I really can't remember if it had been just a few hours or a few days at my parent's house, but I got a call from Mr. Broken. It was all such a blur to me. Trauma does that to you. It makes everything fuzzy and you are trapped in fight or flight. Survival is all that matters, not the little details that healthy people pay attention to or have the energy to enjoy.
But he called. He had a "confession" to make. There was more. My heart sank and I felt this painful burning in my chest. Like something really bad was about to hit me.
He made a confession that would later change at least 4 more times in both its description and its severity. Each time getting worse and worse. Each time killing me just a little bit more. Each time making me trust him less and less. (as if I needed more reasons not to trust him)
For the first 2 confessions about this particular incident, he would end it by telling me that he "ran away like Joseph of Egypt." for the rest of the "corrections" in this confession, that part kind of dropped off...........for good reason. He was nothing like Joseph of Egypt in this situation. He didn't run away at all.
I actually love the story of Joseph of Egypt. It is one of my favorite Bible stories. I love the lessons it teaches about commitment to God, and forgiveness to those who wrongfully use you and persecute you.
My husband was nothing like Joseph of Egypt, but I knew I needed to be. I needed to make sure that his addiction and the betrayal of our covenants didn't give me reason or excuse to do the same. That I still needed to stay true to the covenants I have made to God, even if my spouse didn't.
I knew that eventually I would need to find the strength and ability to forgive my husband, and to forgive his parents who have wrongly taken his side and left me bleeding on the floor. I knew that now more than ever, I needed to listen to the spirit guide and direct me. And it has. All of the corrections that ended up taking place about my husband's confession over the next few months, would come out due to the spirit prompting me that something was not correct and that I needed to go back to Mr. Broken, and to this story, to find out the truth. And every time I listened to the spirit and acted on those promptings, there was information that he had left out or things that needed to be addressed.
The spirit does not lie. God does not lie. My husband DOES lie.
Like Joseph of Egypt, I will trust in my God. Like Joseph of Egypt, I will need to have a forgiving heart. Like Joseph of Egypt, God will bless me for running from the temptations to break my covenants just because my husband did. Like Joseph of Egypt, I will serve well in the prison I am now in, knowing that one day I will be free and have great success in life, aside from my husband's addiction. I don't have to be broken forever.
Friday, July 29, 2016
Saturday, July 9, 2016
The Hangover
It's amazing to me, how many tender mercies the Lord gives to those who suffer. His love and his power have been with me through so many difficult times in my life, and this was no exception.
I woke up the day after D-Day (which really wasn't the only D-day, but I didn't know this yet) and I was numb. Like I had just swallowed a whole bottle of pain killers kind of numb. I mean I couldn't feel anything!
But I was still a mom and I had to get one of my boys over to his scout day camp meeting. It was just down the street, but I couldn't walk. I was too numb. So I drove.
I stood with all of the other mom's, waiting for all of the scouts to arrive so the boys could take off. The other moms looked happy. It was Saturday morning and they were glad to see their boy head out for the day so they could have some time to themselves. They visited with each other and laughed at each other's Saturday morning hair.
Not me.
I felt nothing.
I was there in body only, but inside, I was far, far away. Like I was locked up in some vault to keep me protected from further damage. I could not be touched. It sounds strange, but I do count that as one of the Lord's tender mercies. If I had been able to feel, I might not have made it through those 10 minutes of waiting time with all of those sweet women. If I had been able to feel, I might have lost it, causing my son and myself a whole lot of humiliation and lots of questioning. Questions I just couldn't even answer myself. I needed that protection. I am thankful for it.
I think we often attribute a lot of feelings to the spirit and to Christ and his love for us. But on that Saturday, back in June, I attribute the lack of feeling to the spirit and Christ's love for me. It hurt too much to go through it alone. And as I would come to find out, He let me feel this numbing until I was safe and with people who could help me through the pain. Only then would I feel again. A tender mercy indeed.
After my son got back from Scout day camp, I packed what I could, collected my 6 children and drove the 11 hours to my parent's house. I was still numb. Once in a while a few tears would flow, but it felt like something was blocking the flood of feelings I had felt just 24 hours earlier. It was a long drive, But because I was numb it went by very quickly.
Once I got to my parent's house, I got my kids settled. They had no idea why we were there and I was glad. I put them to bed and then slipped away to the family room to talk to my parents. And then I felt again. Everything. Every part of my soul was hurting. As I related my situation to my parents, the shaking came back. I was cold again. My teeth were chattering. My body was in full blown trauma, but I was surrounded by people who loved me. I was safe.
Another tender mercy.
I woke up the day after D-Day (which really wasn't the only D-day, but I didn't know this yet) and I was numb. Like I had just swallowed a whole bottle of pain killers kind of numb. I mean I couldn't feel anything!
But I was still a mom and I had to get one of my boys over to his scout day camp meeting. It was just down the street, but I couldn't walk. I was too numb. So I drove.
I stood with all of the other mom's, waiting for all of the scouts to arrive so the boys could take off. The other moms looked happy. It was Saturday morning and they were glad to see their boy head out for the day so they could have some time to themselves. They visited with each other and laughed at each other's Saturday morning hair.
Not me.
I felt nothing.
I was there in body only, but inside, I was far, far away. Like I was locked up in some vault to keep me protected from further damage. I could not be touched. It sounds strange, but I do count that as one of the Lord's tender mercies. If I had been able to feel, I might not have made it through those 10 minutes of waiting time with all of those sweet women. If I had been able to feel, I might have lost it, causing my son and myself a whole lot of humiliation and lots of questioning. Questions I just couldn't even answer myself. I needed that protection. I am thankful for it.
I think we often attribute a lot of feelings to the spirit and to Christ and his love for us. But on that Saturday, back in June, I attribute the lack of feeling to the spirit and Christ's love for me. It hurt too much to go through it alone. And as I would come to find out, He let me feel this numbing until I was safe and with people who could help me through the pain. Only then would I feel again. A tender mercy indeed.
After my son got back from Scout day camp, I packed what I could, collected my 6 children and drove the 11 hours to my parent's house. I was still numb. Once in a while a few tears would flow, but it felt like something was blocking the flood of feelings I had felt just 24 hours earlier. It was a long drive, But because I was numb it went by very quickly.
Once I got to my parent's house, I got my kids settled. They had no idea why we were there and I was glad. I put them to bed and then slipped away to the family room to talk to my parents. And then I felt again. Everything. Every part of my soul was hurting. As I related my situation to my parents, the shaking came back. I was cold again. My teeth were chattering. My body was in full blown trauma, but I was surrounded by people who loved me. I was safe.
Another tender mercy.
D-Day
My whole body was shaking. It was like I had no control over it. It was not a cold night, it was actually a warm, humid June evening, yet I was freezing. I just needed a blanket. Maybe that would stop the shaking and teeth chattering. I got a blanket, but it didn't help. Nothing could help the cold darkness I felt inside. I felt instantly broken.
I find it amazing how the body copes with trauma. You don't have to tell it to do a thing and it jumps right into gear after hearing a few terrifying bits of information. That was my experience that night back in June. I was in shock and I didn't know what to do. But my body did. I instantly went into survival mode. Eating and sleeping were not an option. My mind was racing in circles, trying to process everything that I had just got slammed with. Every ounce of energy was going toward this one purpose: To figure out what went wrong. How did I become the wife of a cheater?
It all didn't make sense. I was a good wife. I gave him 6 beautiful children. I stayed in amazing shape during and quickly after each pregnancy. (not that the lack of these things would have been reason enough to cheat on me. but in my simple little mind, I thought it would surly help) I made sure I had plenty of sexy things to wear for him in the bedroom. And speaking of the bedroom, I was there! I never had a headache and was never "too tired." In fact, I think I initiated intimacy just as much as he did, if not more. I was not a nagging wife. I kept the house spotless. I made his meals and packed him lunches to take to work every day. We went on weekly date nights and I got flowers on a regular basis. Mr. Broken would even write me little love notes every day before leaving for work. He was a complete gentleman. He opened my doors and pulled out my chairs for me. He held my hand and kissed it when we were together. When I needed a break from the kids, he was all over it and let me get out. We both went to church regularly and served in our various callings. We were both frugal and paid off all of our debts quickly after getting married. We were a good team.....weren't we?
He wouldn't want to cheat on me............would he?
My mind just couldn't make sense of it all. How did I go to bed one night with the man I had spent 11 years of my life with, the man I had 6 babies with, and the man I thought I knew better than anyone else, only to wake up to a complete stranger the next day?
My body and mind just couldn't make any sense of it. It must be a bad dream. It all must be just a very bad dream. That's the only explanation I could come up with. If I just force myself to go to bed alone, while this monster pretending to be my husband sleeps on the couch, I will wake up and it will all be gone in the morning.
And so I went to bed. Alone. With a monster on my couch.
I find it amazing how the body copes with trauma. You don't have to tell it to do a thing and it jumps right into gear after hearing a few terrifying bits of information. That was my experience that night back in June. I was in shock and I didn't know what to do. But my body did. I instantly went into survival mode. Eating and sleeping were not an option. My mind was racing in circles, trying to process everything that I had just got slammed with. Every ounce of energy was going toward this one purpose: To figure out what went wrong. How did I become the wife of a cheater?
It all didn't make sense. I was a good wife. I gave him 6 beautiful children. I stayed in amazing shape during and quickly after each pregnancy. (not that the lack of these things would have been reason enough to cheat on me. but in my simple little mind, I thought it would surly help) I made sure I had plenty of sexy things to wear for him in the bedroom. And speaking of the bedroom, I was there! I never had a headache and was never "too tired." In fact, I think I initiated intimacy just as much as he did, if not more. I was not a nagging wife. I kept the house spotless. I made his meals and packed him lunches to take to work every day. We went on weekly date nights and I got flowers on a regular basis. Mr. Broken would even write me little love notes every day before leaving for work. He was a complete gentleman. He opened my doors and pulled out my chairs for me. He held my hand and kissed it when we were together. When I needed a break from the kids, he was all over it and let me get out. We both went to church regularly and served in our various callings. We were both frugal and paid off all of our debts quickly after getting married. We were a good team.....weren't we?
He wouldn't want to cheat on me............would he?
My mind just couldn't make sense of it all. How did I go to bed one night with the man I had spent 11 years of my life with, the man I had 6 babies with, and the man I thought I knew better than anyone else, only to wake up to a complete stranger the next day?
My body and mind just couldn't make any sense of it. It must be a bad dream. It all must be just a very bad dream. That's the only explanation I could come up with. If I just force myself to go to bed alone, while this monster pretending to be my husband sleeps on the couch, I will wake up and it will all be gone in the morning.
And so I went to bed. Alone. With a monster on my couch.
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