We're All Out Of Our Minds

A dear friend of mine is trying to make sense of her son's mental illness.  A while back she accepted the reality that his darkness of mind was a sickness and that he needed help.  But it hasn't been simple: he is now trying a series of medications without much success.   He is stumbling darkly through the years that could be the most carefree of his life.

I have resented God for allowing my kids' brains to be sick.  Mental illness in my children has brought me to tears and to my knees.  It baffles me.  God has given us the wonderful gift of free agency, and at the same time, He has created our brains to be subject to conditions that handicap our ability to be truly free in our choices.  What kind of gift is that?  It's a confusing gift.

It's hard for me to understand that we are expected to choose well despite the earthly trappings of a mind that is sick, or a body with chronic pain, or a terminal disease such as cancer.  I think this expectation that I will learn to choose the good, no matter my struggles, is what keeps me humbling searching for help from God.

Even though I am sometimes resentful toward and baffled by God, I do believe that He knows me and is aware of the way my life is unfolding.  I believe I can never pretend to know the struggles of another, and that the atonement of Jesus Christ is the great equalizer. 

John 16:33 says, "In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world."

Don't each of us inhabit our own little world?  No other human can actually know what it feels like to be me.  Only God and Jesus Christ can judge me with their perfect empathy and compassion. 

I think the above scripture can mean that the Savior can help me overcome my world: with all it's sinkholes and typhoons and droughts.  His help can come as often as I choose to let it in.  I'm learning that it's possible to be of good cheer in the midst of tribulation, even when I don't have all the answers.

How A Dad and Mom In Recovery Are Being Better Parents Part 1

Over the past months, as my husband and I have simultaneously worked our recoveries from the effects of sexual addiction, some things in the Wildflower household have changed for the better.  Here are some ways recovery is helping our family:

1.  Mr.W has an unprecedented amount of energy.  What I thought was his natural energy level before recovery was only what he had left over after his addiction.  Since recovery, he has tackled home projects, some that have remained undone for years, and finished them.   He is downright proud of some of the things he's accomplished, and I am too, like tiling the bathroom floor.  I see my kids paying attention to his hard work.  

1. He is mentally present when he is home.  This means he is a part of the happenings.  Sounds obvious, but addicts withdraw from others and live in their own head.  My kids don't have to act poorly to get his attention, they still do sometimes, but they don't need to.  His head is in the game, if ya know what I mean?

2.  He holds the kids accountable with school work and jobs at home.  Every parent knows it is far easier to do a job yourself than to teach your kid to do it.  Pre-recovery I was often beaten down emotionally and exhausted physically. I was inconsistent when it came to my expectations for my kids' help around the house.  We can still do better, but my husband is now an actual partner with me when it comes to parenting.  

3.  He now values family time, so I don't feel like I am intruding on his "unwinding from work time" when I suggest something like family dinner.   And not only does he have the patience now to sit through dinner, he attempts to instigate meaningful conversation at the table.  

4.  We practice sharing feelings.  For several years, at the dinner table we've played a game called Good Thing/Bad Thing, in which we each tell a high and low point of our day.  Since recovery, in an attempt to practice sharing feelings, we now play Good Thing/Bad Thing/Vulnerable Thing.  In addition to a good and bad thing, we now relate a time during the day when we felt vulnerable.   It doesn't always go well.  Teenage boys aren't always able to be vulnerable, but it gives us as parents a chance to model expressing tough emotions.

5.  An addict in active addiction views the world around him as inherently hostile and the people in that world as enemies.  I don't feel like my husband's enemy anymore.  He often has to remind me, "Wildflower, remember I am on your side.  I'm not against you.  We're in this together."  I'm still not used to it, but I try to do my part and appreciate this new togetherness.

6.  There is more affection and love in our home.  

7.  Our family feels more stable and less stressed.  The definition of addiction is being out of control, and I feel more peace about finances and church responsibilities and bills and activities.  

8.  We have consciously simplified our lives by doing less in our community and focusing more on our marriage and family.  When things start feeling crazy, we think about what is really important and we try to do less.

Addiction recovery is changing our family for the better. Though there are still many negative repercussions of addiction present in our family, tonight I am celebrating the progress we've made!  






Happy holidays, dear friends.  Have hope.

It's Difficult To Love Difficult People

There are people in my life that are easy to love.  They are pleasant and sincere.  I don't have to try to love them. Without thought, as if by gravity, my love flows forth, and I feel connected to them.  

Conversely, there are people in my life who are not easy to love.  

These people may do stupid, impulsive things or say mean things.  They may make choices that I see will cause them pain, and they won't listen to reason.  They may be defensive and prideful, and they may ignore me.  They may often do all of the above!  At times I subconsciously view them as enemies, but these people are related to me; some even share half of my chromosomes.

Even with all the agency we have, we did not choose the members of our family.  God "assigned" me to my parents, my siblings and my children.  But that must not have been difficult enough, because then I married and added to my family a husband and the whole party of people God "assigned" to him.  

And now I have the overwhelming task of LOVING all these people: this combo platter of personalities and strengths and weaknesses and quirks.  

Love one another as I have loved you sounds like a piece of cake, but I am terrible at it.

Mother Teresa said that the people we live with and see every day are "Jesus in a distressing disguise." I think it's distressing because day in and day out, my love can wear thin with the people in my family.  They bug me, and I grow weary from the effort it takes to truly love them for who they are. 

In Corinthians Paul has said, "Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.  

And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing.  

And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing."

So even if I spend my life speaking different languages and understanding all mysteries and all knowledge?  Even if I have all faith and I move mountains with it? Even if I give away every possession I have to the needy? Even if I volunteer myself to be burned as a martyr?  

I can do all those things and more, but it does me no good (profits me nothing) if my heart is devoid of charity.  This truth hasn't sunk into my being yet.  I want to say, "But look at all the good things I'm doing!"  And yet, I know what I lack.  I lack the kind of love that never fails. 



Ultimately it doesn't matter what else I do in my life……my number one life-job, my career here on earth, is not to be a mother or a sister or a wife.  These roles are just vehicles for me to learn how to love completely, without judgment or selfishness.  Thank you Paul and Mother Teresa for reminding me.

LIfe Unspools In Cycles

I like reading books by Anne Lamott.  She's sometimes irreverent and her language can be "colorful", but she gets it.  She's had tough times, many that she admits resulted from her own poor choices, and many that did not.  She finds meaning and purpose in the struggle of life. This is from her book Help Thanks Wow.




"Most of us figure out by a certain age--some of us later than others--that life unspools in cycles, some lovely, some painful, but in no predictable order.  So you could have lovely, painful, and painful again, which I think we all agree is not at all fair.  You don't have to like it, and you are always welcome to file a brief with the Complaints Department.  But if you've been around for a while, you know that much of the time, if you are patient and are paying attention, you will see that God will restore what the locusts have taken away."

Buddha's First Noble Truth: Life Is Suffering

This week my eyes have been opened again to the DIFFICULTY of life.  People around me are suffering.  I am suffering.  And although our sufferings are not abject poverty nor hunger, they are real just the same.  This is the suffering list:

My friend died yesterday of cancer.  We watched her undergo great personal pain to try every possible treatment to prolong her life for her children.  She was able to see a son leave on a mission and to catch a few more basketball games, but her kids will face the rest of their lives without her.

On the same day, another friend confided that she is filing for bankruptcy.  Truly one of the hardest workers I know, she has scrimped and tried to stave this off for years.  She is filled with shame.

A friend is adjusting to a new life after her husband's suicide one year ago.  She is grieving, but also trying to help her five children face the grief and make sense of what happened.

Tomorrow a friend is commemorating the tragic death of her husband, who died in an airplane crash one year ago.  He left her with six kids and a house that requires continual maintenance to be livable.

Another friend is going through a prolonged job crisis starting a business.  She and her husband have received numerous confirmations from the Spirit that they are doing the right thing, but they are hitting snag after snag.  They are depleting their savings and questioning their prayerful decision.

I have had a tough week dealing with my husband's depression and possible relapse.  This is the first major depressive episode since recovery, and I watched him recognize it coming on and then NOT do the things he knows will help him.  His actions cause suffering to me and our kids.





I read this week that Buddhism is based on four noble truths.  The first noble truth is:  LIFE IS SUFFERING.

Wow.  It rang true.  Life is difficult.  Wildflower, "Do we have a truth like that in Mormon theology?  Or do we just have "Men are that they might have joy", which doesn't feel true to me today?

More on this later.

My Old Husband Is Resurfacing And I Don't Want Him Back

Today I am living my old life, my pre-recovery life, and I'm ticked off. My new and improved husband of the past twenty months is reverting back to old behaviors such as leaving church early, coming home and going to bed.  Such as telling me he is going to go work out and then sitting around.  Such as acting like a victim of his depression and acting helpless.  Such as disregarding a boundary I've set because, in his words, "You don't care anyway."

I rode out his declining mood and motivation a few days last week and the week before, because he has had some down days in the past months of recovery.  He's had days when it's been difficult to be present and when stress has overwhelmed him; however, due to his drastically changed habits and his changing heart, he was able to rebound fairly quickly.  It has been fantastic to observe him consistently on stronger emotional ground.

The difference now is the old, sulky husband is loitering here, and he is not yet showing signs of bounce-back.  I've been Ok, but today, I got scared and really sad.  I don't want my old life back, and I certainly don't want my old husband back.

But wait a second....even if, because of my husband's behavior, I feel like I am living my old life, I am NOT the same person I was when I lived that life.  I have changed.  I can have a decent day despite his mood, and I did, on Friday and Saturday and half of Sunday  But, today, I cracked. I even cried in Costco.  As the clerk handed me my receipt, she said, "I hope you have a better day."

Even though it wasn't a great day, I did have a better day than I would have pre-recovery.

I got up early and cheerfully got my kids to school.
I went to my exercise class.
I kept the appointments and did the work that I had planned.
I read my scriptures and prayed for guidance.
I called more than one support person and told them what was happening.
I called my sponsor and surrendered the things I cannot change.
I set two new boundaries: I won't go anywhere with him when he's like this. I will sleep downstairs when he's like this.

Yes, I do worry about relapse. Yes, it may have already happened.  It's out of my control, and I have  boundaries for all of that.

My buddy Melody Beattie summed up my plan, "Today, I will trust God and the process, but I will also take action to help myself feel better."

Right now I am taking the action of going to sleep.  Good night.

Are You Sick, Addicted or Depressed?

Right now I want to make a ballot with three possible boxes for my husband to check:

Are you physically sick? _______

Are you depressed? ______

Are you in your addiction?______

Because sometimes it is hard for me to tell.  All three look basically the same around here.

I could ask him, of course, as in have a conversation, but when he's in a state like this, his answers stir up more questions than they answer.  Such as "Do I believe him?" or "I wonder what the real truth is?"


Rebuilding a marriage out of the wreckage of sexual addiction is hands-down the most difficult task I have ever attempted, and today that task is beating me to a pulp.

A close recovery friend often reminds me that, "We are learning a new dance in our marriages, and we are bound to step on each other in the process."   I say AMEN.  We are figuratively stepping all over each other.

Love and Barriers

credit

Is The Purpose of Life To Go Through It Without Medicine?

Yesterday I ran into a  friend and she confided that her 15 yr old daughter, who is a friend of my son's, was not doing well.  Her grades had dropped, she was uncharacteristically irritable, and she spent long hours in her room alone.  She turned down invitations to socialize with family and friends.  A man standing nearby said, "Sounds like depression to me.  Depression....or drugs."

I opened up about my son's depression.  She was incredulous when I told her that my son had struggled with depression and anxiety since before the age of 8.  She never would have known, she said.  Of course not: we cannot guess what is really going on in the heart of another person, even the ones in our own homes.

We talked about antidepressants, and I told her about my initial fears and my attempts to treat the depression with counseling and fish oil and gymnastics and wrestling and St. John's Wort. ANYTHING but a pill.  There were strategies, right?  There were tools and good counselors, and we would figure this thing out!

But through all these methods, I could see that my son was still isolating himself at home and at school.   His anxiety was keeping him awake long after he had gone to bed and waking him up long before dawn.  He had stomach aches daily, and often I had to force him out the door to school.  Nothing in our life had changed.  He had a good teacher, friends, and he wasn't being bullied.

But he could not do the things he wanted to do.  For example, he wanted to play little league basketball, but on game days, he would cry and fret and not be able to get out the door.  He was irritable and overwhelmed by very small tasks.  He was not the person I knew him to be.  I mourned the loss of the son I once had


We finally (after a 5-month wait), got into a child psychiatrist, who changed our perspective.  He said something to this effect:

"There are people with mental illness that go through life without taking medicine, right?  So I want you to ask yourselves: Is the purpose of your life to go through it without medicine?  Or is the purpose of your life to do as well as you can do?"

That doctor gave us the courage to give our son a very small dose of Zoloft and to watch and see what happened.  During that appointment that doctor also persuaded my husband to try medicine for his never-before-treated depression, something that I had been begging him to do for nine years.

That was in the spring of 2006, and I remember Thanksgiving of that year vividly.  As my family went around the table saying what we were most grateful for that year, there was one thing on my mind:  ZOLOFT!  Of course I was still hiding and projecting perfection, so I made up something else to say, but antidepressants had changed our family dynamics drastically, and I was grateful to God for allowing medicines to be developed for mental illness.

Mental illness is an illness.  Not a lack of will power.  Not a consequence of sin.  Not something that can be snapped out of.  Not something to be ashamed of.  But boy, our society shovels shame onto mental illness like we shovel Ben and Jerry's ice cream into our mouths.

"Cavity carved into the soul.."

"The cavity carved into the soul through adversity will someday become a receptacle of joy." 

Neal A. Maxwell

Depression That No Amount Of Exercising, Reading, Thinking, Talking or Praying Could Alleviate

About five years ago, after a surgery that required several months of rehab, I found myself in a depression that no amount of exercising, reading, thinking, talking or praying could alleviate.

I didn't know that during this time and the months leading up to it, my husband was not in a months-long depression, as I had believed, but he was an active sex addict, whose addiction was escalating in frightening ways.

One day as I expressed sadness into his cold, disconnected eyes, I became so exasperated, that I threw a phone into the wall!  I had never done anything like that before, and it forced me to look at myself.  I was miserable.  Obviously, my old coping mechanisms weren't cutting it anymore.  I had resorted to throwing objects to get his attention!

I was sick, and I knew it.

Although I had confided my sadness to my close friends, I found my outer happy facade cracking to mere acquaintances.  Like a friend's husband, who called our house for something, and I ended up in tears when he asked me how I was doing.  I think I cried to a few people in the grocery store.  My sadness dam broke and spilled over, and I was powerless to fight it.   God seemed like a distant relative, with whom I had lost contact.

I was filled with fear: if I allowed myself to crumble, then our entire family would crumble.  My husband cycled perpetually in and out of family involvement, and I realized that even in my needy, post-surgery state, he could NOT stay present and emotionally support me, let alone pick up the slack with the kids and around the house.  The day I realized this was a horrible day: the man I married was not available for me when I really needed him.  I felt weak and alone and desperate.

Not too long after that, with my two year old on my hip, I walked into my pediatrician's office (I didn't even have my own doctor), and I asked for an anti-depressant.   I was brimming with shame that I couldn't handle my life.  Next I came home and made a counseling appointment with a therapist out of the phone book.

These were my first baby steps towards healing, and although it would be another three years before my husband finally disclosed his addiction, I began to learn about self-care and co-dependency and the grief process.  As painful as it was then, I believe now that God was giving me a head start on the things I would need to know to survive the future.

Confessions Of A Depressed Comic

For a while now I've wanted to do a series of posts on depression.  Happy thoughts, huh?  Up until my mid-20's I had no idea mental illness would be in my future, since it hadn't been in my past.  I bought into all the stigmatizing things people say: about depression being a choice and how taking medicine for mental illness was unnecessary and wrong-headed.

Since then I have lived every day with at least one mentally ill person.  Now I live with several, including the person I see in the mirror every day.  Ms. Experience is the best teacher (albeit the toughest teacher) I have ever had, and she is still teaching me better ways to live with my own depression/anxiety and with that of my family members'.  Having depression has increased my compassion.

The following is a video of an outstanding teen who struggles with depression.  I want to be part of this conversation.








Confessions of a Depressed Comic

Gentle readers, please let me know if this video doesn't work.  It's my first video post.

A Brain Full Of Jelly Bellies And An iPhone In The Toilet

A few days ago I had a day where the gaping jaws of hell were out to get my family, or at least it felt like it.

It was primarily about one of my sons and the shocking impulsivity of his teenage brain, which appears to contain nothing but jelly bellies.  As I was reeling from some of his decisions, I began to mentally ask myself two questions:

"What are the worst case scenarios that could happen to him if he continues on this crooked path?"

"Could I handle them if they happened?"

I mentally listed out some miserable places I could imagine him winding up (I am NOT talking about not making the honor roll here), and I discovered, that even though I would cry buckets of tears, because I really, really love this kid, I can accept where his choices could lead him.

I have to have hope that God is watching over him, and that this life is long, and that it's never too late for anyone to change.  I have to have faith that the Atonement of Christ will enable all of us to do what we could never do on our own.  Without all that....well, I got nuthin.

Except.....a working iPhone!  It dropped into the toilet on this same atrocious day.  Dropped with a splash and a scream of horror.  And I thought, "Of course.  Of course this would happen today.  How could it not?"

But when I touched the screen, it lit up! After a thorough Clorox wipe down, the phone is even better (cleaner) than it was before.  I choose to believe it was a little gift from God, letting me know He's there and reminding me that although things could always get worse, they could also get better.

My Pumpkin-planting Friend

There are friends, and then there are FRIENDS.  All the pumpkins on porches lately remind me of a certain friend and her efforts to show me love during the sunless days of 2012, when my life resembled the scrambled mess inside a pumpkin.

It was a beautiful spring, but I couldn't see it.  One day she came over with hoes and shovels and attacked an ugly, ignored corner of my back yard.  Then she brought in top soil and seeds and planted a pumpkin patch.  

"Pumpkins make people happy, Wildflower," she said.  "When you look out your kitchen window, you will see pumpkins, and it's going to make you happy."  

That was a year and a half ago, and although the patch produced only four small, unimpressive pumpkins that rotted within weeks on my front step, in my mind's eye, I can still see my friend, hacking away at the dirt and weeds, so I could have something to nurture and to anticipate.

Hey, you friends, you make a difference to me!  Thoughtful service, including patient listening, is super glue for friendships, and like it or not, you friends that are sticking by me through this have cemented yourselves to me.  I consider you all among the richest blessings of my life.

Thank you to my pumpkin-planting friend, and ALL OF YOU.  I know my burdens are mine and yours are yours, but thank you for not running from me and my soggy, pumpkiny life. 

If we lived near each other, I would invite y'all over to eat pumpkin bars and carve pumpkins. My friend was right, pumpkins do make people happy.

Newsflash: 98% of U.S. Parents Lie To Their Children

While I was shopping recently, I overheard a mother say to her toy-begging son, "Honey, if I buy you that toy, I will be in sooo much trouble with Santa.  So much trouble with Santa.  I promise."  

Umm...does Santa punish parents? If he did, he should punish us for lying.

Apparently 98% of US parents lie to their children as a way to change their behavior, according to a study that came out in the Journal of International Psychology last January.  The study questioned ~200 parents in both the US and China, and parents are lying to kids in both countries at very high rates (84% of parents in China lie to try to get their kids to behave).

Guess what the number one lie from parents of both countries is?  The parent threatens to leave the child in a public place if he/she refuses to follow the parent, as in, "If you don't come out of the McDonald's ball pit right now, I am leaving without you."  I confess it does sound slightly familiar.

"Instrumental lying" is the term the study used for the parental lies.  The lies are "instruments" of manipulation.  I would say all lies are "instruments of manipulation" in some way.  The lies included the following categories:

1- a lie designed to get the child to behave
"If you don't stop yelling, that lady over there is going to get mad."

2 - a lie to protect a child's feelings
"Your dog went to live on your uncle's farm where it will have more space to run around."

3 -  a lie relating to fantasy characters, also used to encourage good behavior
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Santa's elves are watching."

I thought it was interesting that "the parents who reported that they were strongly committed to the goal of teaching their children that lying is always wrong were no less likely to have lied to their children than were other parents."  In other words, it's another do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do parenting tactic.  We're pretty good at not practicing what we preach, aren't we?

So, I have questions!!  If most of us parents, at least to some extent, are lying to our children, how does this affect them?  Are they more insecure, more anxious, more distrustful?  How do our lies shape their world view?

I do not think kids believe all that we tell them; I give kids more credit than that.  So then, do they grow up perpetuating the lies they heard as children?  Does it undermine trust in the family?  Do they think our lectures on honesty a joke?

A quote from the article:

If parents are concerned about socializing their children not to tell lies, why do they lie to them? One possible reason is that parents often feel considerable stress about their children's noncompliance, as was suggesed by one parent in the US who explained, "When a parent is going nuts, they will do whateve it takes." Another said, "Most of the lies I've told my children are last resorts and out of despair. If I could get them to do what I'm asking another way, I would."

It's clear how instrumental lies such as, "If you're not quiet, that man over there is going to kick us out", may condition a child to behave well.  However, the behavior is based on external cues, such as someone else's anticipated reaction, in this example, a man's anger.

Doesn't our good behavior, at it's best, stem from us adopting values and developing our own moral compass?  When we act, we learn to listen to our conscience or the Spirit, and we feel positive or negative feelings when our actions either align or disalign with our values.   At our core we know how we should behave, because "the light of Christ is given to every man/woman."  Parental lies and threats are unnecessary if parents are doing their job.

I like the magic of Santa, and he makes a visit here every year (that's another controversial parental lying category :), but I've never been comfortable when I have used an instrumental lie and threatened my kids with a lump of coal.  To me that is a parenting cop out, and yes, I've used it.  I want my kids to develop confidence in their internal, God-given sense of right and wrong and to practice acting on it for their personal peace and happiness.  I want the same thing for myself.

Not because a policeman or an elf or a kidnapper or even an angry God said so.


 

Kids Don't Have To "Catch" Dad Watching Porn To Be Affected

Last week I was out with two "normal" friends, who are not in-the-know about my situation.  The conversation turned to porn, which didn't fluster me like it used to, and Lisa told us of her good friend, an eighteen year old girl, who, when she was ten years old, had gone downstairs in the middle of the night for a drink of water and saw her dad on the computer.  When she snuck up on him to surprise him, she saw that he was watching porn.  She and her dad didn't talk about it for another eight years.

The girl and her dad are now communicating about his addiction, and things are better, but my friend added, "Her brother is sooo messed up, and I'm guessing he also caught his dad looking at porn."  

Say what?

Newsflash here:  KIDS DON'T NEED TO CATCH THEIR DAD LOOKING AT PORN TO BE MESSED UP BY IT.  JUST LIVING WITH AN ADDICT DAD IS ENOUGH TO MESS THEM UP.

One of the most harmful lies addicts tell themselves:  "I'm not hurting anyone but myself."  Yeah, right. 

So how do addict dads mess up their kids?  Here are a few ways:

*Addicts feel intense shame.  
*This shame causes them to isolate themselves from people they love, especially their kids who usually need something.  
*Addicts withdraw emotionally into themselves.  
*Addicts are impatient and selfish and defensive. 
*Addicts have a hard time keeping their word.  
*They let others down when they don't do what they promised.  *Addicts view the world as hostile and other people (even their own children) as enemies.  



As a mom, I am not off the hook: my attitudes and behavior also greatly affect my kids.  None of us lives in a bubble.  Families are as interconnected as jigsaw puzzles.

I had a tough day today, and I was retraumatized, and I went into survival mode with my kids, like just get-through-the-day mode, and that is NOT good parenting.  My kids responded to the tension by trying to stifle their arguments, then a couple of them made my favorite cookies and delivered them to me, and then they ended up fighting like crazy.  I could tell they had no idea how to respond.

I tried to force a fun activity that we had planned earlier, but that no one but me actually wanted to do.  When that didn't work out, I blamed others for my disappointment.  I pouted and allowed myself to be a victim, all of which is not as much fun as it used to be.  

Next time I will go ahead and do what I had planned, even if no one comes with me.  I would've been so much happier.  I confess I still feel selfish thinking about what I actually need.

My prayer tonight is that God's grace will come down and fill in all the empty and painful places in my children's hearts.  And I guess in mine too, and in my husband's.  We all need a transformation over here. 

Brad Wilcox said,"The grace of Christ is sufficient to cover our debt, sufficient to transform us, and sufficient to help us for as long as that transformation process takes......Grace is the presence of God's power."    Ensign, Sept 2013

Questions About "Normal" Sexuality

I know all humans are sexual beings.  It's how we are made.  It's part of God's design.

But I have some questions......umm ......what is normal sexuality and what is addiction mentality?

How does a kid, whose brain is changed by porn before puberty, even have a chance at learning normal sexual attitudes and beliefs?

How can parents (we), whose entire marriage has been laced with sexual addiction, attempt to impart normal sexual attitudes and beliefs to their (our) kids?

I am messed up in this area, and I know it.   This type of messed-up-ness isn't something I want to pass down to my unsuspecting kids, yet I do not have answers to these questions.  

Slips and Sobriety

This week marks eighteen months since my husband disclosed his addiction to me for the second time, after going underground with it for over 14 years.

I don't feel as if I have ARRIVED anywhere, but I am sure happy to be in a different place than I was eighteen months ago!  Anywhere is better than where I was.

Just to keep me grounded, Mr.W had a slip last night.  It wasn't about lust this time, rather he broke his own boundary and went to a place alone, that he had said he would only go to with other people.   Several hours later, when he told me, he protested weakly that he needed to go there to take care of business for our family.

Nice try, but we both knew he was on shaky ground, and that there were many other options.   Our counselor says there are always LOTS of options in every situation, but we need to learn to see them. Today he admitted how risky it was for him to be there alone, and he apologized.

Sobriety has lots of enemies, but Complacency seems to be dressed for battle and looming the largest at this moment in time.  This week Mr.W learned that several of his SA friends had relapsed after more than a year of recovery.  NO ONE wants to hear news like this.  Every gal alive in my shoes knows that relapse is an everyday possibility.

In the past months I have learned many things.  Here are a few that come to mind:

1.  Sexual addiction is NOT to be underestimated.  People in long-term recovery give up everything to stay there.

2.  Sexual addiction recovery takes LOTS of time and effort.

3.  Complacency is scary.

4.  Joy is also very scary.

5.  Life goes on in good times and bad.

6.  People can survive unsurvivable losses

7.  I can survive unsurvivable losses.

8.  Brains can heal.

9.  Hearts can be healed, but it takes time and effort and more time and effort.

9.  God has not left me alone in this.  He prepared a boatload of people to help me, all before I even knew what was happening in my life.

Looking At Old Photos Is Like Sticking A Needle In My Eye

My kid is doing a collage representing himself, and he needs some pictures.  This morning I have been scrolling through recent and not-so-recent family photos.  It feels like I'm sticking a needle in my eye.

The pictures of my married life stir up anger and anguish....angrish, as I like to call it, and I'm fighting the urge to blanket my sadness with busyness and business, and I'm wondering why haven't I replenished my chocolate stash lately?


I still have a lot of pain when I look at the pictures of my married years.  Grief and mourning still surround past events and pictures and memories.

It's like the pictures are all up on the surface of a lake, where people are smiling and posing and traveling and being born and growing up, and under the water is a dark current of deceit and sadness and uncertainty.

The worst part is that during all these seemingly happy times, I was struggling emotionally, and I didn't know why.  I didn't know why my husband was working late or why he had insomnia or back pain or depression or the checked-out disease.  I didn't know why it was a burden for him to be with his kids or talk to me.  How was I so blind to my own life, I wonder?

I believed 100% that what was happening was what.was.happening. Days like today I still grieve that loss; the loss of trust and security in my husband and in my life.

Although my husband and my life are much improved with recovery, I have a residual fear that I really don't know what is going on in my marriage and my life.  While my fear unsettles me, that fear also brings me consistently to God.

In my humility, my insecurity, my mistrust of others and situations, that is where I meet God, or that's where He meets me.  Either way.  He gives me stamina, sometimes through a feeling, or a friend or a book:  I can live today, even if I don't have all the answers.  All the answers are not mine to have.  In those old pictures, when I didn't even have the questions to the answers, He knew me and was working in my life.

Could it be a blessing that I didn't know my husband was a sex addict all those years, when he probably wouldn't have been humble enough to seek recovery?  Was I spared years of heartbreak as he tried over and over again to quit?   Did not knowing help me hold things together, albeit haphazardly, until my husband could pull his weight?  Could my blindness have been for my own good?

"Squiddy Ink"

Lately I've been somewhat clenched and anxious, what with school starting and all.  I've been aimlessly picking at my face and staring into space a lot.

Change makes me nervous.  Guess why?  Because change is new and it hasn't happened yet, therefore, I can't KNOW how things will turn out, and at times I have such little faith in God.

Why do I want to orchestrate the lives of the people I love?  As if.....as if I actually knew what was best for this brood of independent souls living with me.

I loved this Anne Lamott quote on wanting to have control of other people and other stuff. [From the book "Help, Thanks, Wow]

"When we think we can do it all ourselves -- fix, save, buy, or date a nice solution -- it's hopeless.  We're going to screw things up.  We're going to get our tentacles wrapped around things and squirt our squiddy ink all over, so that there is even less visibility, and then we're going to squeeze the very life out of everything."

Wildflower, will you please get your "squiddy ink" out of here?  


Sometimes I write my prayers.... Please God, help me let go and trust You with my life and my people.  Can it be that simple?

A Pleasure Working With My Son?

Last week I visited my son #1, who has been working as a camp counselor all summer.  His hair was long enough to French braid, and he had a disgusting condition called, "trench foot", an apparent job hazard of camp counseling.  Despite that, a cloud of pride and love and emotion and heartbreak welled up inside me when I saw him.

I'm ashamed to say that I employed pushy mom tactics last fall to get him to apply for the job, but I felt in my heart that God was sanctioning this experience. That it would be better than anything else he could do this summer.   And it was.  He learned a lot about a lot of things, most of them essential to his future success, but too boring to mention here.

I had a shock when I met his supervisor.  She said, "It's been a pleasure working with your son."

"WHAT? It has?"  (I seriously said this.)

When I met the director later, he gushed, "He has done a phenomenal job up here this summer.  We would love to have him back next year."

To be clear, he does not want to go back, but I liked those words of praise so much, I recorded them in my brain and hit the repeat button.

It's just that I haven't heard or been able to see very many positive things about #1 in the last few years.
I realized he is progressing in many areas.  I lose sight of the person he is, because his addiction is such a monster.  It's hard for me to see around it.

He also loses sight of the person he is.  This summer job magnified all the good he has inside him.  And this kid has a lot of good inside him!  I pray that God will help keep my eyes open to his goodness.

I drove home several hours by myself in the dark, dodging deer in the headlights, and munching peanut M & M's.  I shed some tears as I thought about my son: how much I love him and how little I understand him.

I watched "A River Runs Through It" a few days ago.   In the movie there's a son that everyone loves, but no one understands.  This line stuck out to me, "We can love completely, without complete understanding."

I don't know how to do this.  Any thoughts?

My Neighbor Is A Different Species

Does anyone live next door to someone who is organized, clean, calm, matter-of-fact, non-chaotic and stable?

I do, and when I observe how Justine lives, I feel like a different species.  It's like she is living in air and I am living in water and never the twain shall meet.


School starts pretty soon around here, and tonight I worked hard to get the offspring settled down and into bed earlier than regular summer bedtime.  It didn't work at all, for reasons such as, everyone had to eat three bowls of cereal as soon as bedtime was announced.  I was begged to read books and tell stories about me as a kid, and scratch heads and do treasure hunts on backs.  I didn't do all of these stall tactics, of course, but it wasn't quick.

In contrast, Justine told me a few days ago that for the past few weeks she has been putting her kids (some in middle school!) to bed three minutes earlier every night, so they will be adjusted when school starts.

She said it like it was the easiest thing she had ever done.  See what I mean?  I am a different species, and so are my children.  My kids would have staged a full-fledged mutiny.

I can't even say that her life is simple: she has a difficult special needs son, but boy, does she make it look easy!  She handles him with such tenderness and love it is heart-warming.

Anyway, I realize that Justine and I are each unique and we have different strengths and capacities. Regardless of species, we are both moms and friends doing the best can with what we know.

Little People To Be Unfolded

School shopping with my 12 yr. old today.  He picked out two pairs of fluorescent athletic shoes (one chartreuse), two pairs of bb shorts (one was fluorescent orange) , and four t-shirts (2 were fluorescent green).  Exactly one-half of the purchased items were fluorescent.

His color choices tell a lot about his personality. Half the time he is jostling for my attention.  He is loud.  He is in my face.  He is annoying and teasing and fluorescent in personality.  He's hilarious and infuriating.  He's the child that spit on the cookie dough in this post.

The other half of the time, he wants to blend in with the carpet.  Maybe he wants to be the carpet, so he could just be.  If he were the carpet, he wouldn't have to acknowledge the existence of other humans living in the same house, and he wouldn't have to respond to unwanted requests like, "Will you please take a shower?"

I remember a quote that a friend growing up had posted on her kitchen wall.  "Children are not creatures to be molded, but little people to be unfolded."  


Here's to you, kid, may I love whatever You unfolds.

I Sortof Got In A Fight With A Stranger At The Park

The men in this photo are much younger than the men in this story.

Now that my blood pressure has returned to normal range, I am reporting that I SORTOF GOT IN A

FIGHT WITH A MAN AT THE TENNIS COURT TONIGHT!

I was at the end of the court with my 9-yr old innocently picking up tennis balls, when we noticed through the chain-link, about ten feet away, a group of decent-looking adults screaming at each other.

My son looked at me wide-eyed and we both smirked at each other like, "Oh, wow!  A fight?!"

From what we could gather, an older couple with two dogs had asked Peter (I learned his name later), a man with one dog, to please walk his dog in the other direction, because one of their dogs wanted to play with his dog.

It sounds benign, right?


Apparently, Peter didn't want to walk his dog in the other direction.  It was his firm position that, "YOU SHOULDN'T BE OUT WITH A DOG YOU CAN'T CONTROL!"

That comment appeared to smack the couple in a vulnerable place and they lashed back with a string of profanity.  It escalated from there into a tennis match of heavy cussing.  I put my hands over my son's ears, then he tried to plug his own ears, then we both gave up, hoping it had blown over.

But, they kept yelling and swearing, and we had front row seats.  After several minutes had passed, and wow, A LOT of bad words can be packed into several minutes, I said weakly, "Hey, there are kids in the vicinity!"


They didn't even glance in our direction.  However, the couple started to walk away,  and I breathed a sigh of relief that it was over.

Just then, the woman flipped around and advised Peter on where to go and what to do when he got there.  Peter shot back a scathing personal insult, that would burn my fingers if I tried to type it.

The insult to his wife caused the man to turn and challenge Peter to a fight.  Peter accepted with a lot of fierce, "COME ON! COME ONS", and he began to tie his dog to a tree to free up his hands.

The woman was now hollering at the top of her lungs, "He's not worth it, honey.  Look at him, he's an old, fat, bald blankety-blank."

Really?  They were going to duke it out right there?  These two old men were getting ready to beat the crap out of each other on this beautiful summer evening?

And then, without even thinking,  I jumped into the fray.  I walked right up to my side of the chain-link and screamed, "SHUT. UP!!!!!!!!!!

And they actually did shut up.  For a few seconds.  The couple turned and left, but Peter charged over to me, "Ma'am, ma'am, I want you to know that if someone is going to be aggressive against me that I will do what I need to to protect myself."

I pointed to my kid as I said, "I don't like the "freakin'" language." (I'm not proud I used the word freakin, but there it is, my friends)  My kid is hearing this whole thing!"

He proceeded to yell at me about how not one cuss word had come out of his mouth.  That he hadn't sworn once, and had I noticed that?  Huh, had I noticed that?

Actually, I had not.  Upon further reflection, I think he may have been correct, but he certainly wasn't right.  If the swearing had indeed come from the others, then he had been just as mean and insulting with non-swear words.  In fact, if I were to crown a winner of meanness in the exchange, it would be him.

He continued to hound me through the chain-link about his innocence, and how PEOPLE SHOULDN'T BE OUT WITH A DOG THEY CAN'T CONTROL!!"

How 'bout you, buddy?  YOU SHOULDN'T BE OUT WITH A MOUTH YOU CAN'T CONTROL!  (I thought of this retort later, of course.)




Anyway, was I being courageous and asking for what I need?

Was I establishing a boundary of what I would not listen to in a public place with my kid?

Or was I just another person who shouldn't be out with a mouth she can't control?







P.S.  I did apologize for my outburst five minutes later, and that's how I learned his name is Peter.  He shrugged it off, but said I owed him a beer.  What?  I'm confused.  Was it codependent to apologize?  I feel messed up tonight.

Have You Ever Wished Your Husband Had Cancer? I have.

Tonight I grabbed my journal from 2012 off the shelf.  I was looking for some notes I had taken at a conference.  As I opened the book, my own voice blasted me with angrish.  I was ranting and sobbing in this journal.  I was wishing cancer on my husband.

Before my husband disclosed his significant acting out and life-long sexual addiction, he had had a persistent, pounding headache for about a month.  Exactly one week before his disclosure he got an MRI of his head.

I was nervous that day. I had the thought: this day could change our lives forever.  Maybe he had brain cancer?  I thought of people I knew whose lives were turned upside down in a single moment.  Would that happen to us?


The MRI found nothing.  Wouldn't it be great if MRI's could detect porn addiction?  Maybe their brain could be covered with bright green XXX's, just so it would be obvious and unable to hide?

After the disclosure I told my husband that I would rather deal with stage IV brain cancer than to deal with what he has (I couldn't even say what it was back then).

If he had cancer I wouldn't have to reconcile the thousands of lies that had flown out of his mouth and sunk into my trustful soul.  I would be able tell people, and we would be flooded with sympathy and support and soup.

The shame behind this insidious disease keeps it under wraps. Somewhere behind my
wish for a visible trial like cancer is my desire for validation from those invisible people that seem to live in my mind.  "Oh, Wildflower, how do you do it?  You are a rock, girl.  I have brought you some fresh cinnamon rolls, Honey, because.....whew...you are going through some hard stuff."



After I read that excerpt from my journal, I said a nighttime prayer with my kids.  I prayed for two of our family friends who are dying from cancer.  They are both in their 50's, and they both have kids who still depend heavily on them.

I feel foolish about my wishes for cancer.  Sometimes I am a petty, self-absorbed creature.  Of course I can grieve my circumstance on the way to acceptance, but I want to make it clear, especially to myself, that stage IV cancer is not preferable to sexual addiction.  It never will be.  I would wager that either of our friends with cancer would trade places with me or Mr. W in a heartbeat.

My Love Faileth

This picture somehow makes me want to throw up.

I'm reading about the attachment theory of love.  For several months, I have been bewildered and somewhat ashamed about my lack of loving feelings toward Mr. W.  I mean, I was wholeheartedly in love with the guy when I married him, so why is my love now so conditional?   What about true charity that never faileth?

The attachment theory of love is shedding some light on why I feel the way I do.

Attachment theory views emotional bonds and emotional responsiveness as the basis for love and loving. We have an inborn need for safe emotional connection and when we don't get it, the human brain hits the panic button and all hell breaks loose.

"Distressed partners may use different words but they are always asking the same basic questions, 'Are you there for me?  Do I matter to you?  Will you come when I need you, when I call?'  Love is the best survival mechanism there is, and to feel suddenly emotionally cut off from a partner, disconnected, is terrifying.  We have to reconnect, to speak our needs in a way that moves our partner to respond.  This longing for emotional connection with those nearest us is the emotional priority, overshadowing even the drive for food or sex.  The drama of love is all about this hunger for safe emotional connection, a survival imperative we experience from the cradle to the grave.  Loving connection is the only safety nature ever offers us."  

Sue Johnson, Hold Me Tight, pg 47


This resonates with my innards.  If the drama of love is indeed all about this "hunger for safe emotional connection",  then that explains why my love-well for my husband runneth low at times.

For my entire marriage I hungered for this emotional safety.  I had had good attachments as a kid, so I knew what that felt like.  When Mr. W and I were connected, I was able to give and receive love, when we were disconnected,  I COULD NOT DO EITHER.   A sort of panic ensued inside me.

Solid love couldn't  exist when our emotional bonds were fraying and inconsistent.  The addiction cycle kept our love, not just our connection, in a constant state of flux.  As Sue Johnson explains, I was, in all different ways, asking him, "Are you there for me?"  And when he didn't reassure me, my brain careened into primal panic mode, because I, like every human, am wired for connection.


Therefore, what happened to our love when Mr. W dropped his A-bomb in 2012 should not surprise me.  Our flimsy but well-intentioned emotional bonds were instantaneously demolished.   Who am I kidding, I was also pretty much demolished!   When the dust settled, I was holding commitment, responsibility and very little love.  Now I understand why.


Attachment theory also explains why addiction in a marriage results in less love in the relationship.  Yeah, lust and love can't coexist, but it's more than that.  Attachment theory would say that addiction and the associated emotional disconnection are what make it impossible for the addict to truly love their family; because the basis of love is emotional connection, not attraction, not loyalty, not commitment, but emotional connection.

So, that's as far as I am in the book.  Good stuff.  Thank you, Dr. Sue Johnson, this has been my least expensive therapy session ever.

Today sucks.

Whiney Wildflower is out tonight, so be warned.


Today sucks.  I feel like I have been swimming in rough seas for an interminable time, and I am ready for a rescue helicopter to appear and airlift me to a tropical paradise, where addictions and predatory mammals have never set foot.

I feel hopeless about my son's addiction.   I feel depleted from managing my own hair-trigger emotions and trying to allow others theirs.   I'm tired of feeling threatened by any human with breasts and hips.

Today my marriage requires more effort than I want to expend.  This week some members of my husband's family are coming to stay with us.  It's hard to entertain when life is so volatile, and I'm anxious that I can't pull it off warmly and generously.


I know others have it far, far worse.  But, can I please have a tantrum on the kitchen floor anyway?  Imagine me face down with my fists pounding the ground and my legs kicking wildly.   We need to be able to act like two-yr olds sometimes, right?  Wives and moms of addicts don't get that luxury very often.


I don't want to do this anymore.   I want to be done with this crap.

Of course I know that it matters not what I want.  Not really.  I get what I get in this life and I can throw a fit or not, but eventually I have to accept WHAT I HAVE.  Oh well, tonight I am throwing a fit.

More On The Nonexistent Yellow Brick Road To Bliss

In my last post, I confessed I had long operated under this false belief: if I were righteous then I would automatically be happy.  It seemed a reliable formula: my keeping the rules would directly sway the Powers That Be to shield me from life's pitfalls.  Mental illness and sexual addiction in people I love has ripped this untrue notion from my psyche.

Where did this belief of mine originate?

I believe my misunderstanding comes from two sources.

#1    Because The Ideal is largely what is preached in church settings, I was taught and I understood gospel principles in an over-simplified way.

#2    Because The Ideal is largely what is preached in church settings, those whose lives don't fit the Ideal feel alone or unworthy.  I believe this shame led people I knew to hide their hardships, sometimes behind a perfect, cheery facade.  I was naive to the real difficulties good people were facing, and I was content to be ignorant.

Some examples of oversimplified principles:

"If you choose the right (as if there were only one "right"), then you will be happy."
"If you marry in the temple, you've made it.  You will live happily ever after."
"If you marry a returned missionary, you are getting the cream of the crop of worthiness."
"If you don't smoke, you will walk and not be weary and you won't get lung cancer."

While all of the above scenarios could come to pass, they are not automatic if/then situations.  A plus B does not automatically equal C.  Real life does not follow any mathematical formula; real life has a formula all its own.  That formula is mess and chaos and surprise and good and bad all at the same time.


**Maybe we could talk about how we can choose the "right" for ourselves by making prayerful decisions, but that good decisions do not predict an easier earth life.  Unforeseen pain and darkness will most likely still visit us.

Why?  Because of the natural laws of mortality.  We are subject to any number of maladies just by existing.  Our bodies and minds are corruptible and aging.  We are subject to the effects of others' actions.  If someone drinks and drives, for example, we may be the casualty of their decision.

Why?  Because we live in families, we are especially prone to the good and bad consequences of each member's decisions.  It's like Herman Melville wrote, "We cannot live only for ourselves.  A thousand fibers connect us with our fellow men."

**Maybe we could talk about how marrying in the temple is not a free pass to a blissful life.  A counselor once told me that while Mormons have lower divorce rates than the national average, in his experience, Mormons do not have better marriages.  He believed that perhaps the temple marriage label acted like a sort of glue to keep a quarreling, unhappily married couple together.

**Maybe we could talk about how tough marriage can be and why.  I remember hearing how important it was to communicate, but not how to do it. We talk far more about the style of wedding dress than we do about the realities of married life.

**Maybe we could talk about how returned missionaries are just guys that may or may not be spiritual or worthy or good husbands.   The RM label can be so bright and glaring, that we fail to ask deeper questions and see incongruencies in their behavior.  My husband hid years of addiction behind his RM image.

**Maybe we could talk about how men, who don't go on missions, may be equally kind or loving or close to God.  But they may be struggling with mental illness or any number of factors that prevent them from serving.

**Maybe we could talk about how we can choose not to smoke, but that there are people with lung cancer that have never touched tobacco.  This could happen to any of us.



I wish I had been given a bigger dose of reality in church lessons and talks when I was growing up.  I do wonder if perhaps I did not have the ears to hear this stuff then.  But I'm listening now, and in gospel circles, I'm not hearing much about the nitty gritty trials that I and my loved ones face.  I wish that more people had talked about the tough things in their lives; about how things hadn't worked out as they planned or wanted.

While I understand that we need to see the Ideal as an example and something to aspire to, as near as I can tell, NO ONE HAS THE IDEAL.  Gospel principles cannot be boiled down to a sterile if/then formula.  People and lives are messy, and yet we show up with our masks on and pretend they're not.  We pretend to have The Ideal.





Next post I want to talk more about why, in gospel circles, we tend to keep our troubles hidden deep in our hearts.

And yes, I realize that I am a hypocrite anonymous blogger, wanting more open discussion of difficult things, while simultaneously hiding behind the name of a flower.  Thanks for reading, gentle reader.

Are We Teaching Young Women About A Yellow Brick Road That Does Not Exist?

"Girls, this has been a beautiful program.  I commend the gospel with all of its auxiliaries and the temple to you, but I do not want you to believe for one minute that if you keep all the commandments and live as close to the Lord as you can and do everything right and fight off the entire priests quorum one by one and wait chastely for your missionary to return and pay your tithing and attend your meetings, accept calls from the bishop, and have a temple marriage, I do not want you to believe that bad things will not happen to you. 

And when that happens, I do not want you to say that God was not true.  Or, to say, 'They promised me in Primary, they promised me when I was a Mia Maid, they promised from the pulpit that if I were very, very good, I would be blessed.  But the boy I want doesn't know I exist, or the missionary I've waited for and kept chaste so we both could go to the temple turned out to be a flake,' or far worse things than any of the above.  Sad things—children who are sick or developmentally handicapped, husbands who are not faithful, illnesses that can cripple, or violence, betrayals, hurts, deaths, losses—when those things happen, do not say God is not keeping his promises to me. 

The gospel of Jesus Christ is not insurance against pain.  It is resource in event of pain, and when that 

pain comes (and it will come because we came here on earth to have pain among other things), when it 

comes, rejoice that you have resource to deal with your pain."

Carlfred Broderick, The Uses of Adversity, Ch.12  




I guess I knew difficulties would come to me at some point, but I didn't really know.  What I really knew, because I was taught it repeatedly, was that if I lived righteously and repented when I messed up, that I would avoid a lot of heartache and be happy.   Wickedness never was happiness, so if I wasn't wicked, then I would be happy, right?

For the first half of my life, my experience was congruent with what I learned in church.  I was fortuitous in my birth family and circumstance.  My actions seemed to directly determine my well-being and happiness.  I was voted Most Likely To Succeed when I was 14, and I believed it was pretty likely I would succeed!  After all, how hard could it be to keep going in a good direction?

I entered my marriage with the belief that my worthiness would insulate me; not from physical ailments, sick children, natural disasters or financial troubles, but certainly from grievous sins and their consequences.  Certainly from infidelity and lies.  Certainly from hideous filth and ensnaring addiction.  

I had made calculated, prayerful decisions about my adult life, including whom to marry.  I didn't worry my parents to tears or elope to a Las Vegas wedding chapel.  From all appearances, I was marrying a squeaky clean graduate student that had a great sense of humor.  

Becca, my close friend and mother of five, is mourning her husband's recent suicide.  I am astounded by her goodness and her pure heart.  And yet, her married life has been filled with heartache and troubles.  Heartache and troubles so deep I cannot fathom her pain. 

We don't remember anyone telling us to watch out: that even if we were righteous and made wise decisions, that our lives could derail like a runaway train.  That the actions of our loved ones could be reckless and destructive enough to render our lives unrecognizable.  

Becca and I wonder why, after absorbing a lifetime of gospel lessons and talks, we weren't better prepared for the reality of such emotional pain?

Facing Fears Like Eleanor Roosevelt

When I was a kid, I took violin lessons for years, and although I had the desire to play well, I didn't have the desire to practice very much.  I played in a school talent show and a few primary programs.  When I hit high school, my interest waned and my parents let me quit.  My violin sat in a closet of old coats in their house for years.

However, my violin-playing desire festered and nagged, and I determined to take lessons again at some point when I was settled.  For the past decade or so, I have taken lessons on and off, mostly off.  In between babies I started again and played for a while.  I practiced at home, with babies playing at my feet.  It required me to use my brain, and I used it to fill up my need for accomplishment.  On evenings when Mr. W was checked out or depressed, I liked to practice.

But here's the thing: I am terrified to play in public.  I falter and I shake and I tense up.  I crack under pressure.  I sweat like a horse, and I have to wear black shirts.  My self-talk about my playing is cruel.  "You should just quit.  Sell the instrument and try guitar.  It would be easier.  You still play like a 14 yr old.  You're not good enough.  You're not good enough."


But, I am forcing myself to play.  It has become much more about facing my fears and staring down my perfectionism and much less about my actual playing ability.  I am learning that my music can be imperfect and beautiful at the same time -- it doesn't mean that it is, but it is possible. :)  For me that is breaking some new mental ground.

I have some mantras that I repeat to myself before I play.  Side note: I play mostly duets or with quartets or the ward choir.  I would rather walk barefoot on broken glass than play a solo.

"It doesn't have to be perfect to be beautiful."  

"Wildflower, you will not DIE if you make a mistake."

"This will all be over in __ minutes, and your life will go on."

I repeat the above over and over, and I also say a lot of prayers.  I hope someday I can relax and become less self-absorbed about the performing part.  I've made a little progress in this area, but it's still embarrassing to write all this.

I like this quote from Eleanor Roosevelt,

"You gain strength and courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face...You must do the thing you cannot do."

A real musician would likely scoff at my fear of performing, but that's OK.  It seems important somehow that I practice making mistakes and living through the shame.  It seems important that I learn that how I play has NOTHING to do with WHO I AM.  Remember Wildflower, you are not what you do.  You are not what you do.


Last thing:  If playing my violin were only about combating fear and perfectionism I would have tired of it long ago.  The whole truth is: playing songs by myself in my bedroom brings me joy.   These days I need every bit of joy I can squeeze out of life.

Time to rosin up the old bow.

I'm A Recovering Hovering Mom

Hi, I'm Wildflower, and I'm a hoverer.

To me this means: I worry about my kids, a lot.  And I worry out loud to them, and I annoy them with my concern and questions.  I'm not proud of this.


I remember feeling annoyed at my mom for the same kind of behavior.

"I'm fine, Mom.  No, I don't need a fourth umbrella in case it rains.  No, I'm not hungry, nor do I want a granola bar in my pocket.  Like I said, I'm fine."  Roll the eyes and sigh.

Apparently, hovering is in my genes, along with moles and a recurring need for root canals.


Recognizing my problem and admitting it to others is a good step, right?


My hovering tendencies were in full force today as we visited Child #1, 100+ miles away, where he is working as a camp counselor for the summer.  Except for a little over 24 hours every weekend, he will be there until mid-August.  Two weeks down.

He looked weathered and shaggy and older as he walked towards us and hugged me.  It was apparent that very little sunblock, or shampoo, or astringent, or fingernail clippers had been used.  I would venture that not much underwear changing had happened, either.  I caught myself annoying him with my concern and questions.

But, he had a new confidence about him that made me feel pride and loss all at the same time.

He is doing something difficult, and he is doing it just fine without any daily or hourly help from me.  He's not loving every minute of it, either, which makes me respect him even more.

This kid has caused me buckets of tears over the last few years.  He has made countless choices that have utterly shocked the hell out of me, and not in a good way.  His brain is still as mystifying to me as quantum theory.  This causes me to fear.  Which causes me to hover.

This is the kid, for whom last year I was researching wilderness programs and alternative high schools, because that was the direction he was heading.   I had/have serious doubts about his future and little faith in his decisions, which has caused me to hover even more.  I have done my part in straining our relationship.

Several months ago I was feeling crazy dealing with him.  I took my new 12-step brain, an old shoe box and some sticky notes into his room, and told him I was surrendering him to God.  I explained that I was worrying too much about him and taking on too much responsibility for choices he was making.  I then told him everything about him that I was surrendering to God.  I wrote them each out on a sticky note and dropped them in the box.

He stared at me blankly as I did all this.  "OK, Mom."

That was the beginning of some miracles.  One of those miracles was the way he got this summer job.  Another was a really great jr high choir teacher.  Then we found a counselor he trusted.  Positive things started to be sprinkled in with the negative.

I've been amazed at things that have happened without me hovering around to make them happen.  Part of my recovery is giving up that illusion of control.  I don't know what someone else needs, even if he is my own son, but God does.


Hovering is my reaction to fear.  I fear that this kid will fail.  But, wait, he's already failed in many ways, and we've all survived it.   I fear that I will fail.  And yet, I've already failed in many ways, and I've survived it.  Aren't we all here to fail?

I hear those invisible people in my mind saying he will never make the summer, that he'll do something stupid and get kicked out.  Maybe he will.   Maybe he will fall on his face and fail.  And maybe he won't.   I could hover from a distance all summer long, and it wouldn't change a thing.   God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change....