Light Peeking Through the Cracks

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I recently decided to study the LDS church's family support program on my own. Getting to meetings is hard. I like to go when I can, but sometimes life just gets in the way, and attending in-person meetings is just not a priority for my recovery right now.

I love this program. I LOVE it.

The first principle is called "God Will Console Us in Our Afflictions." As I've studied this principle, I've felt a lot of peace come to me. It's been perfectly timed because I'm really triggered by an upcoming trip Ben is taking for work.

Today I studied this talk.

It solidified in me this feeling that Ben's addiction is not my fault. It is not related to me in any way. I've struggled with this idea because the first time he acted out in our marriage was some kind of twisted revenge against me. Yeah. So when people say the addiction isn't related to me, sometimes in my head I'm like "Well, how can you be so sure? Because actually, it is about me."

That line of thinking comes and goes. But lately, I've been realizing just how much I have carried a victim mentality through this and how that mentality has affected me in every aspect of my life. I am working hard to rid myself of that mentality and live my life with a free spirit.

I'm finding myself again, and it's beautiful.

This talk I studied was a good reminder of what addiction is and how it impacts agency. It helped me feel a little less mad at my 29-year old husband for what he has *done* to us and feel a bit more empathy for the child who was deceived by Satan, the child who had some major things he was dealing with and numbed through addiction. That empathy has been lost in my anger.

We are on a rough road. But as I've been trying to demolish my victim mentality, something has come alive in me that I've been yearning for but haven't figured out how to attain: LOVE. Love for everyone, really. But most importantly, a love for Ben. When I'm not super angry at him all the time, or more accurately, when I'm not looking for reasons to be super angry at him all the time, it's much easier to see the good things in our relationship and in his spirit. That is important because he is not defined by his addiction. But sometimes I define him by his addiction.

Obviously we still have a long way to go, and it would be much easier if he could get into solid recovery. I still have hope that he can and will, and I still have hope for our family. But right now, I am finding light that I haven't seen in a long while, and it feels good.

Meeting with Stake President

I met with my stake president on Sunday.

So. Many. Emotions.

I was really nervous. I felt that I needed to reach out to him at this point in my life, but how awful would it have been if I left there feeling invalidated and uncared for? That was a real fear because I didn't have a good experience with my bishop. And I didn't have a good experience with my LDS counselor who had stellar reviews from what I could tell (and the referrals I was given to him). So I was very nervous to meet with my stake president, but it exceeded expectations by far.

The meeting was exactly what I needed. I was heard. The things I was struggling with were not taken lightly, and he did not use them to make me feel foolish for not having some kind of blind faith in things I was struggling to understand. He listened. He heard. He taught. He spoke with love, kindness, and empathy. I could feel from him something I've been yearning to feel for a long time now in my current ward. The spirit and light I felt in that room with the stake president were simply undeniable, and I was reminded of the love my Heavenly Father has for me, for all of us.

At one point, he told me, "You have been dealt a very unfair hand." And he mourned with me. How validating is that?!

I'm so grateful I had this opportunity, and I'm even more grateful I didn't chicken out of my meeting. I gained so much, and it gave me strength. We had a really beautiful discussion about the Atonement, and reflecting back on this meeting has made some of my other trials this week that much easier.

So many of us have had poor run-ins with church leaders. I pray that we can all have an experience like this where you leave feeling understood, edified, and light.

Empathy Fuels Connection

Even though we are in recovery and overall, things are going well, sometimes I feel super disconnected with Ben. It's hard to communicate, and I honestly feel selfish most of the time. I have felt these feelings of selfishness quite frequently lately, and I know some have some real grounds while others don't (because I'm depressed and think not-so-nice things about myself).

But Sunday night, I realized where some of my selfishness comes from: Empathy. Rather, lack of empathy.

I practice empathy with my friends. I try to practice empathy on myself (because sometimes if I don't empathize from an outside perspective, I will be really mean to myself). And I prefer people to show me empathy too. So, why why why do I rarely show Ben empathy?

Quite often, when he comes to me with something big--like struggles he is having with his job, our finances, our infertility, or the addiction--I tune out. I blame him. I "at least" him to death. I respond, rather than connect. Many of my responses drive a further wedge between us, and then I blame him for the disconnection we experience. Why? Because he is the addict, and I'm depressed, and everything is his fault! Duh.

Except it's not. Not everything is his fault. And sometimes I am selfish.

Watch this video:

Empathy fuels connection! It's feeling with people and sharing their sacred space that feels like a deep, dark hole.

Sometimes when Ben comes to me in his deep, dark hole, I respond kind of like, "Well, that sucks. Now listen to how depressed I am." "At least I don't look at porn too." "At least you're not going to be a mother. You have no idea the pain I feel with infertility." "Infertility would feel much harder if you were in my shoes. Because a lot of this is your fault anyway." "At least you have a job." The list could go on. And that list is selfish.

When I'm in a dark hole, Ben generally comes down to me and sits with me. But when Ben is in a dark hole, I tend to remind him who's fault it is that he is down there (not always, but way too often).

And I wonder why we feel disconnected.

In reality, it doesn't matter what kind of pain he feels. It doesn't matter what kind of pain anyone feels because PAIN IS PAIN. That person's pain is their reality. We have to understand that. Even if their pain looks small on the outside, to them, it's big. I'm positive we have all felt pain before. And we can use our reality of pain to connect. Connecting with your reality and understanding of the pain and darkness you have felt can be scary because it's vulnerable. And it can feel uncomfortable. But once we connect with our experiences, we can connect with the person in the dark hole and build connections and show empathy, which will help lessen the burden.

"I know what it's like down here, and you're not alone." That should be my response. That should be all of our responses to anyone's pain.

If I can't imagine the pain my husband feels when he is aching for owning his own business and the stress of providing for our family, that's okay. Because if he is in a dark place, and he is inviting me in to that sacred space, that space can be used to fuel our connection. I can connect with his pain because I have experienced pain of my own. I know that sacred place. (And if I don't know how to connect, I can say, "I don't know what to say. But thank you for trusting me with this." And then I can sit with him as long as he needs me to.)

And if, for some reason, I truly can't connect because of my own trauma and depression that is related to him, I can let him know in the most empathetic way that I can't be his support at that time. Because I do need to keep myself safe and hold on to my boundaries.

Empathy is what has been missing in my relationship with Ben. I don't connect to that piece of me that does understand his pain. Sometimes it's because I really and truly can't be vulnerable in that way because of what is happening in our marriage. But, especially lately, quite often, I can connect and choose not to.

I realized on Sunday, if I want our relationship to work (and obviously I do), I have to choose empathy. I have to start choosing to really connect with him on both of our terms, not just mine. There was a time when I really needed distance and space, and we couldn't be vulnerable. Now is the time to start being vulnerable in ways we haven't in a long time. I need to choose empathy. I need to choose vulnerability because that is what drives connection.