Find

I'm looking for a solution. 

I'm looking for something that got lost along the way. 

I'm looking for a promise. 

And while I look I'm holding out hope. 

Marriage is hard and wonderful. Being with someone you love and who loves you seems like it should be the easiest thing in the world. Living with someone who grew up in a different house with different expectations and experiences is one of the toughest things in the world.

I'm on a treasure hunt right now. I'm looking and hunting and hoping. Because I really, REALLY want to find what's been lost along the years and the struggle of long-term marriage. 

I want to find the joy and companionship and comfort and peace and ease that comes from being with a trusted, dear friend. 

I'm in this hunt for the long haul and I won't stop until I find all of that good stuff again.

linking up with Five Minute Friday

Movies, Marriage, and Mirrors

A hundred years ago I sat down on a Saturday night to watch the movie Marnie on network television. Understand this was the dawning of the age of VCRs. No Blockbuster. No Hollywood Video. No TiVo. No Netflix.

I'd never seen the movie before. I was in the basement of my parents' house watching on a portable black and white TV with adjustable rabbit ears. There were COMMERCIALS! I was in college dating the man I would ultimately marry. The phone rang. There was no caller ID. I don't think we even had an answering machine. 

It was my boyfriend. I explained that I was watching a movie and I'd call him back as soon as it was over. I really wanted to see how the film ended. Hitchcock, you know? You can't just walk away in the middle of it.

Thus began a lengthy discussion about my lack of love for him. Was he not more important than some old movie? Didn't I want to know how his shift at work had gone? Personal relationships are the bedrock of society. Television was destroying the world.

I argued. I cried. I swore my undying love. I begged, for the love of all that is holy, let me see what happens to Tippi Hedren!

By the time I disengaged from this ridiculous conversation, the movie was over. 

Fast forward to yesterday. I checked out a copy of Marnie from the library, and after my counseling session I sat down with my lunch to finally watch it all the way through. Oh my gosh! There's a reason I needed to see this movie to its conclusion. In many ways, the movie was trying to tell me my own story.

Let me tell you a little about me. I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. I didn't know that at the time. I had repressed most of the experiences, and the one I did remember I couldn't label as abuse. My boyfriend was quirky, but he was a lot better than where I'd been, so I didn't hang up on him or tell him to take a flying leap. I just rode it out the best way I knew how. Twisting and turning emotionally trying to figure out how this had escalated from watching a movie to the depth of my devotion to him. 

"Mark marries Marnie although she is a habitual thief and has serious psychological problems, and tries to help her confront and resolve them." That's how iMDb summarizes the plot. Barely scrapes the top layer. 

Marnie is suffering from repressed memories, undiagnosed PTSD, flashbacks, and molestation among other things. She is frigid and can't bear to be touched by a man. She spouts religious rhetoric and acts out impulsively to deal with her unexplained issues. Mark is a cold fish who is a widower with an interest in zoological behavior. He suspects Marnie is up to something, but rather than confront her he lets the whole thing play out before he blackmails her into his loving (?) arms. And it just grows from there.

It's a masterpiece of a film, and it's no wonder it wasn't well received in 1964. A psychologically taut piece that was far ahead of its time. Nobody knew about PTSD and dissociation. Mark was trying to be a 1960s man and handle his woman. A firm hand, that's what she needed. Both Mark and Marnie are flawed characters aching for redemption.

I didn't have Marnie's coping mechanisms, and my future husband didn't have Mark's exact issues, but we had our own weird methods that were mirrored in the movie. My husband pushed me into therapy after years and years of digging at my psyche. He pushed and pushed and pushed until I finally broke down and went. And then he wanted a play by play of every session. That was nearly 15 years ago. In a few days, we will be celebrating our 30th anniversary. I wonder if Mark and Marnie lasted that long.

By the time I finished the movie, I had a better understanding of what that argument had really been about all those years ago. I also had a pounding headache, upset stomach, and massive anxiety. After some medicine and relaxation, I realized how glad I was that I'd watched the movie all the way to the end this time. 

linking up with Yeah#226Write.Me

House of Mess

It’s Saturday morning about halfway through the 31 day writing challenge.

I have a sinus infection that is making my head swim and the meds are making my stomach queasy.

My house is a disaster with dirty dishes and extra furniture sitting everywhere. I bought a few items from an estate sale. Normally this would be a fun chance to rearrange and reorganize, but with the sinus infection, it’s just one more mess.

The hubs and I had a good conversation last night about the way we communicate. You’d think after 29 years of marriage we’d have this down to a science, but we don’t. We still find ourselves struggling through the same disagreements we have had for all these years. Maybe I’m unrealistic, but I thought by now it wouldn’t be this way.

I’m still learning about me, and he’s still learning about him. We assume the other one is thinking the way we are, but assumptions are a very dangerous endeavor. I assume he thinks the worst of me, and he assumes I think the best of him. I remember in Technicolor detail some slights from the past that he has no memory of, while he remembers exactly where we were standing and his thought process just before he said that incredibly hurtful thing to me.

I’m working on that black and white mentality of mine, and he’s trying to really listen to what I say. I’m trying to let go of the fear I have in speaking my mind, and he’s trying to understand that his reactions have reinforced my fear.

We are a work in progress. We love each other, and we are good together, most of the time. But when sickness, stress, sleep deprivation, and messiness get in the way . . . anyone who’s married knows.

So I’m re-evaluating what I feel like doing and what really needs to be done. I’m looking at messes and reminding myself that this is one day. I’ll feel much better in a few more days and none of this will be nearly as difficult as it is right now.

Blessings from the house of mess this Saturday morning.



linking up with 31 Days of Writing

Assumptions and Love

Words are important to me. 

Clearly I process much of my information and thoughts by writing about them. Recently I've been working on recognizing the importance of the words "I love you". I've found myself in a dilemma. I was raised in house where those words were rarely uttered. I don't know why. We loved each other, but we just didn't say those words, so I grew up craving them.

My husband was brought up in an environment where his mother loved everyone! She was effusive, perhaps to the point that the words became meaningless. So he grew up wondering what exactly those words meant.

Over the years we've had countless conversations about that phrase. He is analytical. I am emotional. Sometimes this can create a distance between us -- a moat. I need to hear those words AND see them backed up with actions. He craves actions over words to express love. 

It's an interesting balance to work on. My need to hear those words is based in part on my fear of assumptions. Assumptions can be very dangerous things. I can't just assume that someone who has previously been kind, helpful, and loving will continue in that path. My experiences have taught me that people can change on a dime. 

With nearly 29 years of marriage together we still traverse this emotional mind field. But I'm choosing to have faith in those 29 years and all the ways he shows his love. This is a safe assumption. He loves me whether he says as often as I'd like or not.





linking up with Just Write

Small Things

A touch, a kiss, a nod, a hug. Small things that can change everything.

What happens when those small things disappear? It's a gradual realization. When was the last time you held hands? How did all those tender moments get lost in the day to day grind?

And sometimes it takes effort to retrieve them. A plan. And faith and trust. Reaching out recognizing you could face rejection. But not trying . . . that's even worse. 

So I make a small move. I rub his back while we talk in the kitchen. I stand on the step and wrap my arms around him. 

He pats me on the arm as he leaves the bed early in the morning. He kisses my cheek while I'm sleeping even though he doesn't understand it.

Small things. Those reminders of why we are together.


linking up with Five Minute Friday

Marriage, Commitment, and Survival

We sit in the counselor's office. We talk about 28 years of marriage. We are committed to each other, to God, to the marriage. Whatever the pc term is right now. We want the same things from marriage, but we keep hitting this wall where our conversations go in circles. Where we don't truly hear what the other is saying.

We are not heading for divorce. We just aren't in a good place right now. I want to feel that he has my back in the little things, and he wants the same thing. We're good on the big stuff. He's the first person I call or run to in a storm and vice versa. But the little day to day frustrations -- not so much.

She looked at us (this very young looking counselor) and said we should be proud. We are still together. Still trying to improve. Get closer. Even after all we've been through. We, our marriage, has survived.

And she's right. We have survived, but I want more, and so does he. We don't just want to survive. We want to thrive. We want to have joy in our relationship. I don't just want commitment. I want passion and real connection.

Commitment gets you through the hard places, so don't misunderstand. I KNOW commitment is vital in a marriage. 

I said I want him to be my best friend. I want to feel that I can say anything and know it won't change the fabric of our relationship. I want him to read between the lines, correctly. And I want to read between his lines as well. 

So we talk and we share. We hurt and are frustrated. And we keep dancing this imperfect dance of marriage.

Imperfect Prose

Talking

We talk a lot, my husband and I. We talk about our life together. Our lives before each other. Our hurts and struggles. Our children and work and the future. People tell us we communicate well, better than most couples.

So why are there still those "hot buttons" that we can't resolve or at least make a treaty to handle?

We talked with someone new last night. Between the two of us, we bring quite a bit of baggage and history to the table. We don't keep secrets, and we don't yell and scream, but we get separated by fear and expectations.

The new person listened and asked questions. There was no judgment, which was really good for both of us. It was a long, yet positive hour of reflection. 

Afterwards we went out to dinner and talked some more. At one point, he said, "It amazes me that you can access your emotions so easily." I reminded him I've been learning about it for years . . . and years. And I'm a woman. We wear our feelings on our sleeves. Men, on the other hand, are taught from the beginning to stuff them down. 

Deep intimacy is a difficult thing to maintain. Society tells us that true love comes and is followed by "happily ever after". That is a lie. True love grows and develops if you are willing to work at it and stay the course. And "happily ever after" only happens in Disney fairy tales. Read the real fairy tales and they are full of reality. Just like marriage. I love my husband every day and he loves me, but the liking can be difficult to maintain at times. 

No one warned me about the work of marriage. I went into this expecting sunshine and flowers and white picket fences. What I've gotten is a lot of work, tears, frustration, and moments of pure joy and acceptance. And maybe I shouldn't be surprised by that because anything worthwhile takes effort, and anyone who tells you differently is selling something.

Blessings.

Messy

I'm an introvert, married to an extrovert. Things can get really messy sometimes.

I like quiet. Spending time alone or just with my extrovert.

He likes noise. Spending time with me and lots of other people.

I need peace and distance from the crowd to rejuvenate myself.

He needs people and projects and activities to feel rejuvenated.

See? Messy.

So how do we do it? Sometimes we're are awesome together. Other times not so much. Right now is one of those other times.

Did I mention he's a fixer who just assumes he's right (and he is most of the time)?

Did I mention I'm a pleaser who just assumes I'm probably wrong (and usually I'm not)?

See? More messy.

It's a balancing act. Kind of like those guys who spin plates on the top of poles. And right now we have too many plates in the air, and I need a break, but he wants to grab another plate. 

We're going away for the weekend. This could be good or it could be very messy. 

I'll keep you posted.

linking up with nesting place

Sacraments

http://www.thelivingtruthfellowship.org/

You've been told all your life about the sanctity of Holy Communion. You've been told it's wrong to partake in it until certain rites have been completed. They've told you how wonderful it is. It will bring you closer to God and closer to those with whom you share it.

Imagine having holy communion shoved down your throat while you are being forcibly held down. Imagine they stuff the bread in your mouth and hold their hands over your mouth yelling at you to chew and swallow. Imagine they pour the wine down your throat in a river so you can't breathe or swallow, the whole time telling you to be quiet.

That's what child sexual abuse is like.

Then imagine that all the rites are completed and you are ready (according to the rules) to partake, and everyone around you is happy for you, but you feel dead inside and can't figure out why you're not reacting they way they told you would (should).

That's what sex after abuse is like.

I told my story in a ladies' class and then opened the floor for questions. One brave woman asked if the abuse had effected my sexual relationship with my husband. On the one hand I wanted to look at her and say, "Duh!", but on the other I wasn't sure exactly how to answer that question.

http://www.allsaintscville.org/

 Of course the answer is yes. In truth sex was one of the major reasons we went into marriage therapy years ago. And it's better . . . a lot better. But the truth of it is this, I will never know what it would have been like to give myself freely and without hindrance to my husband the first time, because that opportunity was stolen from me. 

It took a long time for things to improve in that area. We aren't where we want to be, but it's better than it was. It's been difficult for me to bring God into this area. My husband suggested praying before sex, and that seemed so odd to me. But why? Why is it any odder to pray before sex than it is to pray before a meal? Or communion? It helped me begin to put sex back in its proper perspective. It is a holy sacrament. A gift from God. What happened to me as a child didn't have anything in common with God's plan for sex. It was a perversion of the sacrament, but not because of me.

So I've been allowing God to redeem my sexual relationship with my husband. Because He is the only one who can.

linking up with imperfect prose and Write on Edge

imperfect prose on thursdays: standing firm

There are moments in marriage that are just so tough. Like watching my husband on the phone with his father, trying to get him to agree to 24/7 care in his home. Because he is dying, and we don't want him to die alone.

Hearing my husband yell into the phone, "You're not doing fine, dad! Your not!" And watching him break down sobbing because his father is making it so difficult to do this one small thing for him.

Watching my husband calm himself as his father finally agrees . . . at least temporarily. And then sitting on the sofa, rubbing his back, staring out at the waves on the beach, and knowing that this brief get away is going to end earlier than expected, because he needs to be back at home with his dad.

So we pack everything up, and as he loads the car, I stand on the balcony looking down at the beach as the waves crash, while a storm moves in, and I see the sand castle we built that morning still standing firm in the face of wind and waves. I cry at the thought of leaving it behind. Knowing all the while that it remains in my mind as a picture of this life, this marriage, this husband of mine -- standing firm in the face of wind and waves crashing all around us.

linking up with imperfect prose on thursdays and Write on Edge

Red Writing Hood -- It Might Just Save Your Life

The day they married it was hot and sunny. The Power of Love by Huey Lewis was the number one song. She remembered because it was one of his favorites. Looking back now it was comforting in a way. She couldn’t have known it then, but there was a bit of prophecy in that song. As she listened to the song on the radio now, it made her think. There’s a line in the song -- 

It's strong and it's sudden and it's cruel sometimes 

But it might just save your life. 

She certainly believed it (he) had saved her life.

When they’d met she didn’t even know her life was in danger. But then no one could have known. Looking at her then, she seemed to have everything together. Good grades, good friends, lots of extra-curricular activities. She wasn’t unattractive. Petite with thick, dark hair, and a big smile, she didn’t think much of herself and tended to be a little bit aloof – snobbish, he’d told her.

He wasn’t what she thought she wanted in a husband. She’d dreamed of wealth and glamour. He was more hiking and comfort, but he’d won her over in time. No one was more surprised than she was.

Now looking back and listening to that song again, she realized what a gift he had been. Without him, she might have lived in a box and never lifted the lid to see what she was missing. Without him she might have stayed a victim her entire life. Without him it might have been a very short life.

link up at Red Writing Hood

Twenty-five Years Already!?!

I don't usually post on Mondays, but this is a really special Monday. Today is our 25th wedding anniversary! First of all, yes I was a child bride! LOL! Actually dh (Alan) is younger than I am. It seems as if it is impossible that we have been married for 25 years. Alan asked last night what the defining moments in our marriage have been. You know, the best, the worst, the most memorable, the ones I'd just as soon forget. It's hard not to get nostalgic when faced with big moments.


This is what I know:
God gave me the opportunity to spend my adult life with Alan.
I would not be the person I am today were it not for Alan.
I have learned more than I have taught in this relationship.
I would not trade a single moment (although, some would've been nicer if I'd had a better understanding of life, myself and Alan).


As far as defining moments:
The obvious moments are moves, childbirth, sicknesses, but for me the defining moments are made up of smaller events.
Alan listening and not hating me when I told him the truth about how I felt about being a preacher's wife. 
Alan being supportive and relieved when I first acknowledged the abuse I suffered as a child. 
Alan laughing when I told him I was afraid he'd leave me. 
Alan making me smile and laugh and helping me learn to trust. 
Alan cheerfully putting up with stuffed animals, kids' music, kids' movies, and LOTS of faeries and hedgehogs!


Finally, the wonderful letter my darling husband wrote and read to me for our anniversary. (I got his permission to share it with you.) Yes we stood in the kitchen and cried, and it was lovely to feel so much love and appreciation from the man who love more than anyone in the world.


Alan, I love you more than I've ever loved anyone. You taught me what love really means -- that it's not just a word, it's a state of mind and a lifestyle. Thank you from the bottom of my heart!

*********

August 23, 2010

Melanie,

It’s been 25 years. Wow. Who’d a thought it would have gone by so fast. Java and Piglet have been gone for what, 10 years. Dd, good happy child to psycho and maybe (hope hope) to responsible, relatively happy adult. Guess I’m just glad there are no grand kids yet. I hope ds will change his mind about that. I bet he will and maybe dd will find someone to be happy with and have us some grand kids...lol.

I thought about getting a cute or funny card but that didn’t seem like it would be all that meaningful (not like this is) but I thought writing a little might be nice. I mean I do write my prison buddy, every week, so I guess I can write you once every 25 years, not that I’m making a promise to stick to that schedule of course, but I did think it might be nice.

First of all, it has been hard sometimes. I do get frustrated about intimacy, about your still thinking I’m going to be mad at you or do something to hurt you but I am very glad that seems to be less frequent and less intense. Of course all the abuse has been very hard on both of us but maybe we’re finally going to start to see some light at the end of the tunnel. I am very proud of you for taking time to take care of yourself (eating better and getting more exercise) and I still want you to be able to lose something (I don’t even know how much) but I am starting to believe that being happy and having some fun and doing productive things is a lot more important.

On the up side, its been nice to have a companion to talk to over the years and do things with (from time to time anyway...lol). I hope over the next 25 years, we’ll find more fun things to do and spend less time working through flashbacks and more time finding fun places to walk and people to help along the way.

I don’t know if God has a plan for us but maybe, if we just take it one day at a time and try to do a few good things each day, it will work out OK.

I would like to help you write that book. I would love to go on sabbatical somewhere for 6 months or so where we could get up in the morning and have tea or hot chocolate and sit on the porch swing watching the sun come up over the water (either a lake or ocean would be fine), enjoy cool breezes and sunsets, Bible Study and cribbage. I’m a little tired of the rat race but I think, once we get the house paid off and the kids kicked out (I mean educated) maybe we could do something like that or at least find a little cabin on a lake somewhere.

I don’t know what else I want but I do want to find out with you. You frustrate the heck out of me some days but you know, that’s life. We’ve put in 25 years to try to figure this out and I think, all considered, we're doing pretty good.

I have no idea what the next 25 year will bring but I’m hoping more time with each other, more time helping others and a lot of time visiting with our kids and grand kids. 

Enjoy life. Embrace hope. Fear nothing. Be happy. Love yourself. I love myself but only because I realize the truth. I am made in God’s image for His good works and so are you.

Maybe one day we’ll get a bigger dog like a German Shepherd or maybe not. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that we enjoy each day as a gift, do more yoga, talk more, read more, laugh more, have more time together, write more and help others more.

All and all, its been a good 25 years. Maybe, 25 years from now, I’ll be 72 and you’ll be 73 and we’ll have written several kids' books, we’ll have written that novel, we’ll have 4 or 5 grand kids and a nice cabin on the beach were we can have big family reunions. Heck, if we keep doing a little exercise and eating more fiber, maybe we will even make it to 75 years... hope so.

I do love you. I’m not perfect and you’re not perfect but somehow we seem pretty perfect together in our imperfection and that’s good enough for me.

Lot’s of love, happy thoughts, kisses, positive self images and good times ahead.

: >

XOXO

Alan