Next day

So if there’s one thing I want to unpack through writing anonymously, it is the price and cost of shame.

The counselor said I had a pretty decent amount of self loathing.

What I wish is that I saw myself and this marriage context with clear eyes. I’m actually going to pray right now that I would see me and myself in my relationships with clarity.

The inward filter I process things is the same tape I always heard when I was a kid : I am a problem.

But is this reinforced directly from my husband ? Or is this something that I can’t stop? Is this something that I have control over and can stop or is it because of the way I’ve been made to feel here that is the real trigger?

My friends would say that there is some level of control here.

But are they also being triggered by their own demons stemming from hard relationships with men?

It’s so hard not to know. Not to see myself as I am.

I do know that right now and at times in my marriage, there has been a level of disgust .

If I bleed through my pants, pass gas, forget to shut the door while I’m in the bathroom, don’t shave my pubic hair.

He is disgusted with those things about me.

There is an undercurrent of shame.

I cannot and do not clean like I should.

We do not have time to do the things on my agenda.

I have gotten used to not choosing. But honestly, and I told my friend Rebekah this, if my husband and kids are happy, I am happy.

And so there’s the lens.

Along the way I have gotten used to not having a say.

Not cooking things right.

Can’t even make a salad correctly without a lot of input.

Do not put apple cider on the hot plate.

Do not smoke in the car.

Have you fed the dog?

Have you fed the cat?

Why don’t I have any clean underwear?

Why are you using that pan?

Well, did you put enough water in?

We are closing the pool down, today.

Why are you watching such depressing tv?

I don’t know why mommy is watching this junk.

I wish I could rest.

Mommy is always resting.

Where are you going?

I can’t remember the last time I had time to read a book.

On and on and on.

This is the culture. This is the climate.

This does not excuse my behavior. But as I sit and listen to the input from half a dozen friends, I inwardly make a list. I can’t see that these questions aren’t something that a husband asks a wife. I can’t see that this is out of line and inappropriate. I never saw it as a lack of trust. I never imagined it was anything more than he knows better. I know less. I am less than. He has more experience in the world.

AND THIS IS ALL TRUE.

does this factor in to my decision making? Does this have anything to do with why I seek out a way to escape?

Do I really think the other guy can inhabit all the things I am missing and more?

How is it possible that I can’t see with two eyes and direct experience?

Everyone says it’s time to put up boundaries, to force him to get help.

Everyone says it’s time to expect more, to be trusted, to have freedom, to actually experience grace, to not be emotionally abused, not to be controlled and manipulated.

And yes, maybe.

But the other guy would give me just the same if not worse.

I’m always looking for a Savior.

The husband has always been my safety.

But maybe inwardly, maybe through all the poor decision making, maybe through all the self destruction, there is a hint of truth.

The hint of truth being that there is something I am escaping, and I didn’t even know it. The truth being that there is an undercurrent that I am swept up in and cannot even figure out how to stop the craziness. The truth being that I am actually expressing the damage that is being done through my behavior. The truth being that there is something broken and broken up good. And that’s the self destruction.

That’s the temptation to walk away.

Mess it all up.

It isn’t because of soul mate status.

It’s because my mind and body and soul are crying out for a new thing. For connection EVEN a pseudo connection. For openness and vulnerability and FREEDOM and to be trusted to do it differently but still it be okay.

That is what all of this is. A true cry for my husband to see me.

Need me.

Trust me.

Want me.

Love isn’t control nor manipulation nor suspicion nor berating nor mistrust.

Love covers.

Shields.

Allows for me to be me.

Day 1

It’s November 8.

Surprised I knew that.

I usually have no inkling as to the day.

Always know the time.

Anyhow -I call this day one for a couple reasons.

Day one. Day one of writing. Practicing gratitude. Day one of admitting that something is absolutely fucked and I’m responsible.

Just me.

Well, actually; that’s not fair.

But if someone could be blamed, at this point, it would be me.

Let’s start with gratitude.

I am grateful for the ability to see. No. Not with eyes. But with true vision. Sight as to the complete devastation I have caused and more if I had ended up doing what I thought I was going to do.

No one knows me on here. I’m grateful for that too.

I’m grateful for music. Ability to hear. For friends who are willing to drop everything and meet or talk or chat or pray.

For nature. God, today was beautiful.

For no internet. For no facebook. (Shocking but I’ll explain why)

For my original insta to be deleted.

For boundaries.

For hot baths.

For shaved arms.

For cozy but itchy sweaters. They are so damn warm but is the itchiness really necessary.

For books. For magazines. For the written word.

For God.

For real, true, honest feelings from the husband. That doesn’t happen too often. So, I’m grateful.

For three drags of a cigarette. Because I’m totally messed up over here:

For the enneagram which sheds light into why I do what I do. What my fears are. My strengths.

I realize it isn’t gospel. But I also realize it sheds lots of light as to who I am, why and I realize I am not alone.

For the cold. The weather feels quite appropriate right now.

Anyhow, day one in another form.

And this is a little less easy to write.

For four and a half years, I’ve been playing with Fire. No, I meant to capitalize. Or at least didn’t go and change the error intentionally.

I knew he was trouble.

I thought he was a joke when I met him. His cheery smile. His over exaggerated cheekbones, the pitch of his voice.

I think I called him a mastermind manipulator three days after knowing him.

And that’s where it should’ve stopped.

It didn’t.

He gave me his number. Yes, I did say above that I am married. Right now anyway.

At first, I threw it away. Laughed. Rolled my eyes.

He asked me if he should go for a married woman within a week of knowing him. I said “that depends”.

It doesn’t depend. But I guess I was leaving room for whomever he had on his mind. My naive self had no idea at the time he meant me.

Anyhow, I immediately came home and told my husband to please help me.

Pray for me.

“This guy has a power that is unmatched.”

“I want you to just hold me accountable.”

And for six months, crickets.

Not from the guy, but my husband.

No follow up. No questions. No worrying.

At the same time, I was told I was unattractive. By my husband. That he was emotionally unattracted to me.

Whatever that is.

Anyway, I took the number.

I willingly began to converse and share (no pics or anything, yet) over the phone until I came clean to my husband, counselor and some peers.

I left this guy alone almost a full year.

He always reaches out again. It never fails.

He sends me a video of himself. I don’t need to describe what was in the video. We all have imaginations, use yours.I sent immediately back, “Do not send me shit like that.”

Anyway, he was pursuant. He told me all the ways in which he had thought of me. Sexually. This being a very pivotal time where I believed no one , not even my husband, found me attractive.

I liked it. It made me feel desirable again. I felt sexy and wanted and needed. He made me feel like being with him was a need.

Anyway, I believe during that exchange he sent poetry. He told me to take the road less traveled. I sent photos. Nothing too strenuous yet. Maybe my face. That’s it.

I told him finally, I will not be leaving my husband for you. It’s tempting but no.

Nothing again for months.

Pops up again. This time worse pictures are sent. Steamy texts. And a very real attempt at me going to his apartment but then I got scared when me turning my location tracker off alerted my husband.

Ended again.

Pops up again.

Last summer.

Pictures, photos, plans.

I confess to my husband that I sent photos and made plans to see him for coffee the next week. This was after a mutual friend of mine and this guy intercepted his phone and saw me on it. She knew I was married. She confronted me.

I told her that this had been a real, genuine problem for me. That it had been ongoing. That I appreciated her stopping me from making a horrible decision.

Then we both moved on. Seemingly. Not quite. Never quite.

Messages on January 9 to wish me happy new year.

Messages me in March. Moves on after a week. He’s very good at moving on.

Messages in August.

This time I tell him my husband is a good man.

I want to be a good wife and mother.

That no matter how tempting he may be for some reason, I can’t fuck my family up this way.

Moves on less than two weeks later.

Messages October.

Tells me he’s moving.

I think “this is it.”

If anything is going to happen, now is the time. Because he’s moving on. Literally.

But I’m scared.

I am not brave enough.

I literally have two feelings simultaneously. To just go ahead and fuck it all up. And to be a good wife. (That is relative at this point obviously.)

I give him an ultimatum much in the same way he likes to give them. I tell him to meet me. I give him 30 minutes and simultaneously am praying and repeating to myself the mantra that I remain protected.

See how sick this is.

He messages me videos of him making coffee. Being a human.

He sends me himself singing Christmas carols.

He sends me himself packing up.

And it’s contrary to all that he’s ever sent. This time he feels human.

And maybe doesn’t want just the sexual side.

And that feels new and interesting and dangerous.

And I tell him. This has become a problem. Because he’s being so human and real and daily.

And all he ever was before was someone that wanted something From me. And so it’s a new yet scary experience.

And then my husband finds out. Somehow. A search I had made on the internet.

He looks through my photos.

Now, for anyone reading, I didn’t send my breasts or vagina. But just enough to comply while keeping myself “moral.” (Relative again, I know.)

He confronts me. I tell him and show him my phone that has the last month’s messages. And then reality hits.

I have very much hurt someone.

I have done it again.

I have involved my family.

I have not protected myself and my commitment and my husband.

And so now is the silent treatment, the music that is a jab at all my choices, the talking through children, the lack of grace, the punishment.

He wants me punished and pained.

And I apologize. Over and over. And I incur all of the anger and hatred and mistrust. And I don’t retaliate because what does that do ? And I own my responsibility. And I think on and ponder and attempt to explain rather than rationalize.

I call trusted friends, sisters, ask for a counseling session.

Because how can you do this hurtful, damaging thing to someone you love?

And where is the breakdown?

Where am I not believing I am worthy of a love that is real and open and genuine? Why is it so hard for me to keep a commitment? Why the half decade long temptation ? What is it that I am missing?

WHY?

And so I’m sitting here. Writing. Hoping that revelation comes. Asking for him to keep me just for today. Pondering. Writing some more. Asking for grace. Attempting to remind myself that I am human. That I make mistakes. That I am so broken. That we all are. And praying this is the very last time.

My biggest fear

My biggest fear

Is regret

Having wept

At the end

Cause of all my pretending

And lending

Bending

Waiting for life to happen

While I’m napping

Being a host

on someone else’s show

Funny how host has a second meaning

And I’m leaning toward this one

‘Parasitic’

Taking the life right out

Due to doubt

Being proud

Screaming ‘I’m finally awake’

Wide awake

Laid to rest in my bed

While Staring down death

With no option of ‘what next’

But rather being met

With fret

And regret

Except

Thankfully it hasn’t happened yet

There’s still time.

Let Us Not Be Careful

Beware

Of the careful

That’s what got you

into this mess

‘Take care’

‘Don’t you dare’

‘Beware’

But what ever happened

To go in peace

Please

Now this constant message

Of wreckage

Unless our decisions

Lead to safe destinations

Through careful consideration

Contemplations

Fear laced

With a side of chaste

Making haste

Quick gait

To the closest cage

Where it’s safe

That’s our fate

Unless us arriving

At ourselves

Can be met

By taking risk

Kicking

Fear out

With reasonable doubt

Day in day out

Knowing

That we will never arrive

When taking

That worry laden

Route

Rapunzel

What can we

glean

From the unseen

I mean

It could testify to

Our own identity

For that which we reject

We must inspect

And I detect

That the introspection

Will lead us to a speck

Of truth

And growth

For what stays hidden

Does so because of fear

Afraid of the

Jeers

Sneers

Smears

But just think

What led us here

And to get to there

We must be aware

Of why we are so scared

To let down our hair

Missed opportunity

Missed opportunity

Fear

Offered opportunity

To peer

Into those places

I am yet not free

Believe me

I can see

Where I want to be

But want to somehow

Arrive there

Magically

Soul Soil

Soul soil A new phrase I’ve coined

To give me a visual 

Of what to take in

And what to leave out

don’t doubt me on this 

there won’t be a test

at least not one that’s written 

This soul soil 

If it’s rich

Can promote

Growth

And hope

As its massaged in His hands

And then sifted

Made sure to spread evenly

To keep even the dark corners clean

To foster new meaning

this soul soil

Is ample

enough

For even the most temperamental

Tough

stubborn

Hard headed

And stuck

it is gleaned from the Father

not my contoured

Conjured up fodder

He gives it

Keeps it

Sustains it

Reaps it

For the soul soil is for Him

For Him to take root

make new

shoo

away pests

Wreaking havoc

On depth 

Of our souls!
​​

Anxiety

Anxiety 

Yes, you’re telling me but not really 

Because we aren’t quite free

To speak

of that which holds us

So I’m telling myself

Exercise

Eat right

Fight the urge and purge

It’ll get better

but then it doesn’t

So, I’m stressed to the max

and it’s seen in my actions

Depression and rage times a thousand

You should see me behind closed doors

Man, you would be floored

If you witnessed

Even a hint of it

But, it’s kinda taboo

To discuss

A less than perfect version

So what’s left?

Unrest and anxiety

More pressure to please

Less freedom to be

Fear of being seen

With all my imperfections

So I dare not speak

Of the hidden Inner

That’s riddled with tension

and I’ll keep on pretending

until I’ve sought the one that renders

Me as exceedingly perfect

till the hurtful is no longer worth it

till I expose those

Things that he chose to go 

to the cross for 

and when He rose, He showed

How the imperfect becomes perfect

How the depression becomes redemption

How He chose another ending

Without apprehesion

because He saw me as a treasure

Now, how’s that for value?

And it changed up the game

that I am no longer lame

But now I have the freedom to change!

​​

Cross

WAKE UP !

TAKE UP 

YOUR CROSS 
AND 
DIE TO YOURSELF 
WE’RE DEFLECTING 

NOT REFLECTING 

ON THE RESURRECTION 

WHILE HE’S HEAPING HELPING 

AFTER HELPING 

AT THE FEAST 

WHERE WE ARE WELCOME !
JUDAS ISCARIOTS 

SIMON PETERS 

MIRRORING THE ACTIONS 

OF THE “HEATHENS”
BECOMING ONE WITH THE WORLD 

THROUGH TRICKS OF 

ISOLATION 

DEGRADATION

PERSUASION 
WELL, LET ME PERSUADE YOU

AND WHILE I’M AT IT, MYSELF : 
THE CROSS HAD A PURPOSE 

MAN HAS USURPED 

BUT HE’S IN POWER 

NOT THAT WE COWER 

IN THE FINAL HOUR
“IT IS FOR FREEDOM 

THAT WE’VE BEEN SET FREE ”
HOW LONG UNTIL 

THIS SINKS IN ?

AND WE TAKE THE WIN ?

BEGIN AGAIN ?

Hiding

I wasn’t meant for hiding 

Chiding

Writhing

Chastising my inner 

For what was hidden 

No!

I wasn’t meant to play 

This hide and seek game

Where you know me by name 

But don’t truly know me 

I wasn’t made for highlight reels 

Just so you could get an 

Unreal feel 

Of who I am 

I wasn’t made to live in darkness 

Harnessed 

Parked there 

Bystanders Unaware 

Or when exposed 

“Look out, beware”

I was made for the open 

The light 

And the hoping 

I was made to help focus

Hocus pocus 

Our attention on what’s magical 

A fully, vulnerable soul 

The things you don’t learn at school 

See, we’ve been made to be quiet 

But “not I” says the woman 

Who was truant 

Now fluent 

In imperfections 

And flaws

Without pause 

For I wasn’t meant for hiding.