On Raids and Handcuffs One Year Later

One year ago today I was awakened to the crashing sound of my front door being battered in, screams of "Police, hands up" and dark figures in my bedroom with guns drawn.  Just writing that sentence still takes my breath away.  Never in my wildest imagination could I anticipate that this could or would happen to me.  I sometimes thought of the possibility of the police executing a search warrant because of my ex-husband's online search for pornographic images of children.  But to break down my door with an army of officers with guns drawn?  This was preposterous to me then and still is.  My ex-husband was not suspected as a terrorist, murderer or rapist.  The use of extreme force in our situation stuns me still.

I pulled my robe around my shaking body as I was escorted from my bedroom to my dining room table, where my daughter was already seated with an officer at her side.  I waited while the "army" went to my husband's room and woke him up.  He had slept through the melee that intruded on our home prior to the sun coming up.  They brought him downstairs and sat him at the breakfast table where his interrogation began.

A detective introduced himself and waived the search warrant at me but refused to allow me to read it.  He began questioning my daughter and I about internet file sharing and when we asked him what that was, seemed satisfied that we were not participants in the crimes he was investigating.  So we sat for hours, with at least one officer with us at all times.  I had to ask for a glass of water, in my own home; I had to ask permission to go to the bathroom and then be escorted by an officer, in my own home.  I had to ask for my glasses, still by my bedside, I could not just go and get them.  I watched as hordes of officers tracked mud through my home--carting boxes in and out.  I was not allowed to have my phone until it had been cleared by the computer forensic team so had no way of reaching out to anyone.  This was America, was it not?  How could this possibly be happening to me.  It seems surreal still.

The detectives returned the next day and placed my ex-husband under arrest.  Standing beside my distraught daughter in our foyer, I watched as they placed handcuffs on him and listed the charges against him.  I watched as they walked him out the front door and placed him in the squad car. I watched as the car sped away and knew the familiar route they would take to the county jail, a short ten minutes away.  I watched, still in disbelief and shock.  For all my fears and concern about his involvement in child pornography, I never imagined this day.

The past year has been so difficult; his criminal case is still unfolding, our divorce, a nightmarish experience, has been finalized, and my kids and I have struggled to work through the devastation visited upon us.  Not often, but sometimes, I find myself seeing the experience through my ex-husband's eyes.  His career has been destroyed, his freedom is very much at stake, he is estranged from his children and he faces certain financial ruin.  I feel tremendous empathy for him, which is better than the bitterness and anger I have been consumed by for far too many months.

But today, I can't get the image of him being placed in handcuffs out of my mind; today the memories of the raid are so fresh and real and still traumatic.  When I remember the sweet man I thought I knew, I grieve even more for the very sick man he has become.  And I see the handcuffs as a symbol of the disease or obsession or compulsion of addiction that has bound him for most of his life.

Today I will pause and remember and then be grateful.  In the past twelve months, I have learned that gratitude has the power to demolish fear and anxiety and from a trauma perspective helps ground me in the present rather than in the memories of those traumatic moments.  Today I am grateful that the knot I lived with in the pit of my stomach for over three decades has disintegrated.  Today I am grateful for healing that is evident in my own life and in my children's lives.  Today I am grateful for life and possibilities, for the warm breezes that blow through my window and through my life.  Today I am alive and I am free, for that I give thanks.

Under the Shade of the Tree of Self-Knowledge

My inbox today contained two posts from different bloggers regarding trees and knowing self.  Seems too much of a coincidence to ignore, particularly since I have spent much of the past days writing about just this topic. 

Richard Rohr, a Franciscan who writes of spirituality, wrote about St. Catharine of Siena, a church mystic.  She pictured the spiritual life as a large tree--the trunk of the tree is love, the core is patience, the roots are self-knowledge and the branches are discernment.  "In other words, says Catharine, love does not happen without patience, self-knowledge, and discernment."  Father Rohr goes on to say that "Today we have little encouragement toward honest self-knowledge or training in spiritual discernment from our churches.  We prefer the seeming clarity of black-and-white laws.    By nature, most of us are not very patient.  All of which means love is not going to be very common." (Richard Rohr, Radical Grace:  Daily Meditations, pp. 184-185.)

Then a favorite poet sent this verse today:

under the trees

"it had been a lifetime for others --

and now she wanted to know herself.

sitting under the trees,

she asked herself how she was feeling

and she began to really listen."

(terri st. cloud, Bone Sigh Arts)

Knowing self . . . loving self . . . having patience with self . . .  discerning truth about self in relation to others and the world . . . kind of foreign concepts to most of us.  It is preferable to rely on the old "tried and true" or "black-and-white" laws or truisms.  Deny self . . . others need to come first . . . too much knowledge is not a good thing . . . and on and on it goes.

And yet the Golden Rule tells us that we are to love others as we love ourselves.  Seems to me we can't truly love others until we learn how to love ourselves.  And loving self is far more than just an attitude or pithy saying, it flows from knowing self, having patience with our foibles and humanity and accepting who and what we are.  It requires listening to our inner voice--connecting with our gut and finding the time to really KNOW.  Truly knowing and loving self is a vital prerequisite to truly knowing and loving another.  But so often we get this backwards, preferring to spend more time getting acquainted with another than truly knowing ourselves.

Like Maggie in the Runaway Bride we acquire a long string of failed or broken relationships because we spend so much time trying to convince others in our lives that we are exactly what they want and need.  We focus on the other to the exclusion of ourselves and then are shocked when our relationships fail to live up to our expectations or hopes.

So today, I'm going to kick my shoes off, spread a blanket under the shade of my tree of self-knowledge and just listen.  I'm going to ask myself deep questions such as "Who am I?" "What do I really want to do with my life?"  "What dreams have I lost somewhere along the way?  "What do I value and believe?"  "Who do I want to be when I grow up?"  And . . . I'm going to listen, really listen to my own heart.  And I am going to offer patience, compassion and love to my fractured and broken but incredibly beautiful and worthy self.

A Circuitous Route to Acceptance

Dates and anniversaries mean something to me and I am facing some big ones in the next weeks.  It has been a momentous year--one that I hope never to repeat.  Approximately one year ago a cataclysmic event brought multiple imposed changes to my life--changes that I did not want, did not anticipate and could not prevent.  I find myself in a pensive mood most days as I reflect back on the unbelievable events of the past twelve months.  Often the year just seems surreal; the shock of all that has happened stuns me still.

In the immediate aftermath of the raid on our house and my ex-husband's arrest on charges of possession of child pornography, I walked around in that wonderful state of denial.  I was not denying the reality of what had happened but I was numb to the pain of this new "normal."  I recall saying that "numb is wonderful," that is until it wore off!  I have circled around and through the stages of grief; denial, anger, bargaining and depression have been my constant companions.

Frankly, anger has been my favorite stage.  Anger is just so empowering--it puffs me up with strength and righteous indignation.  I do not feel weak and powerless when I am angry; I don't feel the helplessness that I felt when the police broke down our door before the sun came up on a cold February day, when I am angry.  Unfortunately anger masks the deeper emotions underneath--emotions that are not empowering and that can quickly plunge me into the depths of despair.

I read recently that blaming anger is a "negative way to keep the old person around." (Carnes, P., Betrayal Bonds, p. 142).  It creates a negative intimacy with someone who has betrayed us.  As long as I angrily blame my ex-husband for the devastation that he brought on our family, I am still connected to him in a negative way.  Ouch.

So, I am learning to let go--to open my fist and release my anger about the past, to allow it to fall from my fingers like sand.  And as I let go, acceptance comes.  "Acceptance is about fully acknowledging this reality and my feelings about it." (Reflections of Hope, p. 137).  Like tumblers falling in place in a lock mechanism, acceptance is sinking into the deepest part of me.  But acceptance means that I must grieve more deeply what I thought I had in my life. "To finally grieve means to accept that your life did not turn out the way you wanted, the way you deserved or the way it should have." (Carnes, P., Betrayal Bonds, p. 142).  And grief is such hard work.

But with acceptance comes peace.  Each week I recite the Serenity Prayer with my recovery group:
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.  With acceptance comes serenity.  There is still pain, there is still grief and I am certain there will be anger and depression again.  But I am appreciating this circuitous route to acceptance.  I am appreciating the gift of serenity that only comes through acceptance.

The Tyranny of "Not Enough"

In a world obsessed with flawless beauty, wealth, popularity and intelligence
the message received is always that of "not enough."
Not enough money
Not enough beauty
Not enough intelligence
Not enough popularity.
Always not enough
Always missing the mark
Always falling short of expectations.
At home, at work, at church and at school
the message is ever "not enough."
In friendships, marriages, and work relationships
always "not enough."
It's like a curse written on my forehead
"You.Are.Not.Enough!"

I was not enough in my home of origin.
The rules always changed so it was impossible to be enough.
I was not enough in my marriage
But then I did not know that it was impossible to be enough for him.
The churches I grew up in told me that I was not enough spiritually;
Taught me that I was less than a worm.
Made sure I knew that I was not holy enough for God.
Religious workplaces have told me that I am not enough
Because of my gender
Or because of my last name.
My culture tells me that I am not enough . . .
Not thin enough
Not popular enough
Not pretty enough
Not sophisticated enough
Not successful enough.
It's like an epitaph written on my yet-to-be-needed tombstone:
"She.Was.Not.Enough!"

My head knows that these values and messages are wrong.
But oh my heart bleeds today with my "not enoughness."
I struggle to feel enough
It is a monstrous effort.
Because the list of 'Not enoughs" is endless.

We live in a culture of scarcity
The fear of never enough is pervasive.
It's time for a radical revolution
It's time for each of us to stand in our own enoughness.
We are enough simply because we are.
The revolution has begun in me
But I need to be reminded when I begin sinking
In the quicksand of "not enough"
I need you to pull me out before I am sucked under;
Just as you will need me when you get caught in that wretched swamp.
We need each other to fight against "Not Enough."
He is a formidable enemy.
And he does not give up easily.

 
I want to wear a necklace that simply declares
"I.Am.Enough!"
A strand of shiny gold around my neck with the engraved words "Enough" 
Dainty but strong; beautiful but bold; elegant but determined.
It would be my personal statement of enoughness
My personal declaration of war on the tyranny of not enough.

And Then Came Grace

It was early on a Sunday morning that she came into our lives.  We had eagerly anticipated her arrival but nothing could prepare us for that moment when she quietly entered our world.  I have given birth to three children but have never seen a birth, until this one.  The experience was overwhelming.  Her mother labored and her father encouraged and coached and she came.  After hours of anxious waiting, sitting by her mother's side and watching the monitors, listening to her heartbeat, and worrying about the potential for complications, she came.  A small, petite little girl with a mass of black curls and a squeaky cry--she came.  And our world will never, ever be the same.

I well remember the rush of overwhelming love that I felt when my children were born but I was frankly unprepared for the same experience with this birth.  The months leading up to her birth were incredibly painful and chaotic for our family.  I rejoiced in her impending birth but it just didn't seem real to me, until she came.  Our family had been torn apart by scandal and divorce and while I was very happy she was "in the oven," I couldn't wrap my mind around the reality of her existence.  So much had been lost, so much stripped away--maybe I was afraid to hope, afraid to believe that she was real.  Until she came.  When I saw her tiny head emerging from her mother's womb and then her entire body slid into my world, I thought my heart would explode with love and a fierce need to protect and care for this tiny little girl.  I was smitten, completely and irrevocably--she had my heart wrapped around her tiny little finger.

The cord was wrapped around her neck and had to be cut before she was fully born so rather than place her on her mommy's tummy, she was put in the infant warmer.  My son and I stood on either side of her, whispering words of comfort and welcome and soothing her kitten-cries.  She calmed instantly at the sound of her Papa's voice and wrapped her tiny fingers around his finger and his heart.  My first-born son with his first-born child and I was there to see this life-changing, dramatic moment in their lives.  Nearly 31 years after he made me a parent, I was there when he became one and it was priceless.  My own baby girl stood across the room watching and comforting her sister-in-law and I was reminded of another delivery room many miles away when she came into our lives.  And I remembered the sleepy eyes full of wonder when her two brothers were introduced to her.  Life has a way of cycling back and giving us an opportunity to re-experience key moments in another context and we celebrate the circle of life.

I learned of my impending grand-parenthood just two weeks into the most horrendous experience of my life.  Like Naomi who left her homeland with a husband and two sons and returned as a childless widow, my future had just been dramatically and tragically changed as the result of the actions of another.  As a widow without sons, Naomi's prospects for a future were bleak and she knew it.  She would be dependent upon the generosity of others for basic survival.  And like Naomi, I was at that time completely dependent upon the generosity of others for my basic survival.  So when the welcome committee came to greet Naomi by her given name, which means "pleasant," she informed them that her name had been changed to "Mara" which means "bitter."  She said, "I left here full of life, and God has brought me back with nothing but the clothes on my back.  Why would you call me Naomi [pleasant]?" (Ruth 1:21).  I fully identified with Naomi's sentiments.

But Naomi had an ally--a faithful and loving daughter-in-law--who left her own home to accompany her mother-in-law to a strange, new land.  The bitterness of loss and impoverishment were not the end of Naomi's story.  Her daughter-in-law met a prominent man in the community, married him and gave birth to a son.  We are told that Naomi cared for the baby--that she took him in her arms, cuddled him and cooed over him--so much so that the women in the neighborhood began calling him her baby boy.  Her bitterness was once again turned to joy and the end of her life was pleasant and full of promise.  So when my precious daughter-in-law called to tell me that the pregnancy test was positive, I immediately thought of Naomi and the promise of a better end to my story sprang up.

When the ultrasound revealed that this precious promise was a little girl, her Papa announced that her name had to have "grace" in it.  Her existence was the perfect demonstration of grace to our family still reeling from such devastation.  Her chosen first name is a derivative of "Elizabeth," which means "oath of God."  It also has the connotation of joy and great happiness in Hebrew and other variations of the name refer to a noble one or one "consecrated by God."  So our tiny little girl is a consecrated promise from God that brings great joy and happiness to our hearts--she is grace personified.

The morning after her birth, I looked at my personalized daily Scripture card and read the following verse:

"Cherished Brenda, this is what the Lord who created you says, 'Fear not, for I have redeemed you, I have called you by name; you are mine.  You are precious and honored in my sight.'  The Almighty God, Your Creator, Elohim." (Isaiah 43:1-7)

My eyes welled with tears as I remembered the absolute delight and profound love I felt for Gracie the moment I saw her.  God feels this way about me and about you!  Within an hour of her birth, two lab technicians came to draw blood from her microscopic veins.  They were not successful on the first try so were desperately searching for a vein in her small hand.  I was ready to clobber them--I felt so fiercely protective of this little girl.  God feels the same way about me and about you!  And just as Gracie's name has great meaning to us, my name is known by God and has meaning to him as does yours.

In the days since her birth, I find that I cannot get enough of her.  We frequently "fight" over who gets to hold her, although those fights disappear when it comes time to change her diaper.  But we long to hold her and love her--she cannot do a single thing for herself or for us but we still are addicted to her.  As I hold her close in my favorite rocking chair, I know without a doubt that I would gladly give my life to protect hers.  And there is absolutely nothing more important than rocking my sweet Grace.  And God feels the same about me and about you!

Gracie at 6 pounds 15 ounces is profound statement that my story does not end with disgrace, scandal and tragedy.  I have a future and it is bright with promise because grace has come.

Choosing to be True

Searching for a job in a depressed economy is, well, depressing.  But this week a prospective employer asked me to do something that just did not feel right.  I wrestled briefly with the ethics of what they were asking.  It was not anything immoral or illegal but it did involve a level of deception.'

In the end, the choice was a no-brainer for me.  I chose to be true to myself.  I chose to be authentic.  I have lived with enough deception to last a lifetime.

When I was in 9th grade I won several speech contests sponsored by the Rotary Club.  The speech was to focus on the Rotarian 4-Way Test, a moral code for personal and business decisions.  The four questions of the test are:

1. Is it the truth?
2. Is it fair to all concerned?
3. Will it build goodwill and better friendships?
4. Will it be beneficial to all concerned?

I had forgotten the 4-Way Test until this morning when I was wrestling with the request from a potential employer.  By choosing to be true to myself--to follow my own moral compass--I am choosing myself and reconnecting with my gut.  I am honoring my own true self.  And, I got the job anyway!

Love Languages, Emotional Needs & Addiction

My former husband and I tried marriage therapy once.  The therapist asked us to complete several inventories, one of which was designed to identify our primary love languages.  Dr. Gary Chapman's book, The Five Love Languages:  The Secret to Love That Lasts, identifies five primary ways that we feel loved.  He identified these "languages" after reviewing his case notes from over 12 years counseling couples with marital difficulties.  We feel loved primarily through our love language.  The difficulty we experience in a relationship comes because we tend to express love in the same way that we feel love.  For example, if my love language is quality time (which it is), I express love for my significant other when I spend time with him.  If his primary love language is words of affirmation, no matter how much time I spend with him, he is not going to feel loved, unless I "speak" his language.  Its a simplistic tool, I know, but a place to start in any relationship.

The love languages:

1. Quality time
2. Words of affirmation
3. Acts of service
4. Receiving gifts
5. Physical touch

My friend, Dr. Kelly Flanagan wrote recently about the five core emotional needs that we enter marriage with.  These needs develop primarily from what we did not receive in our families of origin and we look to the marital relationship to have them met:

1. Connectedness:  The desire to feel emotionally connected, engaged and intimate with our partner.
2. Priority:  The desire to feel like our partner has made us their top priority.
3. Affirmation:  The desire to be accepted and validated.
4. Equality:  The desire to have equal influence and control in our relationship.
5. Freedom:  The desire to maintain an independent identity within the marriage.

Again, two of the five jump out at me, not to diminish or dismiss the others but from a personal standpoint they are very significant.  I entered my marriage longing for connectedness--a need that was not met in my family of origin.  A close second need for me would have been priority.  My ex-partner's emotional needs were for affirmation and freedom (at least that is what I believe he would say if asked).  In a perfect world our marriage would have thrived had I affirmed and validated his worth and importance to me while giving him the freedom he needed to maintain an independent identity.  And he would have made me his top priority, spending time connecting with me on a deep emotional and spiritual level.  In a perfect world--or even a semi-perfect world.

But enter a hidden and secret dimension--one that my ex-partner defended and protected to the very end--sexual compulsions, addiction and pedophilia.

Dr. Bill Struthers has written an excellent book on the impact of pornography (adult not child) on the male brain.  From his research he found that when men watch a pornographic video, "The brain reacts in such a way as if [he] were the person engaged in the sexual act.  Viewing a pornographic movie creates a neurological experience whereby a person vicariously participates in what he is watching." (Wired for Intimacy: How Pornography Hijacks the Male Brain. 2009. P. 96).  According to Struthers, when masturbation is combined with the viewing, a new neural pathway is established without the presence of a partner and the man attaches to the image rather than to a person.  So in essence, "Pornography corrupts the ability to be intimate." (p. 45) The user has learned to substitute the quick and easy fix that pornography provides for the emotional and relational work that true intimacy requires.

Patrick Carnes, the pioneer of sex addiction treatment indicates that "Addicts withhold a major portion of themselves--a pain deeply felt, but never expressed or witnessed.  They do not trust nor do they become intimate with others, especially their families." (Out of the Shadows: Understanding Sexual Addiction, 2001. P. 6)   Furthermore, their "Secret lives become more real than their public lives." (p. 15).  He has likened cybersex (Internet pornography, instant messaging, chat rooms, etc.) to crack coccaine--all it may take is one exposure for an addiction to occur.

So what does all this have to do with love languages and emotional needs?

Simply this:  when an addiction/compulsion is present, particularly a sexual addiction, love languages and emotional needs--traditional marriage therapy, self-help books, and the relationship itself--take a backseat.  The Addiction is in the driver's seat.  And Addiction is a terrible driver and will end up killing the relationship if he/she is not stopped.  Addiction is a progressive disease and it steals connectedness, priority, affirmation, equality and freedom.  It speaks its own language and it is not one of love.


Each week in my recovery group I hear stories from men and women married to an addict and their relationship woes are so similar to mine.  It really is amazing to me because for so long, I felt alone and isolated.  But these men and women work hard to maintain good communication, to affirm, to connect with their significant other.  And the tears and sorrow they feel is because it is a losing battle.  You cannot connect with someone who is not available for connection.  And you will not be a priority when the mistress Addiction is the driver of the relationship.  She must be dealt with first and dealing with her is not pretty or clean.