Thinking Back About Telling Our 11 yr old Son

Because, "life goes on", as Robert Frost so aptly put it, I now have some hindsight about telling our then 11 yr old son about his dad's addiction. He is now fourteen, and I asked him recently if he was glad we had told him.  

He said no, not really.  

It broke your heart, huh? I asked.

Yeah.

Do you feel like your heart is healed now?

Yeah.

But it was hard?

Yeah.

This is a lot of verbalization for this kid! If you have a 14 yr old son, you may know what I mean. 

A few months after Mr W came out to me, the bishop and stake president, his entire family and my parents, we felt like we needed to tell our two oldest kids. These were our reasons for telling this son: 

1)  Stop the lies. We were gone many nights to group counseling and 12-step meetings and we didn't want to repeatedly lie to him about where we were going. 

2)  Most importantly, we desperately hoped that if he knew, he could somehow steer clear of sexual addiction himself, in the same way that some children of alcoholics resolve to never take a drink because of their family history. My husband's addiction began at age 8.

So we told him one sad summer day, and it didn't go well. No details, of course, but that his dad had a porn addiction, it had started in his youth, and he was now doing everything to find recovery.

He was devastated and shocked and angry and confused.  I felt sick and I questioned the decision to tell him. For months, I wasn't sure that he would be OK.  He had a hard time talking about it. How could the dad that had taught him values not have lived those values? 

I repeatedly summoned up all the recovery I had to reassure him that his dad was doing whatever it took to be free of addiction, and that we were going to be a stronger family because of this (I barely believed these things at the time). I told him why we felt it was important for him to know the truth. I said so many prayers for him. I surrendered him to God over and over. I knew I couldn't heal him or take away his pain, and I felt helpless. 

So, now in hindsight, do I think it was the right thing to tell him?

Yes. But it wasn't easy for anyone. Truth be told, there's not much that's easy about addiction and marriage recovery, is there? It's a rocky road.

Even though it broke his heart to learn the truth about his dad, he now knows the truth. He sees him going to meetings and keeping his media boundaries and teaching his teachers quorum. He sees him respecting me and admitting his mistakes and doing dishes. 

The hard truth hurts like hell. But so do lies. I choose truth. The truth can set us free to heal.

Marriage is a Crucible

This is a favorite quote of mine.  I'm a casual follower of Glennon Melton's blog, but she caught my attention with this post.

My marriage has lots of scars and some newer scrapes, but for the most part (one of my favorite phrases), there is a lot more realness. There is a lot more love disguised as work.

"I talk about my flailing marriage because (and a year ago I’d have ripped your well-meaning head off if you’d predicted this to me) the truth is that my marriage had to be shattered before it could be pieced back together. 

My marriage was like a busted arm that The Doctor had to re-break before it could heal right. A year ago- it all fell apart. Yes it did. And I about died. But now. Just a year later – my marriage is excruciating and real and true and deep and GORGEOUS for the first time. For the very first time. It also still sucks. It hurts and burns and refuses to leave me in peace – like every crucible does. 

But damned if all that discomfort didn’t turn out to be the good stuff. Like the Velveteen Rabbit – maybe neither people nor marriages become Real until the shine and newness rubs off and they look ugly and worn out to the rest of the world but real and soft and comforting and lovely to the one who holds them. 

This past year has been a special slice of hell for me and Craig-  and I never, ever thought  it would get better. I had no outward hope for a long while – but I kept showing up, and so did Craig. We kept fiercely and relentlessly showing up. We did NOT commit to each other this past year. We individually committed to the Spiritual Practice of Showing Up."

- See more at: http://momastery.com/blog/2014/04/16/life-freaking-brutiful-2/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=life-freaking-brutiful-2#sthash.DqLuB9WD.dpuf

"Were you ever addicted to it, Dad?"

The other morning my ten yr old climbed into bed with us to get warm. I don't know how it started, but I do know that he didn't bring up the topic of masturbation. I did. After I explained what it was, I said, people can become addicted to masturbating, just like other things. He looked really surprised by this. My husband hadn't said much up to this point, but my son looked right at him and said,

"Were you ever addicted to it, Dad?" 

We froze for a second, weighing in our minds what to tell him. I decided to blaze ahead with openness. I nodded and raised my eyebrows for added effect. Then my husband bravely said,

"Ya, I was. I used to be." 

"Huh." 


We went on to talk about why we have sexual feelings and and how movies and TV tell a lot of lies about sex being the same as love. The best was that THERE WAS NO SHAME in this conversation. And while I wouldn't say it was easy, it wasn't unnatural or strained.

If a miniature, invisible Richard or Linda Eyre had been sitting on my shoulder, I think they would have approved. Yes, this was a small moment. But, it was a big moment in our parenting. Eventually, we will tell this kid more of the story. I am hoping and praying that moments like these will break the intergenerational story of addiction.



"All it takes for evil to triumph is for good people to do nothing." Edmund Burke

Finally Telling Family Members and Feeling Genuine

My family spent Thanksgiving with my side of the family, and it was the best Thanksgiving I've had in years. Mostly because one by one, over the last six months, I have told the people I grew up with about my situation. Of course I held some of the ugliness back, but I cried to them and shared how tough things had been and sometimes still are. 

I was vulnerable and humble, which isn't part of the traditional role I have played in my family. If Brene Brown needed anyone to prove her right (which she doesn't), I could do it.  My vulnerability brought me closer to the people I love.

I've missed these people in my life. I've held them at arm's length for the past couple of years, because I wasn't ready to tell them my story. They couldn't ignore my tear-stained cheeks and the anxiety-ridden aura that I had post-disclosure, but I wasn't brave enough to tell them what was happening. It felt too complicated and overwhelming to me.

Initially it was easier not to tell them: I had recovery support from non-family members, women in my situation, who could really understand. As time went on, however, I hated the distance I felt, especially with my sisters. I had allowed this hideous addiction to keep me from some of my favorite people.

This Thanksgiving I am grateful that I could show up at dinner with my imperfect marriage and my wild children and my very odd-looking apple pie and feel genuine. 

 Here's my Thanksgiving math:

Vulnerability + Understanding = More LOVE Than Ever