

And because he made me feel so comfortable, I was able to shake off the nerves of, "Oh my gosh, does he like me? Is he thinking about me? What is he thinking RIGHT NOW? WHERE IS MY DAMN LIP GLOSS!?!". I was able to focus on having fun with a guy who is fun---and stop worrying about whether I was doing something wrong or right or awkward or amazing.

But shit balls, I don't know how I feel about being able to shake off my dating nerves because once I did, I started to think about who this guy is and whether he is a porn addict and how many people he's lied to and WHY IS HE RUINING MY LIFE?!!

It's a bit dramatic, I know...
I couldn't believe I was even thinking those thoughts. I get that it's healthy to someday have a talk with a potential husband about viewing pornography and I get that it's normal to question but I must be the dumbest girl in the world---because every time someone posts on our WoPA support group page, I think, "That isn't going to happen to me. I won't have those feelings or fears." And then I date a few guys and don't think about it and BAM! I go on a date with a guy who is super awesome and makes me feel comfortable and I start thinking about the double life he must be living.

They're all living that double life...right? How can they not be?

And then I get all insecure again and think about the thousand ways my life could play out since chances are, I will someday marry a porn addict again.

Anxiety hits.

Chest pains, sweat, heavy breathing...

And I realize that I only have one option---and that is to lose part of me to look more like the ones they will want.
Because they won't want me after looking at that.

And then I don't eat. Surely the reason I haven't had a second date ever is because of my looks. Surely.

And then my chest pains begin again and I can't tell if they're a result of not eating in over 24 hours or if they're anxiety---or both. And my paranoia decides I'm probably having a heart attack because out of all the 27 year old's in the world, I would be the one to have a freak heart attack...

From there, I imagine the way it will feel when I've hit my goal. Alice tells me it never ends and I want to believe her. I want to believe that this isn't going to ever go away and that I need to keep fighting but I keep believing that all I really want is to lose 50 pounds. That's all. 

But is 50 pounds the equivalent of happiness? Is 50 pounds worth the damage and suffering?

I don't know.

Because I also question whether 50 pounds is worth never getting married again. Is 50 pounds worth the loneliness? Is it worth the countless birthday parties that consistent of all of my married coupled friends---and me---the odd one out?

I don't know.

Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't.

But tonight, after a horrible NON-recovery day of eating nothing until 8:00pm and then purging the things I ate at 8, I don't know which way to turn.

I'm at a crossroads and nobody can make this decision for me.

I don't even know if this is one of those decisions I wish someone could make for me. Because I know what their answer would be.

I know what your answer would be.

But is that my belief? Is that my truth?

I don't know tonight.

I feel lost and confused and my shit-damn Zoloft does not seem to be working these days but trying to find a doctor who takes my insurance has been a hay day and imaboutreadytoquitlife.
Because life is full of puzzles and fuzzy answers and a hell of a lot of GRAY in between the black and white.

And tonight? Tonight I want to feel secure about life. I want to feel secure that I'll be able to accept me for me and not go all bat-shit crazy on everyone.
I'm fighting the urge to not believe that "they just don't understand". Because they probably do.
All I really want to do is stay in bed for days and let my mental illnesses take over my brain and never fight them because they're probably telling me the truth anyway. They know how stupid I am. They know how much I weigh. They know what types of feelings I'm feeling. They know I'm the most unstable stable person in the world.

I just don't know which path is a little less gray.

I don't know which path will have more rainbows and butterflies and puppy dogs and watermelon jello.

And I don't know if my truths are really truths.

What Is Brave?

I've been thinking lately about what it means to be brave.
I use that word a lot these days---as in, the past year. I tell my tribe of WoPA sisters they are brave because they are. I tell my kids they are brave because they are.
People are brave.
Simple things can make a person brave.

Today brave for me was getting out of bed. That sounds simple, doesn't it? But it wasn't. When my alarm went off for church, I just stared at the clock and I toyed with the idea of never getting out of bed. I don't even know why. I guess sometimes depression just tells you that staying in bed is going to feel better than getting out of bed.

I did skip out on church because of the amount of energy it took for me to get out of bed. I did lay on the couch while my children watched hours of Disney channel. I did knowingly ignore the fact that I could hear my kids sneaking their early Halloween candy every three seconds.

But I also took my kids on a twenty minute bike ride. I also wrestled with my kids and had a tickle fight. Today those things were brave because they fought my original idea of just staying in bed the entire day.

A long time ago, I started drinking Diet Coke. To tell you the truth, my DC consumption got bad at the peak of my eating disorder. At the time, sipping on DC made it so I could go whole days without eating because the caffeine and carbonation would trick my body into feeling semi-normal. I've learned that this way of thinking is quite normal for eating disorders but at the time, I can't quite remember if I was doing this with that knowledge or if I just knew it would help curb my appetite.

My body has gotten to a point where it relies on the consumption of Diet Coke on a daily basis---actually moreso on a tri-daily basis. I decided last Sunday that this has to end. I have to give up something I love because I am relying on it way too much.

Although it no longer feeds my eating disorder, it is still a huge part of my every day life. I eat meals---and I drink a hell of a lot of Diet Coke.

And if I skip a "dose" of Diet Coke, I start to get pretty bad migraines.

No bueno.

In the past 7 days, I have had two Diet Cokes. I'm serious about that.
But I think with that has come these stupid withdrawals that have put me in a semi-depressive state that make it hard to get out of bed.

I'm proud of myself. Quitting Diet Coke may be one of the bravest choices I've made in weeks and it is a lot harder than I thought it would be.

So I guess what I've learned is that being brave can be anything. It is different for everyone. For some of my friends, answering the phone is super brave. For some people, jumping out of an airplane is their brave. It never looks the same.

Getting out of bed is brave. Getting out of bed means trusting that there is something better out there.

Even though I skipped church today, I still found myself making brave choices. These steps might seem small but they are helping me on my way to recovery.
I am learning how to be the me that I want to be and that is super brave.

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.

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.

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?

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.

When Wendy Met Alice

 It was a happy beginning---no endings in sight---to a fairytale.
I am Wendy and I was feeling so alone. No one understood me. No one really got what was happening. I don't even think I fully understood what was happening. But I knew I needed to reach out. I knew I needed to muster up some courage and find someone who would be able to understand me.
And I did. I found her. And just like me, her fairytale was a basket case being juggled by a pinata-hitting child. Yes, folks, what I mean by that is we are all a little bit unstable. I'm surprised you didn't gather that directly from my so awesomely stated analogy. Wow. Ok, back to the point.

Her name is Alice. And she is looking for Wonderfulland.
She struggles. Don't we all struggle? I met her through the good ol' World Wide Web after realizing we fight similiar battles. Her wounds looked very similiar to mine and I found my courage to try reaching out to her because I had a feeling---a feeling like this might change my life.

I met Alice one day---in real life. And I've re-met her many times since then because she is now one of my closest friends.
My original belief was correct. The experiences I've had in the last few months have been life changing and I owe a lot of that to Alice.
I owe almost all of that to Alice.

Alice is an eating disorder conquerer. Alice is a WoPA. Alice is a warrior. Our commonalities kind of suck because we have a lot of crap in common---but that's ok. Because Alice helps me fight. She keeps me brave when I don't want to be brave. She teaches me about resilience and love and laughter---oh my goodness, she teaches me about laughter.

On a cloudy Friday afternoon in April, I was laying in the grass in Alice's backyard, watching the clouds move back and forth, and I felt it. For the first time in months, I felt peace. It was in that grassy spot, laying next to my warrior sister, being attacked by a miniature guard dog, that I had a prompting that things were going to be ok. Whatever crap Peter throws my way, I can handle it because I learned that day that peace can be mine no matter what.

Throughout these past few months, Alice has been there when I needed her most. She has talked me through Peter's return to Neverland. She has talked me through my feelings of worthlessness. She has talked me through some of my late night demon sessions---stupid late night demons need to get the hell out of my life.

And when Alice struggles, I am there. And if I can't be there, I say a prayer. Because I look at Alice and I see a queen. I see so much worth in her and I hate seeing her struggle. It doesn't matter what struggles she faces, for some darn reason, I hate it. I can hardly stand it.

Alice shows me what bravery is. That girl has stared hell in the face and she still stands. She still loves. She still dreams.
Brave people choose to stand after they're punched in the gut with a sledgehammer. It might take days or weeks or years but eventually, they stand.
Alice has proven time and time again that she plans to keep standing and I love her a little more each time she does.

A few weeks ago, Alice gave me a challenge. She challenged me to open up to the people I am most afraid of right now---my parents. The second she said it, I knew it was something that needed to happen. But I put it off. And then I put it off again. I was so scared.
But last week when shit got real here, I knew I couldn't put it off much longer. I knew I needed Alice to walk me through this brave, life-changing step.

And she did.

She proofread the letter that I wrote them. She changed some of it. She told me what I needed to prepare for. And then tonight, I handed it over to them.

I handed over a letter to my parents explaining that I am knee deep, struggling with my eating disorder.

I've been shaking most of the night. I don't know if they've read it yet but I assume they have. And because she is my warrior sister, Alice will go with me this weekend to have a talk with my parents to further explain all of this mess.

I'm scared.

I keep thinking of all of the horrible scenarios in my head. I keep thinking about abandonment or hovering or broken boundaries or heartbreak and I just want to run away. But I won't.

I have Alice here and she promises never to abandon me. She promises she will always be my friend. And I believe her.

I'm often worried that people will leave me. This isn't something that happened after Peter left. I've struggled with abandonment my whole life---with almost no explanations as to why. I can see it now as a struggle with insecurity because I've never felt good enough. Peter leaving just magnified the problem.

But tonight, I am focusing on my trust in Alice. I am focusing on how brave she has taught me to be these past few months.

I heard a song tonight that reminded me of Alice. The chorus drew me in because I felt like that is what Alice would be singing to me, if she were sitting on my couch tonight (Gosh, I wish she were sitting on my couch tonight...I hate being alone).
"Cause I have been where you are before. And I have felt the pain of losing who you are. And I have died so many times but I am still alive."

I'd keep writing most of the night to show you how much Alice has influenced my life for good but I am still trying to process through knowing my parents' lives are changing tonight too. Sleep needs to happen soon so I can find peace with the decisions that has already been made.

But I'll leave you with the words to the song I quoted above.


Alice has taught me that God is real because I know He placed her in my life for a reason---or maybe a hundred reasons. He loves me. I feel it tonight. He loves me enough to provide relationships that teach me bravery. He loves me enough to send earth angels to my door when I am too weak to do this all on my own.

Thank you for becoming my partner in crime, Alice. I couldn't do this without you.

Beautiful Days Are Possible

Today has been beautiful so far.

First and foremost, I told my story over on A Wife Redeemed. I really appreciate you allowing me to do that, Shay. My heart skipped a beat when I realized the post was up. Be brave, Wendy. Be brave.

The other MAIN reason today has been beautiful has been directly related to my recovery.
Today I tried hard. I mapped out my safe foods and put each of them around a meal time and I've been doing good so far. Only a few times have I had to talk myself out of unhealthy habits.
I've been putting off this fight because I was afraid of it. I was afraid of weight gain and I was afraid I would feel more out of control again.

All morning, I've had visions of taking a hammer to my scale. Seriously. I haven't been brave enough to do it because I still plan on losing weight (I really am overweight and being a healthier me would include some more weightloss---in a HEALTHY way) and I cannot fathom not having my scale.

But I ate breakfast and lunch. They were very small meals but they felt ok. I wasn't afraid. I didn't panic. I wanted so badly to fight. And I did it.

I had a very liberating conversation with Peter last night, where he explained more of his addiction and why he left us and how he feels now. He was crying and it was a cry I have never seen from him. I felt like he was finally telling the truth. I felt like he was remorseful. I felt like he was a little bit more free.

He apologized over and over for ruining our family. He thanked me for everything I've done for our kids these past 9 months. He apologized for hurting me so badly. He explained how the pornography addiction had gotten bad and how the drinking was to mask the pain he felt for doing this to our family. It was the old Peter. It was the Peter I married. I hope he makes a complete comeback because that guy can do great things in life.

It was a good talk but it left me realizing that my marriage really did end because of pornography. I really am a WoPA or maybe we should say EWoPA. I was kind of in disbelief. I knew he had admitted to it being a problem but it was really bad enough that shame caused him to walk out on his family? I can't imagine that feeling and I was proud of Peter for his bravery last night. It couldn't have been easy to talk to me and apologize like that.

Addictions ruin lives and the more secretive they are, the more they can eat at your soul.
I was glad I asked Peter about a pornography addiction two weeks ago. I can see how much that helped him. He is still on the fence about help but I can tell he feels a little bit lighter. His depression was taking over him because of a secret that was so shameful.
I know how he feels. I've been there. I've had shameful secrets that I thought I would rather take to my grave than talk about.

But talking helps. Honesty helps.

So today, I fought for our family. I fought my addiction because I want to be stronger.
Parts of it were easy and parts of it have been really hard. Night will be worse. Nights are always worse. But I'm going to try hard today.

Recovery looks possible today.

How Did I Realize Peter was a Porn Addict?

I've gotten asked this question a lot in the past week and each time, I try to answer it simply and say, "Because I just felt like I had figured it out." and although this is true, there is so much more to this story.

Peter is an angry man, when he isn't busy charming the people around him. He is scary good at being charming and he is scary good at manipulating.

Since I have a lot of friends who are either married to sex addicts or divorced from sex addicts (friends I have met through The Togetherness Project), I have heard bits and pieces and full out details of stories of these women and how their husbands' porn addictions affected their lives.

During these stories, my mind would often wander to my sex life with Peter---yes, we're going here again. I know how much you like talking about my sex life. Peter wasn't an initiator. Peter was always tired. Peter had a million excuses as to why he didn't want to have sex. These excuses included but were not limited to being overly tired from work, back injuries, sex being painful, and not being in the mood. If I wanted to think of more I could, but you get the point. Sex wasn't non-existent and Peter would often say he wanted sex more but when it came down to it, I was turned down more nights than not---which sucked for my ego because I really enjoyed sex. Are you uncomfortable yet? Hang in there, we aren't done yet.

Among his inability to decide whether he wanted more sex or less sex, Peter would almost never come to bed with me. He claimed insomnia and I would beg and plead with him to just come lay next to me so I could feel like we were close. Going to bed alone was something I hated but it was something I had done almost consistently for TWO YEARS prior to Peter leaving our family. But because I had no idea what a pornography addiction looked like, I believed the insomnia claims and I believed that Peter was just up watching movies or playing video games well into the night.

Another thing that always struck me as odd was the fact that whenever I was on Peter's computer sign in, every single thing in the history was erased. Every. Single. Thing. And when I would borrow his iPhone for anything, it was always empty of it's messages---and guess what? You don't have to erase messages on an iPhone. At first, when I told a WoPA (Wife of Porn Addict) friend about this, I told her I was relieved that this proved Peter wasn't looking at porn but she burst my bubble and told me this was quite the opposite. There is no need to erase all of your computer history unless you're hiding something.

On top of all of these things, the fact that Peter had been lying about being at work so much of the time has caused me to fixate on the theories of what in the hell he was doing in his "spare time". He claims he was hanging out with friends because he was "overwhelmed with family life". {{{ I have the urge to punch a wall every time I hear him say that }}} I asked him about this last week, specifically about infidelity, but he denied everything through his teeth. He became angry and started to gaslight and project his problems onto me. I am still on the fence about what I think of this reaction. Peter usually only becomes truly irate when I catch him in a lie.

None of these things were ever red flags, in my mind, that would cause me to speculate on Peter being addicted to pornography. They were definitely red flags regarding Peter's commitment to our marriage but I internalized all of these problems and blamed them on my inability to be a good wife. I wondered if Peter was attracted to me and whether he thought I was good enough for him. I was secretly worried that he regretted his decision to marry this woman who was fat and lazy and didn't even like to cook. What was I for him? What did I give him that he could not find somewhere else?

The answer to that question is nothing. In Peter's mind, I was an obstacle keeping him from being the person he wanted to be. I was an obstacle keeping him from doing things he wanted to do.

So he hid. He hid behind his choices and lied through his pearly whites. And I had no idea---and I don't know very many women who would have any idea in my situation. Because before you realize you were married to a pornography addict, you usually can't recognize the signs. And by the time I realized the signs could point toward him being addicted to pornography, I was already divorced from my addict husband. It's kind of a double-edged sword. But it's the kind of double-edged sword that we need to use to help others. It's the kind of pain that might be able to help someone in a similiar situation. It's the kind of heartache that might show someone else they are not alone.

I finally got the guts to ask my husband about his pornography addiction when I had so many signs right in front of me for years---approximately SIX of the seven years we were married---and guess what? It didn't hurt any less to have him confess to the things I felt I already knew. It didn't hurt any less to hear the words leave his mouth and enter my ears. Because no matter the signs, I still hoped I was wrong. I still hoped this was me being Crazy Wendy, the girl who overly obsesses over stupid things that aren't ever true.

So if you're uncomfortable with things you are seeing in your marriage, question them. Question the hell out of them and make sure you are comfortable. Being uncomfortable means something is off. Whatever that looks like in your life, you have a right to feel comfortable in your marriage. Trust your instincts and believe in yourself.

And while you're at it, go get an ice cream cone---because most likely, you have a hell of a journey ahead of you.

Worthless

Betrayal hurts. It effing hurts.

Ever since Monday, I've had this pain deep down in my chest and I can't get it out. I want to claw it out and throw it off a cliff but it stays there and festers and it seems to be getting bigger.

Today I can't handle it. I wanted to stay in bed but the kids forced me out of bed because, you know, SCHOOL! And on top of that, my weight obsession doesn't allow me to miss the gym very often so we went there. The whole time, I felt like crying and screaming but I acted completely normal and dropped my son off to kids club with a smile.

A smile.
A damn smile.

People don't know---and they shouldn't. But sometimes it's so hard having this life where only a small portion of my friends understand and even most of them don't understand everything because our situations are all different.

I feel really hopeless today. I feel like it isn't possible to feel wonderful again.

I can laugh and smile and joke with others but I still come home at night, all alone, and I'm still fat and unattractive and my ex-husband is still an addict who didn't love me like he should've.

I don't believe I'm actually loveable. I feel like me gaining weight when we got married caused him to seek out pornography because I didn't have the perfect body and maybe I wasn't good at sex and maybe he was never really attracted to me. I wish I would've stayed skinny because I think he would've been happier.

Where is the healing? Where is the hope? I can't do this today. I can't handle these thoughts of loneliness. I'm supposed to be spending the day with my daughter while Peter Pan took our son on a campout. And goshdamnit, I'm going to slap a smile on my face for her and make it a fun night. But I'll still come home and ache and my chest will still be tight and I'll still feel abandoned and stupid and weak and worthless.

And that is because today, I am worthless. I look in the mirror and I can't see anything about me that is awesome or good. It's all gone. I am nothing today.

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.