Let's Do This Thing 4: Now

I don't know what happened.  I really, honestly don't.  I'd like to say I reached the lovely state of insight I described at the end of my last post in a blinding flash, changed my behavior, and became soul-full as I related to my husband.  I didn't.  Self-awareness comes in dribs and drabs.  I was still stuck, but I did see dribs of my part, and I was getting closer.

One month to the day, the silence ended.  We talked.  It didn't escalate, it didn't get ugly, it didn't end in declarations of undying love or relationship quick fixes (if we just do XXXX, everything will be fine!).  We didn't even have make-up sex.  I can't remember reaching any real conclusions.  But we had a true conversation about what was really going on.  He broke the impasse and I brought half my soul to the table (more of a nectarine than a mango-progress not perfection).  I don't know if he brought any soul fruit, but he felt THERE and I could see the man I married.

It may feel odd to someone reading this that I didn't inquire on whether he brought soul fruit.  In early sobriety, we get rid of all the alcohol in the house to avoid temptation.  Asking about his soul fruit could open the door to getting in his business (what do you mean you only brought an apricot?! I brought a nectarine! Nevermind I wasn't willing to share my prize mango yet.).  I left that alone.

I have to give credit to a friend in AA who talked this stuff through with me.  She'd heard the Readers Digest version of my marriage during the month o' silence, particularly the struggle with the verbal abuse "victim" label.  The week after it ended I gave her the 30 second update of hope and my part after a meeting.  "I've been thinking of you", she said, "and I wanted to tell you: you can't forget that alcoholism played a part here."

I had a 45 minute drive home, and thought about that.  My alcoholism was turned inward.  I'm a high functioning, high bottom drunk.  No one knew how bad it was.  Not my mother, not my best friend, not my husband.  He was the closest, and perhaps if he'd grown up with alcohol in his house he might have put two and two together.  But I encouraged him to be gone: mowing the lawn, dragging the driveway, taking the kids out, going downstairs to the man cave.  I wanted him out of the way so I could play with that bitch Ism.   I had to own that.  I can see how he could feel ignored, because he was certainly side-lined.  And if you think about it, he had to assume that was me, not the disease,

He changed.  He committed to counseling.  I heard words come out of his mouth I never thought I'd hear.  I stopped reading books, looking to label, and try me best to stay out of his head.  His thoughts and motivations are his business, just as mine are my business.  We work exercises our counselor gives us.  We talk every day, sometimes a lot, sometimes a little. I can be soul-full at home.  When it starts to feel iffy, I can stay that way.  It reminds me of when I took Librium to actually get a few days of sobriety to hold onto.  Just a little help to break the cycle, and I could start the sober journey.  Same thing.  It's been over a month now, we've made 30 days.  It hasn't been this good in a decade.  Yes, I do love him, yes, I do want to stay married this way.

Ultimately, I couldn't get divorced until I'd given 110%, everything I had with everything I am.  As long as I reacted like that 10 year old to my father, I hadn't given everything because I hadn't changed anything.  As long as I reacted, I wasn't being everything I am.  Until I could get real, I couldn't let go.  Getting real for me means being able to identify what I need and want on a moment to moment basis and asking for it.  And that what I want for and from my husband as well.  What is best for each other.  One day at a time.  A lifetime of days, strung together.