“You have to learn to love yourself before you can love someone else.”

My best friend in high school told me this once and it has echoed in my mind ever since. At the time, it made me uncomfortable (probably because it rang so true, but I did not want to admit it), and I dismissed it because I felt that she had an agenda since she had come out to me by telling me she had feelings for me and was resentful when she found that I could not return them in the way she wanted.

These days I am better able to accept the truth of that statement, though I would add a slight modification – You must learn to love yourself before you can allow someone else to love you.

What I mean by that is I’ve come to realize that I was never able to feel my husband’s love, not just because of his actions as a sex addict, but because I did not believe I was worthy of love and could not believe that he loved me. It helped to create a self-perpetuating cycle where his shame and disgust with himself were reinforced by my belief that he did not truly love me that was reinforced by his sex addict actions.

We’re learning to break that cycle, but it is taking some time.

Last week I was in Europe on a work trip and the first night I was gone he broke his sobriety by looking at soft core foreign films on You Tube. He did all the right things after that. He told me about it, called his sponsor, went to SAA meetings, and checked in with me every day.

It still really hurt and I dropped into depression. It felt as if it was another confirmation of those old familiar feelings of unloveableness.

Last week was the last week before he reached 90 days of sobriety on June 1. I was depending on that week as a test of everything – of myself, of him, of our individual sobrieties – and I felt that if we were able to make it to that 90 day period of sobriety with my trip to Europe (he used to always act out when I was out of town so it was especially meaningful), then we would have passed the test and I could allow myself to trust him and myself and put on my wedding rings again.

All those expectations ended in disappointment and I have not been able to recover since. It wasn’t just that he broke his sobriety, but also that I let it affect me the way that I have, demonstrating to me that I have not recovered quite as much as I had thought.

I am fighting it as hard as I can. I am trying, which seems to me like evidence of my own improvement, though I am not using my tools as well as I should. I am isolating myself and withdrawing, trying to lick my wounds and not collapse into despair rather than reaching out to others. I keep telling myself “I love you. I cherish you. I value you.” and try to really feel those feelings to counteract the old illusory feelings of worthlessness that my mother instilled in me and which are so comfortable to believe because they allow me the fantasy that I have some kind of control.

Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t.

I also feel really angry. I am furious with my husband. I am furious with my mother. I am furious with the rest of my family that knew what was happening and did nothing to stop it while I was growing up. I am furious with the people I thought were friends who participated in my husband’s acting out and those who knew but did nothing and even those who did not know until it stopped but were not what I saw as “supportive” after things came out. I am furious with everyone who stands by while children and spouses are used and abused and who do nothing about it.

Anger is comforting. It is, after all, a more powerful feeling than despair, though no less misleading.

It feels good to write all that down. I can say, “I am angry. I am depressed. I am fighting it.” and know that all of that is valid. It is perfectly reasonable for me to feel this way, but it is not acceptable to me to let it rule or dominate my life or my actions.


I am lovable

I struggle to believe that I am lovable. My mother told me I wasn’t. She said I was worthless. Comfortable with people who didn’t think I was valuable or lovable, I made friends with those kinds of people and they treated me accordingly.

My husband’s last affair partner was one of those friends. When I sent her a letter explaining how much pain I was in her response was that yes, she was a terrible friend, but she believed it was necessary to hurt people sometimes to get what you need. I couldn’t believe she was so callous and uncaring. She had been my friend. I had confided in and trusted her, listened to her woes and thoughts. I had thought that she cared about me.

But it turned out that she only cared about herself. Even when things were uncovered she had no remorse. All the people who remained friends with her said that she did, but she never demonstrated it to me, which only led me to conclude that she had to be manipulating them. What difference does your remorse make if you don’t demonstrate it to the person you actually hurt?

From my research I think she must be a sociopathic narcissist. She wanted everyone to like her, was charming and witty, but she talked about everyone behind their backs and clearly had no qualms about stabbing a friend in the back in the worst way with no apparent remorse shown except to the people who might have unfriended her if she had shown how callous she really was.

Why did I become friends with such a person? I think it must have been because I didn’t believe I was lovable. Why did I allow her and my husband to take me and all the things I have to offer for granted? Because I didn’t believe I was lovable.

Part of this journey is going to be learning to believe I’m lovable. I try to remember instances where people showed me that I mattered, that I was worthwhile. I am holding on to the memory of my grandmother and grandfather (my dad’s parents) taking my mother and I in when we had no place to go even though my parents were long divorced and they did not like my mom. They did it because they loved me. They loved me so much they were willing to put up with my crazy mother so that I could have a roof over my head.

They loved me. Many people love me. I am lovable. I have to keep telling myself this until I believe it.

Drawing the Line

So back in November Jay and I drafted up and signed an abstinence agreement. We were both going to be completely sober and refrain from any sexual activity for 120 days. Last week Jay came to me asking me to supply the password for the filter he’d loaded onto his phone because he’d been tempted to look at porn during our abstinence period. This got me to thinking so on Tuesday night I asked him if he had masturbated or looked at porn. He said he had. I was stunned.

“How many times?” I asked.
“A few.” Sigh. Anyone who lives with an addict knows that answers like these mean quite a bit more than a few.
“I told my therapy group and SAA meetings.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m still trying to learn how to tell the truth.”

Really?? How old are you?? 36? Or 5?

At first I decided that we would have to extend our abstinence period but I didn’t want to say that we’d have to sleep in separate beds. We’ve never slept in separate beds except when living in different cities so it seemed a little extreme. I told him he needed to tell me about any breaks in sobriety within 24 hours or we would definitely be sleeping separately.

The next day I spoke to the ladies in my therapy group. Thank god for B and Jo. They advised me that I needed to keep the attention on his breaking our agreement and lying to me about it rather than letting him divert the conversation to how I reacted. They also talked to me about boundaries and how to define and defend them.

In the end I told him that I needed him to be completely sober for 90 days or I was filing for divorce. I said that I deserved a sober and honest husband. I would like for it to be him but if he can’t give me that, I’m done.

He understood, agreed, and offered to stay in the other room. I took him up on it. I think that surprised him. I don’t think he expected me to actually ask for us to sleep separately. Then I went climbing with some friends, came home, and took a nice relaxing bath.

He’s been sad and depressed about it and I have too, but I also feel liberated. I have always perceived my bedroom as my safe place and I didn’t realize before how unsafe I’ve been feeling there with him in it. Now it’s my safe place again.

I had a dream last night that someone was setting fires to intimidate me. I knew and told them though that I was descended from a fire elemental. Then I ran through the fires to show them and they were amazed. Aw yeah.