Month: October 2019

Fear & the Future

My recent emotions about Handsome are no doubt heightened by two other issues in my life. After 4 months of mammograms, ultrasounds, ductograms (yep, it’s a thing), MRIs and the like, I was told that I have a small mass in one breast that requires some attention.  I’m seeing a wonderful surgeon. We did an MRI-guided biopsy and, blessedly, it’s not cancer. Surgery may not be necessary unless my genetic testing reveals that I carry  either of the BRCA genes, but she is still withholding judgment on a definitive plan of action.

My thoughts on this? A part of me is scared, for sure, but I keep telling myself that it’s no big deal until the doctor tells me otherwise. It does, however, feel like just one more sucky thing to have dumped on my plate.

I have updated my advance directive to make my 86-year old mother my representative. I know she has my back, has fine judgment, and that she would carry out what I want. Could Handsome do the same? Today, probably, but I’m not putting those eggs in the Handsome basket right now. His judgement until recently has been alarmingly off, to say the least, so I’m better off to rely on my mom. It makes me sad to say that, but it is what it is. (For the record, it’s not that I think he’d have an itchy trigger finger on pulling the proverbial plug. Quite the opposite, in fact. I fear he wouldn’t pull it if it needed to be done.)

To be fair, Handsome has stepped up in the way that I deserve and need from him. He attended all of my appointments, even taking off work to do so. He sat with me and held my hand while the IV team turned me into a human pin cushion last week. He has been gentle and thoughtful and caring.

It could be worse. We’re catching whatever this is early. I’m in a city with fabulous health care options. I do have great insurance and a supportive – if often dimwitted – husband. I don’t want to board the “Why me?” train, but c’mon… sex addict husband, HPV, and now this? My gypsy great grandmother believed that bad things happen in threes, so maybe this is the end of the bad luck? Maybe I’m due for whatever good luck is out in the ether? I hope so because if that whole “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle” thing is true then I’m afraid someone upstairs has grossly misjudged my capacity to cope.

I’m also turning 50 tomorrow. It’s fine. I’m not exactly bummed about it (cake!), but I’ve been more reflective than usual. Half my life is in the can. I think I’m a kind and decent human. I’m happy with my achievements and accomplishments. I enjoy my job and find it rewarding. I have two healthy and great kids. My mom is still here and reasonably healthy. I have everything material that I need and a whole bunch of stuff I simply wanted. Our cat doesn’t hate me. The only thing I long for is a mentally healthy and stable partner. Handsome is coming up on two years of sexual sobriety so there is a part of me that feels like a jerk for complaining, but I’ve seen firsthand that sobriety isn’t the whole enchilada. It’s the baseline essential item,but I need more from him.

Handsome knows this. He just had a surgery that will keep him home and off work for 3-4 months. He is pouring himself into his recovery work. Some things are going better than others (Anger management work = good, Step work = not so much), but he’s dedicating serious time to it each day. He’s going to try ADHD meds and see if they make any difference. He’s getting to more meetings and making calls. I am starting to see him shift back to a healthy place. He had the epiphany a few days ago that it’s not my job to ensure he doesn’t get “hangry”. Seems like a no brainer to me, but you’d have thought he invented the wheel. He realized that for all of his adult life he has abdicated responsibility for his own needs and unilaterally delegated that responsibility to others – some who were incapable of meeting those needs and others who simply aren’t responsible for them. He was really sad and frankly embarrassed as he realized he’s been acting like a demanding toddler for years.  It’s hard to see him realize what a mess he’s been (and for how long) but if this leads to some lasting growth and improvement it will be the best birthday gift he could give me.

Intent

Image result for intent

Does the intent of our partner matter to the betrayed? To me – others may differ – the answer is “no” with one initial exception.

Handsome and I have been doing a “Transparency of the Day” exercise to improve our communication and, frankly, to get him to exercise his integrity muscles. The idea is for each of us, every day, to very briefly share something that we are feeling or that happened and that may not be obvious or known to the other. At least twice a week Handsome is supposed to share a transparency specifically related to his recovery. Most days the exercise is quite helpful. On a few days the transparency or the resulting discussion has turned into an argument, but I’m seeing that the arguments usually stem not from the transparency shared, but from the editorializing that follows.

Handsome was recently officially diagnosed with ADHD. He is 57, and the understanding that he has lived with this throughout his life – and the impacts it has likely had on everything from his distaste for school to his interpersonal relationships and his addiction – has been somewhat overwhelming for him. In particular, the fact that ADHD is so readily treatable with a variety of meds led him to sadly question whether his self-esteem, judgment, and impulse control would have been any better had he been appropriately diagnosed long ago. He wasn’t throwing out the ADHD diagnosis as an excuse – in fact he noted that it was no excuse at all – but rather he was sharing deep sense of sadness over “what could have been” if he knew and was treated earlier.

Looking back, I’m not quite sure where the word “intent” popped into the discussion, but it did. (Again, the transparency wasn’t the genesis of the debate, the discussion that followed was…) Handsome opined that I should take his intent into account in assessing his actions. I told him that his intent is utterly irrelevant to me except for my initial decision to stay and to try to re-pair with him.

Why did his intent matter then? I had to believe that he did not intend to hurt or to destroy me with his acting out (even though the harm he caused was an obvious and inevitable consequence to anyone with half a brain not mired in disordered thinking). If I believed that my husband meant to hurt me, or that his behavior was vindictive and targeted at me, I would have left. It was clear to me though that wasn’t the case as so much of Handsome’s conduct focused on hiding his secrets and keeping me from finding out the truth about him. He could not have been trying to hurt me because he never wanted me to know.

After that initial threshold decision though? I could care less what his intent is. The analogy that I drew was as follows:

– If you shoot me in the heart on purpose, I’m dead.

– If you shoot me in the heart by accident, I’m still dead.

To me, the injured party, the result is the same either way. Dead is dead. The shooter’s intent is utterly irrelevant to me. It may matter to the shooter, law enforcement, or other people, but I’m still dead no matter what.

The same is true with betrayal trauma and recovery. I really don’t care what Handsome’s intent was in striking up a conversation with the Flame. It doesn’t change the harm to me. I’m not going to try to invent some reasonableness test based on his disordered thinking. I’m not going to waste time trying to justify or figure out the crazy. I can only judge his actions for what they actually are, not what he intended them to be.