What is Acceptable?

Tonight I was coming home from seeing a movie with a friend. I had a question that had been gnawing at me all day: is this acceptable behavior, or not?

In the past, I would’ve brushed it under the rug, let it go, or, my favorite trick, thrown it back in his face at a later time. Resentment, bitterness, and denial are very good friends.

But now, I know better. I can set limits and boundaries. I can think about what I need and ask for that. I get to decide who occupies the front row of my life.

Last night estranged husband and I got into a texting conversation. We don’t do this very often because it doesn’t often turn out well, and I have, for my own sanity, cut off most communication with him. Nine months out and the only one who seems to be getting better is me. Not that his program is any of my business. But I’ve been told, “you’ll know when he’s recovered. Things will be different.” And I can say with certainty, things are not different. But oh, how I wish they were!

So last night we are texting. I say I wish things are different. He responds. And so forth. He brags about his sobriety, even though I smelled alcohol on him last week. My sponsor has advised me to just say nothing, so that is what I did. (and friends, you know this is not easy)

But then he texted me that I’ve been so cold, and that I am breaking his heart.

What? Me?

So I responded that things have been difficult, and that as much as I want to, I don’t believe that he’s sober, and until he is, I can’t be close to him.

I didn’t accuse.

I didn’t judge.

But I was honest.

His response? “Well fuck off then.”

Ummm, ok. Thanks. I’ll get up with your children at the crack of dawn, shepard them to and from school, give you a zillion chances, and when I am honest about what I believe, you tell me to fuck off?

I was at first hurt. Then I thought, well, he’s angry, everyone talks like that sometimes, don’t they? My parents certainly do. And now here I am, accepting the same behavior.

And then I thought, he’s getting defensive, and I will not allow his anger to distract me. This is why you’re supposed to keep your mouth shut, and not nag. It’s an ugly hamster wheel that I’ve been trying to jump off of.

Next it occurred to me that I don’t want to be talked to like that, and it’s my job to let others now what is/is not acceptable.

After all of his lies, deceptions, betrayals, and near-abandonment, I have never said anything like that to him. I’ve wanted to, and I’ve thought it, but I’ve been kind, or at times indifferent, and I’ve been honest.

I don’t want someone like this–him–in my front row.

And it took a friend telling me that for her, that wouldn’t be ok, for me to realize this.

I don’t trust myself anymore, and part of recovering, for me, is to check in with sane, normal, healthy friends on what sane, normal, healthy communication is. And is not.

Because honestly? I don’t know anymore.

Still Brooding

I’d been feeling so much better. I haven’t been blogging–at all–but I’ve been working the steps, going to meetings, seeing my therapist regularly, and going to church every Sunday.

English: Blooming sour cherry tree Српски / Srpski: Вишњино дрво у цвату (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

And then I did it again. I googled, “How to divorce an alcoholic.” And guess what popped up? My very own post. Always nice to come full circle. Or is it?

I guess the good news is that I’ve embraced the Al-Anon slogan, Progress Not Perfection.

I can now see my slip, take a step back, and repeat the Serenity Prayer. Over, and over, and over again.

I can recognize that I am feeling profound grief, the loss of my dreams and hopes for the life my alcoholic spouse and I will never have.

And, I now see, that I didn’t Google, “Should I Divorce my Alcoholic?” No, my lonely, late-night search was a “How to” search.

And that is something. Progress.

Best of all was finding a comment by a fellow divorcing Al-Anon. Thank you, dorothyrecovers! That was just the experience, strength and hope I needed at the right time.

Because I am learning to see my life for what it is, not what I hope it will be.

Here is what I have:

• A safe, peaceful home
• Two happy, healthy boys
• A job that I love most days, and keeps me plenty busy on the others
• A loving network of friends and family
• Hobbies that I’m passionate about
• Health and a gym membership to keep me active

What I don’t have is the life I hoped for. Every time I take my boys somewhere and one runs away, I’m reminded that I’m alone. When couples I know get together for dinner, I’m alone.

The nights have gotten easier.

But when I see alcoholic husband, from whom I am officially, finally, legally separated, and who has not lived in my house for exactly nine months, I still feel a pang.  A reminder of what might have been, had the disease of alcoholism/addiction not torn us apart at the seams. When I see the water bottle, so cleverly smelling of vodka, it is a visceral kind of hurt that is hard to describe. And that’s okay. Of course I feel sad. Of course this is hard. But my life soldiers on, with me along for the ride.

This is the first spring I have ever really appreciated. Watching the trees on my street bloom, so pure, has been a healing in and of itself. My mind is clear, my heart healing, one day at a time.

Today I have the tools to be thankful for what I do have, for the tulips in my front garden.

And for now, that is enough.

 

Feeling my Feelings

Today I feel angry, sad, numb, overwhelmed.

How did I get here? And how do I get out? How do I heal when I’m still legally married to a man who has not once picked up the phone to say I’m sorry, how are the kids, how can I save our marriage?

I know it’s time to move on but I work, take care of the kids, and don’t sleep enough. When do I find the time to move on?

I’m managing to squeeze in a few Al-Anon meetings a week, time with friends, regular therapy, and lots of self-help books, as well as enjoy my children every day, but it all feels like going through the motions. It all feels like waiting for the life I thought I had to arrive.

Every minute of every day is taken up with planning, doing, taking care, and praying. I feel that if I slow down for even one second all of the balls I have in the air will come crashing to the ground and I will collapse.

I can’t afford to collapse. I have two babies who have already lost a father. They ask for him, they cry about him, and I do my best to be everything they need but what they need is a sane, sober father, and how do I do that for them?

I can’t.

I feel heartbroken. I have a calendar tacked to the wall and every day as I’m turning off the lights I cross off today’s date.

One more day that I’ve made it. One more day towards a better future. One more day that I’m legally separated. Working on the emotionally separated part.

Should I Divorce My Alcoholic or Addict Husband?

English: Google Logo officially released on May 2010 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I cannot tell you how many times I’ve Googled this question: Should I Divorce My Alcoholic or Addict Husband?

Late at night, early in the morning, on good days, and bad, this is the question that rattles around in my brain. I Google out of desperation, searching for guidance from strangers, when I should be praying and turning this over to God.

No one will tell me what to do, and I’m so sick and tired of being sick and tired that I cannot see from one day to the next.

When do you give up? When do you call it quits, and realize someone is never going to change?

I’ve started going to a new Al-Anon group, and I like this one. They’re quiet and thoughtful. They aren’t pushy or overselling the program. And there’s a member who’s divorced, who has left her alcoholic husband. While I’m sure there are many others out there in the wide world of Al-Anon, I’ve only met women who are there to work through their husband’s recovery, or who can attest to the power of AA and their husbands’ sobriety. I’m happy for them, but I want some contact with women whose husbands haven’t made it. Women I can identify with.

Husband moved out 5.5 months ago. I said I would give him a six month trial separation, as he fell apart when I gave him the dissolution papers. It just didn’t feel right to not give him another chance. We are now legally separated, because of the drugs; I felt that I had to take over custody of our children.

But in my heart, I still feel married. I don’t feel that I can let him go with our marriage intact, and I need to to get on with my life. I pray for him, for me, and for serenity, but I’m having trouble detaching with love. What the hell does that mean, anyway?

For a while–the first five months of our separation, actually–detaching with love meant that our lives were pretty much the same, except Husband was sleeping in an apartment and we didn’t go on any dates. We saw each other daily. We were still intricately woven into one another’s lives. We even still made love, once in a while. We were talking about our days, and caring for one another. We would text about little things during the day. Most of our communication was about the boys, but not all. I was holding on and not letting go.

I still had hope he would get sober.

I still do, but I also need to face reality. He is drinking. Outpatient rehab turned him away and told him his only option was inpatient (residential) rehab, as he had high blood pressure, which they took as a sign that his body was detoxing. It wouldn’t be safe or ethical to allow him to detox outside of an inpatient program, they said. This made him angry. I said, “Well, are you drinking?” “No,” was his answer. But his credit cards tell another story, and so does his body. So now he is, again, not working on getting sober. I’m not surprised, this time.

I have to accept this. I’ve done everything I could do: been really nice, practiced so much compassion and kindness it was almost sickening, stopped being resentful, changed my own attitudes, forced him to go to rehab, monitored his AA attendance, tracked his whereabouts, scheduled AA meetings and social outings for him, stopped monitoring his AA attendance, begged his friends to intervene, given him numbers of men willing to sponsor him, prayed, pleaded, withheld love/affection, openly given love/affection, given really good pep talks, reached out to our church community… You name it. I’ve done it. My pastor even told me, “It sounds like you covered your bases. It’s time to let go.”

Wow. And you thought Christians would counsel against divorce, right?

But what does that mean, let go? Not call or talk? Doing that. It’s painful. I’ve told him I’ll talk to him when he’s sober. Not once has he picked up the phone to apologize, or say hello, or beg me to give him another chance. He’s too sick.

So is it ethical to divorce a sick man?

All of this Al-Anon talk about detaching with love has me confused. They talk about detaching with kindness and compassion, instead of cold indifference. I told him I loved him and want him to get better, that I’m here if he needs me. Is that enough?

I feel so guilty, like I’m abandoning him when he needs me most. He said as much.

But I need serenity, and I can’t have that with an active user in my life. I just can’t. I tried, and it was too painful. I can’t stand the chaos, the lies, and the emotional instability. Not to mention worrying about anger and violence resulting from drug use.

I also need a loving partner, someday. I miss hugs and holding hands, going to the movies together, or even just staying in. I haven’t had that in so long, and someday (not this year! this is my year) I want that again. I won’t have that if I don’t move on.

So, should I divorce my alcoholic and addict husband? The debate rages on.

Dealing with Anger

I’ve been sad, disappointed, and lonely, but haven’t spent enough time with/on my anger. As some of you have noted, this can be the fuel to help me move forward. Some tips and my commentary on anger from the fabulous Melody Beattie (Codependent No More, page 153, 158-160):

• Understand the following myths about anger, often believed by codependents:

1. It’s not okay to feel angry.
2. Anger is a waste of time and energy.
3. Good girls don’t feel angry.
4. My spouse will go away if I get angry with him.
5. If I feel angry, Husband made me feel that way and he is responsible for fixing my feelings.
6. If I feel angry, I should punish husband for making me feel that way.

• Now, stop believing the above myths. I have years of subscribing to these myths under my belt. Being raised in a family system poisoned by alcoholism, I came to believe these myths were true as a child, and I carried this baggage into adulthood. Stop believing them? They’re as second nature as breathing. However, I can work on first knowing them, then thinking about them, then processing them through writing, and then trying replacement thoughts instead. For instance, today I started to feel angry that Husband has chosen drinking over his family. I was in church, alone; he’s chosen not to attend in the past. This made me angry. Normally, I would’ve brushed the feeling off and told myself, you’re strong, you don’t need him, quit wasting your mental energy on him and just be present. By constantly brushing aside my anger because I’ve not believed it was okay, a good use of my time, or befitting of an upstanding citizen, I’ve not allowed myself to go through an essential part of the grief process. I recognized that I was engaging in this cycle today and put a stop to it. This is huge for me. I’m patting myself on the back by indulging in writing mid-day (I usually save it for after I tuck my kids into bed) followed by a round of muffin baking, one of my favorite hobbies.

• Give myself permission to feel angry. Today I allowed myself to feel angry, and then turned it over to God. I’m still working on this right now. I refuse to repress it any longer, and then allow the guilt from my anger to eat me alive.

• Feel the emotion, and feel any underlying emotions too. Today I was not only feeling angry; I was also feeling abandoned, lonely, and sad. I need to feel these emotions. I will not put a time limit on feeling my emotions. After all, 2013 is the year of me.

This is just a light, adapted version of what I’m reading and thinking about now. If this got you thinking or acting in a different way, I highly recommend grabbing a copy of Beattie’s Codependent No More and reading chapter 14 all the way through. It’s heavy, and I can only digest a few pages at a time. I’ve been working through this chapter for several weeks now. That’s okay. I found it when I needed it and you will, too.

I have so much more to write about anger. This is only part one.

Fellow bloggers, I’m wondering: How do you deal with your anger? Have you unknowingly subscribed to any of those myths about anger?

What Loneliness Feels Like

It’s past midnight, and I’m going to bed alone, again.

Loneliness feels like an empty bed on a Saturday night.

I just checked on both boys and they were asleep in unusual positions, matching: Little Dude, stretched out on his back, hands fisted behind his head. He’s normally on his belly. Big Brother, ditto. How cute is that? No one to tell.

My friends came over tonight. We laughed hard, and talked about everything and nothing. It was just what I needed. I am so blessed. Yet, as it often does, the conversation circled back to husbands, marital sex, and the like. I smiled, silent. No funny stories to share. Nothing funny about separating from my downward spiraling husband. Loneliness descends.

Husband has always put up and taken down our Christmas tree. Today, with the help of friends, I took it down myself. I’m capable of anything but loneliness is doing every task in the home, without company.

This morning Big Brother had a birthday party to go to. Last year, we would’ve tag-teamed. I’d take one, Husband would stay home with the other. Today, I was on my own, trying to keep track of two quickly moving boys in a crowded kid zone. Loneliness is realizing the responsibility of  your kids’ safety is all on you.

This evening my sons went for a (supervised) visit to dad’s. We got ready, packed a bag of toys, and went. I dropped them off, smiled and said hello, and left. Loneliness is finding yourself in a 7-seat minivan without your family, with nowhere to go and nothing appealing to do. Loneliness is leaving  your boys with your addict husband, hoping they will be ok. Loneliness is picking them up and Husband admitting that no, once again, he did not broach the subject of the separation with the children, even though I asked him to. Loneliness is having to explain, again and again, all by myself to my oldest son, why daddy cannot come  home with us anymore. Loneliness is knowing that not every parent reads Dinosaurs Divorce before bed.

Loneliness is feeling my body as I take off my clothes for bed, and then suddenly remembering that there is no one to share it with.

Loneliness is a queen bed on a cold night.

Loneliness is knowing that if anything were to happen to my children or I, I and I alone am responsible for taking care of us. Husband is still using, and has a nasty habit of not answering the phone.

Loneliness is blogging late at night in bed, with the lit screen bothering exactly no one.

Loneliness is knowing that when I wake up, nothing will have changed.

Loneliness is accepting that my marriage is dead, and that my Husband will perhaps not get better. Apparently losing us is not his rock bottom.

How I’m Detaching Tonight: Meeting and Chocolate

Today I find myself slipping from anger into sadness.

I wonder if I’m doing the right thing by not communicating with my now estranged husband. (What do you call the man you’re legally separated from, anyhow? I want to call him my ex, but as I chose not to go for a divorce at this time, that’s not exactly accurate). I worry about him, I worry that by not calling to check on him, but simply dropping the kids off for a (supervised!) visit with a “Hi, how are you?” I’m being cold and cruel.

I have a big heart. I love, and love hard. Detaching from Husband is taking every ounce of willpower and help from God that I can muster.

So tonight I marshaled my resources, paid a sitter, and attended a new Al-Anon meeting. There was a newcomer there, obsessed with her alcoholic brother. She begged the group to tell her what to say to him. How should she react? What can she do?

The advice, given over and over, was do nothing. Come to meetings. No one can tell you what to do, but come back to meetings, they are our (codependents’) medicine.

A woman said something that really resonated with me: “There’s nothing you can do, or not do, that will change the alcoholic’s brother. So, it doesn’t matter what you do. Nothing you say or do can make a difference.”

This was soothing at a time I needed it most. It doesn’t matter if I call Husband or not. He will continue to drink (or not) no matter what I say, do, don’t say, or don’t do.

And for my own emotional health, I really need to detach. I need to let go and let God. I need to take care of my own stuff–my house, my cat, my kids, my job, the laundry, dishes, see friends, talk to family–and let him take care of his.

The truth is, I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want to call him. I don’t want to be sucked back into his mess of a life. I have no interest in being involved, on any level, with an active addict.

I will communicate with him about the children. I will hold to our weekly parenting meetings, by phone.

But that’s all I can do right now.

I need to find an Al-Anon sponsor because there are some things I really don’t understand. Everything I’ve read in my little blue book about detachment talks about keeping my mouth shut, staying cheerful, and not resenting the alcoholic, as it’s a disease, not a choice. I get that, I really do.

But when is it ok to say enough is enough? I believe I’ve done the right thing, but when I read some of the Al-Anon writing, I doubt myself, and worry I’ve been too harsh. The literature urges me to be kind and compassionate. I’ve been pretty kind. Even now, I’m courteous. I haven’t said one mean thing, yelled, or broken any dishes, this time around, anyway.

But I don’t want to live with him, and I don’t want to have a relationship with him while he’s using.  That’ s ok, right? Even now, with all I’m learning, I have trouble trusting my instincts.

So I will eat another cookie and tuck myself into bed with a book.

For tonight I will do nothing but care for myself.

Sitting with My Anger

Angry Talk (Comic Style) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It’s true, I’m angry. I’m mad that I’m in the position of sole residential parent and legal custodian for my two innocent, precious sons. I’m pissed that on Monday nights I usually walk with my friend J, but instead I’m stuck inside, as I can no longer depend on Husband to put the boys to bed.

I’m angry that I’ve given that man eight years of my life, birthed two babies, stood by him through a whole lot of crap, and he’s still lying, using, and drinking.

I’m pissed that I’m a single mother of two.

I’m angry that I’m lonely.

I’m angry that the person I love most in this world tells stories to cover up lies: “You don’t understand. I only ordered the bath salts online because I accidentally took 1 too many ADD meds. I didn’t want to run out! They help me so much at work! So I only ordered that stuff as a back up, you see, to help me at work. I wasn’t going to actually take it.” Um, yeah, right. Everybody knows you can get a prescription filled a day early if you lose a pill. Besides, how are bath salts a good work-day pick-me-up?

Asshole.

I’m pissed that all of the major and minor decisions of this family’s life–should Little Dude take a bath even though he’s exhausted? How much to pay the sitter? What to do about the accidentally stinky freezer in the basement?–are mine and mine alone. I don’t want to do this much work by myself. I signed up for a two-person gig. It’s lonely. It’s exhausting. It’s sad.

Most of all, I’m angry that the love of my life has let me down.

*************

My phenomenal therapist has suggested that I need to sit with my anger awhile. That my anger, which I tend to brush aside, cover up, or move on from too quickly, is a natural and healthy part of the grieving process.

My anger will help me maintain the healthy boundaries I’ve now set for myself.

For my fellow codependents, you know how hard it can be to just feel your feelings, to sit with an emotion.

It’s uncomfortable.

I’d rather be doing anything else right now.

Cheerio in My Bra

Cheerios (Photo credit: yaybiscuits123)

This single motherhood stuff is no joke: being on with the kids, all day, with no one to trade off with is wearing me down.

I was wondering today how I’d ever find the time, energy, or stamina to date post-divorce. As I thought about this, I changed out of my clothes and discovered a Cheerio in my bra. The last time anyone ate Cheerios in this house had been 12 hours previous.

Can you imagine if a date found that? No, not a first date, but you know… Maybe a third.

I’m in no way ready to date–or legally allowed to?–and the Cheerio told me so.

It’s sweats and kids movies for me in 2013, I think. And lots of rotisserie chickens.

I’ll worry about being sexy and free of leftover breakfast foods in 2014.

Detaching from Daddy

Little Dude, just over 1, looked up with glee every time the door opened today. He squealed “daddy!” and ran for the door. This is his association of daddy, all that he’s known for almost half a year: daddy comes to visit, every day, and enters through a certain door.

Daddy hasn’t entered that door in four days.

Now, in grown-up time, four days is nothing.

But to little ones? Four days is a long, long time. Those of you with kids know it’s all about the routine. So, whenever we come home, they ask, “Is daddy here?”

No.

As we’re sitting down to dinner, “Is daddy coming?”

No.

Bath time. Daddy? No.

Tucking-in time. Daddy? Still no.

Big brother throwing a fit because he doesn’t want to go to sleep, crying for daddy… Sorry, kid, he’s not here. He’s sick. You’ll see him soon.

But will they?

We signed our separation paperwork Monday. It’ll be filed with the court soon. It’s not really finalized until we sit before a judge, which I understand will take at least a month, probably more. Even after the paperwork is finished, he’s allowed supervised visits. I told him we could start visits as soon as the papers were signed. That was two days ago.

He hasn’t called to ask about the kids. He hasn’t called to say goodnight. He hasn’t asked for a scheduled visit.

Silence.

He did text me about our insurance plan–apparently he’s considering going back to rehab–but he’s only texted about the children once. And that was to see how I’d explained their absence. No “how are they doing?” or “Can I tell the kids goodnight?” or “You told me everyone had the stomach virus. Are they better?” or perhaps, “I’d really like to see my kids. When can I have my first visit?”

Nothing.

My heart is breaking for them, my lovely, loving, spirited boys, who miss their father dearly. I’m a good mom, but they love their dad, too. He wrestles with them. He brings a different energy to the room. He plays with them while I do chores, and vice versa. He takes one somewhere while I mind the other. Even though we’ve been separated informally, we’d been operating as a pretty good co-parenting team, until now.

Now everything’s gone to shit, and I’m left filling in both roles.

While I put Little Dude to bed, Big Brother watched a movie, by himself. Previously he read books with daddy.

While I took Little Dude to the doctor, Grandma filled in (thank God for her). Before he would’ve been off to the park or a museum with dad.

I’m grateful that the little one is old enough to play with is brother, now. They chased each other around the house while I thew “dinner” together, if you can call frozen veggies and boxed soup a meal. And grilled cheese that I burned (I always do. Husband was our grilled-cheese chef). That made dad’s absence a little less painful.

I feel terribly guilty about all of this. I worry that I’ve made the wrong move. I try to chant the 3 c’s to myself: “you didn’t cause it, you can’t control it, you can’t cure it.” But here is what drowns those validating thoughts out:

• Why did I have to make such a big deal of everything and ruin my children’s lives? Everything was going fine. I’m sure he wouldn’t use those drugs around the kids, not really… Would he?
• Lots of my friends use recreational drugs, and they’re ok. Well, they’re not parents, but is Husband so different? Why should I judge him?
• Maybe I’ve been too hard on him and expected to much. Maybe if I’d been easier to live with, he wouldn’t have gotten so out of control with his substance abuse.
• I’m a classic codependent, I know now. Maybe if I hadn’t argued with him/begged him to stop/given him ultimatums he wouldn’t have had a reason to use.
• Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he’s never done this drug before. Maybe he wouldn’t have once it arrived (it was an online order that I found evidence of that brought on the change in parenting plans).

I know, were I a friend, listening to this story, and the self-blame to follow, I would be really upset. What’s wrong with you, I’d shout. This man has a history of lying, manipulating, drug use, drinking, hiding money, and lying some more. This isn’t your fault! He’s in the wrong! You’ve done everything, everything, you possibly could, and nothing made a difference. Let it go.

But I’m perhaps kinder to my friends than I am to myself.

And watching my kids beg, cry, and ask for daddy is slowly tearing me apart.

I’d love to know where the fuck daddy is.

Is he asleep? Too fucked up to call? Ashamed? Dead?

I’m not sure why I’m surprised, but I am. I thought he’d at least make an attempt to see the children, establish some sort of connection.

But he hasn’t. This is the kind of man he is. He’s sick, and has nothing to give. Even to two innocent boys who idolize him.

And I need to accept that not only is my husband gone, but so is my boys’ father.