let’s be honest

Honesty is critical to recovery. I know a lot of people in recovery programs don’t like absolutes. We live in a world that is not fond of absolutes.

But the power of addiction is strongest in the shadows – which leads me to the conviction that being dishonest, with myself and others, is likely to lead to a relapse (at best).

There are a few different types of discussions I believe are important for my recovery. Each has a different purpose, a different audience, and different timing; but each requires honesty or it becomes useless.

First, there is telling my story. This is usually what happens in Step 5 of the 12, confessing our faults. In the context of a 12-step program, this will often be a discussion with one’s sponsor. My sponsor and I went to a local monastery and spent a long day with me talking, crying, and walking through my full story.

When I told my story, I had to remember that the point was not to talk about what a victim I was, but to own up to where I had missed the mark. I needed to take responsibility for my own choices.

I think that confession allowed me to be honest with myself, which was at least as important as being honest with anyone else. It also gave me a chance to process some of the stuff that had happened in a more coherent view than anything I had done in private confession through prayer, and gave me a broader view. Patterns began to emerge. For the first time, I saw that there were certain events or feelings that often preceeded my acting out. I later learned these are called “triggers.”

Eventually, it was time for another conversation – a disclosure to my wife. The focus in a disclosure is different. This is not the encyclopedaic recitation of the full list of wrongs that was in my story; this was a specific disclosure of the behaviors which had impacted our relationship, whether she knew the impact or not, and regardless of whether they happened before or after the wedding. It was more general in the sense that she didn’t need (or want) to know the gory details, more pointed in terms of recognition of impact.

My wife has since said that there were two things she saw in my disclosure that were key to our continued marriage: I was broken by my errors, and I was complete in my revelation.

Wait a minute – you just wrote ‘complete in revelation’ just after writing ‘more general.’ What?

By complete, I mean that there was no general area of acting out, no range of activity, that felt incomplete. I gave her general areas or activities (“I visited adult bookstores for anonymous encounters”), and let her ask whatever details she wanted to hear. That’s not to say she liked my answers. I just decided that if there was pain involved, it would be more merciful for both of us to get it out and over with at once instead of continuing to poke and prod at it. If the marriage was going to fail, it was going to fail quickly. By her ( and God’s) grace, that was not the outcome.

I think trying to do a complete disclosure with her without the filter of the prior confession would have been disastrous. Had I gone to the level of detail my confession required, I suspect there would have been a steeper path to our climb. For example, listing specific locations and specific actions might have spurred her imagination, making our relationship that more challenging. I know a guy who bought a new mattress, then a new bed, then remodeled the bedroom, then bought a new house because he dwelt in the details of where his affairs took place.

Again, wherever my wife asked for details, I provided them. There is a world of difference between paving a path for renewal in your relationship and giving her material to question how she compares to someone else, and your words in a disclosure make all the difference.

The final conversation I think is critical is my testimony. OK, technically that’s a monologue, not a conversation. There is healing power in sharing my story. There is a renewed reminder of where I was, and why I would not want to be there again. There is the hope that someone who hears the story might see something of himself, and get some help.  There is hope, in spite of that part of me that sought fulfillment in so many wrong ways.

I share that testimony when I can. Not every setting is appropriate, but I have found very few cases where the story shared creates discomfort or disconnecton with others. Maybe I’m more cautious in sharing than some. I certainly don’t get on the train in the afternoon and say, “MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION, PLEASE?”

I’m not a masochist.

I am a human, flawed, fallen, devious in many ways; but I am also being healed, and I am a child of the King. If I am honest, that’s my identity: a prince, so named by the King whom I didn’t want to serve. That’s a far cry from where I was, not that long ago.

belief

I was listening to a conversation last night that has stirred some thoughts about belief. To some this may not seem connected to the primary topic of my blog, but I think it has everything to do with it.

The two primary participants were discussing the existence of God. Both of these guys are very intelligent (both by my estimation and their IQ scores), and I know them both well enough to say that neither of them is flippant about their viewpoints on important issues. One is a devout Christian and leader in his local church (henceforth referred to as J); the other is a devout agnostic (B).

I was reminded in their discussion how much a worldview is changed when God is added or subtracted from the equation.

B believes that, if God exists, He set things in motion and sits back watching with curiosity, wondering what we’ll do next, hoping someday we’ll get it right and straighten the world out.

J responds that, no, we won’t get it right. We aren’t really capable of getting it right, not without divine intervention.

B thinks that is a very pessimistic viewpoint. I didn’t understand why at first, but then I thought about his worldview. If God does not exist, or is a disinterested third party, it would be distressing to think that we are limited and incapable.

But from a viewpoint of belief, I recognize that I am a child of a loving God who wants what is best for me. It makes more sense to me now as a father than it ever did when I was childless. I don’t want to give my children everything; I want them to grow and learn, which doesn’t happen if they just sit on their rear all day and never live. I am very careful to make sure they have what they need, but that is a far cry from just handing over everything they want.

Then there’s the issue of our place in the unverse. J mentioned that his brother had just sent him some pictures from the Hubbel telescope, including captions estimating the distances of the objects from earth in terms of light years. My brain isn’t capable of keeping track of the number of zeroes involved, but it is, as we say in the South, “a fur piece.”

B says that makes him feel all the less significant, that he is a fortunate accident among millions of other fortunate accidents, spinning around on another unfortunate accident, feeling feelings that are an amazingly fortunate accident, looking out at galaxies upon galaxies of similarly fortunate accidents…and that increases his feeling that he is insignificant. That decreases the odds, in his view, that he is especially designed for a purpose. I should mention that he didn’t keep inserting “fortunate accident” in that dialog. J was doing that, and it was really beginning to annoy B.

J didn’t have a chance to respond; B took the conversation in a different direction.

I’m not a mathmatician, nor am I an odds-maker. But I really do wonder about those numbers. If no design, and therefor no Designer, what are the odds of planetary placement in favor of life? What are the odds in favor of a planet stable enough to support ongoing life for hundreds, thousands of years? What are the odds of life developing at all, and what evolutionary purpose do emotions serve? For that matter, why conscious thought? Why not simple instinct? Why would we ever place ourselves under the burden of organized society, and why would we ever have such altruistic ideals as love, honor, patience, kindness, hope?

I know none of those things prove a loving Creator, or even a creator at all; but there is so much that makes no sense if we are indeed fortunate accidents existing strictly for the propogation and survival of the species.

What has this to do with addiction?

If we are not an incredible series of fortunate accidents, if there is some plan, if there is a Planner, than I believe the plan would not be for me to be enslaved by my behaviors. Oh, I know, that requires the assumption that the Planner is interested – a step of faith B finds quite troubling – and even compassionate. I suppose my predisposition toward that is based in the idea that God is a father.

I don’t want evil to happen to my kids. I want them to grow to their greatest potential, and I’m smart enough to recognize that this sometimes requires some bumps and bruises (not at my hand; only those that result from their unwise choices). I believe the best parental instincts I have are a reflection of how my Father sees (and treats) me.

I want good for my kids. I don’t want them to suffer the consequences of slavery to alcohol, drugs, sex, food, whatever substance gets between them and really relating to others and to me.I hope they will allow me to give them guidance, to suggest how they can avoid some of the traps that lie ahead on a perilous road.

I know my connection to God was the first victim of my addiction, and meaningful relationships with those around me soon followed. As I have found some respite from my addictions, I am discovering those connections again.

That just makes more sense to me than a series of fortunate accidents.

sex and marriage – the two great myths

Peggy: No TV, Al, we’re talking.
Al: You’re my wife. I will not talk to you while I have a TV.
– From Married With Children

I think our culture perpetuates two major myths about sex and marriage. The first is that getting married means you’ll be able to have sex as often as you want it; the other is that marriage is sexless.

I have a theory that a guy who enters marriage believing myth #1 will find himself living in myth #2. But one myth at a time.

Time after time I have heard guys in my group talk about the belief they held that getting married meant they would be able to have sex whenever they wanted it, and that would take care of the little porn problem (or whatever their acting out included). The belief is that she exists largely for the man’s sexual fulfillment. In reality, that paints a picture of the wife as a glorified call-girl.

I know there are still some guys around who will drop their clubs, scratch their ear-hair, and grunt in disapproval of that last sentence; but one need only to look to the Song of Solomon to see that the Cromagnon approach is not Biblically supported.

Truth is, you can have sex in marriage any time you want it; the problem is that you is plural, not singular. Based on my history, you might guess that I would generally be the one with a stronger drive in my marriage; you’d be guessing correctly there. But even so, there have been times when I have been the one to say no. Rare, but it has happened.

So what sometimes happens (as most of the guys I know who have admitted to sexual addiction would testify) is that expectations about sexual activity go uncommunicated because the him thinks the her has the same desires and drives as him. It is somewhere within the first weeks after the honeymoon that the truth is revealed.

By the way, I’m well aware of the dangers of writing in generalities on this topic. Some people get through a few years before the wife starts to feel like a geisha, others not even through the night after the wedding.

In any case, sex in marriage should primarily be about honoring each other, and focused on meeting each other’s needs and desires rather than on our own interests. Sexual intimacy is at its best when it is an outgrowth of spiritual/emotional intimacy.

As to the second myth, which implies that sex and marriage are incompatible…

This is, sadly, becoming a partial truth in our society. The myth is that this is a normal state of things. When it does happen, it is normally a warning sign that emotional intimacy is lacking or even dying.

It is no accident that the most common picture the Bible uses to describe the relationship between God and the church is that of a good husband. God desires intimacy with us. That is a little uncomfortable for many, but it is the truth. Bill Hybels of Willow Creek said it this way:

“For a marriage relationship to flourish, there must be intimacy. It takes an enormous amount of courage to say to your spouse, “This is me. I’m not proud of it — in fact, I’m a little embarrassed by it — but this is who I am.””

Intimacy in marriage is to know and be known, to walk with your partner naked and unashamed as Adam and Eve. And no, I’m not encouraging a “naturalist” lifestyle; I’m talking about having a comfort level where you can tell your spouse what is on your heart without fearing rejection, and creating an environment where she feels free to do the same.

As with all myths, there is truth behind each of these; but that doesn’t mean they are necessarily accurate.

if you only knew…

The movie Sneakers featured a decryption device which could break any code. One needed only the secret passphrase to gain access to the secrets of the world, and the phrase was “Too Many Secrets.“

Secrets can be a good thing, when it comes to birthday parties or roses ordered but not yet delivered; but secrets in a relationship are often deadly.

A phrase my wife used when we first became more serious in our relationship was, “if you really knew me, you wouldn’t love me.” Of course, if she had known more about me back then, who knows how things would have developed…but the point is, we kept each other in the dark. We feared each others’ rejection and alienation.

I know that, as I became more aware of her issues, I felt that those issues were of little importance relative to the relationship we were building. They would certainly affect us, sometimes dramatically, but none were “deal-breakers.”

I wonder if she has felt the same way about my issues.

What I find now is that the more I am honest about my struggles, the more she respects me. Oh, true enough, it might be different if I was still cruising and acting out…but my honesty about the difficulty of remaining ’sober’ has only drawn us closer.

It is also important to say that I would not expect a person of lower caliber than my wife to be able to accept the darkness in my story. Since those things were/are a part of me (though not the definition of who I really am) , I would be stupid to pursue a relationship with her if she couldn’t handle my past.

I know several men who are ’single again’ because their spouses were not able to see through the history into the present tense of the person before them. I also know a lot of men who continued to act out, regularly,  after divulging the truth; that doesn’t usually work out so well either.

Secrets make it easier to keep secrets. New secrets. Dark secrets.

Honesty begets honesty. Harsh, brutal honesty.

I believe pain is always easier with a clear conscience.

getting defensive

Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A chord of three strands is not easily broken. Ecclesiastes 4:12

In military excursions of the Greek/Spartan era, a common maneuver was the phalanx. This arrangement  deployed soldiers in such a way that their shields were protecting not themselves, but the neighbor to their immediate left. This was refined by various groups – the Romans used it quite effectively, for example – but the principle was always the same: my job is not to protect myself; it is to protect my brother-in-arms.

This concept is often lost on addicts; we tend to be quite selfish.

If the enemy is charging, I’m covering my own rear, thank you very much.

Addiction – a war? Am I being a little dramatic?

What are the likely outcomes of substance abuse, or sexual acting out?

Death stalks the one who walks alone.

There is strength in numbers, but not ultimate strength. See, each soldier used his shield to protect the man to his left. That meant that the right end of the line was always the weak point, and any worthy adversary knew that and attacked at that point of weakness. As a result, the most experienced and strongest were put at that end. They anchored the line.

If two addicts decide it is time to get some honesty and come clean, but have no one stronger to lean on, they will likely collapse, potentially harming each other.

For me, recovery did not begin until I got myself into community with some people who had been down the same road – veterans of the war I needed to fight. And now I’m one of the veterans.

I don’t say that proudly – this is a fight I wish I was not in. And watching people fall because they give up the battle is painful.

I’m watching a family that is a mirror of my own in many ways, breaking and dying because the husband is not willing to fight. The wife is strong, and fights on…but her husband should be standing with her. She has friends, good friends, who will use their shields to defend her; but the loss of one weakens the phalanx.

Whatever your battle, don’t fight alone.

And once you’ve enlisted, don’t surrender.

all’s well that ends well

Her husband died unexpectedly a few months ago. He had the kind of week where all went incredibly well, capped off by playing a round at one of the premiere golf clubs in the Atlanta area. He stopped for some water on the way home, and collapsed. He never regained consciousness, and his family was left with a very sudden and very large hole in their lives.

I look at where she is, and can’t help but compare to where my own mother was a few months, even several years, after my father’s death.

Our friend is in a pretty healthy place. She has a lot of people around her who are supportive, and an army of people from her church who have really been God’s arms around her these past few months.

My mother is still stuck. When dad died, she had me. Oh, she had a few friends…but her church was not the kind where a widow is treated the way Christ described true religion.

I’m so glad for our friend, and so sad for my mom.

I’ve watched my mom try to be tough, to be strong. And I’ve seen her become more bitter than tough, more angry than strong. I see our friend becoming more comfortable with who she is as she allows others to show her love.

Life isn’t fair. We say that as a cliche, but it is so true. And we can’t make life fair, no matter how hard we might try. So I guess the secret is in making sure you are in a place where other arms can and will reach out to hold you when life’s unfairness reaches out to touch you.

fill ‘er up, please

This weekend I had a very pleasant reminder of a crucial concept: when your tank gets low, it is important what you use to fill it up.

My wife and I have been on competitive schedules, meaning that we seem to have been saying “hi” and “bye” more than anything else, for about the last month. My kids? Well, I had some time with them here and there, but it hasn’t really been what I would call “quality” time. It has generally been at times when I was so worn down I had trouble being patient, and was not very accommodating to their wants and needs.

I have let a project at work take priority over my family. As the son of a certified workaholic, that’s a big no-no.

My wife had a her women’s group over at the house Saturday, so I used the time to full advantage. I took the kids to a nature center where we could walk through the woods, talk, be together, and not have any “busy” time. We stopped to look at bugs, talked about what beetles and vultures do in the grand scheme of things, watched a beaver wash his face…in short, we did nothing urgent, but everything important.

Saturday evening my beloved and I had an actual date. We went to see Fireproof – which deserves multiple blog entries unto itself. We weren’t rushed, and just had a great evening.

To top it off, after church Sunday we (spouse included this time) went to a park along the Chattahoochee (Atlanta’s idea of a river) and had a picnic. The weather was perfect, the river was gorgeous…and again, we did nothing urgent.

Chattahoochee River, Jones Bridge park

Today, I feel like my tank is pretty full.

There is still a discarded water heater laying in the back yard, and it needs to go to the dump. There is still a dead tree laying down back there, waiting for me and a chainsaw to dispose of it. My van’s heater is still unpredictable. My project at work is still unmanageable.

But I am refreshed, renewed, and ready to face today.

I haven’t felt that way for a month.

Or two.

i have a short attention sp…what were you saying?

Last night I met eight guys who are beginning a new part of their journey in recovery from sexual addiction. They are good guys. Oh, I’m sure that the wives of some of them might argue that point, but I see a lot of brokenness within them. That goes a long way when it comes to recovery.

I was struck by the similarities of most of our stories. I think one of the lies that held me in bondage to my addiction is the feeling that I was alone, and no one could possibly understand. Yet, every time I hear a new set of stories, the narrative is strikingly familiar.

Most of the guys are married. I think each of the married guys thought, as I did, that marriage would cure us. After all, we each thought, married guys get all the sex they want, right?

Stop that laughing.

None of us has kids with the intent of that stopping our behavior, but most thought, when they arrived, “ah, now here’s some inspiration for me to stop.”

Didn’t work.

There are certainly differences in our stories. Most of the guys I’ve met in the larger group are “specialists,” focused in one or just a couple of areas of acting out; I was always a “generalist.” Come to think of it, I tend to be a “variety is the spice of life” kind of guy. If insanity is trying the same thing time and again and expecting a different result, was I more sane because I kept experimenting with different things?

I think at my core I long for variety in every avenue. I try something different when I go back to a restaurant, I keep changing the supplements I use for my fitness regimen, I drive different ways to work because I get bored.

Maybe I’m just like my mother – she’s never satisfied…sayeth the artist known once again as Prince.

And yet, my insatiable desire for more and different can be tamed.

I have figured out what works for me in terms of diet, and I stick to that. Why? Because I see the benefits, and my life is a little more manageable with some routine.

I’ve gotten past the job-hopping of my past. Why? I recognize that this isn’t a good time to be the new guy in most industries, and I also recognize that the grass, while appearing greener over at XYZ Corp, is still just grass.

Wherever you go, there you are.

And now I am being the husband that I have always wanted to be. Or at least I’m a lot closer to that than I used to be. I’m not sure I’ll ever be that guy, not completely. But I see the benefits. I see a wife who generally doesn’t view me with doubt, or fear that she’s going to end up being cast aside by me moving to a newer model.

Variety is great – in its proper place.

when more isn’t enough

There is a lot of political finger-pointing going on regarding the mortgage meltdown and the financial turmoil of the last couple of years. Both political parties have made their own contributions to this mess, but I would argue that the problem is not one of politics; it is a problem of the heart.

There was a time, not so very long ago, when most of the people in the stock market were large investors, who recognized that the common good (rising values) was the personal good as well. Everyone won, or everyone lost; but there was a sense that everyone was in the same boat.

Then someone decided to turn a consistent source of equity into a game of roulette. Enter the concept of trading on margins. This is rather like betting not on the outcome of a football game, but on the point spread instead. Big jumps, big drops, doesn’t matter which, as long as the market moves big.

This took the general concept of an equity pool, generally guided by common interest, and introduced anarchy.

And what do you suppose was/is the motivation of those who play the margins?

Greed. The love of money.

Money is not the problem. Capitalism is not the problem. Politics is not the problem.

Greed is the problem.

So what has this to do with addiction? Greed is money addiction.

Think it through – addiction can, for some, be summarized as an unquenchable desire for one more. That one more will give me the feeling I’ve been looking for, will finally give me the answer to the burning question within me, will finally satisfy me.

So what is greed but the unquenchable desire for one more? Dollar, hundred, million, whatever.

I would argue that we have a moral meltdown in progress that will end up being at least as devestating as what is going on now in the world markets. But in this calamity, we aren’t looking for more dollars. We want more sex, more alcohol, more of anything.

But “anything” won’t ever be enough.

why do i go to extremes?

Darling, I don’t know why I go to extremes;
Too high, or too low – there ain’t no in between.
- Extremes, Billy Joel

I remember years ago reading Living on the Ragged Edge by Charles Swindoll. It is his investigation into the book of Ecclesiastes, and returns again and again to the theme of balance.

I need to dig that book out again.

As a person prone toward addictive/obsessive behavior, I have a lot of trouble with balance. I tend to become very focused; and even when the object of the focus is a good thing, my intensity towards it is not.

Example: I have a project at work. It is critical to the company, has a direct effect on our customers, and has a very short time line. There is time to get the job done, but I find myself toying with the project management tools available to me rather than actually doing the work. I know I don’t have time for it, but I would rather see what happens on a graph demonstrating the cascading effects of not completing the job, than actually doing the job and avoiding the effects.

Here at home, there are a million little things that need to be done, mailed, followed up, thrown away, repainted, put away, rearranged, washed, changed, spindled, folded, and mutilated…I can’t seem to get any of those handled. My mind is still focused on the one stinking closet reorganization that I didn’t finish last weekend, and now the other stuff, even the everyday, is getting harder to manage.

I’ve mentioned before my time at the gym. Earlier this week I started a new workout program, a very thourough and taxing one. Tuesday I worked my legs as hard as I ever have. I have spent the rest of the week praying that I don’t need to climb any stairs. I still wake up at 4:00 in the morning, knowing full well that I have no business going to the gym until my legs stop burning. But I still want to go.

Chasing the wind, as Solomon said. Much ado about nothing, per Shakespeare.

I have no wisdom this morning – only frustration.