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....

Just Lying or Really Trying?

MM posed this question in my comments section, "How do you tell when they switch from just lying to actually trying?"

I haven't always known, and I don't think I will always know in the future, but this time, this is how I knew.

1.  The slips he had were things he wouldn't have called slips a year ago.   I can see that his bottom line has risen.  That indicates what the White Book calls "progressive victory over lust".  Of course, I wish the victory over lust would progress at the speed of light and burn up in a cloud of cosmic dust, but that's sadly not reality.

2.  During the "lying period", if you will, Mr. W behaved exactly like an addict.  He was full of shame, resentment and self-pity.  It bothered him greatly.  He admitted he was struggling, and he didn't pretend all was well and that it was somehow MY problem for being critical or over-reacting.  This made it easier for me to trust my gut and detach emotionally.

3.  During the "lying period", he didn't try to fill up the gaping hole of darkness in himself by seeking intimacy from me, either emotionally or physically.  He knew it was his stuff, and he didn't look to me to soothe his pain.  He has done that before and the betrayal felt worse.

4.  During the "lying period", he went to a previously scheduled counseling appointment and Lifestar and an SA meeting.  I heard him making support calls.  So I was reassured that although something was up, he hadn't become completely apathetic.


After the slips and lies I need see an increased level of committment from him, because we are back on shaky ground.  Lurking around is that old familiar feeling that things will never change, and that lust and lies are going to continue into perpetuity.  I need him to work hard to be honest, humble, accountable and connected.  The burden of rebuilding is on him.

That's it in a nutshell.  I still wish it hadn't happened.  It all involved lust and other women, which is never going to be painless for me as his wife.  Never.

It comprised several conversations that ended in me huffing off or ending the phone call without a good-bye.   Because that is how I was at the moment.  My angrish steamed out of my ears like a cartoon character.  But I survived, and the whole thing did not overwhelm me with despair.  Slog on, sister, slog on!











A word about boundaries:  I'm glad I had them in place, and I'm glad I held them, but what to do about the residue of deep sadness that accompanies times like these?  I haven't been able to find a boundary for grief; it seeps through some of my best efforts at recovery.  

Slogging On After Slips And Lies

I'm sorry to report that things here went downhill rather quickly after our great vacation.

It consisted of multiple days of Mr. W acting detached and broody, and multiple questions from me to the tune of, "What is going on with you?  Did something happen?  Are there things you haven't disclosed to me?  I feel like you are hiding things from me."  And multiple denials from him to the tune of, "No, no, no.  Nothing has happened.  I am just having a tough week."

Until last night.
When he told me what he claims is the truth.  But really, how would I know?  Stuff had happened, and he had lied once again.  And again.  And again.  To my face.   I have boundaries for this kind of thing, and I am holding them, but still....come on!!

I never imagined I would be in a marriage where I didn't trust the guy I chose to marry.  It was unfathomable that a marriage could even survive without trust.  Like a worm caught on the road after the rain has dried, the marriage would shrivel and harden and die.

But, that's not true.  I'm here to say that while I may not like it, I and lots of women I know, are willing to tolerate a trustless marriage (not an abusive marriage) if our spouse is trying to become trustworthy.  Trying being the keyword.

It seems that as much as I value an honest marriage, and as much as I try to hold up my end of that deal, what I value more right now is an intact family.

That is a realization to me as I write this.  As much as I whine about honesty and abhor the lies,  I am choosing to keep my family together while my husband learns and practices recovery from sexual addiction.

Of course it would be a relief if he could go away and come back fixed, but as long as I see that he is willing to do Whatever It Takes to recover, then separation is not the answer for our family right now.

That said, I acknowledge the sheer difficulty of living with multiple addicts that lie.  Like MM says, lies make things muddy and confusing.  I find myself distrusting things my non-addict family members say. My default has always been first to trust, until proven untrustworthy.  I resent that my innate, child-like trust has now been exploited.

Overused Joke:  How do you know if an addict is lying?  His lips are moving.

Thank goodness the Spirit can help me see through the muddiness.

"...for the Spirit speaketh the truth and lieth not.  Wherefore, it speaketh of things as they really are, and of things as they really will be; wherefore, these things are manifested unto us plainly, for the salvation of our souls."   Jacob 4:13

An hour or so before my husband disclosed, I had prayed that I would be able to see things as they really are, and I was able to.  I can see that recovery ain't pretty, and it sure as hell ain't easy.  It's not a smooth yellow brick road to Oz.  But, even among lies and slips and apologies and do-overs and rage and compassion and grief and tears, I am determined to slog on -- at least for today.




But I think I'll let Mr. W sweat it out for a few days before I tell him that.

Who Stole My Old Husband?

We got home from vacation today, and despite contracting my first cold sore EVER,  which has flabbergasted me with its immensity and has rendered the left side of my face unrecognizable,  I am celebrating one of our best family times ever.

I am wondering, who stole my old husband and replaced him with a new and improved, identical-looking one?

The new one stayed engaged with the family for an entire week (minus only 3 hours) on a very long road trip.  He didn't lose his temper or become exasperated when kids jumped all over the beds in the hotel and refused to go to sleep.  He instigated daily family car scripture reading as we drove.  And he spent the last hour on the road sharing with the kids the fascinating story of the audiobook he was listening to.  They were riveted.

Now that we are home, he is still going like an Energizer bunny helping our son get ready for camp tomorrow.   He was just seen sewing on a scout patch.   He volunteered to drive our son 2.5 hrs one way tomorrow, starting at 5 a.m.

This is NOT the way vacations and the pre/post vacation time have gone for us in the past.  A vacation  brought out the worst in him for several weeks prior.  Mr. W would become stressed about leaving work, which led to him working longer and longer hours and becoming increasingly detached from us.   Now I know that he was acting out in his addiction heavily during these times.   He was so grouchy, that I often thought, "I don't even want to go on a vacation with you."  There was tension and arguing.

On the first day of vacation, he would shift into trip mode and immediately want the fun to start.  He
would apologize and say, "I really want to have a good trip with you."  Right now.  Let the fun begin.

I would try to let the fun to begin, but it usually took me some time to recover from the detachment and disfunction we had been living.  I employed all kinds of codependent behaviors to sustain me.  The trip itself was usually good, although now I realize that he was often in his own head, away from us emotionally.

He always had a post-trip let down, sometimes it began as early as the drive home.  I remember several long drives home after a good vacation, when he didn't talk to me or the kids for hours.  "What had we done?" We all wondered.  Yesterday he was fine.   "What could we do to get the good feeling back?"  This caused much anxiety and uncertainty for the kids and me.  As they say in the business, it was crazy-making.

The next several days home were always uncertain, as he reentered work life.   When he came home from work, I tried to get a read on his mood before proceeding with the plans for the evening.  I blamed it all on his depression, and I employed even more codependent behaviors, such as rescuing and persecuting and crying and pouting, to restore balance to our lives.  It didn't work, but it was all I knew at the time.

In recent years, as his addiction was burning strong without my knowledge, vacations were more trouble than they were worth.   Which is why I want to kiss whomever abducted my old husband and replaced him with this new guy.

One big difference between my old husband and the new one is HE IS PRESENT.  He is happy to be where his body is.  He is content and peaceful just being, because he actually likes and respects himself.    I realized now how discontentedly and anxiously he lived his life.  This spilled over to me and the kids and created a tense environment.

On the trip, his contentment and peace spread out like an invisible blanket and covered our entire crazy family.  That has NEVER happened before, and I think a little bit of healing transpired.  Thank you, God, for sending us that miracle.

Today, I feel like we might make it after all.