A Losing Battle

I guess there are things I must get used to as an addict. I guess I simply must give up hope for elimination of the stigma. It seems that men with a pornography addiction are branded by many people, without exception, as evil/monsters/hopeless/adulterers/vengeful, etc., and that women with a pornography addiction are scarcely even on the radar, and when we are, we are still branded by many as freaks of nature and not at all feminine. I thought I could change the stigma by being open. It's laughable, really, the power I thought I had. I thought I could show people that "addict" is not synonymous with "monster." I have attended PASG meetings with dozens of amazing, humble, righteous, strong LDS men, men who are addicted to pornography, yet men who are striving for continual improvement and for the survival of their marriages and for maintained temple worthiness more than most other men I know. I have attended PASG meetings with LDS women, women who are addicted to pornography, who are just like all other women, just as feminine, just as tender, and who are striving for healing and righteousness more than many other women I know. They are humble and willing to work, and beautiful. I thought that by being open, I could help others understand that addicts aren't crappy human beings, and if they are, it's not because they're addicted, but they are our brothers and sisters who need help and light and support, and who can give help and light and support. I actually thought, I think, that little ol' me had the power to change the general non-addict's perception of addicts among us. I have worked to bring it out of obscurity as a women's addiction, and I have worked to show that it's a human struggle, and that the struggle is as heavy and burdensome and maddening as any.

I stand corrected. I slump discouraged. I now see that the task I have volunteered for is a task far too great for one person. I now see that perceptions of others are, apart from being none of my business, impossible for me to influence by a few honest words, or a few blog posts. And I have to be okay with that, because I have made crappy choices. If I'm going to be open with this, then I have to accept the consequences of people around me never hearing my message. And, not because they don't like me, and not always even because they judge me, but many times it's because their real, personal experiences do not match up with what I'm saying about the addicts I know. And that's what we all go by, right? Our experience.

While I now have a better understanding that many (most, probably) LDS members' hardwired harsh and negative perception of sexual addictions will not be easily changed, I will still fight my own battle. I will still march to and through recovery. I will even still speak my truths, my perceptions, and the experiences I have with the wonderful, inspiring recovering addicts I know, love, and deeply admire. Perhaps I am seen as intentionally donning a red S, but I speak for more people than only myself, and I will wear that scarlet letter for myself and for them, and I will wear it so others who are seeking to be free from their own addictions, especially women, will see someone who is doing it, and do you know why? Because it was years before I even ever considered that I might not be the only one, and as long as isolation and fear were my companions, recovery was impossible.

That isolation, that feeling of being all alone in a damning, joy-killing addiction, is hell. I can't imagine Hell being much worse, actually.

In Harper Lee's book To Kill a Mockingbird, Atticus Finch says, "Real courage is when you know you're licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through." Maybe I didn't understand that I was licked before I began. I understand it now. I'm definitely licked. I'm fighting an increasingly bloody, losing battle. But, I intend to see it through.

The Disease of Perfectionism and the Little Girl Who Showed Me Truth

All week long I fail and fail and fail. Every day, I look around and find something to hate myself about. A messy room. Unfolded laundry. Long grass outside. Fighting kids. 

It's my job to fix the world- at least my world- and I fail at that every day. It's my job to make my family and our lives perfect. Only, it isn't my job, but I have a hard time understanding that.

Perfectionism rules me, like a merciless dictator. Do it right, or not at all. Oh, look, you did it wrong- why'd you try? You do everything wrong. You should just do nothing. But you do nothing wrong, too. If it's not right, it's useless/worthless/futile/wasted.

Daily, I fight this. Well, sometimes I don't fight it because it's too hard to fight. Sometimes I give in. Sometimes I just don't try because to try is to fail. The struggle is real! Sometimes, I get tired of trying to convince myself of the truth that doing something wrong doesn't make me a failure; it makes me a human. All week long, I try to remember grace, but end up defaulting to guilt. Guilt, you see, is a primary symptom of perfectionism. Also, anger, defeatism, insecurity, anxiety, procrastination, exhaustion, self-loathing, and fear. That's me.

So, Sunday comes around and it most certainly holds more guilt and failure. I didn't prepare enough for Primary. I didn't go to bed on time. The children will never learn the songs because I didn't prepare or go to bed on time. And even when I do spend hours preparing, it's never enough- never right.

Tangent: This reminds me of a time when I was trying desperately to save my marriage. My bishop told me if I was a better housekeeper, my husband would want to spend more time at home, and he would be inspired to be a better husband. I now think that was a ridiculous thing of him to say (even bishops make mistakes), but I followed his counsel and made sure to have the house clean when he came home from work, and dinner waiting on the table. This was no small feat with a part time job myself, two babies under 2, and the depression that results from living with an emotionally abusive controller. But, it was never enough for my husband. The dinner wasn't cooked just right. He didn't have the right flippin' fork. I remember one day he came home, and I had worked so so hard, and the living room and kitchen were sparkly clean and dinner was ready, and I was so excited to see his reaction. Surely, he'd be pleased at the condition of the house upon his return. But he marched inside, inspected the living room and kitchen, simply nodded, then went down the hall into the laundry room and hollered that the laundry wasn't done. But what about what I had done all day? I was so sad. I could never be good enough for him; I could never do enough for him.
That was absurd of him, but I do the same exact thing to myself. I can never be enough for myself, because no matter how hard I work or how much I do, I only see what I didn't do. I've got to change this. 

So, anyway, today wasn't any different from any other Sunday. I woke up with the guilt I default to. I stayed up too late, what's the matter with me? I didn't prepare enough for primary, what's the matter with me? I'm a terrible person because I'm late to church. I'm a terrible person because my living room is a mess. I'm a terrible person because I'm eating breakfast ten minutes before church starts.

I went to church in the spirit of fear, dread, and hopelessness, and beating myself up because how could I learn anything in such an emotional state?

Well, the thing is, God is more powerful than I am. The Spirit can penetrate the hardest of hearts. I'm not saying my heart was the hardest of hearts, but I wasn't necessarily open for learning. However,  I was there. And I was honest about being there. I attended because it's a commandment and because I want to obey the commandments, and because I have my wonderful calling to fulfill, and because, despite my hard heart, I really did want to feel the love of God. And feel it, I did. I felt it during our wonderful Sacrament Meeting. I felt it during the Sacrament itself. I felt honored to have been worthy to partake of the sacred emblems. I felt the Spirit during the beautiful hymns of worship. By the time Sacrament Meeting was over, I was in a much more open, humble state. And I was excited for primary.

Regardless of how much failing I do in preparation for my calling, and regardless of how inadequate in it I feel always, I love it always. I'm always grateful for it. I have never enjoyed a calling more. I'm the Primary Music Leader, which means I get to work with my two favorite things: music and children. The sweet, sweet primary kids lift and inspire me weekly. I all too often go to church feeling down and anxious, and if I don't feel healed by Sacrament Meeting, seeing the children always does the trick. I have so much love for them, and I love being with them. I'm getting weepy right now just thinking of it. Oh, they are wonderful.

When it's time for Singing Time, I frequently have the kids read a scripture off of a picture I found in a Friend magazine. This one, in fact:

I try to remember to have it read at the beginning of each Singing Time, and then hanging it up on the board, so the kids will memorize it w/o knowing it, because it's such an important verse. But, I end up remembering about once a month. I remembered today. I asked for a volunteer to read it. Naturally, several hands shot up into the air. Rarely, I will feel compelled to call on a certain child for various tasks, and at this time, I felt compelled to call on a sweet little 8-year-old in the front row. Her name is Addie. This was Senior Primary, so the 7- and 8-year-olds are the youngest in the room. I usually choose an older child to read this verse because I don't want anyone to feel embarrassed if they can't read some of the words. Addie's mom is one of my dear friends, and so I knew that Addie struggled in school with reading. So, my instinct was to not choose her, because I felt she wouldn't know how to read all the words, and that that may embarrass her.

When I'm paying attention, the Spirit trumps instinct, and I called on Addie. I basically felt like I had to. She bounced out of her seat and eagerly skipped to the board where I'd hung the sign. With a smile and a soft voice, she read the verse. She struggled with more than half of the words. She needed help with several. As she read - slowly, struggling, smiling - my heart swelled with pride for her, and with admiration and amazement. (I'm getting weepy again.) She, undoubtedly, was aware of her own weakness, but she tried anyway. She needed help, but she tried anyway. And I wondered, Why? Why would this sweet girl volunteer to read something in front of people when she knew she would struggle? That goes against all my ridiculous rules. I can't do anything if I can't do it right, especially not when people are watching. How could anyone ever be so brave? Even when I was 8 years old, I never would do something in front of others that I didn't know I could execute flawlessly. And if I did make a mistake, even as a child, I would lament over it for days, and play the incident over and over in my mind, and let fear take over repeatedly. 

But Addie is wiser than I was; than I am. Addie, with that attitude, will learn so much. I hope Addie's courage will continue to trump her insecurities. I hope the next time I'm afraid of what others will think of me if I screw up, that I will remember Addie's courage. I can tell she has her mother's tenacity and determination, and I'm also so grateful to her mom, my friend, for teaching Addie by her wonderful example. 

Sometimes, when I'm compelled by the Spirit to call on a certain child, it's for the child. Today, while some of it may have been for Addie, it was for me. I think Heavenly Father wanted me to choose her so that I could see - actually see - that perfection is not the point. I feel like He wanted to show me that it really, truly is okay to struggle, and to not appear perfect. And that it's not so much about doing it right; it's about doing it. What a beautiful tender mercy!

Oh, sweet child. God bless you for your bravery. I will remember your example for many years to come.

I feel so honored and blessed to have a calling with these precious souls in little bodies.