The Next Big Step

I wasn’t sure what to call this post. “Time to take out the trash?” “The reaping?”

A few months ago I filed for divorce. It took a few years to get here. It hasn't been pretty. But it is what it is, and I'm so glad I finally got to this point. It's time to move forward.
When I was working out in the yard today I felt like writing this post. It's been over a year since I've blogged here, but I'm letting go of the perfectionism (as much as I can) and just writing from my gut. I don't have anyone here to please.
~

There are some mini rosebushes out front. Ever since we moved in they haven’t been doing so well. I tried a few things to care for them, but then I discovered they were diseased, and the only thing to do was to pull them out. They were infested with a disease that apparently stays in the soil no matter what you do.

Before I realized all this, my first response was to turn to the interwebs. I asked, “how can I save these? I don’t want to pull them out. Help.”. The advice came from all over - and the contradictory suggestions were abundant.

“You can treat it. It would be a tragedy to pull those out, you need to do whatever you can to save them.”

“Dig them up. Burn them. You can’t ever plant roses there again.”

For awhile I decided to do what I used to do best. I ignored the problem and told myself I’d figure out something, or maybe they’d come around on their own. Then I tried fertilizing them. Other times I’d spray them, and if they died I did my best. I was still ignoring what seemed to be the only solution - accepting there was nothing I could do and they weren’t getting better. Every time I walked by them it was a nagging reminder that something had to be done, but I didn’t want to be the one to do it. I didn’t want to be the one to give up, to say there was nothing left worth saving. But looking back, I needed that time of indecisiveness. Of discomfort. I needed it to bring me to a point of action. I just needed time.

Because one day I was ready.

I was done letting these plants steal my peace. I was done with it all. So I grabbed a pick-ax and some gloves and headed outside, in the 95 degree heat.
All the reasons not to do it came up.

Maybe I should wait until a better time to do it. (There’s never a good time.)

The kids would be so upset. (They were. But I knew it was still for the best, and someday they’ll understand.)

It’s going to hurt. (Oh but it does. But unfortunately you can’t avoid pain. And the pain can take you places you couldn’t get to any other way.)

So forward I went.

I started to take a few awkward swings. Sometimes I missed completely. Sometimes I hurt my hand. I started to sweat. I was hot, tired, and this was hard. At one point it became hard to breathe and I had to put my pick-ax down, step inside to catch my breath, and have a glass of water. I slowed down my breathing. I gave myself time. I knew I was going back out - there was no rush, I could take my time doing this. But I wanted it over so much. I wanted to be on the other side of this. So I headed back outside to start again.

As I dug out most of the roots, until there were a few strands hanging on, I grabbed hold to pull it the rest of the way out and it fought HARD. I grabbed thorns, I strained my back pulling as it held on with everything it had. I let my anger fuel me onward for awhile. Sometimes it was all I had so I held onto it like it was my lifeblood.

Doesn’t he, I mean “it” know I need this?! Doesn’t it realize how hard I worked to try and save it, to no avail? It was time to take back my peace. My happiness. To make room for something new and healthy. Something that can thrive and bloom. I never wanted this. I’m just doing the best I can with what I have, after having tried every thing in my power to hold on. The time for explanation was long gone.

As I pulled it up the diseased roots crumbled and tiny insects infesting it poured out. Angry, disturbed, wanting to stay comfortable in their hollow home. Wanting to go on pretending everything was fine. Wanting anything other than to acknowledge their path would end in destruction. Anything other than letting go of their destructive lives.

With a triumphant release of my breath I tossed the diseased root into the garbage can and hauled it out to the curb. I did it. As I looked at the gaping holes in the soil, I knew that from an outside perspective it would look worse, a big, gaping wound in a pile of weeds. To most it might seem that despite the weeds, it would have looked better to have the diseased roses sitting there instead of holes. But they also wouldn’t have noticed before that the troubled roses were rotting, and their spotted leaves were falling off. The shoots growing fast and riddled with thorns but no blooms. And they would never have seen the infestation growing beneath the soil, silently eating away at any beauty that might have been left behind.

It was a lot harder than it looks.

But I knew. I knew that there was more work to do, it would just have to happen over time. Now that the roses were gone I could work to start pulling the weeds. Once the soil was fresh and whole again I would lay down a barrier to prevent any new weeds from growing up. Rich soil would be added on top. I would place new growth in the soil and nurture it to see what grows best. I’d learn as I go, and keep building something new and beautiful, until eventually you wouldn’t see what used to be there - diseased, life sucking chaos.

Although I knew it would take awhile to get to the new normal, I smiled to myself as I thought of all the possibilities. I would take steps towards this new beginning, I already was taking those steps! It was okay that it wouldn’t happen right away. I knew it was worth it. I decided to stop there for now, leaving the big gaping holes and weeds in all their terrible glory. It was a big step to take and I needed to rest and replenish before making plans for the future. I’d learned it’s okay to care for ourselves along the way, to not expect more than we can give.

I took a slow, intentional breath, and released so much more than the air in my lungs. I felt peace. Beautiful, previously elusive peace. I headed inside to recover from the work.

I knew I’d need to be ready for the next step - there was more work to do and I was going to need everything I had to finish it. The worst certainly wasn’t over. But I had a new goal in mind, and I was going to get there no matter what. I would stumble as I ran toward it, and that thought made me cringe, but I’d stumbled before. Besides, I would much rather crawl my way towards joy than sit with the daily reminder that there was no where to go if things stayed the same.

I never know what to say at the end of these. I always feel pressured to have some thoughtful, inspiring last few words to part with. But this time I really don’t.

I’m just so over it and ready to be almost anywhere other than here.

~Sway

Along for the ride

Freedom

Things were dark for a while there. It was a -ball on the floor-fly into a rage-wish I could crawl out of my skin- kind of week. After another painful attempt at climbing back over the barbed wire fence, I have finally found my groove and am feeling re-centered.

I told my husband I don't want to live this way anymore. We are having another in home separation and I am starting to work on preparing myself to be independent. I don't know how long I will continue to live like this, but I know I'm working towards a way out. I am tired of this cycle. Tired of the dishonesty. The blame. The rationalizations, denial, and selfishness. I am tired of always being the one to bring his behavior to light. I won't be his Savior anymore. I can't be. All my attempts at helping him see his ways have just continued the cycle. 

A helpful(aka enabling) wife does not a recovered man make. 

I am feeling much more peace and serenity these days. And I am taking back the parts of my life I was pushing aside. I scheduled appointments, planned and paid for a training workshop, called a counselor to set up an appointment (after the polygraph therapist fiasco I have been dragging my feet on starting therapy again), and I've been participating in multiple recovery meetings. I cook meals when I'm finding the time, and warming up frozen dinners when I need a break. And not feeling guilty for taking days off. 

I'm following my gut. Stepping out of my comfort zone. Telling my fears they are valid, and I appreciate their concerns but I'm still going forward with what feels right. And working on telling my mind to be still. 

I feel a bit all over the place today. I feel the pendulum swinging back and forth and I'm not sure where it is going to stop. But I'm hanging on and going along with it willingly.

This is my life. I am led by God and he knows where I'm going. I'm trying to trust in Him and pray I can hang on for the ride. And learn to appreciate the journey instead of waiting for the destination. 

Cautiously Optimistic

Remember how I talked about the roller coaster here?

Well right now we are at the top of the coaster. Things are good, really good. I am just enjoying it and living in the moment(thanks to a lovely friend makemyburdenlight suggesting it).

This is the point where I would give a big sigh of relief and say to myself "whew.....we made it". He has seen the light. I've always wanted to attend one of those churches, the kind with a pastor who yells and proclaims and shouts hallelujah's from the pulpit. It is in this precise moment when I would hear that voice in my head shouting for joy, "Hallelujah! He has seen the LIGHT!".

I always thought once he seemed to understand something important, no, VITAL, to our recovery as a couple that everything would be better. Still difficult mind you, I mean, there was no ignoring that triggers for either of us, whether the pain of him still struggling with lust, or me remembering past betrayals. But I thought that if we were a team, united, then the hard part was behind us.

But then the roller coaster would plummet and everything would be tossed upside down again.

So today I am using a different approach.

I don't assume this is the last time. I don't even expect it is. And that my friends, is so freeing. Life changing! Because then I am not controlled by what he does or doesn't do.

Does that mean it won't hurt if/when he loses empathy? No.

Does that mean I don't hope like heck that this is the last time we go through this roller coaster? No.

I still hope for change that lasts. I still pray for it, but I don't base all my happiness on whether it lasts or not.

I am Cautiously Optimistic. I hope we can remain a team through all the future challenges. I hope he will remember how to hold my pain, how to listen to me, and not just try to "fix" the problem.

But I don't expect that the change will last. And I continue to prepare and work my recovery so that when that roller coaster plummets I am ready. So it doesn't drop out of nowhere while I scramble to put on my seat belt.

This is where boundaries come in. This is where self care comes in. This is why I have my support network in place, with women who I can call, text, vox, email, telegram....when I need them. Which is most of the time when I am awake.

I am reminded that my husband is not God. I love his support, love, and understanding. But I am learning not to need it. Because I can't hand over control of my happiness to someone who is human and makes mistakes. I trust my life with God, who knows all, sees all, understands all. He alone has the power to provide me with complete safety.

I want my husband to find true recovery. I want these changes in him to last. I take each day with him on my side as a gift. An opportunity to breathe. Take lots of hot baths while he watches the kids. Let him buy my favorite treats, and vent all the pain and fear and hurt I am feeling while he is able to listen. I find happiness in this day, as it is, and try not to look back on how pissed I would be if I read this after d day 14 months ago. (Seriously, I would be majorly pissed)

So thank you my friends for reading. Thanks for giving me a space where I can be heard. Where I am allowed to learn and grow and accept myself. I needed it.