Hope and Peace (and Mother's Day)

I was reading my scriptures last night, writing thoughts and notes in a notebook next to me, when I suddenly jotted down (having nothing to do with what I was reading):

Hope and peace sometimes ebbs and flows.  I wish these were constant companions, and I will get there one day, but for now I'm seeing that I'm steadily moving in the right direction.  The downs aren't lasting as long.  Hope is prevailing.

I realized after I wrote that how true it was.  Oh, how I wish I wasn't an emotional wreck that spent Mother's Day morning, then evening, in tears in my husband's lap.  But, these painful realizations and conversations come in waves that once they've rolled past, I'm fairly 'done' with them.  We talked about some excruciatingly painful things on Sunday, and by Monday morning, I had put them behind me and was feeling real peace.  What a wonderful blessing -- to not be bogged down in painful emotions for days.  All day yesterday my husband would call and ask how I was doing, like he often does after we've had a painful conversation the night before.  "I'm good," I'd assure him, and I don't know if he fully believed me.  But I really was.  He was reeling from our last conversation far more than I was, and that's unusual, and (I think) really good progress for both of us.  (Me not dwelling and wallowing in painful things, and him actually having to feel them and deal with them and those painful things sticking with him longer than just during the immediate conversation about them.)

That said, I hope you all had good Mother's Days.  Mine was obviously hard, but we got some things out on the table, and it was good.  We've discussed how either of us bottling things up is counterproductive -- on the flip side, if we are able to drag out negative feelings, fears, weaknesses, and examine them, give them a name, destroy the lie or secret surrounding it, we can put it behind us and start working on getting better much quicker than if we don't talk about it.  Sunday was a lot of talking about painful things.  It started in the morning when I watched an LDS video about how father's should raise their daughters.  There were lots of fun triggers -- the whole 'loving their mother' thing -- words like 'loyalty' (viewing thousands upon thousands of naked women, lusting after my friends and our neighbors and ward members just because they happen to like jogging, etc -- not exactly loyal), and the big one, teaching your daughter about her value as a woman.  I hit a low as I realized that my sweet, loving husband, who is really such a good man, has screwed with his view of women to such an extreme that if he doesn't change, how can he ever effectively teach our daughters their value as women.  He objectifies and exploits at any opportunity, and has for years, and there has to be a complete change of heart and learning how to see women as Daughters of God, not parts and pieces, if we have any hope of him being the Dad he needs to be to our children.  I was crushed as I watched the video, sobbing when my husband walked in with my french toast for Mother's Day breakfast.  We talked, and I felt bad about how sad he looked all through Church.  We had a pretty good day with family, talking with my little brother who's on his mission, seeing both of our Mothers and most of our Grandmothers.  That evening though, we got back to the conversation about his objectification of women, and how this makes me feel about him in terms of his ability to father our daughters.  It was ugly.  I mentioned things I've never dared too.  I stopped often to reassure him that I love him, that I'm not trying to bring him down or shame him, but these are legitimate fears I've been wrestling with, and he kept assuring me to keep talking.  Does he draw the line when he's watching women out in public to only adult women? Or does he just notice breasts wherever he can find them in tight or low cut clothes?  (And how far gone is the ability to see women as people, and not just parts, if he is indiscriminately looking for breasts no matter who they're on?  Are there boundaries, or is he so far gone he notices any breasts -- my sisters? His? Teenagers in the Ward?) (And these were not questions I had him actually answer -- I was expressing my fears surrounding the topic, not drilling him.)  What does this mean for our daughters -- we're 7 years from teenagers -- if he hasn't relearned how to view women, are my daughters in danger of being objectified by their own father?  Will he not be able to keep himself from looking at their breasts, just like how he can't help but stare at the busty woman he passes in the grocery store, despite holding our son in one arm and my hand with the other?  What about their teenage friends who will come to our house?  Isn't it bad enough I have to worry about him staring at the neighborhood Moms, but one day I'll need to worry about my daughter's fourteen year old friends who come over?  Will he learn and change that women are so much more than their breasts, their bodies?  What if he's not there yet once our own kids have those bodies?  Could I even keep them in the same home with him?  I told him my darkest thoughts, how sometimes I just think how much better off the kids and I would be if we just got in a car accident or some other tragedy, and I wouldn't have to drag them through this world of filth and objectification -- don't worry, I do NOT regularly have thoughts like this, but at my lowest, it's been there.  What were the chances that 20 years from now, our own daughters would be going through this same thing?  What if their husbands did this to their wives?  What if our sons did it to their wives?  How can I assure anything better for my kids, how can I spare them this pain, how would we feel if our kids were in our same situation? 

This was one of our ugliest conversations to date.  It was gross and icky to pull out all my deepest fears, to really give voice to the fact he has fundamentally changed how he views women.  How the way he views women is not appropriate or acceptable or congruent with raising daughters of his own (or with him being the man he wants to be).

Oddly, I think you'd be surprised how loving this conversation was.  It was ugly, and horrible in a lot of ways, but there was a strong spirit of love and support on both sides.  He was right there with me.  Looking me in the eyes.  Scared, like I am, but fully there for me in my pain.  I was there to tell him that this doesn't define who he is, how much more he is than this. 

Sometimes I love the honesty.  I need it from him, crave it.  It's healing to me.  Sometimes it scares the crap out of me.  He's honestly shared with me how hard he's working, how hard this is, and how he's giving it his all -- but there is this one voice in him that's telling him to go back, to lie -- and how part of him wants to listen to that voice. 

That's scary.  But reassuring.  He's telling me what the addiction is telling him, so that it doesn't have as much power.  But, man, I wish it wasn't there.  In some ways, I wish I didn't know that my husband wants porn and filth and the way it makes him feel.  I wish I didn't know he has a hard time taking the kids out on a walk without seeking out women working in the yard or jogging.  But I'm glad I do know, because it means he's telling me his most painful secrets.  He's trying to strip their power.

So yeah, Mother's Day wasn't the warmest and fuzziest of experiences.  My kids were cute, sang beautifully in Sacrament meeting, the baby even took a good nap.  But, I got caught up and bogged down with the ugliness in my life, and not all the beautiful things.  I need to be more careful about that.  But, I woke up the next morning refreshed and renewed.  Cleansed of my deepest fears, that purged gunk no longer weighing me down.  I took my husband's hand as we had our morning prayers, looked him in the eye and told him I loved him and was proud of him.  After he stood up and he grabbed his '30 day recovery chip' off the nightstand and stuck it in his wallet and said, "Here's to 43 days . . . " and left for work.  I really am happy with my life.  The pain is becoming more productive and less present.  I am including God in my life every day.  My children will be so much better off for both of us working through all these issues.  The fact I could have a gut wrenching conversation about the scariest aspects of my husband's addiction in the evening, then wake up feeling full of hope and peace is a real testament to me of the power of God, the power of honesty, and the atonement.

And next year, Mother's Day is going to be better.  :-)