Looking back I can recognize the red flags and the slow descent of our marriage. You’d think I could have recognized the sharp drops for what they were, but it was just so natural to make excuses for them. It was far easier to blame myself for being paranoid, ridiculous, or at fault. Rebuilding trust in myself has actually been harder than rebuilding trust in my husband.
I believed we were in love. We never yelled at each other. Though disagreements sometimes were filled with tension, we never argued. I had my complaints about the way he treated me sometimes, but always excused them as outbursts of the stress he felt as he struggled through some tough employment situations. It wasn’t until well after d-day that I fully recognized the emotional abuse from my addict husband.
For the most part, though, the descent was so slow and subtle that I didn’t recognize it until I found us at the bottom wondering how we got there. Why were we so far from content together? How could this possibly be happening to us? This was not anywhere in the realm of possibility. But Satan is a crafty devil, patient as the day is long. With the truth finally in front of me, I could recognize Satan placing flaxen cord after flaxen cord around my husband’s neck over the years. He had become a puppet on a string.
“I committed adultery last night.” My reality was blown out of the universe with five words. Suddenly, the impossible was possible. A week-long affair courtesy of hell’s website that shall remain nameless.
He slid off the couch onto the floor and kept talking; a stream of confession about the last 20 years of his life. Through my shock, I could only understand bits and pieces of what he said. The more he confessed, the more the shock set in. Soon I hit my limit; physically, spiritually, emotionally, and mentally. He said something about strip clubs and the door to my mind and heart slammed. Maybe it was Jesus, maybe it was an unconscious self-preservation thing. But something/someone got in front of the torrent of water sinking the submarine and shut and sealed that door. The emotions were so powerful that they couldn’t be completely kept back. They’d flash out as they could:
“What a dark battle he’s been fighting for so many years. I just want to hug all the hurt out of him.”
“I want to beat you to a pulp.”
“I can’t stand being in this room with him. I might just run through the window.”
“I need a sledgehammer.”
But for the most part, I was shut down to walk-sit-stare mode.
We’ve had our ups and downs, but never before had the option to leave stared me so plainly in the face. In the same moment I felt a profound sense of relief- knowing I still wouldn’t walk that path, and I felt despair- knowing if there was ever a valid, scripturally-sanctioned reason to divorce, this was it.
How did WE get here?
Ten years. Ten years of lies and pain. Ten years of living a life that reality smashed in one massive blow. Ten years that finally make complete sense and no sense at all. My life is now a constant battle of conflicting emotions. I fear that the constant push and pull of my emotions will carry me straight to the loony bin. I never knew I could hurt so much and still keep going. I never knew how strong I could be. Sometimes I wish I was dealing with something that I could fall apart in public about. If one of my children had died, I could be hit by a memory and start crying at the store. If I was diagnosed with cancer, I could be sitting in church and start crying. If anyone bothered to ask, I could easily say, “I’ll be alright. I’m just struggling at the moment with the fact that my son died/I have cancer.” Hugs and support would be given. But this? This I can’t start crying about in public. If a memory or thought hits me, I can’t double over even though it feels like I’ve been punched in the stomach. I can’t start crying. I can’t. I’ve been surprised by the strength it takes to not fall apart. I’ve been surprised to have been given that strength.
I forgive him . . . most of the time. I’m discovering that forgiveness is more of an on-going process than I previously thought. Also, much less about my working to forgive and more about Jesus stepping in.
I’m learning to forgivewhore her. It’s hard to forgive someone when the only thing you know about them is the most horrible thing they’ve ever done . . .
I’m trying to forgive my in-laws for unknowingly creating the perfect environment for addiction to thrive. How could they have been so utterly clueless?!
We move forward. We’re healing. Jesus is amazing. 12-step recovery groups are heaven-sent. There is so much hope for the future. But good gracious . . . who knew our marriage could survive such a death blow?
I believed we were in love. We never yelled at each other. Though disagreements sometimes were filled with tension, we never argued. I had my complaints about the way he treated me sometimes, but always excused them as outbursts of the stress he felt as he struggled through some tough employment situations. It wasn’t until well after d-day that I fully recognized the emotional abuse from my addict husband.
For the most part, though, the descent was so slow and subtle that I didn’t recognize it until I found us at the bottom wondering how we got there. Why were we so far from content together? How could this possibly be happening to us? This was not anywhere in the realm of possibility. But Satan is a crafty devil, patient as the day is long. With the truth finally in front of me, I could recognize Satan placing flaxen cord after flaxen cord around my husband’s neck over the years. He had become a puppet on a string.
“I committed adultery last night.” My reality was blown out of the universe with five words. Suddenly, the impossible was possible. A week-long affair courtesy of hell’s website that shall remain nameless.
He slid off the couch onto the floor and kept talking; a stream of confession about the last 20 years of his life. Through my shock, I could only understand bits and pieces of what he said. The more he confessed, the more the shock set in. Soon I hit my limit; physically, spiritually, emotionally, and mentally. He said something about strip clubs and the door to my mind and heart slammed. Maybe it was Jesus, maybe it was an unconscious self-preservation thing. But something/someone got in front of the torrent of water sinking the submarine and shut and sealed that door. The emotions were so powerful that they couldn’t be completely kept back. They’d flash out as they could:
“What a dark battle he’s been fighting for so many years. I just want to hug all the hurt out of him.”
“I want to beat you to a pulp.”
“I can’t stand being in this room with him. I might just run through the window.”
“I need a sledgehammer.”
But for the most part, I was shut down to walk-sit-stare mode.
We’ve had our ups and downs, but never before had the option to leave stared me so plainly in the face. In the same moment I felt a profound sense of relief- knowing I still wouldn’t walk that path, and I felt despair- knowing if there was ever a valid, scripturally-sanctioned reason to divorce, this was it.
How did WE get here?
Ten years. Ten years of lies and pain. Ten years of living a life that reality smashed in one massive blow. Ten years that finally make complete sense and no sense at all. My life is now a constant battle of conflicting emotions. I fear that the constant push and pull of my emotions will carry me straight to the loony bin. I never knew I could hurt so much and still keep going. I never knew how strong I could be. Sometimes I wish I was dealing with something that I could fall apart in public about. If one of my children had died, I could be hit by a memory and start crying at the store. If I was diagnosed with cancer, I could be sitting in church and start crying. If anyone bothered to ask, I could easily say, “I’ll be alright. I’m just struggling at the moment with the fact that my son died/I have cancer.” Hugs and support would be given. But this? This I can’t start crying about in public. If a memory or thought hits me, I can’t double over even though it feels like I’ve been punched in the stomach. I can’t start crying. I can’t. I’ve been surprised by the strength it takes to not fall apart. I’ve been surprised to have been given that strength.
I forgive him . . . most of the time. I’m discovering that forgiveness is more of an on-going process than I previously thought. Also, much less about my working to forgive and more about Jesus stepping in.
I’m learning to forgive
I’m trying to forgive my in-laws for unknowingly creating the perfect environment for addiction to thrive. How could they have been so utterly clueless?!
We move forward. We’re healing. Jesus is amazing. 12-step recovery groups are heaven-sent. There is so much hope for the future. But good gracious . . . who knew our marriage could survive such a death blow?
i hear ya on falling apart in public. my brother struggles with the word of wisdom. he loves beer but he is open at church and says "I love beer but I love the gospel more." And everyone thinks he is strong for having the courage to say that. It doesn't work that way though with this addiction. So we suffer in silence--at least at church.
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