Coming up for breath

I saw this quote recently:

There's a point in your life when you get tired of trying to fix everything and trying to make everyone happy. When you finally decide to quit, it's NOT giving up. It's realizing you don't need certain people and the bullshit they bring to your life.

It was nice to see this publically posted and I found it validating. My father sent a birthday card recently. I'm too tired to deal with emotional games, and for the first time in my life, I simply tore the envelope up, without looking at it. I didn't wait for my husband to read it for me, or feel guilty, or even wonder if I was tearing up a check or gift card. I just did it. JUST DID IT. Feels good.

That was number one. My sister did something similar with an email, and I wrote back a quick "thanks" and left it at that. I miss her, but I won't be playing games with her, either. And while I was at this, I decided to prune my "friends" who aren't truly friends. If the ratio of give to receive is tilted too far to either extreme, I've had enough. I really am worn out from being a mother, and I only want people who are able to maintain balance in their lives to be a part of mine. So, I am pruning the list down to the essentials: my wonderful husband, my adorable daughter, my long-time ACOA friends, my dear close relatives, any close friends who can honestly, authentically practice the art of friendship and isn't using me for a specific purpose, and my long-time lover.

Who, by the way, is continuing to shock me. He was standing by, patiently, listening to my crazy stories and understanding what I was going through all this time, over three years, maybe four by now. He's been waiting until I was ready---until WE were ready--and it's as if lightening struck and shook my world. Blessed, blessed release.

A lesson this has taught me is that eloquent words without the fortitude to back them up ring hollow. Quiet depth and patience wins out every time. Never overlook the patient man of few words; there is likely more depth to him that the ocean is deep. As strange and unconventional as this sounds, we are on a carnal journey together, one which has the blessing of my husband, and seems to have been written long before it began. 

Boundaries in Relation to Covert Incest

I don't know if I've written about boundaries in relation to covert incest yet. If I have, please forgive my "mommy brain." (seven months of sleep deprivation have consequences!)

Before my ACOA group, I didn't know such a thing existed! I thought I needed to hide and shut down whenever I was mentally assaulted; those were my only forms of protection.  It never occurred to me that I had even a little power to say "no" or "I will not tolerate being spoken to in that way" or even to hang up the phone. Without knowing about boundaries, I was helpless. And the helplessness became a core part of who I was. I lived in dread of something, anything, going wrong because I knew what would come next: the assault and the guilt and my acceptance of it. I struggled to make myself proud of me for one moment and the assault would happen and I would lose that precious second. I would reaffirm my own carelessness, stupidity, ugliness, and so forth. It never occurred to me, either, that I may have been wronged.

That was my education in boundaries: being a spineless mass of humanity because no one told me there was another way. I never saw a boundary modeled by a parent or a sibling. I believed it was their right to examine my head and my emotions and thoughts...and if they didn't do this of their own perogative, I was thoroughly trained to neatly hand them over with a bow for their scrutiny. I was trained well.

When I began to assert some independence and refused to hand over my thoughts kindly--this was during my college phase and my father's new woman--oh, did they all get mad! It was the same old story: denial of affection, material gifts, and approval. And the shame piled upon me! I could barely live with myself (and I mean that literally!) Boundaries were not just discouraged, but punished, in my family, that is what I am trying to say. The shame was the worst. Being made to feel that my thoughts and feelings were WRONG...that since they made up who I was, I as a human being was WRONG. WEAK. INFERIOR. I was shamed for crying by my mother and sister; however, I was encouraged to cry by my father because then I was soft as playdough and he could mold and shape and manipulate my form. Either way, I was fucked, wouldn't you say?

I attempted to explain boundaries to my father eventually, when I was in my late 20s. He tried to understand, I think, but it was such a foreign concept that he couldn't digest it and continued the same invasive behavior over the phone and in person, no matter how many requests I made or how lovingly or harshly I phrased them.

Once I understood what boundaries were, even then, I believed they were hurtful to others. I used to get so angry, being stuck with the same icky feeling that if I put up a boundary, I might be protecting myself, but at the same time, I would be hurting someone else. I never felt I could protect myself and not harm the person on the other side. I would get so frustrated that I would throw objects at the wall to express how I felt about this trap I was in. And indeed, others were hurt by putting up boundaries for my protection. My dad was hurt, my sister was hurt, my mother was hurt. So, by saving myself, I felt I was killing others. It was them or me in the end. And that is the truth, in my family of origin. I can never have sacred self and be a part of this family.

A book I found helpful about boundaries (and especially for "highly sensitive people" or "HSPs" [a topic all its own for another day]) is called Boundaries and Relationships by Charles Whitfield.

...then there's me.

The effects of covert incest, continued. I have a hard time making and keeping female friends. Many times, I begin to feel they're "winning out" over me--that I'm losing in the competition for male attention. My self-esteem, especially in the physical realm, couldn't be lower. As Brad Paisley sings: 

There's two feet of topsoil
A little bit of bedrock, limestone in between
A fossilized dinosaur
A little patch of crude oil
A thousand feet of granite underneath
Then there's me

Sounds funny, eh? Well, I can't go to the mall without running home in tears because I am not as thin, young, blond (well, I'm dark haired, so that's always an issue), sexy...as these other girls. Never mind that I'm 41 and I'm not supposed to be!...I feel that other women exist to make me feel bad about myself. Especially strangers. If I get to know a woman very well, and we have a connection, then I thrive, but that doesn't happen often. Twice in my life--in ACOA and during the psychodrama workshops. And maybe that's because I could see the hurting human inside of the woman in these cases. 

I almost feel as if every female of male-attracting age is my dad's wife. That's exactly how it feels. There to steal something sick away from me. It's so hugely messed up, isn't it? I'm constantly fighting to get it back.

And this is why I got such a boost from all the male attention on the sex site. Think about it: if you got 100+ replies from men wanting to "meet" you, what hole do you think that would fill??? Even if you never intended to do anything about it, it would still be potent (and most women on that site didn't do anything; I was probably one of the few who followed through--at least that's what I was frequently told). Having one man who adores you and has committed to you for life just isn't good enough for victims of covert incest (by their fathers at least)! You are just not convinced that you are good enough for the rest of the world, if "only" one person loves you! What insane thinking!! To me, having this attention was like having air to breathe and water to drink. I felt nothing without it; it didn't matter WHAT my husband thought about me; I couldn't hear his compliments. I needed strange men who (and I'll be bluntly honest here) got stiff cocks when they thought of me in order to feel "worthy." Like I said before, I am dysfunctional, but at least I know it.

My obsession got to the point where I contemplated leaving my husband so I could indulge in this addiction full time. Really scary. I remember the urge; it was nearly impossible to contain. Somehow, I allowed common sense to ground me, and I don't remember how. It's like amnesia now.

But we did get off the site after about a year. There were a couple of men I was still in contact with, but I hadn't met in person for a long time. It all seemed to simmer down. Until I got pregnant. The entire self-hatred, self-rage, worthless crap came back with a vengance then. I felt terrible; I was gaining weight like crazy, my body was changing and I was terrified that I was lost. I was flailing in quicksand.

So, I went on craigslist. You can probably guess what happened next.

This was the scariest encounter. A complete stranger, who knew I was pregnant, who knew who I was, where I worked, but who wouldn't reveal his identity.  We just happened to work in the same institution, and he found my work phone number, and started calling me anonymously, teasing me about how he was going to walk into my office and I wouldn't know who he was...this was a married man, about my age. I was in a constant state of excitement and anxiety, waiting, wondering. He once told me he was outside my building, but decided not to come in. This was too much. I think this is called "rock bottom." I hated going to work then--my hormones were a wreck in the first place and I started getting anxiety attacks. I would run out of the building during these attacks, crying, feeling haunted, ashamed, tormented. He texted me one evening, asking me to meet him right now. I did. I met him behind a swimming pool, in back of an isolated apartment complex. I realized as I parked there, that this could be it. I could be murdered or raped. The thought that I wouldn't mind dying flitted through my mind as I stepped out of my car. I was afraid that I was bringing a baby into a terrible world, that I couldn't cope, and I was open to it being the end of us. (I know, it really is horrible. It really is. I know this.)

I was definitely being protected by a higher power because this man was a good man, I found out, despite his cheating nature. He wouldn't have harmed me. He was military and was very polite and gentle. Even a little romantic.

The fact that I could do this, knowing about his wife, illustrates how I felt about other women being my competition for attention. I felt bad, yes, but my obsession was driving me. To be able to attract a married man, that should prove my worth! So went my dysfunctional thinking. Luckily for me (I now believe), I never saw him after that. He began to draw away and I finally cut contact. And that was that. I still wonder if I see him during the week, and I suspect he probably has a bit of professional interest in what I'm doing. But there hasn't been any contact.

This is the story I can't tell in person. But on the web, it seems okay to share it, if only what I've done helps someone else.

For more information about the sexual addiction process, see  Sex Addiction Cycle (credit for the diagram above to this site).