A Culture of Shame

It's Christmas. Merry Christmas! I always seem to ruin my streaks on important days like birthdays. Or Christmas.

Here we go, day one. :(

I'm not really in the mood to look on the bright side. I'm not really in the mood to wallow, either. I guess I feel a little numb. I know this will soon pass- maybe after I sleep some. Then I'll be sad.

When I slip, I usually go through 2 opposite stages of blame. First, I try to blame everyone and everything else but myself. Then, I try to put 100% of the blame on myself. In truth, the responsibility is mine, but a great many factors contribute to my weakness. I don't get to claim 100% of the blame. For example:

I grew up in a sex- and body-shaming culture. From my early years in Young Women's, I remember noticing the double standards. The girls couldn't wear shorts to midweek church activities, but the boys could. I remember thinking how unfair it was. Now, I think it's dangerous. It reinforces society's lies that women control men's behavior by what they wear. It says, girls have to be more covered than boys, and suggests that the reason behind that is that boys can't control themselves unless girls are covered. This reveals a myriad of lies. Only, they don't seem like lies. They seem like truths because we're so accustomed to them. One of those lies is the stupid, stupid cliche/excuse: "men are visual." Well, okay, that's like saying "male birds fly." UM, HELLO! ALL birds fly! Some fly higher than others, sure, but it's not that male birds fly higher than female birds. ALL HUMANS ARE VISUAL, those who have eyes that see. Every time someone says "men are visual," I want to go on a tangent. Are more men more visual than women? Maybe. Who knows! But I'll tell you what I do know- of all my Facebook friends, it is my female friends who are FAR more likely to post an inappropriate picture of a man. I have probably only seen one or two inappropriate pictures of women posted by my male Facebook friends. But, definitely weekly and probably daily, I see some picture of mostly nude firemen, or a provocative picture of a popular male celebrity, etc., posted by my female friends. Common comments include, "yummy," and "I'm going to set my house on fire," and "I want one." Like a man is a thing to have, or to eat. And yet, when people say "men are visual," it implies that women are not. And I'm here to tell you that is a lie and an excuse. When I was a teenager, I had a picture of my crush (Dean Cain, if you must know) on my wall, but my brothers had no pictures of women on their walls. And, somehow, it would have been wrong if they did, but it was okay that I did. It's that stupid lie we keep feeding, the lie that women are not visual; are not stimulated visually.

This is a lie that is dangerous for both sexes. If I am visually stimulated, then I might think something is terribly wrong with me, because I have been taught all my life that men are visual. Enter: shame. That useless, crippling enemy. If a man reacts inappropriately (i.e. touching, or saying something degrading) to a sexually attractive woman, then perhaps this cultural lie will convince him that he has done nothing wrong; he is visual, after all. Enter: rape culture.

Our culture teaches this. Especially our Church culture teaches this. Not too long ago, Elizabeth Smart said this: “I remember in school one time, I had a teacher who was talking about abstinence,” Smart told the panel. “And she said, ‘Imagine you’re a stick of gum. When you engage in sex, that’s like getting chewed. And if you do that lots of times, you’re going to become an old piece of gum, and who is going to want you after that?’ Well, that’s terrible. No one should ever say that. But for me, I thought, ‘I’m that chewed-up piece of gum.’ Nobody re-chews a piece of gum. You throw it away. And that’s how easy it is to feel you no longer have worth. Your life no longer has value.”

I have a similar memory, only it was not a school teacher, but a Sunday School teacher, from when I was about 16. The topic was chastity. Our teacher brought in a piece of homemade bread and spread jam on it. He asked if anyone wanted the bread with jam. Mostly everyone rose their hands. Then he licked the jam right off the bread. It made the remaining jam all gooey and gross. He asked "who wants it now?" The answer was nobody, and the connection was that NOBODY will want someone who's slept with someone else. I believed that- I believed it with my whole core. I believed that lie.

In church, as Young Women, we were taught that sex before marriage (not even sex outside marriage, but specifically sex before marriage) was the worst thing you could ever do. Guilt, guilt, guilt. Pre-guilt. I hadn't even held hands with a boy and I felt guilty. Those lessons would go on an on about how horrible sexual sin is, and then as a closing breath, a mention might go to the Atonement. Someone might say that forgiveness would always be available. I don't actually remember anyone saying that, but someone must have. I only remember the "don't, don't, don't." "bad, bad, bad."

So when I had sex for the first time, I was in college and definitely not married. I bled a little, and knowing almost nothing about sex, I was sure I was dying. I had sinned the worst sin ever, and now God was killing me as punishment. What could I do? I couldn't call my mother and ask what was happening with my body. I couldn't ask a doctor- they would know! Shame. Shame has no place in repentance.

If only I'd known!! If only I'd known I hadn't damned myself for eternity! If only I'd known I wasn't beyond hope, beyond love, beyond healing. If I'd known, If I'd even supposed that I had some worth, then maybe I wouldn't have continued a physical relationship with my college boyfriend, especially those times I didn't want it. Maybe I would have had the courage to stand up for myself. Maybe, if I hadn't been taught that shame was right, things would have turned out differently for me.

In fact, I know they would have. If I hadn't been so weighted down by shame, I could have seen my worth. I could have seen my potential. I could have seen a light. Shame did nothing for me but make me believe I was a horrible person who deserved bad things.

Yet, social culture and church culture are cultures of shame, especially of shame to women. There is a delicate balance here, and I get that. No one wants our kids to make harmful choices without fear of consequence. But, you know what I say? Let the consequence follow. No need to add shame to it, which will only and can only worsen the outcome. I know we all want our kids to grow up and make best choices all the time, so we may be a bit heavy-handed on the negative consequences of sin and poor judgment. But, we seem to leave out the most important part. We seem to fail to let our children know that Jesus loves unconditionally. We seem to fail to mention that "if you do these things that are sins before God, there is a way back. You are still loved. You are still worthy of love. You have lost no worth whatsoever." We fail to instill confidence in our youth out of fear that if we tell them they'll be just fine even if they make mistakes, then they'll make them.

Here's the thing. They'll make those mistakes anyway. And if we tell them they are worthy and lovable always, and redeemed, then they'll turn back to good choices much sooner than if they believed their mistakes make them worthless. They'll find happiness. They'll learn to face their problems rather than running away and hiding in shame.

At least, that's how it would have been for me.

I was so afraid I'd make mistakes that I made them. I was so ashamed that I made them, that I made them again. And again and again. I ran because I was ashamed because I was taught to be ashamed. Enter: addiction.

I am not absolving myself of responsibility. I am 32 years old. I have been an "adult" for 14 years now. I make my every day choices. I am responsible for my every every-day choice. I know that.

On the other hand, how we are raised is ingrained in us. What we are taught in our early years stays with us forever, even if they are lies. I am responsible for my sins and my choices, but let's put blame where blame is due. The culture of shame definitely contributed to my addictions, to my false perception of my self-worth, to my fear of facing my problems rather than running from them.

I hope to teach my children quite the opposite of what Society teaches them. I hate shame. I hate that I grew up with it before I even did anything really wrong. I hate that it came for a visit tonight. Shame is Marsha.

So what do we do? How do we teach our kids the importance and beauty of chastity without creating this great, dark cloud of shame? I don't know, but I'm going to focus on the good and hope that works. That's my plan for now. "Look, kids, it's going to be so hard to keep your hands and your eyes and your bodies to yourselves as you get older. I get it. I know it. But, it's so amazing when you can respect other people's bodies as well as your own. You gain so much power that way. I hope you will wait till you're married." And I'll tell them all the scriptural reasons why. And I will make sure to add, "no matter what happens, I will always love you. I will always be here for you. You can talk to me about anything. There is nothing you can do that will ever make me love you less. And God loves you even more."

Confidence instead of shame.

Oh, and P.S., I don't mean to condemn the Church. I love the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It's not perfect. Sometimes, the leaders make bad choices- even the upper leaders. Sometimes, this wonderful but imperfect church is straight-up wrong. Like when it perpetuates this culture of shame. There is a line between culture and doctrine, and while I disagree with some of its culture and question some of its policies, I love the gospel. Living it is what brings me joy.

I Was in Prison, and ye Came unto Me / ONE YEAR

I should really make this two separate posts, but the reality is, it won't happen. So, two posts in one:

I spent time in four prisons today. It was an amazing experience.

But, first, let's talk about a timeline here. One year ago today, I posted this post about what is a Rock Bottom. That post was really a decision for me. That post was about the time I was really working on Step 3, the step that changed my life when I finally DID it. The day before that, I slipped. At that point, I think I had never gone beyond 35 days of sobriety. Never, since, like, 2007. And before that, I dunno. December 15 one year ago is when sobriety began accompanying my recovery. 78 days after December 15, I slipped. 78 days was HUGE. It was an insane improvement from my normal 2 week cycle, and over 100% further than my previous record. Oh, I was pretty devastated that day, but come on, that was a miracle! Even now, I'm still tempted to scold myself and say "so-and-so has been sober since they first attended an ARP meeting," or "so-and-so's haven't taken nearly as long to recover as I have." But, I'm trying not to go there. Okay, so anyway, after 78 days, I did not relapse. It was a slip, and that was it, which is another miracle. Previously, any slip meant a relapse, just about. I only made it about 30 days before my next slip, but that was another slip, and not a relapse. And then! Then I made it past 78, past 90, past 100, somewhere around 150, I THINK. I don't know the exact number, but it was and still is my record. I slipped again back in August and it was my worst slip yet, in fact, it was a mini-relapse. I say mini because it lasted probably three or four days, but it was pretty rough in those 3-4 days. One of those days included a man, and the devastating loss of my temple recommend. And I realized I am still so sick. I realized I cannot be trusted in specific circumstances, and I realized I was still not over manipulating men. I hate even writing that! But, I have found that when I go back and read old posts, I appreciate details like this. It serves as a reminder, both of how far I've come, and of that I need to still be careful.

So that's the last time I slipped. That was 127 days ago. That's something like three times in one year, with the last time having a few incidents. As I write that, I weep, I weep at the miracle! If you would have asked me 18 months ago if I thought I could go one year and only indulge in my addiction three times, or seven or eight times, even, I couldn't have believed you. I couldn't have believed I could ever have such a year. I couldn't have imagined such freedom. I was in a place where 2 weeks was too hard.

Oh, my sweet Redeemer, I am healed by Thy grace.

I don't know what next year holds. Three slips? One? None? Who knows. I'm just working on today. And tonight, as Sidreis says, I'm going to bed safe.

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Okay! Onto the prison story! Oh my goodness! I haven't ever written here about it, but for the past 3 years, I have been a member of a choir whose sole purpose is to sing at the LDS Christmas services in the local prisons. We begin practicing in September of each year and in the middle of December, we take our choir and travel to the prisons and present our program. Every year, it is an amazing, humbling, inspiring experience. My first year there, I remember how clear it was made to me that those who are incarcerated are my brothers and sisters. They are one bad choice away from me, some of them. You know? I remember thinking, my first time, some of these people are addicts, like me. Their addictions are probably more illegal than mine, but who's to say they're more dangerous? I remember thinking I'm just like they are, only free to choose! I remember thinking how similar I am to those precious offenders. Not in addiction, not in sin, but in humanness. We're the same, I saw.

I tell you what, God is in the prisons.

Every year thereafter, I have been struck by how human they are. They are kind and gracious, at least to our choir, and they have immeasurable worth in the sight of God.

Earlier this year, our choir director moved to Utah (hey, SLC peeps, look out for Jenny McKinney- she may do a prison choir next year!), and when she asked me to take over the choir here for her, I eagerly accepted! I was so excited! So, this year, I got to be the director. I have had choir practices every Saturday night at my house for past several months. For as scattered and disorganized I am, it all went rather well. But, then, the choir is full of 15 fantastic women, so not much could go wrong. ;)

Each year, we have some brief speaking parts along with our song selection. This year, I decided to have the choir talk about some of their personal stories of belief and hope. Our theme was "Be Believing." I shared about addiction recovery, you bet I did. In every service, the ARP program was mentioned by the brother who conducted (a bishop or other appointed volunteer from outside the prisons). In my story, I made sure to mention how the ARP program has been a blessing for me. Many inmates expressed gratitude to me, after the program, for sharing my story. One of the Priesthood Holders thanked me specifically, and said he had heard my story before (I think at a Speaker's Meeting? He said a training meeting, so it was either that or a facilitator training meeting I attended once) and he'd hoped I would share it because, he said, "they need it." I was so grateful I was in a place to share it and use my past hell to maybe, hopefully, inspire someone else, or at least maybe offer a glimmer of hope that recovery is possible. Last year I couldn't have done it. The years before, I wouldn't have even almost dared to share!

Today was the day we'd been practicing for. Our first prison was a women's prison, and the next three were men's. As the director, I have a little more insight into God's love for our brothers and sisters who are incarcerated. As I put together the program, I was guided- clearly, unmistakably guided- as to what music I should include, what our speaking parts should be, even the order of songs. I was in awe at how important these inmates are to our Heavenly Father. So important, that He cares about a musical program that will be heard at four prisons in Idaho, by a small percentage of the inmates. He cares about them so much, that He would guide an uneducated choir director about the very songs to include. It is astonishing to me, though not surprising. It is humbling, so very, very humbling. God loves the least of us. He counts us all. None are forgotten.

And, as I was searching the faces of the precious offenders, I was blessed with a glimmer of what God thinks of them. I recalled the guidance I'd had in organizing the program as I looked at my brothers and sisters, and I was flooded with love. And it's interesting to think that I don't know anything about them. I don't know who they are or why they're there. I don't know what choices they made to lead them to lose their freedom and contact with their families. I don't know anything, but all I could feel was love. I couldn't see their mistakes. I couldn't see their sins. I couldn't feel anything but love. And I think that's how God sees us. Oh, He is just, and we will pay consequences for our poor choices, but when He looks at me, and you, He doesn't see our sins and our mistakes. At least not in a way that would change or block His love. He sees our hearts and He loves us no matter what. It's not about what we have done! We are His children, and His love will not, cannot, change nor diminish.

And the sweetest of all about this is, if Heavenly Father is aware of the needs of the inmates in Idaho - and I know He is, because He led me - then He is also aware of my needs. God is fair and just and no one, to Him, matters more than me. No one matters more than you. No one matters more than each of those inmates. He loves each of us, like there's only one of us, and He loves each of us always.

That is what I know today. I saw His love today. I felt His love. I know His love, and how sweet it is to feel it! How sweet it is to feel it toward others, and toward myself.

What a blessed experience. What an incredible opportunity. I can't wait for next year!

Matthew 25:36, 40-
I was in prison and ye came to me.
Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.

Our God is a Fourth-Watch God

Life is somethin' else, isn't it?

Do you ever feel like Life sometimes starts beating the crap out of you for no apparent reason? Blow after blow after blow, Life throws at you. And it gives you no warning, really. There you are, walking along with Life, and the path is a little rocky, but things are mostly okay. But then, suddenly, BOOM! A fast fist to the face. And another, and another, and a kick to the gut. You're trying to stay upright during this beating, but you fall to the ground and then you're trying to catch your breath, but Life's like, NO WAY! You don't get to breathe! and then Life stomps your face in. And you're like, I wanna die. I'm lying here trying to breathe. I'm bleeding everywhere, and I can't find a place on my body that isn't hurting. Life has betrayed me, and I wanna die. And then, sometimes, it seems for a moment that Life is easing up. You think you can get up if you can just open your swollen eyes. Finally you blink open your eyes just in time to see a seagull above you as it flies away after dropping its feces, which now blankets your bloodied, beaten face. Like frosting of acid over cupcakes of carrion. And the bird poop on its own wouldn't be so bad, but after you've been beaten to scraps, it feels like Hell. Have you ever experienced something like that?

That's been my life over the past few months. Blow after blow after blow. These thoughts have been common:
Why can't things go smoothly, just for one day? 
Will this ever end?
I am sure I can't take any more of this.
Where is God? Is He even listening?
It's not fair!
I need Marsha!
Nobody understands.
I hate my life (and that is a very unusual thought to enter my head).
I want to give up.

God has finally eased some of my burdens. However, the lifting of some burdens have caused a seesaw effect, and some different burdens have become even heavier. But, my perspective is a little clearer.

It was really hard there for a while. And, already, I'm looking back with the understanding that it really didn't last that long. When you're in it, though, and you cannot see the end, it feels like forever. I feel like I'm still in the sea in the storm, but at least I'm floating, on a raft, even. I'm breathing. I can see hints of dawn on the horizon.

I attended a local mid-singles fireside on Sunday evening. The speaker talked about trials and the one thing he said that really stuck out to me was "our God is a fourth-watch God." I really let that play out in my head. I have noticed this myself. I have noticed that when I am in my trials, and it feels like God isn't there, it also feels like He doesn't really come in for the rescue until just before the moment of surrender to hopelessness. It always feels like Heavenly Father waits till the second before ultimate disaster to intervene. And, sometimes, He doesn't intervene at all, and ultimate disaster becomes reality. That's when you go on past the 4th watch and it's STILL dark. Time for dawn has come and gone without the sun. That's another post for another day, however.

I'm grateful to report that I'm at the tail end of my fourth watch. My Savior has come and rescued me, again, from drowning. Miracles and tender mercies have been my companions, even in the black, turbulent sea. The rescue raft was always on its way even though I couldn't see it until it had reached me.

Anyway, I have noticed in my own life, that the end of the 4th watch is often when I can finally see the possibility of light. I have also noticed that, for every new, great trial, each watch is longer than it was in the last great trial. Each storm is more terrifying than the last one. Each rescue raft begins farther from me than the last time. Each dawn, however, is brighter than the last one.

Through the last few months, I noticed I was drawing from the strength I gained from previous trials. Remember, that last trial ended? This one will, too.
Remember how I wished I'd relied more on the Savior last time? I'll rely on Him more this time.
Remember how Heavenly Father was really with me the entire time, and I just couldn't see Him because I was too close to the pain? He's here now, as He was then.
Remember how He didn't abandon me even when I thought He did? He will not abandon me now!

So I would take a deep breath, brush off the dust and blood and bird poop, and face the dark storm.

Sure enough, there was my God in the fourth watch. I thought the 1st watch was the fourth watch, frankly! It was so hard even then!

Today, I found this talk by S. Michael Wilcox, and in it, the following paragraphs:

There are times in our lives when we toil, rowing against the wind. We are trying to make progress and sometimes it seems that there are forces that are against us. There may be some great blessing that we deeply desire. There may be some trial that we want deeply to be over. And it doesn’t seem like we are making any headway against the wind. We wonder if the Lord is listening. Now we need to understand something about our Father in Heaven, and that is that He is a fourth watch God.
The Hebrew night was divided into four watches. The first watch—six o’clock at night to nine [p.m.], second watch—nine to midnight, third watch—midnight to three in the morning, fourth watch—three in the morning to sunrise.  Sometimes that creates a bit of a problem for us, certainly for me. I worship a fourth watch God. One who tends to feel that it is good to let His children toil in rowing against the wind to face a little opposition. My problem is that I am a first watch person. Now there is something inside of me that understands that it is good for me to toil in rowing against the wind. But certainly by the second watch He would come. And when the second watch has passed and He still has not come. Sometimes I forget that as Mark says, He is watching. He watched them toiling and rowing.
I began to make some assumptions that are often dangerous to make—maybe you make the same. We begin to assume that, number one, He is not there. That is why He’s not responding. And then we calm down and understand that He is there; He is always there. Then the second assumption is if He is there, He must not be listening. And then again, in calmer times—He always listens. Well then the third assumption is He must not care. No—He’s there, He listens, He cares. Maybe the most dangerous assumption, the fourth assumption is I must not be worthy. Now that fourth assumption we are probably correct on. But when has that ever stopped Him from responding; we are as worthy as we can be. We must assume that we have not yet reached the fourth watch; and He is a fourth watch God.
The scriptures are full of fourth watch stories: Joseph Smith in the Sacred Grove—“At the very moment I was ready to sink into despair” (JSH 1:16). Do you ever feel that way? “Just at this moment of great alarm, I saw a pillar of light” (JSH 1:16). It was when the widow of Zarephath was gathering two sticks to make a final meal for her and her son that Elijah came walking through the gate to save them from the famine (1 Kings 17). It was when the water was spent in the bottle and Hagar had placed Ishmael under a tree because she did not want to see his death, that the angel came to say, Hagar, what aileth thee? and showed her a source of water (Genesis 21:17).
We worship a fourth watch God. So when the trials aren’t over and the blessings don’t come, don’t assume that He is not there, or He is not listening, or He doesn’t care, or you’re not worthy. Always assume you have not yet reached the fourth watch.

God is a kind and ever-merciful 4th watch God. I know there is wisdom to the winds He allows. I know I will be wiser and stronger at the end of this trial. I am grateful for it! I am grateful for the miracles I have seen during it. It's interesting because our trials are really customized to fit us. I know that my trials would scarcely be trials for some others. At the same time, some others would be literally unable to bear what I have born. I have heard that quote that says something like if we could dump our trials in a big community bucket and choose whichever trials we wanted, we'd take back our own trials. I really believe that! I'll take what I have, thanks. You keep your health issues, I don't want them. You keep your nightmare of a childhood to manage, I don't want it. I'll keep my divorce, I'll keep my single parenthood. I'll keep my loneliness. I'll keep my past with an emotionally abusive, adulterating husband. I'll keep my seemingly endless poverty. I'll keep my ADHD, and my son's Asperger's. I'll keep my addictions. You keep your loss of loved ones, your isolation from family, your homelessness (I've been homeless, actually! But I'm not now.) I'll keep all my trials, thank you very much. I like them better than yours.

And I'm so grateful that dawn is coming, and that He never stopped watching me during it all.

Like Mother, Like Son; Like Father, Like Daughter

First things first, I got my temple recommend back yesterday!!! I'm soo happy. I'm going tomorrow! It's been three long months.

And now, the real reason for my post. I've written about my son before. Both of my children are so wonderful and teach me daily, and I usually feel like the luckiest mom in the world to have them in my life, as my children. I used to think that my daughter was exactly like me- bright, creative, imaginative, happy, enthusiastic, bossy, emotional, controlling, and, oh yeah, hilarious- and that my son was nothing like me. I am laid back and adaptable; he needs structure and fears change. I am scattered; he is precise. I am slow to anger; he is quick to anger. I don't really care about details; he notices everything. I used to imagine that angels in heaven would draw a mom card and a baby card, and if the two matched, they would send that baby to that mom. If they didn't match, they would find a different baby. I imagined that the angels chose my card and my son's card, and they laughed and laughed and laughed and one of them said, "let's do it anyway," and they laughed and laughed some more, because the two of us are NOT A MATCH. 

My sweet boy is 8, now, and as delightful as ever. I have always loved his guilelessness, his willingness to forgive, his desire to share. While I believed for years that we are opposites, I have always been very grateful to be his mother. He and my daughter bring me joy untold! However, I have realized that my son is exactly like me.

No, he is not an addict. But he has poor impulse control as a result of mild autism, and of circumstances that have never been in his control. For someone needing structure and predictability, this poor kid's life has been turned upside down more than any child deserves. The divorce was so hard on him, and the constant back-and-forth between homes continues to be very hard on him, even 6 years later. He really does have a rough life in many ways, and I usually fail to give him credit for that. He is different from me, and he's so different from most other kids. He is intelligent and has an exceptional memory. He doesn't like to do sports or even so much play with other kids. His vocabulary is bigger than many 8th graders', and he uses much different terminology than his peers. Often, he flaps his hands when other kids would laugh. At school, he was bullied due to his differences, and that broke my heart. One of the huge reasons I chose to homeschool was to protect my son from those bullies (both students and teachers). I thought he'd be loving life doing school at home, and that he'd change. But, the truth is, he still struggles-- not with the academics, but with just doing what he's supposed to do.

While I'm definitely not grateful for my addiction, I'm very grateful for the lessons I have learned and am learning through recovery. Especially in relation to parenting.

This morning started off pretty rough. Firstly, I am PMS-ing, which sometimes means that I have an unusually short fuse. So when my sweet son began his "I'm not doing school!" tirade this morning, I only tried being nice and reasonable for a short time before his continued outbursts set me off. I reacted poorly, and I yelled at my sweet 8-year-old son. He retreated into himself, and I had solved nothing. I had only made things worse. Still angry, but knowing I needed to calm down before I spoke another ill word to my boy, I sequestered myself to my bedroom and knelt, asking God to forgive me for treating His little child so poorly. Then I asked for help. "How do I reach my son?" I asked Him. "This happens almost every day. How do I reach him in a way that will inspire him to just do what he needs to do?"

And do you know what? Even after I had hardened my heart (toward a little child!), God answered my prayer with a thought: "How do I reach you?" 

So I thought a moment. I thought about why I was angry. I was angry because I felt like a failure. I felt like if I was a good mom, he'd want to do his school. If I was a good mom, he wouldn't yell at me and refuse to do simple things I asked him to do. I was upset because I knew if he just did what I asked, he'd be happier, and successful, and the whole family would be happier. I was angry essentially because he wasn't being obedient. How does Father treat me when I'm not being obedient? I thought about all my years of active addiction. I thought about His responses. I thought about how He made me feel in those times of failure to obey.

Does my Father yell at me in frustration and anger? No, but He is patient, kind, long-suffering. He doesn't remind me of all the ways I am failing; He brings to my mind the things I am still doing right. When I slip, He doesn't give up. When I was "slipping" weekly, and even daily, He did not give up on me. 

And that's what I needed from my Father. I needed patience. I needed love and encouragement. I needed forgiveness. And that's what my son needed from me right now. He's just like me. 

So I called him into my bedroom and asked him a few questions. I told him that he's just like me. I told him I know it's hard to do the things that are right sometimes. I told him that when I don't obey Heavenly Father, I feel miserable. I asked him how he felt in that moment, and I asked him how he felt the other day when he did three days worth of school, which was above and beyond what I'd required him to do. I asked him to compare those two feelings. 

How can I judge my son who struggles with obedience when I struggle with the same thing? How can I even get angry with him when it took me years to finally turn honestly to God? 

I told my sweet boy I love him. I told him I was sorry for yelling. I sang him "our song" and we both wept. It's a perfect song for how I feel about him:

I don't mind your odd behavior

It's the very thing I savor

If you were an ice cream flavor

You would be my favorite one

Oh, I've loved you from the start

In every single way

And more each passing day

You are brighter than the stars

Believe me when I say

It's not about your scars.

It's all about your heart.

And afterward, he hugged me, got up and said, "I'm going to go do school. Love you, Mom." 

After he left my room, I got back on my knees to thank my Father for teaching me how to be a parent, and for giving me, personally, the most merciful and loving example. I thought, "I wonder if I'll have to do this every morning to inspire my son to do school and/or chores, or whatever it is?" And then the answer, "God would do it for me. If I need to, I will have a one on one with my son every morning." And maybe he still won't be inspired. Maybe he'll still choose to fume in his bedroom. Just like Heavenly Father can't make me do what's right, I can't make my son do what's right. But I know one thing. I will never, ever give up on him.

The Lies that Sustain Her

As my addict, Marsha needs fuel, food, something that keeps her alive. I discovered what her food is: LIES. In order for Marsha to thrive, I need to believe the lies she feeds me. When I accept those lies, she gains nourishment, and therefore power.

I made this discovery last week when I was on the computer and I was attacked, without provocation, with a thought to type something specific into my search window just to see if it would yield questionable images. Immediately, the rationalizations swiftly flowed in: "It's no big deal; your filter will catch anything inappropriate." "Nothing bad will happen." "Even if you do find an inappropriate image, it's not like you're going to continue searching stuff like this." "Just one look won't hurt."

I felt myself begin to mentally nod in agreement, as I have in the past. Yep. All that's true. I won't get caught up if I just take one look. And if I do, I won't go too far. Yep.

But, abruptly and mercifully, I recognized what I was doing. No, no, no! These are lies! Every one of them is a lie! It is a big deal. Something bad was likely to happen. I would have been likely to continue questionable searches. Just one look could have been the difference between abstinence and an ecclesiastical confession.

It's interesting because I get ideas like this- to look up something in the search window- probably daily, as I explained here. But, instead of challenging the rationalizations, I have simply ignored them in the past, which works for awhile. But the other day, I recognized, acknowledged, and defined the lies. The moment I did so, the lies became powerless against me. I could not, even for a moment, suspend disbelief in order to give credence to those lies, and therefore, I could not proceed to feed Marsha. How could I? How could I begin a questionable search while openly acknowledging to myself that it would lead to a slip, which would lead to misery, and a prolonged wait for the reinstatement of my temple attendance privileges? Indeed, I could not.

Additionally, the desire disappeared. Not only did acknowledging the lie render Marsha's goals powerless, it also added power to me. I didn't want to do what the addict in me wanted me to do. Seeing the lie of it made the behavior appear pointless.

Looking back, I now see how many lies I had to believe in order to sustain my addiction. For every single slip, for each relapse, I had to believe some or many of the following (not an all-inclusive list):

It wouldn't hurt
But if it did, I deserved to hurt anyway
I don't matter
I wasn't hurting anyone but myself
I'll never recover
This is my destiny
I'm worthless
I'm beyond the Atonement's power to save
I'm worse than everyone else
Even without this, I have too many faults to ever make it back to God
I'm already a bad mom
I have to recover myself, by my own power
I don't deserve peace
This is my nature
This isn't remotely my fault
This is completely my fault
I'm a freak of nature
This addiction is necessary to keep me humble (seriously?!)
I'm too broken to ever function or cope healthily
This is who I am

If I were to take each of these lies and tell the truth about them, and believe the truth about them, I know that I would gain power while denying Marsha that power. These lies, these excuses, sustain her. These lies are why she reigns. When I see each lie as such, and believe the Truth, she dies a little each time. I intend to destroy her with Truth.

New self-conversations might happen something like this:
"I don't matter."
"That's a lie. Yes I do. I matter."
Oh, well there goes that excuse.

"I'm worse than everyone else."
"That's a lie. No, I'm not. What a selfish way to think. I'm not worse. In fact, I'm doing pretty well."
Oh. Well there goes that excuse.

"This is my destiny."
"That's a lie. No, it's not. My destiny is immortality and eternal life."
Oh. Right. There goes that excuse.

Do you see how the lies that we believe are the power we give to our addictions? The lies we believe are the power we give to the natural (wo)man that is in us. Believing and embracing these lies gives our Ultimate Enemy power over us.

And, so, you see, in a very real and personal way, it is the Truth that will make me free.

John 8:32-

And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.

The truth freed me the other night when I was tempted. This verse has a new and beautiful meaning to me. I can see so clearly that truth = freedom.

If Only For You

I was on my knees this morning, opening the day with prayer. I was talking to my Father about how wonderful it is that, even with the dark sins of my past, even with my addictions, that I can return to Him, all because and only because of His Son and my Savior. I talked to Him about how, when so many of His children repent- turn back to Him and away from sin- it must be worth it to have sent His Son to save us all, for the Father to have witnessed His inexplicable suffering. It must have been worth it to the Father to see the Son's pain when, because of His Son's pain, many will return, have returned, are returning. Because the Atonement has saved, is saving, and will save so many of us, it must have been worth it to the Father to allow His Son to suffer and carry such heavy burdens of all the world.

My point was, in that moment in prayer, to illustrate that because of the many who will live with the Father, the Atonement of Jesus was worthwhile to the Father.

As I said these words to Him, He interrupted, and before I could finish my sentence, my heart felt this message, as clearly as if it were spoken:

"But, Stephanie, it would be worth it if only for you. If you were the only one who repented and gained access into my Kingdom, all the suffering of my Son would have been worthwhile."

It is incomprehensible that I should mean so much to a God. But I believe it. A few years ago, I saw, on a local church's billboard, this message: "God loves each of us like there's only one of us." It's stuck with me all these years, and I believe it.

What an incredible tender mercy to have experienced this morning. Happy Sabbath.

Daily Assault

I don't know how many times a day I am attacked, ambushed, and/or assaulted by the Adversary, but maybe one day I'll count. I'd wager it's dozens. Dozens of suggestions, dozens of temptations, dozens of memories, every day. "Stephanie, do this." "Stephanie, click on this link. It's probably nothing bad." "Stephanie, type ____ into the search bar just to make sure your filter is working." "Stephanie, check out that woman's cleavage." "Stephanie, check out how those pants fit that attractive man." "Stephanie, stare at that billboard/magazine/shirtless man that your friend shared on Facebook." "It's not a big deal." "One look won't hurt." "It's just for a second, and then you can go back to your day."

ALL. DAY. LONG.

And I want to shout, Shut up! Leave me alone for just five minutes! I sweep the thoughts away instead and focus on something else. Then I go to the store and see pornography in the check out aisle, and I have to resist the ceaseless urge to pick up the magazine and read about how to give my man the best time. But, I look elsewhere and sweep that thought away. Then I drive home and see a sexually vulgar bumper sticker, and I have to resist the ceaseless urge to wonder about the precise meaning of the sticker, but I sweep that thought away. Then I watch an innocent show, like Biggest Loser, and see a suggestive commercial, and have to resist the ceaseless urge to think about using my body inappropriately. I sweep that thought away, too. It's everywhere. Inappropriate sex is everywhere. It's in the conversations of strangers at the gas station. Heck, it's in the posters at the gas station. It's in the comments of a commercial Facebook post, even if the post was about which light bulbs are best for the hallway. It's in our kids' movies. It's everywhere. And even if it wasn't, I'm dang sure Satan and his army would put it in my head every day anyway.

It's interesting that as time goes, the temptations don't. I'm not quite as sensitive as I used to be. Certain common words no longer trigger me instantly. Sometimes, I can even go to buy groceries without even noticing the magazines. It takes a bit longer, now, for suggestion to become desire. Before, one stray thought would explode almost immediately into an uncontrollable, unstoppable itch that could only be satisfied by one thing. And then I would go from idea to itch to sin in about 60 seconds. I don't do that anymore! I rejoice that I am stronger, now! And, so, even though I feel the attack almost all day still, I know that wearing the armor of God gives me strength to sweep the thoughts away, time after time after time. As I walk in the path of Jesus, He carries me through it, and whispers to me that I have great worth even while Satan is telling me I don't. God whispers to me to look away even while Satan tells me to stare. I am getting better at heeding the voice of the Shepherd! Time and practice and faith have led me here. And I know how much easier it is now than it was, say, a year ago, and that gives me so much hope. What's a year from now going to look like? Even easier, I think. I'll be even stronger. I maybe won't even hear the whisperings of "just this once," anymore.

A Mark of Progress

Numbers:
58 days since my last slip
298 days since I first began enjoying abstinence with recovery
About 21 days (estimate) till I can get my temple recommend back

Whoa! 298 days ago was when I began climbing out of active addiction. I haven't been active in addiction since! I have had three slips since then and one mini-relapse. That's what I call it. It was a series of slips (like four maybe) over a period of about 2 weeks. That was my last one. That was a horrible one. Anyway, notwithstanding the minor setbacks, this is remarkable progress!! Before 298 days ago, making it two weeks without indulging was a miracle. Now, I've had only a few slips in 298 days. And that is a miracle!

This has been a joint effort between me and Heavenly Father. I walk a step, He carries me fifty steps. I step, He carries. And so it goes. And so I know that as long as I keep moving forward, walking toward my Savior, I will keep finding this success.

The past two months have been exceedingly challenging. I'll spare you the details (you're welcome), but just know that challenges have been piling on top of me, one after another, week after week. And they're not petty challenges, either, but big ones.

It's hard.

I have been tempted on many occasions to give up hope. I've been tempted to give up trying to get out of this circumstantial mess. I've been tempted to rush back to my old comfort, my Marsha, and escape for a moment in the secret delight of counterfeit pleasures. Daily, I think about Marsha. Daily, I think about giving up. Daily, something tries to convince me that it's too hard, that I can't do it, that I must rely on my addictions.

But, daily, I turn to the True Source of my comfort. Daily, I reject lies that I am worthless. Daily, I am reminded that I am not in this alone. My God hath been my support! He hath filled me with his love unto the consuming of my flesh! I know in whom I have trusted. Oh, Lord, I will trust in Thee forever.

My point is, with all these trials happening, with varying challenges every single day, I have not given up. I have not given in. God has granted me grace according to my faith and efforts, and daily, He is saving me. He is keeping me afloat in this sea of burdens. A year ago, these circumstances would have sent me into a spiraling, lasting relapse. I know that. I know that a year ago, I couldn't have handled these happenings the way I am now. It's a beautiful and inspiring mark of progress. I know that I have come a long way, and so I know I that I can go a long way still.

With God as my Father, and Jesus as my guide, I will not fail when I trust in Them.

I am ever-grateful for the ongoing rescue on my behalf. My eternal life and immortality are God's work and glory-- and that is incredible! I mean so much to Him. And so, to Him, I return.

Breaking Promises

Last year, I made a promise to God that I would stop being late for church. I sometimes was late on purpose so I could skip the Sacrament without anyone seeing me pass it up. But that was terribly unfair to my children, and to myself. Since then, I've been so good at being to church on time, even when I was unworthy to take the Sacrament.

Last Sunday, however, I made some dumb choices.

First, I made a mess with some thoughtless words that I posted on Facebook, which words hurt the feelings of some of my most valued friends. I didn't consider the outcome of my post before posting, and I was wrong to post what I did. I felt bad, and I did what I could to clean up that mess. Then, I looked at the clock. It was an hour before church and I still hadn't showered. I knew I could get away with going w/o a shower, but I decided I wanted to be clean. And I readied a bath. I love baths, but, seriously, an hour before church and I think a bath is a good idea?? Well I enjoyed my hot bath and I took my time. By the time I was dressed and had my hair done, it was 15 minutes before church. Luckily, I'm about a five minute drive from my ward building (and I don't even live in Utah!). I still had time to make it on time. Well, I checked Facebook again, and wasted more time. I simply wasn't making church a priority.

Finally I left the house about 10 minutes after church started. I thought if I hurried, I might be on time to take the Sacrament. I zoomed to church, praying, asking God to forgive my neglect, asking Him to help me arrive on time for the sacred bread and water.

I arrived and the doors to the chapel were closed. I sat on a chair in the foyer, hoping I'd made it in time for the bread, and if not, at least the water. But then, the doors were all opened, and the bishopric member was dismissing the Aaronic Priesthood.

Wait, what just happened? I was worthy to partake of the Sacrament, and I didn't?

I couldn't have stopped the tears if I tried. Well, I did try. I don't like to cry in front of people.

Wet-faced, I found an empty chair in an empty row in the overflow (I usually sit in the very front pew!) and wiped my tears away as the meeting proceeded. The Sacrament is precious to me, notwithstanding my blatant neglect Sunday morning. Every Sunday, I thank God that I have privilege to participate in that sweet, covenant-renewing ordinance. I look forward to the cleansing power of the Sacrament each week! How could I reject it when I was worthy?

Not only did I miss the Sacrament, I also broke a promise to God. I was not on time. I had no excuse, no reason.

I prayed for extra strength because I knew I'd need it this week without the promise of the Sacrament, the promise of the Spirit with me always. I needed that, and I rejected that. I knew that there would be consequences for my neglect, but that I could and would lessen the sting of those consequences with repentance and resolution to do better going forward.

I felt so sad. I was sorry to have missed the most important part of church, and I was sorry to have missed the wonderful blessings of the Sacrament. Still, as I write this, I weep. I should have been there. I should have given more effort.

And I thought, you know, this may have been the way those 5 unprepared virgins felt when they were rejected by the Bridegroom. How desperately they wanted to be in attendance! But they were late, and they were denied the Savior's gift. How desperately I wanted to take the bread and water! But I was late, and I was denied the Savior's gift. And I sat there in the dust, regretting, deeply, my choices, as I imagine those virgins must have done. No, no, Lord, please let me in. For them, it was eternally too late. For me, it was too late for one day. I thank God for the opportunity to repent and try again.

I put silly little things at home above my Savior that day. That's what I did, and I feel genuine sorrow for it.

But, do you know what? It'd been so long since I'd been late to church, and that is progress! And that is good progress, that I do not discount. I know that this poor choice did not affect my worth. I know that going to church at all was a good choice. I know that I can learn from this and go forward.

Tomorrow, I will take the Sacrament in gratitude and as much humility as I can muster. I will not let any human thing get in the way of me being on time tomorrow. I'm grateful for Heavenly Father's help with me this week even without doing everything I could to make it to church on time. I know this week could have been better, and I know next week will be better. I need the Sacrament each week, I need it, and I can't refuse it again.

The Vanilla Deception

Vanilla. You open it up and breathe in its delicious fumes. Oh, so good! You can practically taste it! But you know that you're not tasting it, because it tastes pretty gross.


I was the kid who was more curious than smart, who touched the burner after Mom said, "Don't touch the burner; it's hot!" I really did, and it was hot, and I got burned. Later, Mom said, "Don't put metal into a light socket; you'll get burned." So, one day, I deliberately straightened the top part of a wire hanger and inserted that baby into a light socket. The result: pain, blackness on the wall surrounding the light socket, and a satisfied mind. Oh. Mom was right. Another time, Mom said "Vanilla smells good, but it tastes awful," when we were baking, after I asked if I could taste the vanilla. I waited till she wasn't around, climbed up on the counter, got the vanilla out of the cupboard, opened it, smelled it and wondered, "how can anything that smells so sweet taste bad?"

I did not think about the time Mom was right about the burner. I did not think about the time Mom was right about the light socket. I did not think about how Mom never lied to me. I just drank it. A big gulp.

It was disgusting.

Mom wins again.

I look back and wonder, why didn't I trust her? She'd been right before. The vanilla wasn't particularly damaging or dangerous, as previous incidents had been. But the other incidents had no other appeal besides Mom saying don't do it. The vanilla, however, smelled so good.

Satan makes sin smell like vanilla. Right? I mean pornography (or whatever your addiction, if applicable) is SO appealing! The IDEA, in the right circumstances, is wildly appealing. It smells like vanilla. And it has such a strong, strong smell, that you feel like you just HAVE to taste it, because how can it possibly taste bad when it smells so good? And somehow, in those moments, I forget how sour it was the last time I tasted it, and I can only think of how great of an idea it seems to be. So, I chug the vanilla again, and remember too late why I said "I'll never taste this again!" last time I tasted it.

Heavenly Father has warned us through prophets to avoid pornography! But Satan makes it appealing. Like Vanilla. It seems like it's going to be so great, and fulfill your expectations, but then when you drink it, it's awful.

My 9-year-old daughter was baking with me the other day. I let her smell the vanilla. I asked her if she wanted to taste it. She said, "no, Mom, you told me it tastes bad."

I was impressed and admittedly baffled by her trust. I told her a little won't hurt (holy cow, I'm such a pusher!) and she could taste it if she wanted. She still refused. She trusted me. Even with the sweet smell of vanilla beneath her nose, she trusted me.

I'm so grateful she is stronger and smarter than I am. I am grateful for her example! I hope that the next time my favorite sins beckon to me, that I can remember my sweet daughter's example. Even if the sweet smell is directly under my nose, I hope that I can say, "No. I trust Heavenly Father. He has told me this will taste horrible, and make me feel awful. I trust Him."

I don't want to be that kid anymore, that kid who touches the burner after Mom says not to. I don't want to be more curious than I am smart. I don't want to disregard the Spirit's warnings, in interest of finding out for myself, any longer.

I'm so grateful for the Atonement of my loving Brother! I can be forgiven! I can go Home! I can gain the strength to say no to sweet-smelling sins.

To the Wives of Porn Addicts

A while ago, I wrote a letter to the men in addiction recovery whom I admire so much. They remind me that there are good men out there in this world and give me hope to one day have a wonderful husband. I have had the opportunity to be associated with some wonderful men while in this process of recovery! I also admire their wives, and this is for them.

Dear WOPAs,

Sometimes, I feel guilty for having the very addictions that strain your marriages. Sometimes I'm afraid to talk about my addiction in your presence because I know how pornography has hurt you and your marriages. I hate that I have chosen a specific path of sin, a path which so often leads to the destruction of families. In a way, I feel responsible for your husbands' addictions.

And, in a way, I am.

When I look at pornography, I contribute to the evil industry that is getting between you and your husbands. When I indulge in my chosen vice, I perpetuate this great evil! Even though I've never paid for pornography, supporting what's available for free is still supporting the industry, the industry that feeds or fed your husbands' addictions, and strained your marriages.

I'm so sorry.

I know that it's not my fault, that your marriages suffer or suffered. I don't take the blame. But I do feel I bear a small portion of responsibility, and I feel sorrow for that. I'm so sorry for that!

I'm also sorry for the pain you've had to endure, for that bitter betrayal, especially that sting of first discovery. Before I had ever even looked at a pornographic image on purpose, I found a porn video in my husband's possession. It devastated me, as I'm sure that same first discovery devastated you. I was so hurt that I wasn't good enough for him. I was so upset that something so evil was in my home and I didn't have anything to do with it. I was so confused and I felt betrayed and I shook and cried and hated myself because I felt like my husband must hate me.

Of course I was wrong. Of course his pornography had nothing to do with my worth. As I read your blogs, as I talk to you in person, it sounds like most of you get that-- that it doesn't affect your worth. I admire that about you so much.

I'm trying to say that even though I am addicted to pornography, I, in a small way, understand your challenges. I'm so sorry you have to endure them.

However, again, as I read your blogs and speak with you in person, I am amazed at your strength and perseverance! I am touched deeply by the love you have for your husbands. Your dedication inspires me. You help your husbands by supporting them, by learning about addiction, by learning about yourselves. You seek out the good in your husbands and in your lives, and you keep. holding. on. I know God will bless you for your incredible patience and true love.

I know some of you are divorced primarily due to your ex husbands' sexual addictions. I do know the pain of divorce, very well, and my heart goes out to you. No one gets married thinking they'll get divorced later. We all marry with grand hopes and intentions, goals for eternity. Divorce turns the world upside-down. Dreams shatter. Hopes scatter. The future disappears before your face and is replaced with an enormous wall full of now what?s. That's a small glimpse of what it was like for me, anyway. It's hard. It's just plain hard.

You women amaze me. You inspire me. Please, don't give up. God will carry you.

I hope this doesn't sound presumptuous or condescending. I often think of the wives of male porn addicts, and I look on you with compassion and admiration. You're beautiful, wonderful women.

Most sincerely,
~Stephanie J Martin

STOP, STOP, STOP!

I was going about my day today, doing not much good, or so I said to myself. I finally talked myself into cleaning the kitchen and as I was putting something away, I thought, "I should have done this earlier. I should have played with my kids more. I should have worked more with them on their schoolwork. I wish I was a better mom. I wish I was a better person. I am no good at anything. People think I'm this great person, but I'm not. I'm selfish and lazy and all I do-"

And then I screamed in my head: "STOP! STOP! STOP!"

I have been beating myself in this fashion for the last several weeks. And today, while cleaning the kitchen, I felt so crumbled, so beaten by my own blows, so tiny, so insignificant by my own verbal abuse, that the me inside of me shouted out in desperation, STOP!

Immediately, I recalled the first time I screamed that word in succession, in a surprisingly and embarrassingly similar situation, several years ago.

A man that I loved had shoved me up against a wall and pinned me there with his large arm. He was a large man- very tall, very broad, very strong. He had never been that violent with me before, and while it didn't hurt, the fear was extreme. While I was there, totally at his mercy, he brought his angry, hateful face into mine, so close I could see his pores, and screamed at me. It seemed like he carried on forever, screaming at me, telling me what a horrible person I was, telling me why I was worse than other people, and he should have just hit me because I would have preferred that. But he hollered on and on while every part of me was paralyzed except my tears. Finally, when I could catch my breath, and when I couldn't handle another second of the abuse, I did the only thing I could think of. I screamed back at him: "STOP! STOP! STOP!" It was desperate. Pleading. Oh, please, please stop. I am dying from your words. I am broken and exhausted. Stop, please, stop telling me how you hate me, stop telling me that I am nothing. Please. Stop.

Honestly, I forgot the actual words he said the very next hour. I couldn't remember any specifics, and I still haven't been able to recall them. I think my brain is protecting me, and I'm just fine with that. But I do remember, with remarkable clarity, how he made me feel. That man did many other horrible things to me, and some hurt worse at the time than that screaming incident. But, strangely, it's that incident that still hurts. Nothing else he did affects me anymore; just that one. I think about that time and I still get emotional.

Why?

It's because words are powerful. The words we speak affect those around us, in a powerful way. I recently interviewed with the Canyon County Prosecuting Attorney about domestic violence, and he told me that emotional/verbal/mental abuse is worse than physical abuse. He said that every victim he'd ever spoken to believed the physical abuse to be less damaging and less painful than the emotional abuse. And he put it to me this way:

Prosecuting Attorney: Have you ever had a broken bone?
Me: Yes.
PA: So you know how painful that is.
Me: Yes.
PA: Which hurts worse- a broken bone, or a broken heart?

The answer was blaringly obvious. A broken heart, of course. A hundred broken bones before a broken heart, please.

Elder Holland gave an amazing talk called The Tongue of Angels. You can watch or read it here. In it, he said this:

"It is with [the] realization of the power and sanctity of words that I wish to caution us, if caution is needed, regarding how we speak to each other and how we speak of ourselves."

He explains how the words we use affect others. Have you heard people say things like "if so-and-so is offended by what I say, that's their fault, not mine," or, "So-and-so is overly sensitive and what I said shouldn't have been hurtful"? Well, I believe we don't get to use that as an excuse. We actually do need to take responsibility for our words, even and perhaps especially those words we use with ourselves. Elder Holland warns: "In all of this, I suppose it goes without saying that negative speaking so often flows from negative thinking, including negative thinking about ourselves. We see our own faults, we speak—or at least think—critically of ourselves, and before long that is how we see everyone and everything. No sunshine, no roses, no promise of hope or happiness. Before long we and everybody around us are miserable." Also, Holland explains that Jesus said, "Not that which goeth into the mouth defileth a man; but that which cometh out of the mouth, this defileth a man." Our negative, mean words defile us.

Quite conversely, Alma 31:5 says this:
And now, as the preaching of the word had a great tendency to lead the people to do that which was just—yea, it had had more powerful effect upon the minds of the people than the sword, or anything else, which had happened unto them—therefore Alma thought it was expedient that they should try the virtue of the word of God.

Preaching of the word had a more powerful effect upon the minds of the people than the sword. Wow! Our positive words are powerful, too. Negative words must also be more powerful than the sword, wouldn't you say? We must choose our words carefully, because words are powerful! What if, instead of saying to ourselves, "I'm a terrible person because I didn't do the laundry today like I should have," we say, "Because I am God's child, and because I have strengths and blessings, I can do better tomorrow," or, "I probably should have done the laundry, but I'm so glad I played with my kids and had a great talk with God today." Every day we do good things. Find those.

As I've said before, negative self-talk is a tool of the Adversary. He loves when we do this to ourselves. He joins in and whispers lies about our worth that we often readily believe. And while in a state of believing we are worthless, we are weakened, and Satan has more power over us, and is more able to lead us to sin.

That mean man broke my heart and my spirit that day so long ago. Do I do the same to myself when I repeat, over and over, in a mean way, how horrible I am? Well, yes. Yes I do. I'm breaking my own heart. I'm giving myself the same feelings that man gave me so many years ago. Worthless, useless, stupid, hopeless, invisible. And somewhere inside, my spirit implores, Stop! Stop! Stop!

President Uchtdorf said this:

And this applies to ourselves, too. When it comes to hating ourselves, gossiping about ourselves, ignoring ourselves, ridiculing ourselves, holding grudges against ourselves, or wanting to cause harm to ourselves-- please apply the following: STOP IT.

Well. I'm going to try, President Uchtdorf. I'm really going to try.

The Worth of MY Soul

Awhile back, I wrote a post called "The Worth of YOUR Soul." The irony almost makes me laugh, now. I intellectually understand the concept of unalterable worth. I understand it enough to write about it and almost make it make sense. I hope by admitting this, I don't seem arrogant, but the post I linked here is one people still talk to me about to this day. "Remember that post? It was great. I need to read it over and over."

And, yet, even though I wrote about it, I still didn't get it. And, I still don't. But, today something clicked for me. Something huge.

As much as I intellectually understand that telling myself things like "I am not an acceptable human being" is a lie, I don't get it. I still believe, to my core, that I am not an acceptable human being. So, when someone doesn't like me, I get hurt, because they're validating my inner truth. If I knew it was false in my heart as I know it in my brain, then when someone stopped hanging out with me, or stopped talking to me like they used to, or said mean things about me behind my back or to my face, or when someone I love treated me like dirt, then those behaviors wouldn't speak to my inner truth: See? You are worthless. See? You will never be accepted. Didn't I tell you? You're not worthy of acceptance."

This inner truth is why when one person says something mean one time, it feels huge. It feels like everything. Because it's the truth I feel. If 1% of all my peers behaves toward me one way, while 99% behaves toward me another way, I'm going to side with whichever group speaks to my personal inner truth. The rest isn't really going to matter. I'd like to switch it around so that my inner truth says the actual truth: that I am worthy. I am worthy of acceptance. If I knew that with my heart, then whenever people I love or don't love treated me in a way that suggested I may not be worthy of acceptance, I wouldn't believe it. I would discard it immediately and carry on with no grudge. It wouldn't matter, because it wouldn't reflect my core beliefs of my worth.

How do I get there? How do I reach a point where external validation/information is not where I find my worth?

My sweet, sweet son teaches me so much. He is a very sensitive child. He's sensitive to a lot of things: sounds, lights, smells, textures. He's sensitive to others' opinions of him. He desperately, desperately wants to be understood and accepted. When he does not feel accepted, he does not feel safe. When he does not feel safe, he may well have a meltdown, complete with screaming and carrying on about how everyone is mean. And I sometimes just don't get it. I think, how can you believe that you are not worthy, son? How can you believe that what little Brandon thinks of you is anywhere near the truth? And sometimes, he even creates scenarios that don't really exist to validate this false truth of his. "Jack was staring at me!" means "Jack hates me and thinks I'm doing something wrong. Jack doesn't like me. I am not accepted by Jack, so I am not acceptable; not worthy of acceptance." And my heart breaks. My sweet son is the most wonderful little boy I know. Why others don't see it is beyond me, but sometimes, even more beyond me, is why my little boy refuses to see it when I am here at home telling him year after year, day after day how wonderful he is and how much he means to me. Why isn't that enough for him? Why doesn't he believe me? I'm his mother! He is acceptable to me. I accept him always, every moment, exactly the way he is.

But, still, he believes those who validate his core belief.

And, so, since however much I love my son, God loves me more, I can see that perhaps my Father in Heaven thinks maybe some of the same things, only on a grander scale. "Stephanie. How can you believe that what Jan thinks of you is anywhere near the truth? How can you believe that you are not worthy, my daughter? It doesn't matter why Richard doesn't think you're worthy; just because you're not accepted by him, doesn't mean you're not acceptable. Why do you refuse to see your worth when I tell you all the time how wonderful you are, how beautiful, and how much you mean to me? Why don't you believe me? I am your God, your Creator, your Eternal Father. I made you and you are worthy of acceptance, always, in every moment, exactly the way you are."

I think of how much my children mean to me. I love them to capacity. I think of how beautiful and incredible they are, and I know that nothing anyone ever said or did to them could make me feel anything different about them. I know that their worth in my eyes is not alterable by their peers or even by their own thoughts. When my son has his moments of self-doubt, I know he's wrong. He just is. His worth is incredible, whether he sees it or not, whether he's in the middle of a meltdown or not, whether he is being obedient and kind or not. I love him the same. He is worth the same. I accept him the same.

Take that and multiply it by infinity, and that's how much God loves me. That's also how Jesus, my Rescuer sees me. Worthy of acceptance all the time.

I hope I get this soon.

Isaiah 49:15, 16
Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee.

Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me.

Volleyball Shoes on the 21st Day: Get Your Feet Right

My bishop, two bishops ago, told me an analogy that made so much sense to me. I don't remember if he gave this story in a talk, or if he told me directly, but it doesn't matter- the message was meant for me (probably not only me, of course).

He talked about how he used to be a volleyball coach, and he said sometimes the girls would send the ball flying erratically over the net. They thought their aim had been good, but the ball didn't go where they wanted it to go because their feet weren't right. He said that when they finally learned to get their feet pointed in the right direction, with practice, the ball would begin to fall where they intended it to fall. So he would work with their feet more than with their aim and swing.

I'm very uninterested in sports. They bore me. But, they seem to be easy to relate to life in many ways!

The bishop likened that story to life. He said sometimes we aim and get it all wrong. We try and fail. But if our feet our pointed in the right direction (i.e. to God), then we'll eventually do other things right as well and that ball will stop landing out of bounds. When our feet are right, our swing will eventually improve, and everything else will fall into place.

He must have been talking to me directly about this, because now I remember him saying that as long as I kept doing what I was doing- reading scriptures, praying, attending my meetings, having FHE- then eventually everything else would fall into place. Eventually, I would aim and the ball wouldn't land in a pit of sin. I took that to heart and never forgot it.

For me, recovery has taken a very long time, but my bishop was right. Through continued scripture reading, prayer, and meeting attendance, I finally learned about the Addiction Recovery Program. My ball was still flying erratically about, landing in muddy areas, never doing what I wanted it to do, but I kept doing those things I knew were right. Slowly, so slowly, I gained access to new tools, new friends who would support me, new courage, new strength. I kept my feet right, and slowly, the ball would land in safer areas.

Obviously, since I'm only 3 weeks out of my last slip, I haven't quite gotten the hang of my swing. But, my feet are straight, and my swing is so much better. I haven't given up. I'm learning and growing and hoping and repenting, my feet ever pointing to the Savior, and I know that my swing will follow. I know that it is following.

I remember a time not so long ago when 3 weeks of abstinence was impossible. Recovery is a miracle! But it's possible for anyone of us, because Jesus is the Savior to everyone of us.

So, if progress is the name of the game (and it is), then I'm winning. Even so, I'm pretty bad at volleyball.

Step 7 Miracle

I completed Step 7 about 2.5 weeks ago. It was wonderful! I was going to go into detail of what I did and how I did it, but then I decided I don't want to make any Program newcomer to feel like she (or he) has to do it any certain way, as recovery is an extremely personal process, and just as the details of our addictions are different for everyone, so must be the details of our recovery.

However, I will say that as I was going through Step 7, I figured it was impossible to hand over all my weaknesses to God. I figured I could never actually do this step. It felt like to me that the step was asking me to become perfect, all in one step. Without weaknesses, I am perfect, right? And it was asking me to ask God to remove my character weaknesses. All of them. And so I knew I had to actually give them up.

In Step 6, I had written down a few of my key weaknesses. In Step 6, I had truly become ready to give them up. But when I got to Step 7, and it came time to follow through, I changed my mind. I'm not ready! I can't do this! And I ran and retreated and hid and slipped. And I felt exposed and weak- so weak.

Finally, I convinced myself to trudge through. I convinced myself to believe that if I did the work, God would help me. And so I read. I wrote. I prayed. I thought. Still, a block was in place. I couldn't see myself ever truly giving up all my character weaknesses, let alone in one fell swoop! It seemed too much. But, I moved forward.

Just when I thought it would never really come to me; that I would never get Step 7, suddenly, I did. Suddenly, I remembered that God can help me. Suddenly I remembered that my Heavenly Father wants to help me. Suddenly I knew that if I took all of my weaknesses, bundled them up, and placed them on an alter, and asked God to take them, then He just might. And if He didn't, then He would help me and go with me as I did what I could to remove them myself.

So I fell to my knees and I told Heavenly Father the list of weaknesses I had written down in Step 6, and I told Him that I had these weaknesses before me, and I wanted to give them up. And I asked Him to please, please take them!

Since that day 2.5 weeks ago, I have not given into the pull of some of those weaknesses. He has truly helped me and strengthened me. Sometimes, when I have been tempted to return to an old behavior, I tell myself, "no, I gave that to God." and it goes away.

It's remarkable!

Some of the weaknesses, though, remain with me daily. I know that with practice, they will also become memories. And that is very exciting!

And, the miracle continues. As I carefully travel each day's paths, I sometimes come to realize other weaknesses. And I practice what I did in Step 7, I get it ready to give to God, and I ask Him to take it from me.

It makes me think that maybe I can do this, after all.

Now I have Step 8 looming in front of me. Sigh. "Make a written list of all persons you have harmed and become willing to make restitution to them." Step 8 is going to be difficult for me because as far as I know, besides my kids, I haven't harmed anyone directly as a result of my addiction. I know that sounds prideful, and it probably is. This addiction is very quiet. It's not like alcohol or drugs in that I can hide it. After using, I don't lose a great deal of judgement and go on angry rampages. I can drive safely after using. I'm not married so I'm not hurting a spouse. I'm not trying to make excuses, here. I know that Heavenly Father will help me with this step, as He has with each previous step, and that I will figure out an honest and thorough way to complete this step.

In other news, I'm determined to return to the temple. I don't know how long it will be, but it doesn't matter- I'll do whatever it takes. I'm going back. I miss it terribly.

Also, I have started counseling again! My therapist is incredible, and the best match I've had yet. I'm learning a lot. I figured with my last slips that I wasn't as healed as I thought I was. I thought I needed some guidance into my own self, and I think that's exactly what I'm getting. I'm so grateful for a means to pay for the sessions.

I'm excited to continue forward. I'm grateful for the return of that enthusiasm. I know that I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.

NOT Grateful for my Addiction; Call it What it Is

source

I once said I was grateful for my addiction. Well, I'm not.

I hate this addiction. I hate how it destroyed me. I hate how it separates me from God and from my children. I hate how it controls me. I hate how it covers me with filth. I hate this addiction. I am not grateful that I am addicted, for crying out loud.

I used to think that this addiction was the only way I could grow close to God. That's a lie. Other ways I could grow close to God include reading the scriptures, praying, attending my meetings, attending the temple. Did I really believe that I could learn more about Jesus Christ in sin than I could in regular temple attendance? My addiction keeps me out of the temple, and halts my learning and my progress.

I am not grateful for my addiction.

I actually felt special for having this addiction, like God gave it to me as a gift, so I could learn humility. This addiction is not a gift of God, and I am not special for having it. Humility should be learned in other ways, such as reading the scriptures, repenting, praying, attending my meetings, and attending the temple. I was given weakness, yes, as we all were, so I could be humble, but I absolutely was not given this addiction! Addiction is, in most cases, and in my case, a result of choice. I chose addiction by choosing the sins that led to it. God did not choose this for me.

Ether 12:27 is very important. It says "I give unto men weakness that they may be humble." See how it says weakness, and not weaknesses? He simply makes us fallible. He doe not give us specific weaknesses. He does not assign anger to one and sex to another. He gives us weakness. We have our personalities and our environments that mold that general weakness into specific weaknesses. The verse goes on to explain that if we humble ourselves and have faith, he will make our weak things become strong. He gives us general weakness; the inability to be perfect, and then when we show faith and humility, and take to Him our weak things, He makes them strong. That's pretty awesome.

But, I no longer believe that He gave me this specific weakness. Doesn't that seem wrong? I have my own personality. I have my own upbringing and my own experiences, and those are the things that molded my desires and my weaknesses. If God is fair, and He is, then He would not give me sexual weaknesses and Jane a weakness of being afraid to speak out about the Church. There are degrees of sin, and so a fair God would not give more sinful weaknesses to some while sparing others. No. I have always had the choice. I am not grateful for my choices that led to and kept me in addiction.

My addiction taught me nothing. My addiction told me that I am worthless, ugly, stupid, horrible, beyond salvation. My addiction told me that I shouldn't try. My addiction convinced me that I was a freak of nature, and that I could never be healed. My addiction is darkness, evil.

I am not grateful for that which destroyed me and my family. I will not lend thanks to that which ensnares me and keeps me from God. However, I am grateful for repentance. My addiction did not humble me; repentance did. I am grateful for hope. My addiction has never given me hope. I am grateful for the Atonement. My addiction didn't teach me about the Atonement; repentance did. The addiction has done nothing good for me, and so I have no thanks regarding it. Repentance has saved me, will save me, is saving me, and so I am deeply grateful for it.

Would I have learned of repentance through another means had I not become an addict? I certainly hope so. I believe so. I am not so blind, so hard, that addiction is the only way I could come to Christ. No, addiction was the long way. And it wasn't addiction that was a way at all, but recovery from it. I am not grateful for my addiction, but for recovery.

In my afore-referenced blog post, I actually wrote this: "In a sad, strange, maybe sick way, I need this addiction to bring me Home to my God."

That is a complete lie. That is an excuse, that's what that is, an excuse and a false way to accept that I'm addicted. "Oh, I'm an addict because I have to be so I can return to God. So it's okay. I was born this way, so my choices that led to addiction are okay and part of my path to return to God." Nonononono, this took me away from God!

This is a fact: My life would be better had I never been addicted. This is also a fact: I would be closer to God if I'd followed the commandments all along. This addiction does not bring me to Him.

When I turn to God, I turn away from my addiction. So, how could it be my addiction that saves me?

I don't hold it against myself that I was so confused about what to be grateful for. I was grateful, indeed, but my gratitude was displaced. Instead of putting it to God, I was putting it to my addiction. Was it the only thing that could adequately humble me? Absolutely not; I am not that special, that unique. Those things which humble us all would have humbled me as well.

Now, I have to take the long road. That's okay. It is what it is. I will do whatever I must do. But, if I hadn't given to choices time after time after time that created and perpetuated this addiction, I would be in a better place. Wickedness never was happiness. We are not blessed for our sinful choices, but for our obedience.

I regard my addiction with no degree of fondness, nor of gratitude. I know that I can and will learn from it, but only when I turn from it. I am certainly grateful for the lessons I've learned through addiction recovery, and I know that I could have learned these same lessons another way, like by following the commandments. We are given line upon line, precept upon precept, and I cringe when I think of how spiritually far I could be if I'd only trusted God from the beginning. I have lost so much ground because of this addiction; missed so many opportunities.

I know this addiction is not a gift. It has not brought me to God. It has not taught me truths. It has not humbled me. I know that Jesus Christ has brought me to God, taught me truths, and humbled me. It is through repentance, not addiction, that I learn beautiful things. In the future, I hope I repent of smaller sins and learn those same principles. I'm so grateful to know that by taking my weak things to God, He can make them strengths. That is what I'm doing with this addiction. It will be a strength to me! I'm so thankful for a loving Savior who made repentance and forgiveness possible!

Why Should my Strength Slacken Because of Mine Afflictions?

Things are hard right now.

My afflictions are not a few. I do not wish to presume that my life is more challenging than anyone else's, nor do I wish to imply that my charmed life is not filled with countless undeserved blessings. I still have everything I need.

But, things are hard. Circumstances are hard. I won't go into detail because the details don't matter in this case. Here's what matters: I slackened my strength because of my afflictions.

Somehow, my hardships gave me an excuse to return to not-so-old behaviors which I thought I'd abandoned. Somehow, I gave in to the weight of regular real-life, and I forgot what I'd learned. Somehow, my afflictions gave me almost-realistic justification.

The real-life consequence of my giving-in to real-life life is that I had to surrender my temple recommend. Even as I write that, the tears begin again. There is shame, there is. But, mostly, there is deep regret and genuine sorrow for my sins. I am disappointed in myself, but I refuse to berate myself. Somehow, by telling myself the truths, I take more ownership and responsibility for what I've done.

As a side note- I fought with myself about including that truth in this blog, that I lost my recommend. I worked so hard for that! I didn't want to admit that I gave it up again. I didn't want others to see me as a failure. I was afraid that if others knew about this, that they would think of me as having failed. I considered waiting a few months before I confessed that, because, somehow, after some time, it wouldn't feel as heavy. BUT. It is a part of my story, and it is a part of my story NOW. Also, I have not failed. As my bishop kindly and sweetly reminded me, this is not defeat. I can and will get my recommend back. I am inexplicably disappointed that I have regarded my covenants so lightly. I take responsibility and I will do everything I can to repent and return. I decided to admit it because it is my now, my story. I regret it deeply, friends. And I am repenting. How wonderful that I have the opportunity to repent! Even still, even again! How wonderful that I am not lost!

Okay, back on track--
If I give into the lies, they really become ugly excuses. "You're so stupid," makes it almost okay because then, the reason I did it was because I'm stupid. An excuse. "You're lazy." An excuse. "You're weak." Another excuse. All those lies that I buy into which Satan fills my head with following a slip have served as excuses! Additionally, they tear me down and make me want to sin more and more. If I believe I have no worth, then why should I do good? Satan is tricky, do you see? When he says "You're worthless/ugly/stupid/weak/lazy/fat/slutty/awful/evil," he is using a tactic. He is trying to pull us down so we'll stay down longer. He gives us an excuse for our past misdeeds, and plants seeds for future transgressions by telling these lies of lack of worth. Also, if I have an excuse, even a self-blaming one, I subconsciously tell myself I get to take on less responsibility, which halts true repentance. Misery breeds misery, and Satan knows that better than anyone else!

After my last slip, I, as usual, was so worried that I wouldn't feel bad enough if I didn't help Satan with his verbal abuse. I was terrified to repent the wrong way. What if I chose to believe I still had great worth and didn't feel genuine remorse for what I'd done? What if I didn't feel bad at all for something I believed I should feel miserable about? Did I actually have any degree of genuine remorse? What if I wasn't sorry? Certainly it was better to hate myself than to not feel sorrow, right?

A voice inside me told me to trust. Trust the process of repentance. Trust God. Trust myself. A voice inside me assured me that if I took out the self-brow-beating, then the way I felt would be exactly the way I was supposed to feel. A voice inside me convinced me that loathing and pummeling myself was wrong. So, I decided to try, and trust. I rejected all the lies. Every time that familiar "you're horrible" and its family members entered my consciousness, I flicked it away.

And then, something magical happened. When I prayed to my Father and told Him about the things I'd done, I was sorry. And I was sorry without pity! It wasn't hateful. It wasn't selfishly miserable. It was painful; so very, very painful. But it was real, and I knew it, and it was beautiful. It was empowering rather than degrading. It was encouraging rather than discouraging. It was hopeful and not hopeless. And it continues to be real.

I'm not so focused on the how I should feel, or the how I'm supposed to feel anymore. I just let it be. I know that as I make righteous choices, and as I keep my Father in Heaven in the loop, that even if I don't feel remorseful right away, I will. No more brow-beating. It's counter-productive and not of God. It's not repentance by any means, and how could it be? It's so selfish. It's me-centered. True repentance is God-centered.

When I talked to my bishop about my recent slips (I think I had enough to call this a short relapse), he encouraged me to read 2 Nephi chapter 4. I love that chapter! But as I read, I learned. I have read that chapter probably dozens of times, and never saw what I saw that night, that I had slackened my strength because of my afflictions. I gave into the "it's too hard," and the "I cannot do this." I let the "this is too much for me" and the "what am I going to do?" weigh me down into momentary hopelessness. It was enough to pull me under, because I cut myself some slack. "It's been a hard few days. Go ahead and watch that show even though it's really late." "I've had such a hard thing happen! I deserve to go to bed without reading my scriptures." Little tiny things that I rationalized wouldn't matter in the grand scheme of big things.

Life is hard, but . . . Life is hard! And it always will be. And I don't get to give up just because my burdens get a little heavier.

Awake, my soul! No longer droop in sin. Rejoice, O my heart, and give place no more for the enemy of my soul. Do not slacken my strength because of my afflictions.
2 Ne 4:28, 29