Living Converted

Well hi there!

I know it's been an unusually long time since last I posted. I have been buys falling in love and dreaming of a wedding, etc. Pretty crazy stuff.

I wanted to post something about my awful week. Last week was the most emotionally challenging week I've had since David Ridley (that crazy awful therapist I had who lost his license over the type of "therapy" he provided me and about 2 dozen other women) and before that, since my ex husband moved his girlfriend into our apartment. It was a hard week. I keep thinking of all these adverbs I could use to explain the pain of this week, but they all fall drastically short. As I later lamented to a dear friend the details of what had happened, and how I felt like I lost my boyfriend/fiance and my family all in the same weekend, she remarked, "you're like Job." I certainly am not like Job, but the feeling of loss did feel significant. But, I did still have the love of my darling children.

Sunday is when it started. I was crying much of the afternoon and I decided to attend a local mid-singles fireside. Actually, a few weeks ago, I had made a promise to my ward's singles representative that I would be there, otherwise, I would have skipped it. I'll have to thank her for asking me to promise to attend.

The speaker was an area authority, and he spoke of the Atonement. I was in tears of sorrow before the introduction was completed. I was just so sad. I sat alone because I was so emotional, and I would have been mighty embarrassed if someone witnessed my tears. I had made some poor choices one family relationship, in response to some of their poor choices, and I wanted to repair, but I felt my efforts would be insufficient or rejected. As I wept over my loved one, both of sorrow for myself and for them, I listened to the speaker talk about how the Atonement is an enabling force, how it enables us to do good. And I wondered if I could use the Atonement to help me with my family. I took the following notes:

The Atonement enables me to do good. It gives me strength to do good things, the good things for others, for my children, for myself. My strength is not sufficient!! His is!! Ask Him. Seek His strength. I was given weakness. I'm not created to handle it on my own. It's impossible to handle it on my own. I wasn't meant to do it on my own. I can use His strength, His love, His forgiveness, His creativity, His perseverance, His energy, His chastity, His charity.

After the fireside, I called my boyfriend to tell him about it, and to tell him about what had happened with my family member, and he offered comfort and wisdom. I decided I would do what I could to fix it.

The next day, Monday, I sought reconciliation, but in doing so, gained unintentional access to some extremely hurtful information which made me feel misunderstood, unappreciated, somewhat hated, and like I completely didn't matter to not only one member of my family, but to most. In the moment of discovery, indeed it felt like my whole family hated me. I had no idea they saw me that way.

Also that Monday, though the details I will keep to myself at this point, my relationship with my boyfriend was abruptly and completely severed, at least temporarily (like, maybe a few months, or maybe a few years, I have no idea- this would make sense if I could explain the reasoning, but I'm not able to at this time).

Everyone. I felt to have lost everyone I loved the most, all at once, except, again, my kids.

Monday, I cried basically all the day. I buried myself in my bedroom and let the kids fend for themselves, which they did.
Tuesday, I cried basically all the day. I spent some time out of my bedroom, but not much.
Wednesday, I cried much of the day. The pain of my situation was also physical. I could feel it in my gut, twisting it up, implanting a thousand tiny acid-laced, double-edged swords into my innards. It hurt.

But something reminded me about the talk I'd heard Sunday night. I could borrow the strength of the Savior, and His forgiveness. I wasn't going to be okay with sobbing in my bedroom every night! No! I am a mother, and an employee, and I am needed. I thought I needed to call my therapist and see if she had any openings this week so she could help me hash this out. But, Soni, my therapist, is super popular because she's super good, and she's all the time booked for like two weeks out. I called anyway. I also knew she is off Fridays, and because of my work and life schedule, the only time I would be able to see her last week would have been Thursday at 3. So I asked the office manager, "Is there any chance Soni has an opening tomorrow at 3?" and she said it wasn't likely, knowing how Soni is all the time booked, and I said I know. She checked anyway and confirmed that there was, in fact, nothing open this week at all. Or next week. So I said, "if you happen to get a cancellation for tomorrow at 3, will you call me?" and she said, doubtingly, that she would.

For reals, I offered this prayer: "Heavenly Father, please bless that Soni's 3:00 will cancel tomorrow. I'm serious about that. Thy will be done, of course."

Wouldn't you know it, not an hour later, the office manager called me. "You won't believe what just happened." and I said, "Did Soni's 3:00 cancel? God loves me, is that what you're telling me?" and she said, "yep."

I was soaring. What an incredible tender mercy of the Lord! I got home and decided to immerse myself in the Word of God, for I was most certainly in need of comfort. And comfort is exactly what I found. Comfort from God comes with bonuses, like clarity of mind, strength of heart, and priceless perspective. That night, I made dinner, did some laundry, and washed the dishes, and that had been the most I'd been able to muster up energy for all week, besides work.

Thursday was similar to Wednesday night. I felt amazing! I understood that my worth did not come from my family. I understood that I love them anyway. Soni helped me with objectivity and perspective, and helped me understand the differences between dysfunctional and functional communication, and gave me comfort and wisdom. My family doesn't hate me. They just suck at communication, and none of us are perfect, aye? The whole day, I felt light and powerful, like I could conquer the world if I was so required. I could feel the Atonement of my Jesus enlightening me. I could feel His power empowering me. I knew the Source of my Strength, and I could not deny it. I was happy and hopeful.

I am still happy and hopeful. I am at the foot of an enormous mountain of a trial, and it's going to be a long climb. But it will end. And, because of this week, I know, without a smidgen of doubt, that my God will help me through it.

Another significant trial this whole last week was that Marsha, my addict, had been doing cartwheels. Oh, what emotional triggers roused her! Every day was a struggle of extreme temptation. I didn't know how much more temptation I could withstand. I wasn't doing anything to invite the temptation other than having a crappy week, and it was so unfair! But, I was remembering to pray, and getting reminders to pray, and I was praying very specifically that I wouldn't "enter into temptation." The temptation was dancing before me, holding all these doors wide open, but I didn't enter. I haven't experienced that much wild, demanding need for my addictions in months, if not years. I'm grateful and somewhat surprised to say that I made it through safe.

In other but spiritually related news, today I was sustained as Beehive Advisor in my ward. I'm very excited about this calling, and feel humbled by it as well. I haven't ever served in the YW before, but I'm feeling up to the challenge. I intend to put my whole heart in it.

I felt like this calling came at an excellent time in my life. I need the distraction from missing my boyfriend. Also, I have been growing spiritually over the months, and it feels like I'm almost ready, now more than ever, to be a leader to impressionable and wonderful young women. I am taking this as an enormous responsibility, one that I will take seriously, and one that I feel ready to take seriously because of my recent spiritual growth. I know that I will learn so much more being their teacher, and I'm excited about that! In my blessing when I was set apart, I was told that this calling came at the right time.

And here's the thing. God's timing is everything. This whole mess with my boyfriend is about God's timing. Perhaps this whole mess with my family is about God's timing. This calling is about God's timing. I am impatient and impulsive, and my Father has been working hard to teach me to trust His timing, and I'm finally paying attention. He gets it right. Every. Time. His timing is perfect, every time! And it's not even just that His timing is the righteous timing so I should wait and obey, but it's also that by trusting His timing, my life turns out way better than I ever imagined it could. I mean, I get all these blessings, all these treats and tender mercies, dotting the path of my feet constantly when I trust and adhere to His timing, His will.

I feel like I am finally starting to really live like I'm converted to the Gospel of Christ. I feel like I'm finally starting to understand that He really does have a plan for my life, and that His plan for my life is spectacular. Ima trust it, y'all.

In Your Face, Marsha!

As you may recall, I named my "addict" Marsha. She came over to play today.

I want to document this victory for my own self. I actually sort of doubt it will be very helpful to anyone else, but just in case, I share.

I've been single nearly 8 years. I dated a fellow about 3 years ago for about 3 weeks, but other than that, nothing remotely serious has happened since my divorce. Needless to say, I get very lonely sometimes. I long for the companionship of a worthy, kind man. Sometimes the longing is unbearable.

I've made some very risky, very bad choices with men since my divorce. I've kissed more men after my marriage than before. I have been unable to resist when a kiss becomes an option.

It always feels like kissing will mean I'm loved. It always feels like being sexually desired by someone will mean I'm important.

Only, today I know better.

Knowing better is hard. Knowing better bears with it an annoying responsibility. Knowing better is ultimately freedom.

The security guard at work thinks I'm cute. "I see you come in," he said the other day, "and I think you're so cute. I'm . . . I'm not very good at this. I hope I'm not being creepy. But I'd like to get to know you better. So . . . here's my number, and you can text me. If you want."

It made my day. Me? Cute? HECK YES! YES YES YES! A MAN THINKS I'M CUTE!

Naturally, I texted him a few hours later, on my first break.

We chatted a little about relatively normal stuff. We discovered we have a 7 year age difference; he being younger. He thought I was 25! YES YES YES! I'll be 34 next month, so, that was fun. He said he would like to still get to know me. Okay.

Eventually, today, he invited me to see a movie at his house. He said something about "snuggling" and getting to know me better.

Marsha exploded into 40 Marshas doing cartwheels in my head and chest, shouting for joy and glory. The Marshas painted this wonderful picture of cuddling and making out and . . . the game. I was planning a game before I consciously realized it. I would lead him on. I would let him think I was as into him as he seemed to be me, and I would have a manfriend who would hold me and kiss me. Just for a while! Just till I was tired. I knew I could get him to kiss me. I could probably have someone to kiss this very weekend. Easily. I was planning. Plotting. Conniving.

Justifying. Rationalizing. Salivating. I wanted it. So much. I wanted to lean against him while watching a movie. I wanted to stop watching the movie. I imagined what it would be like. I imagined some of the innocent-but-not-really things we might do. So delightful! So nice!

It would be alright. I haven't even kissed a man in over a year. It's high time! It's not like I'm going to sleep with him.

Marsha was thrilled. Finally! Another kiss! For me! I'm important!

Oh, dear. I am so broken. I am so broken because it really does truly really feel like being in the arms of a man, and being kissed by a man, is the same thing as having worth. But, as I said, I know better. So when the Marshas kept on screaming at me that this was the best choice- to plan and conspire and lead Security Guard along till I was ready to discard him, or at least just for one night enjoy his physical presence- I actually heard their lies as lies. I was actually able to envision the truth. If I go to his house and watch a movie, I will kiss him. And, instead of that being incredibly exciting, it's dangerous. I know me! I know I will get carried away at the first opportunity! I know I will shut off my mind and throw my judgment out the car window on the way to his place. I know I will not be able to think right. I know I will make choices that I will deeply regret in the future.

[This future thinking stuff is so foreign. It feels amazing and terrifying.]

Then I thought about my children. I thought about my temple recommend. I even thought about my reputation! I thought about him and his worth, and I thought he deserved respect. I remembered that my body is a masterpiece. I thought about my Jesus.

I considered my options, friends! This is something rational people do! I considered the amazing moments I could share with the security guard. I considered how I greatly miss physical affection. I considered how I greatly long to be important to a man, and here was a chance to feel that. I considered everything I have learned over the course of recovery. I considered that what I really want is something he can't provide me, and that what I really want can't be found in superficial affection.

It became apparent that I would make the right choice, and I had a period of grieving. It's not fair. It's not! It's not fair that I have to steel my lips and hands and heart till someone who will honor them comes along, when that someone may never ever come along. It's not fair that if I honor myself, I must respect myself and others, and not use my body as a plaything. It's not fair that I have to be single and alone and lonely. It's hard to say no- it is so hard to say no- but I understand that I must say no because I know better.

And so, I told him I'm on a journey of no sexual contact, not even kissing, for the foreseeable future, but that I hoped we could still be friends. He said sure, and asked why would I do such a journey?

I will show you what I told him.

And, dude. I'm so proud of myself. I feel powerful, like I can do anything I need to do. And, the love that I feel like I need from men when I behave recklessly, I gave it to myself. And it actually filled some of the holes that making out with men never fills.

This is a huge mark of progress. It's a huge indicator of the healing that I have done. I'm so thankful to my Savior for healing me. Look! Look at this! I stopped a disaster before it happened! I saved myself from profound regret, which is never worth the pleasure! I chose to keep my temple recommend, and to be worthy of the Sacrament on Sunday! I chose my kids, I chose my heart, I chose my God.

I'm Almost Certain I Won't Slip Again

I'm a little scared to write this post. The reason I decided to is because my favorite posts to re-read are the ones in which I'm totally honest, holding nothing back. I get annoyed with myself when I re-read a post and I know I was holding back what I really felt. I think, why didn't I just lay it all out there? and I realize that it would have been a more helpful post if I had been totally forthcoming.

And so, I write you this confession. I confess that, in this moment, I feel quite sure I will never slip again. Considering my last slip was 9 days ago, I realize I may be delusional. For example, let me tell you about my experience when I'm eating chips out of a bag. After I've had a few, this happens:

This is my last chip. Okay, well, after this next little handful, I won't have anymore. I'm sorta sick of the chips, anyway. I've had enough. Oh, now that I finished that little handful, I suddenly want more, so I think I'll just have another one. This is the last one for sure. No more, I've had enough. Hmm, now that I've finished that one, I may as well have another one- what's the difference between one more and two more?"

I figure that as long as I have a salty, delicious chip in my mouth, I can fathom not having another one. But as soon as I swallow it, I feel like I want another one! My point is, with my last slip being so recent (relatively), perhaps it's like a chip is still in my mouth.

Or, perhaps, it's something more.

Really, I don't know if I'll slip again. I don't know what I'll choose tomorrow, or next week, or next month, so it's impossible to predict. And I get that.

But, today, for right now, I feel like I'm sick of it. I'm sick of the life that Marsha -- Addiction -- offers. I'm sick of the excuses I have to make and the lies I have to believe (or pretend to believe) in order to keep her alive. For today, it feels like addiction and lust and hopelessness are utterly incompatible with my current life. Additionally, I know just how not to slip. I know all the things I need to do to avoid that pitfall. And I believe I will do them. I believe I will continually do them, and do them better than I do them now. I believe I will do more and learn more as I follow the Spirit and keep the commandments. I know that if I continue on the right and righteous path that the scriptures point me to, that I cannot fall into the grasp of Satan long enough to slip.

Also, as I look back on my last slip, it feels different. It feels like it was more out of rebellion and apathy than compulsion. I'm not saying that's a good thing, not remotely. In fact, I think it makes it worse. However, if I'm right, it means that I am not imprisoned anymore by addiction.

There is only one way out of hell, and that's Jesus. There is only one way to Salvation and Eternal Life, and that's Jesus. I was in Hell, and He has carried me out. I was alone and scared in a dark, cold forest, surrounded by beasts of terror who wished to devour me, and Jesus came after me and I finally decided to follow Him out. I'm following Him out. With Him, I am safe. With Him, I can withstand all of life's trials. He will take my arrows of unfair circumstances and my bullets of personal weakness. He will stay the beasts that come to attack me and destroy me. All I have to do is stay by His side, and walk with Him.

If I do that, and as long as I'm doing that, I won't ever slip again. Not in this addiction. I will continue to make mistakes, daily! I will continue to succumb to other weaknesses. But not this one. This one, I can be free of every day that I chose to be free of it.

And . . . I believe I will so choose, which means, I will never slip again.

We'll see, I guess! I hope this isn't arrogant, because if I am arrogant, I'm prideful, and pride is a breeding grounds for temptation. But if I trust my Jesus, that is not arrogance.

Regardless of my journey ahead, I know that I am of great worth to my Father and my Savior. Regardless, I know that They will continue to hold out their open arms to me, ready to fight my battles and guide me to happiness.

I'm hate addiction! I hate pornography! I love freedom and serenity. I can have freedom if I choose it, and serenity if I want it.

When Serenity is Scary

Most addicts in recovery are well-acquainted with the oft-quoted adage above, known as the Serenity Prayer. Google's definition of Serenity is "a state of being calm, peaceful, and untroubled." Oh, sweet serenity! Serenity is trust in God, a trust that because He is God, everything will be alright.

My last slip happened on my 123rd day. It happened on a day after I'd enjoyed many consecutive days of abstinence, as well as straight-up peace; serenity. I had been so happy. On Christmas Eve, I posted the following on Facebook:

"All month my heart has been soaring with happiness. I don't know why, really, but I'm not gonna overthink it. I'm just so happy and so grateful and so covered in love. Even with the stress and busyness of the prison program prep, my ex calling CPS on me and having them in my house, the stress of Anna's birthday party, of her choir program that I accompanied, of worrying about sufficient income for mortgage and bills and gifts- even with all the unpleasant goings-on- I just feel I have been blessed beyond my ability to begin to capture in a FB post. I feel a beautiful calm in my heart, a peace, a serenity, a reassurance to the point beyond doubt that everything will be okay always.
I'm just happy."

And it was true. I had experienced an insane amount of continuous peace. My trust in my Savior was carrying me insomuch that I felt like I was floating.

But, I began to fear the peace. Peace is something I'm still not so familiar with. I'm much more familiar with continuous torment. I am much more intimately acquainted with fear and self-loathing, with the uneasiness of the sin-afflicted soul. I'm familiar with feeling like life is crap with moments of joy, rather than life is joy with moments of crap. I look back and see so clearly that the consequence to sin is misery! I was miserable- I drank misery because it's all that was available, as far as I could see, and it was abundant in a steady stream. Serenity came sometimes! Serenity was dear and fleeting, like a first backyard butterfly of the summer. And, because Addiction was my lifestyle, serenity rushed away quickly- every time.

I had taught myself that serenity was fleeting. But, it wasn't serenity; it was my own repentance that fled so readily. My own obedience.

Even so, I think my last slip, on my 123rd day the other week, was in some way a self-sabotage. This long-time serenity became bewildering, and even suffocating in my untrained heart. I couldn't handle the peace of trust, because it suddenly began to feel foreign. I withdrew trust, and, not so surprisingly, surrendered my sobriety. I had no such intention! Truly, I didn't. I regret it wholeheartedly.

But, I'm lying right now. Sort of. I mean, serenity isn't foreign. Serenity feels like home. It's secure and warm and safe. It feels like a hug from a loving, accepting, fully-invested parent. It feels like a memory- a memory of pre-mortal eternities. Nothing feels more right than serenity. What's foreign is my acceptance of it, my desire for it, my commitment to it. The truth is, I became overwhelmed by being too far away from my old friend Marsha. I became frustrated that serenity and Marsha are utterly incompatible. There is no and! There is only or! Sin or serenity. (Incidentally, I recommend the movie Into the Woods,) Serenity is infinitely better but sin is easier. 

So, I guess if I'm being honest with myself, serenity isn't scary at all, ever. What's scary, when I withdraw my trust in Jesus, is the idea that choosing serenity means choosing a lifestyle of repentance, and of giving up forever the lusts (sexual and otherwise) of the flesh. 

I chose momentary pleasure and escape over serenity and good favor with God. That's it. That's what I did. I am so grateful that I understand the Atonement well enough to know that my choices are not sure damnation as long as I turn back to Him and walk His path. I am grateful to understand that my worth remains unaltered by this slip! I am grateful that I am now wise enough to stand up quickly and dust myself off, rather than rolling in the mud for a few days like I used to do. I'm deeply grateful for a Savior, who has covered me for even this, again. I'm so sorry He had to.

I'm also grateful serenity isn't a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I'm grateful that I can choose it now. And I am choosing it now. 

Super Power of Choice

It was a long day in a long week, yesterday. This week has really lagged. The other weeks in this year have zoomed by, but this week- it feels like it should have been over a while ago.

Yesterday, I was tired. I was also exhausted. Marsha had been tapping my shoulder relentlessly all week long. How do you react when someone taps you 8 or 9 times consecutively? It seriously gets annoying real fast. But Marsha- she had been tapping and tapping and tapping. I would walk away, and she'd follow. Tap, tap, tap. I'd tell her to go away, and she would for a moment, but then the next moment- tap, tap, tap. I'd punch her in the throat and she would fall to the ground, but just when I'd forgotten about that- tap, tap, tap.

MARSHA/ADDICTION/TEMPTATION, LEAVE ME ALONE! What do I have to do to get rid of you?!

I was starting to give notice her whispers:
I can take you to freedom and bliss. 
You have been so stressed out; you deserve a break.
It's not fair that you have to keep being single.
Just once more won't hurt.
You've already made it 10 weeks; longer than ever this whole year. Your bishop will still see this as progress.
It is progress, even if you give in tonight.
You know you want to.
You can repent later.
You're an addict. This is what addicts do.

On and on she went. I got so tired of ignoring her and fighting her. So I listened. I agreed with some of the lies. Some, I rejected right off. I listened as I typed in something into my search bar that I figured the filter would miss. I listened as I found something that looked like what I might be interested in. I listened as I clicked "play." I listened as I skipped past the boring parts. I listened as I shook my head at myself in disbelief and disappointment. But, I wasn't really listening at all. I was ignoring the truths that were also being whispered to me.

You don't need this.
This is terrible.
This isn't you.
I hate this stuff. Why am I doing this?
You can choose. You are choosing.
This is your choice.

But then I perked up. My choice? If I had the power to choose here, then why was I choosing destruction? Why was I choosing to step away from my safe place, from my God? If the power to choose was mine, why was I choosing this?

So I shut the computer, got off the couch, and walked out of the room. Even as I walked away, I scrambled for excuses, just barely subconsciously. Why? Why had I made this choice?!
It's the addiction
I was just so tired.
It's been such a long time!
I've been under a lot of stress. 
It's not fair.
But every excuse was unsatisfying. I couldn't buy any of them, so I'd scramble for one I could buy. But the next one was just as hollow, so I searched for a better one. Nothing was working. Nothing was justifying my choices. Nothing I could think of was going to save me from my decisions, or erase them. And I was sorta hunched over as I was searching for a justifiable reason, but I suddenly stood straight and said to myself, Some time, I have got to accept that it was my choice. It wasn't the addiction, or my exhaustion, or my circumstances. It was the choice I deliberately made.

Instantly, my mind relaxed. I had released it from its fruitless mission of finding an acceptable excuse. And I realized that I have the power, here. The power I have is in the choices I have. I have the power to choose, at any given moment, and that is a power that is an inalienable gift from God. There was no external force pressing down the letters on my keyboard; no, that was me. I did that. I chose that. My judgement was clouded- yes. My judgement was worsened by exhaustion and addiction and circumstance- yes. But, never, at any time in my entire life, have I lost total ability to choose, and last night was no exception.

This recovery business is a hard lot. It is so hard to be bombarded every day all the dang time with pictures and phrases and images and Marsha tapping all day long, everywhere I look! Reminders all over the place, from a pornographic truck window decal to something as innocent as a couple holding hands. Triggers are practically the air I breathe. But even that's not an excuse, and even then, I always have a choice.

Oh, how easy it would be to yield to the enticings of my flesh! Oh, how desirable it appears to rush back to my former ways of so easily bending to Addiction's demands! And, sometimes, oh, what I would give to be able to truly justify the sins I occasionally miss. Sometimes, I would really like to have my cake and devour it, too, at will. Sometimes, honestly, I would like to change the rules, or my commitment to them, so I could dabble in the darkness that compels me to enter. How easy, my friend, how easy it would be to press "play" a hundred more times, shut out the world, and tune in to the pleasure that Marsha tells me will heal my heart.

But, I cannot, for I know that Marsha is a liar.

My choices last night have not weighed me down in shame. I feel like I should maybe clarify (though it's nunya biznez) that what I chose to watch was a television show that some in this world would quickly define as non-pornography. And it wasn't a "porn video," as far as what we think of those as. And I'm not even calling it a slip. But it was a rotten choice, and it was my choice. a choice that I made. And it was crap. Trash. Despicable, A terrible choice, to be sure. I'm going to tell you that owning it as a choice - MY choice - has been liberating. Identifying it as a choice means that I take accountability (which feels really good!!) and it also means that I separate it from my worth. It was a choice, not a whole-character definition. Also, it means that in the future, I can make better choices- because I have that power.

While I am not shaming myself, I am disappointed in myself on a grand scale. How could I make a choice that I know separates me from Jesus? I know better than this; I really do. I was swept up in a moment of weakness, and I made a mistake. I regret the mistake. But I will not dwell in it. Forsaking a sin means leaving it alone. I'm going to leave this one alone. I'm going to repent and come out of it, and leave it there. I don't want to carry it with me. I don't want to hold it over my head. I just want to leave it there and take God's hand instead. I'm sorry I made this mistake, and I wish I hadn't. I'm also so grateful that because of the Atonement, I can make another choice. I can choose to be made new, and to progress. I can choose to learn from this and rise as quickly as I can. And that is my choice, now. My choices last night were very bad choices, but I don't have to let that propel me into a series of further poor choices like I would have in the recent past. I can make the good choice and turn back to God.

What a gift it is to choose! I choose repentance. I choose eternity. I choose hope, forgiveness, and accepting the grace of my Jesus.

I Would Take Her to a Safe Place and Tell Her Truths

I had a therapy appointment today. I love my therapist, which I have mentioned before. I love having a therapist- a good one.

Something interesting and a little shocking happened yesterday. I haven't really spoken much about my marriage here, as it's not the place. And yet, today, it's the place.

My marriage was traumatic. Yes. My poor brain and heart and soul experience much trauma while in that marriage. While I was in it, I all the time made excuses for my husband's behavior.

Yesterday, I had reason to go to the very apartment complex my ex and I lived in for over half of our marriage till the end of it. The same building, even. Just a few doors down. I haven't really needed to be in that area of town since my ex and his girlfriend moved out of our apartment (they'd moved in shortly after I'd moved out) after our divorce. That's been 7 years now. So, as I turned onto the street of the apartment complex, the flashbacks blindsided me. Sudden, abrupt, simultaneous memories came at my face like fiery arrows in a battle in which I was the only one on my side. Surprised, my body even reacted, and I took in a sharp breath, tightened my body, and thrust my head to the headrest as if to back away from the attacks.

There's the park where I would take my baby in the middle of the night to get away from my husband after he'd been yelling at me or the baby over something. And suddenly, I was there, in the cold, sitting on the swing and sobbing, and hoping against hope that he would wonder where I'd gone, and come find me. Hoping against hope that he would find me and say, "oh, baby, I'm so sorry for saying those mean things. I didn't mean it. I'm so sorry I hurt you. Please come home." Hoping against hope that I wasn't the person he treated me as. I would sit there with my baby, crying and thinking my husband was maybe wrong for screaming those poison words at me- at her, even- but also knowing that it would be I who would apologize. I used to escape to that park frequently when I felt afraid or betrayed by my husband and couldn't talk to him about it (because he yelled more when I did and turned it around on me, every time).

There's the little softball field where he screamed at me in front of his work friends, in front of his girlfriend, in front of our kids. And suddenly, I was there, unable to hold back the tears in front of his softball teammates as the kids and I cried and walked back home. Suddenly, I felt it all again.

Here's where I slid on the ice and spun into a parked car. And suddenly, I was in the living room, telling him what had happened, and he was yelling before even asking if the kids and I were okay.

There's the apartment. Okay, too many horrible memories to even list that happened in that 2 bedroom itty bitty space. But dozens of them flew at me last night. It was suffocating.

I was surprised. I didn't expect that to happen, at all. I thought I was over it! I thought I was over all the marital strife, over him, over the hell of being his wife that ended 7.5 years ago. I was so annoyed that the memories would affect me that way. I cried and cried on the drive home, and I was annoyed about that, too. Why? Why should it still hurt? I don't live there anymore. I don't love him anymore. I don't want him to be a good husband to me anymore.

I explained it all to my therapist and she explained trauma to me. She told me I was having flashbacks, and said that it indicated that I was in a healthy place.

Wait, what?

Apparently, feeling and acknowledging pain is healthy. OH YEAH! Marsha thrives when I don't acknowledge pain, after all.

So, we talked more about trauma, and what happens to our neurons during certain experiences which makes those experiences traumatic, and we talked more about pain. And I began to understand.

I'm still going to explore this more. I want to understand why God made us humans this way. I want to know what is the purpose in making our brains so that they experience trauma, and pain of an event or events years after they occurred. Because, He did that on purpose. He made our brains work that way for a reason, and I want to find the spiritual reason behind my trauma, and my pain.

I said, "But if I get my finger burned 7 years ago in a park at night, it wouldn't still hurt." and she said, "But, if someone held an iron to your skin and it burned through all the layers of your skin, through all your nerves, your skin might heal, but you'd have scars and nerve damage for maybe the rest of your life. And would you say to someone with that kind of wound, 'you shouldn't still feel that?'"

Well, no. Oh.

Then she suggested we visit those swings. What were my thoughts on those swings? What were the lies that I were believing as truths while I sat on the swing at the park at midnight? What were the lies my husband was telling me by his behavior toward me? I gave her a list.

• I'm not good enough
• Not a good enough mom
• Not a good enough wife
• A burden on my husband
• Stuck with my husband because I chose him
• Not worth an apology
• Not worth respect
• Worthless
• Not worth being heard

That's a portion of the list. And do you know what she did? She said, "What would you do if someone told your daughter, 'You're not good enough. You're nothing but a burden. You're not worth apologizing to. I'm stuck with you now, so you have to do all the things I want.  You're worthless.'?" Well, I instantly became furious at the very idea of someone telling my sweet daughter those awful lies. I was angry beyond description at the hypothetical loser telling my daughter those horrible things. I told her, with tearful eyes, "I would be so angry at whoever would tell my child that. And I would take my daughter to a safe place and tell her truths."

How I would so desperately try to undo the lies she'd been told! How I would enfold her and guide her to a safe and quiet room, and tell the truths about her, and tell her that the things she was told were not about her at all, but about the person saying them. 

And my therapist repeated softly, "I would take her to a safe place and tell her truths." And it hit me then that there were truths -- are truths -- to my ex's lies. And not only was he simply wrong, but the very opposite were truths! I was worth respect. I was worth an apology! I was not a burden on my husband, but a blessing to him. Not worthless; priceless. 

What if I'd known then? What if I could go to the me on the swings in the night and tell her truths? Is my worth any less than the worth of my daughter? Does God love me any less than I love my daughter? Impossible. He is God. I am mortal and have a finite vision. And you know what? I can take my own self to a safe place, and listen to Him tell me truths. And He will. He will because I am His daughter, and He created me to have pain and trauma, so He knows about my pain and trauma, and He can heal me. He wants to. He wants to heal me with His truths- the truths about me.

Now, as addicts, we tend to easily believe the lies. We believe we're not worth it. I mean, we really, legitimately believe that, don't we? We believe it so much that we know it to be true! Most especially in our most active times of indulging in our addictions. And our addictions, and our ease in "allowing" them, reinforce what we think we know to be true. In our darkest addicted points, we can see no other possibility of truth, can we? Just like when I look back to the me-on-the-swings, I remember that I just couldn't have even begun to believe that it was my husband who was wrong, not me. I couldn't have begun to believe that I had worth in that marriage or worth at all. 

I think we could all benefit, friends, from going to our me-on-the-swings (and don't we all have one?), and leading her or him to a safe place, and telling her or him truths. Telling her or him the truths that God tells us. As addicts, most (all, I think) of us have several moments in our pasts with people who were supposed to love us, who maybe even did love us, but who taught us and reinforced to us that we are worthless. 

It was a lie. It is a lie created by Satan. Don't you believe it! Oh, go back to your swing-self and tell him or her right there that it is a lie! And that you don't have to believe it anymore. Go back to those times and give yourself permission to identify those things as lies, and then also tell yourself the truths. We wouldn't be addicts if we weren't running from stuff and hiding. Turns out the things we run from are all lies. "I can't do that." lie. "It's too hard." lie. "I'm worthless." lie. "God doesn't care about me." lie. "No one cares about me." lie. "I can't do anything right." "I am a horrible person." "I don't deserve to live." "What's the point? I'm not good enough." Lies, lies, lies! "I can't do this by myself." Well, that's true, but not in the way we tell it to ourselves.

How interesting that addiction is all based on lies. I think that's true. My addiction is fed by and sustained by lies. If I believed the truths all the time, I would be free all the time. 

John 8:32-- And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free. 

Gratitude as a Cure to Situational Anxiety?

My bishop challenged me to get a little notebook and, every day, write three good things that happened that day, or three good things I'm grateful for that day.

Honestly, I have mostly failed at this. I usually forget (thank you, ADHD). However, purchasing the notebook and sometimes remembering I have it have helped in reminding me to think of things I'm grateful for.

Recently, I've had a crossroads of sorts, and I didn't know which direction to go. It was stressing me out so much. Then I remembered that verse in Proverbs 3. "In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths." And I wondered- if I acknowledge God's hand, will He help me see which path I should take?

The bishop's suggested exercise helped me to be more aware of my blessings. And, guess what? After a while, it was like a lamp shone on one of the paths, and that's the one I took. And it feels right and I'm no longer freaking out about it.

Hang on with me here. I'm going somewhere with this, I promise.

So, every single Monday, I get a little panic attack because Tuesday I have to start my work week. I could go into a great long list of why I just don't want to go to work, but I won't. I have Sundays and Mondays off and Mondays are the only day I get with my kids every week (they're with their dad every other Sunday). I should enjoy and cherish my Mondays, but always, that dark cloud of what's coming robs some of my enjoyment. Dread. Anxiety. Since I don't work till 1:00, I get the same dread and anxiety all Tuesday, too. It's thick and horrible and happens weekly.

So, today, I was sitting in my car after dropping my son off at school and in crept that familiar panic. My chest tightened, my heart began to race, my face flushed, I became hot, and tears stood ready to burst through. I decided to take a moment and not just push it down. I took deliberate, conscious breaths (because in those moments, it's almost like I've forgotten the right way to breathe). I told my heart "Shhhhh."

And then something weird happened- almost as if being directed by another force. I began thinking about all the things I have. I began consciously acknowledging my wonderful life. I acknowledge my home, my car, my daily food and water, my health, my children, my working body and mind, my Jesus, my dear friends-- I just started listing things I have. And then I acknowledged the Hand from which all my blessings flow. Soon, acknowledgement turned to gratitude. Genuine gratitude. And then, with my thoughts on my blessings, I remembered that in my past, God has always taken care of me. Everything has always worked out. It's ALWAYS been Okay. And then I realized that if He has taken care of me all this time, then He will continue to take care of me, and everything will always be Okay. Even though I legitimately hate my shift, and I'm allowed to hate my shift, and even though my circumstance are not ideal, and even though my kids and I are suffering because of those circumstances, God, my Father, will continue to take care of us! So I needn't fear. And then I stopped for a second because I realized something. I realized my heart rate was dropping back to normal. I realized the vice on my chest was loosening. I realized my blood flow wasn't all up in my face. And then I realized that my heart felt warm. Like, peaceful. Like, the very opposite of anxious.

And so I'm going to try this again, next time I get that little attack of anxiety. I know it's cliche to say "be grateful," but I really think that consciously acknowledging my abundance of blessings brings about a consequential peace, which destroys anxiety. I mean, anxiety is the very opposite of peace. I don't imagine there's room for it when peace comes in.

This is so important because anxiety is addiction-fuel. Marsha loves it. She uses it against me and lures me to her comforting arms, promising freedom from this plaguing anxiety. I've recognized those promises as lies, but now I think I'm finding antidotes. "In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths." Even if my path is clear, even if I know I have to drive to work and clock in and do the work that is a greenhouse for the anxiety in the first place, even if the path before me is already known- I sure would like God's direction on it. And today, acknowledging my blessings and His hand in my blessings gave me peace in a time of anxiety.

It's weird. Gratitude is so powerful. I am going to practice it more. I can't force gratitude, but I can force myself to acknowledge.

For real, I can't wait to try this next time my anxiety rises up and constricts my airways. I hope today wasn't a fluke!

Courage After Cowardice

Usually, I post links to my blog on my Facebook page when I write a new post. I will be doing no such thing with this post. Too much shame.

I wasn't going to even write this post. But I remember how grateful I am for my own honesty when I'm reading through some of my old posts. So, I post today. I post today for myself, for later.

I have been struggling with Marsha, my addiction. "Struggling" is a weak word for the battle I've been fighting.

It's too hard.

And, I swear, no one gets it. I swear, no one understands. I go to PASG meetings and everyone is doing so great. And I feel like the black sheep at addiction recovery meetings. I feel like the odd one out. I feel like a patient with an illness at a hospital, and everyone who was there when I got there is healed now. And I feel like I keep watching patients come in and - yay! - they're like me! I'm sorry they're like me, but the company is nice. We relate, we are as sick as each other. But then they get better, and they leave. And I am so happy for them- genuinely happy- but I'm also even more aware of how long it's taken me to heal. And I'm like this veteran of illness. People come and go and I'm still here. And I feel a little freakish in the hospital. I am ill and this is a place for ill people, but everyone else gets better. I don't fit in. If I, sick, don't fit in in the hospital, then where?

And where are my nurses and doctors? They've all given up on me because I should be better by now. They can only do so much.

I have been slipping. I have been indulging. I have been finding temporary comfort and reprieve in Marsha's arms. Life is too big and Marsha promises to fix it. And she never does.

I'm afraid that people will say this serves me right for having a season of doubt and questions. And maybe that's true. The doubt I have experienced was a darkness of sorts. But I have been honestly, earnestly seeking. And, yes, all this doubt and darkness and life's too-big-ness and my fears and anxieties and feeling so very, very overwhelmed at all my failures have culminated in a slip. Or two.

I woke this morning drenched in shame, and cloaked in regret. Marsha lied again. Brought me to the place where she promised relief, and left me stranded. Relief wasn't there. Only regret. Will I ever learn?

Well, now what? I could sulk in shame and regret. I could fold under the weight. I could pout and moan and wonder "why?" I could retreat and isolate- and, oh, I want to. But I have a choice here. I had a choice yesterday. I had a choice between courage and cowardice, and I chose cowardice. Today, the choice repeats. I can't go back and undo what I've done. I can't choose courage for my yesterday. And it would have been better for me to have chosen courage yesterday because now that moment is gone, and I will never retrieve it. I can never choose courage for that moment. But this moment is here. And I can choose courage today. I can choose to stand, to shed the shame and regret by repenting, and by forgiving my own self. I can choose now to courageously turn back to God. The cowardly thing to do would be to hide, or to throw my hands up and say, "forget this! I can't do it. I give up." The cowardly thing to do would be the easy thing to do. I could so easily step into a relapse. I could easily step into the depression that begs my attention. Tempting. The courageous thing to do would be to accept every moment in my past, including the recent moments, and move. Move. Go. I will go. Today, I will stand and begin another journey. I will not stay in this gutter. I will not lie down. I will pick up my weapons, which I dropped when I surrendered to my enemy, and I will march forward.

In the words of Allison Krauss: "A single battle lost, but not the war."

I stand. I fight. I will not die.

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.

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.

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.