The Death of a Relationship

In re-reading my journal recently, I found this old entry that I want to share; maybe it will mean something to you, my readers.

What is it like when a relationship dies?

When love turns to apathy

When passion quietly flickers out?

Can you point to a specific day

or catalog one event that hammers the final nail in the coffin?

 

Maybe sometimes this is the case.

 

But it seems more often the effects

of many days and nights spent alone

of responsibilities and interests that take priority.

The culmination of fights and disagreements over petty things

While the elephant in the room is overlooked.

 

He wants solitude; she wants intimacy.

He wants words of affirmation; she wants quality time.

He focuses on work and career; she focuses on hearth and home.

The kids grow up and leave the nest.

Life doesn’t change for him; it changes radically for her.

 

All those years of runny noses, dirty diapers, squabbles and money woes;

One thing kept her going:  they would one day return to a world of two.

One day the house would be theirs alone once more.

One day there would be time to rediscover what drew them together in the beginning.

One day they would have the time to fall in love all over again.

 

Maybe sometimes this is the case.

 

But not if he wants solitude and she wants intimacy.

She can’t affirm and speak lovingly when her heart is breaking with loneliness.

His focus is still outward looking; but while she surveys the horizons of possibilities and potential, her heart is still anchored to home and hearth—to him.

The kids are gone, making lives for themselves.

She desperately wants life to change for them but he is content with the life he has created for himself.

 

What is it like when a relationship dies?

Death. Solitude. Aloneness. Loneliness. Sadness.

There is no body to lovingly put to rest and memorialize—no closure.

There is no date to mark the end, just an endless maze of days trying to breathe, trying to survive the crushing grief.

And not being able to talk to the one person you want most to talk to:  the one who has been the most significant person in your life; the one you are used to going to with joys and sorrows.

 

How does one move forward while still tethered to deadness?

How does one learn to live as a single while still married?

How does one create a new life when the old one is what you want?

How does one survive emotionally when reminded daily of what has been lost?

I don’t know, do you?

 

 

Keep Going!

My father died near the end of 2020 and my mother's grief was incalculable.  When she lost him, her will to live died and was buried with him.  They spent 66 contentious years together in a marriage marked by anger, recrimination, and abuse.  She married my dad when she was 15 and was so conditioned to the dysfunction and violence of their relationship that she did not know what to do without it.  She died ten months to the day after his death,

Patrick Carnes coined the phrase "betrayal bond," to describe the relationship between someone who experiences trauma at the hands of a trusted other and the perpetrator.  The term is used to describe the negative bond and strong attachment that develops between an abused person and their abuser or between an individual and a toxic system or process that is harmful to them.  A betrayal bond can be very difficult to break free from because the experience with the toxic person or system is not continually negative--there are kindnesses or positive aspects to the relationship.  My mom certainly had a betrayal bond to my dad and the toxic system they created.

My siblings and I were not immune to the toxicity of my parents' marriage and all four of us became trauma-bonded to the process and to them. The system demanded that we choose sides between our parents.  Allegiances were drawn based on who we supported at any given point in time.  After dad's death there was hope that the system could be destroyed but the patterns of behavior were too entrenched.  By the time my mother died, all hope of vanquishing the toxic process was gone and I found myself standing alone after my siblings made hurtful and destructive decisions.  Thankfully, years of therapy had helped me to break my own trauma bonds but her funeral was still shocking and shameful.  Unfortunately the estrangements between my siblings and I continues unabated.

Mom was the youngest in her large family as well as the youngest of dad's siblings; she was the last woman standing in both families.  She was the end of an era--the last of her generation.  She often spoke of her intense loneliness, lamenting "they all left me."  I understood what she was saying but simply could not reframe it to her satisfaction. She had children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren along with nieces, nephews and friends.  But she was so lonely.  In spite of the best support we could provide, she felt abandoned by those of her generation who preceded her in death.

While I am grateful to no longer be the prisoner of a toxic system, I confess to a level of loneliness and like my mother, lament the loss of sibling relationships.  It is a bittersweet experience--gratitude for freedom, and grief that I am left alone.  I do not think these competing emotions are exclusive or unique to me.  Freedom often creates loss, and we grieve.  Freedom and loss are really two sides of the same coin.  I'm reminded of Harriet Tubman's urging escaping slaves to keep going, no matter how frightening or dangerous their journey. Her message is appropriate to those of us running away from toxic or hurtful relationships:  "If you hear the dogs, keep going.  If you see the torches in the woods, keep going. Don't ever stop.  Keep going.  If you want a taste of freedom, keep going."

Life After Loss

To my readers:  it has been a while since I have paid attention to this blog and for that, I apologize. Life has been busy with a move to the Pacific Northwest, which entailed a new job, house and lifestyle.  Oh, and we did have a pandemic, which disrupted much of life for all of us.  I’m happy to be back and with my impending retirement from full-time employment, look forward to being more active in the things I care deeply about. Thanks for reading and commenting on this blog--I really appreciate it.

Two years ago this month, life as we knew it ended.  A virus that originated in a lab in China swept the globe, killing over six million people worldwide, to date.  “Normal” disappeared and we were forced to adapt to life during a global pandemic. We wore masks, went to school and work from home, streamed a lot of TV, disinfected everything and became reacquainted with our homes and families.  We were isolated, stressed and anxious and many of us lost loved ones and were not even able to say a proper goodbye or celebrate their lives with our community.  We are cautiously optimistic that the pandemic is nearly over, although there always seems to be another variant that could create another surge and further restrictions in order to contain it.

There is a four-letter word that completely describes what the world community has experienced over the past two years: LOSS.  Loss is almost always unexpected and intrudes itself into our lives in many forms—betrayal by a loved one, illness, financial difficulties, a global pandemic, war, death—to name a few.  So, what do we know about this dreaded four-letter word?

Loss is grievous:  when we lose someone or something, we grieve, we lament. To “lament” simply means that we cry out in grief over the thing/person that was lost.  It is our legitimate reaction to the sudden absence of someone or something that was dear to us.  But some of us fear grief—we just want to pretend that we are not saddened when we are deprived of someone or something dear, so we gloss over it, stuff it or simply refuse to acknowledge the loss.  Failure to process through a loss will compound our reaction to future losses—ungrieved losses stack up and will accompany any new losses we may experience.

Loss changes everything:  whatever form loss takes, it will change everything in our life, whether we want it to or not.  It does not ask our permission before it marches in and disrupts our lives.  Both of my parents died within ten months of each other during the pandemic (though not from Covid).  No one can be fully prepared for the experience of losing one’s parent(s) until it happens.  It changes the rhythm of family interactions (no more morning talks with mom while commuting to work), our relationship with our past and creates a vulnerability for our future.  We suddenly become the next generation likely to die—the layer of protection from death that we foolishly believe our parents provided is gone.  Any opportunity to resolve conflicts, get vital health or family history or have just one more conversation is permanently gone.

Loss disrupts “normal” if there is such a thing.  We are creatures of habit—most of us enjoy the familiarity of our daily routines, we feel secure when life hums along as we believe it should.  When loss marches into the front door of our lives, “normal” exits through the back.  We are forced to grieve the original loss along with the loss of life as we knew it.  The pandemic certainly changed everything that was normal in our lives--the way we worked, shopped, socialized, worshiped, vacationed, dated and even how we conducted funerals. Covid caused us to fear each other and to distance ourselves (quarantine as well as maintaining a safe distance) at a time when we most needed each other, when we desperately needed the comfort of human touch or human presence.  My uncle died from Covid and like so many others who succumbed to this dreaded disease, he died alone in an intensive care unit hooked up to machines.  There is nothing “normal” about that!

 

Loss forces us to reevaluate our priorities:  have you heard about the Great Resignation?  Many in the workforce decided to either change careers or drastically change the way they participate in the workforce as a consequence of the pandemic.  Some of us loved working from home and cherished the additional personal time that not commuting provided.  Parents spent more time with their children (although juggling remote work and online school has been chaotic for many) and discovered that they enjoyed having more family time.  After the death of my parents and my return to in-person work, I realized that my priorities had shifted.  I’m having a very significant birthday this month and now knowing how my parents died and how old they were at the time of their death gives me a glimpse of what my future might look like.  How do I want to spend the remaining time I have on this planet?  What do I want to contribute or what brings me joy?  What do I need to change now as a result of the losses I have experienced?

Loss brings opportunities:  If you have read much in this blog, you know a bit about my story.  When  my marriage exploded in scandal, arrest, and the diagnosis of pedophilia, the grief and terror were real.  But this huge relationship loss presented opportunities for growth and changes that I could not even dream about while still tied to a perpetrator.  My life has expanded in so many amazing ways.  I have been given the opportunity to journey a bit with other partners who are struggling with their own losses, I have remarried and cherish a companion to journey with me, my family has expanded and I delight in three little girls who have captivated my heart, my kids are doing well and we regularly enjoy wonderful family times together.  None of these good things would have happened had I not experienced the loss of my first marriage.

 

More than anything, however, loss teaches us that we need each other.  The pandemic kept us from one another in tangible ways but we found ways to stay connected and my hope is that we will continue to look for healthy ways to connect, to support and to love one another as we embrace the numerous losses we have all experienced together—our common trauma. May we focus on what unites us rather than what divides and may we see and cherish our common humanity.

 

Tis the Season for Joy (and Sorrow)

A few days ago, my son was regaling his daughters with stories of Christmases past, particularly in the last home his father and I shared.  It was a splendid home, large, warm and welcoming in an upper middle-class neighborhood in the Midwest.  It was a consummate “holiday” house because it lent itself so well to wonderful holiday decorations and large parties.  But it was also the house whose front door was broken down one cold morning as police executed a search warrant. The memories I have of the house brings joy but also sorrow—bitter and sweet.

Temple Mount, Jerusalem

I was recently reminded of a story from the Old Testament that is kind of strange to read during this season of the year but maybe not so strange.  The temple in Jerusalem—that center of worship—had been destroyed by the Babylonians and many of the land’s residents had been carried into exile.  Seventy years later, the new king of the land decreed that the exiles could return to their native country and commissioned them to rebuild the temple.  When the builders laid the foundation of the temple, the people threw a party to celebrate but not everyone felt joyful—those who remembered the glory of the old temple were sorrowful because they knew that the rebuilt temple would not equal the majesty of the destroyed one.  There were shouts of joy and sounds of weeping that were so loud that one could not distinguish the sounds of the joy from those of the weeping.

Ancient Judean ruins

Those of us who have experienced the trauma of relationship betrayal probably understand better than most the season of joy and sorrow.  Like the exiles, we may have been kicked out of our lives or sat in the ash heap or ruins of what once was trying to find a remnant of the joy we once knew.  We may long for the life we once had while also being greatly relieved and joyful in this new normal of a life we have built.  While we are so grateful to have survived, like those exiles, we still bear the scars of the traumas we have experienced.  We still feel the pain of wounds that are healing but still hurt enough to remind us that something went very wrong in our lives and in our relationships.

There is an odd sentence in the Biblical narrative of the exiles returning home. It describes the returning exiles as being in dread of the neighboring peoples.  Not all of the Judean inhabitants had been carried into captivity.  The elite of the community were taken first but many “commoners” were allowed to remain in the land.  The elite were religious and civic leaders who were probably the wealthier inhabitants.  Their land and possessions were taken by those who remained.  So, there was a loss of status and economic security for the exiles.  In their former lives, they were esteemed as leaders and upstanding citizens; their captivity ended that identity and their return threatened the new lives the remaining inhabitants had created.

How many of us can fully identify with the fear and trauma these returning exiles experienced?  We too once had an identity, reputation and status that was ripped from us by the actions of our betrayer.  We still feel the sting of that loss and maybe still feel the fear that we will be judged guilty simply by our relationship with a perpetrator.  We sometimes fear the dread of our neighbors—not because of our actions or behavior but because of what the addict, pedophile or abuser in our lives has done.

Western Wall--Wailing Wall

Joy and sorrow—two ends of a spectrum of emotion that we are capable of experiencing as humans created in the image of God.  The holiday season presents so many opportunities to experience both, and that is ok.  Life is not black and white nor is it a Hallmark movie.  Stuff happens, we break and we hurt.  Sitting with both emotions is a healthy and appropriate response to the season, particularly in light of loss.  

My hope and prayer for you is that you experience the gift of presence as you navigate these days of joy and sorrow—that you embrace the paradox of both emotions and celebrate the gift that you are.  You are who you are today precisely because of all that you have experienced and you have so much to offer a hurting world.  Relish the joy and welcome the tears—they both are a reflection of the journey that has brought you to this day.  Merry Christmas and may the New Year bring more joy than sorrow!

Repercussions

Today is Memorial Day--a day to honor the brave men and women who made the ultimate sacrifice in the defense of our freedoms.  War and conflict serve as a sober reminder that actions have consequences--some of them fatal.  Tensions and disagreements between countries are escalated by their leaders' war of words and violence erupts.  Words and actions have consequences and it is often the innocent who pay the price.

Six years ago this weekend, a woman walked into three banks with checks she had counterfeited and with my forged signature and cleaned out my bank account.  A month later, in spite of my having changed the accounts and taken all the necessary precautions, she did it again.  In order to protect myself, I purchased a credit monitoring service and placed a fraud alert on my credit with all three credit-reporting bureaus.  She was never prosecuted, even though the bank had her picture and thumb print but the consequences of her actions continue to reverberate through my life.

This past month, I have been denied a credit card twice and turned down for a loan, in spite of a very high credit score.  I have spent hours of my time trying to contact the very insulated credit bureaus to remedy the situation but all of my efforts have been in vain.  The level of sadness that I feel, while understandable, points to something deeper so I'm taking a deep dive this morning.  Care to join me?

Because my identity theft occurred in such close proximity to my ex-husband's arrest, the sense of vulnerability I felt was incredibly exacerbated by having my bank account broken into and cleaned out. It was a triggering event that I was powerless to prevent or contain.  My efforts at self-protection also failed and the remedy I wisely chose (fraud alert) continues to have repercussions in my life.  These are the primary players in this ongoing saga:

The perpetrator:  Her initial actions were in secret, much like the pedophile secretly seeking out sexual gratification through the exploitation of children.  She secretly stole a check I wrote to her employer and creatively counterfeited it and mastered my signature.  She waited for an opportune time to attempt to steal from my account and chose the Saturday before the Memorial Day weekend, when bank employees were most vulnerable.  Pedophiles begin in secret and then seek out vulnerable children to groom and molest.  They are incredibly good at reading people and identifying those who are most likely to either not see or to look away.  Both the identity thief and the pedophile see people as targets, not as humans.  They care not for the pain they cause and believe that they are entitled to their elicit gain.

The credit bureaus:  These agencies are huge, non-personal and have incredible control and power.  I was happy to learn that there is now a governmental oversight bureau and spent time this weekend filing complaints against all three bureaus.  The service they provide is protective when you are a victim of identity theft but they seem to operate with impunity and are a formidable "enemy."  I appreciate law enforcement as a citizen and am grateful for the protection they provide. But when my ex-husband was under investigation and then arrested, law enforcement became frightening.  The power they held over our lives was horrifying and we were powerless against it.

The bystanders:  Bystanders are the ancillary individuals who intersect with the repercussions of the crime you have experienced.  Each time I have been told that my application for a loan/credit card was denied I have experienced intense shame and humiliation.  Even though I know the shame does not belong to me and that I did nothing wrong, it is still huge.  Does the loan officer believe me or does she think I am making up a story to cover some sinister aspect of my credit history?  When my ex-husband was arrested I felt shame as well.  I know, all too well, that many do not believe the wife of a pedophile does not know what her husband is doing!  I've read the articles from "experts" who allege that the wife always knows.  The bystanders are either supportive or cynical and the truth of the matter often does not matter or change their opinion or actions.

Actions have consequences and it is often the innocent who pay the most.  The repercussions of one person's choice(s) continue for a very long time and there are no "do-overs."  The word that has often come to mind while writing/processing today is "powerlessness."  Innocent civilians are powerless to prevent war coming to their land; family members of the fallen were powerless to prevent the death of their loved one; victims of identity theft are powerless against the aggressor or the "protectors" and partners of perpetrating pedophiles are powerless against the urges that drive the addiction.  We did not cause it, cannot contain it nor cure it.  What can we do?

We can begin to take back some of the power we lost--small steps to assert our independence and autonomy.  For me, it was filing a complaint--using whatever tool I can find to begin to fight and to take back what was stolen from me. We fight back against paralyzing power of powerlessness!  We speak the truth to power and stand in that truth.  Sometimes that means we walk away (divorce or ending the relationship) and sometimes that means we take a defensive stand but we cannot and must not wallow in powerlessness!

The Art of Grieving

Someone recently asked me to elaborate on the importance of fully grieving any loss, particularly those associated with having been married to a perpetrator.  I was intrigued by her description of the grief process as an art.  Images of artists painting a masterpiece or fashioning a pot of clay sprang to mind.  Art, I've learned, is a messy process--paint splatters and drips, clay hardens under fingernails and clings to any surface it comes into contact with.  And like art, grief is unpredictable, time consuming and messy.
 
Grief is Unpredictable

The inspiration for creative artistic expression does not appear on command but rather comes when the time is right--when the muse strikes.  We've all heard of the writer with writer's block and I assume the same phenomenon happens with other artists.  And so it is with grief--we cannot orchestrate when it will arrive--like the wave crashing onto the shore, it comes in and threatens our sense of stability and balance.  It does not come on our schedule so often catches us by surprise.  But grief, like the wave, ebbs and flows.  When it floods into our hearts and minds, we remember that it does not come to stay, it will flow out into the deep once again.

Grief Takes Time

Artistic masterpieces take time to create.  It took Michelangelo fifty-four months to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.  It was a huge investment of time and yet his work is still revered and admired today.  To fully grieve a loss, we must be willing to invest the time necessary to grieve.  Too many of us are so uncomfortable with grief work that we try to shortchange the work--stuff the pain, deny or minimize it.  We prefer to complete a simple paint-by-number piece rather than invest the time and allow grief to create the masterpiece it is capable of creating in our life.  Losses that are not fully grieved come back to haunt us when we encounter a future loss.  Like the stubborn clay that sticks to everything it comes into contact with, the pain of our unresolved or ungrieved losses come along for the ride when a new loss is incurred.

Grief is Messy

Have you ever envied the person who can cry gracefully?  Dainty tears streak down a face without gathering makeup or mascara, eyes do not grow puffy nor does the face become red and splotchy.  This is not me!  There is nothing dainty or neat about my appearance when I have been crying.  I am a mess.  The work of grieving is messy.  It is not linear, circular or logical.  It just is.  We often cycle back through the same phase again and again.  There is no right or wrong way to do the work of grief, it simply must be done.  Friends and family may be uncomfortable with the messiness of our grief; they may urge us to "just get over it" and we soon learn that not all help offered is helpful.

So what are the guidelines that can help us during a season of grief?  Here are some things that have been helpful for me:

• Learn to lovingly contain grief.  Give yourself time and space to experience the pain and to grieve but then lovingly and carefully pack it away for another day.  This is different from stuffing or denying the pain; it is learning that you can contain it to an extent.  I like to imagine packing my grief away in a white box with a large red ribbon and placing it on a prominent shelf in my closet, with the promise that I will return and retrieve the contents another day.
• Practice extra special self-care during periods of grief.  Be sure that you eat regular meals, stay hydrated, get plenty of rest and do those things that soothe and comfort you.  It may be watching a funny or sad movie, taking a long hot bath, talking to a friend, listening to music, praying, journaling or going for a walk.  Be gentle with yourself and give yourself losts of tender, loving care.
• Lower the expectations you have for yourself during a seson of grief.  Carefully manage those expectations so you can avoid "shoulding" yourself, i.e. "I should . . . " or "I shouldn't be . . ."  there is no guidebook, no right or wrong way to navigate this season.
• Invite someone along for the joruney.  Again, remember that not everyone who signs up for this assignment will be able to help.  You only need one or two individuals who know how to be present with you when you are grieving.  Avoid individuals who need you to comfort them;  this isn't the time for that.  It is so easy to get lost in the grief--you need a midwife to coach you through the really tough times.
• Remember that as long as there is breath, there is hope.  This is not the end of your story!  There is a plan and God is always redeeming the pain in our lives.  The things that Satan meant for harm, He is turning for our good.  Hang onto hope, however small.  Nurture it and allow its warmth to invade the wounded and broken places of your heart.

https://dicklehman.wordpress.com/

 

 

The Japanese, it turns out, have discovered a perfect artistic expression that illustrates the art of grieving.  Valuable ceramics that have been broken are repaired using a resin with gold powder in it.  One artisan puts it this way "Many Japanese have come to cherish the imperfection of a broken pot repaired in this way, seeing it as a creative addition and/or re-birth to the pot's life story. . . when something has suffered damage and has a history, it becomes more beautiful:  SOURCE

We all experience times of breaking, losses that shatter our lives, hopes, dreams and aspirations.  Allowing the art of grieving to work its way into the jagged edges of our breaking can create a far more beautiful masterpiece of our lives that we were before the shattering, a stunningly beautiful new work of art!

Broken Hearts

Someone that I love dearly recently experienced the breakup of a romantic relationship and it is entirely appropriate to say that she has had her "heart broken."  there are many things that break a heart--death, rejection, abandonment, betrayal, a wayward child or spouse, disappointment and loss, to name a few.  Relationship loss is probably one of the most devastating ways a heart can be broken.  The depth of grief felt is a testament to the depth of the love that was lost and to the sense of hopelessness over destroyed dreams.

Not many of us are fortunate enough to get through life without at least one heartbreaking experience.  Have you ever met someone who seems to have no capacity to grieve with those who grieve or to offer compassion to those who are hurting?  Chances are, they have never truly experienced heartbreak, or if they have, they have numbed or denied the pain of the experience.  They remind me of Job's friends when it comes to their inability to tolerate or understand the pain of one whose heart has been broken.  Contrary to what most assume and certainly to what my loved one currently feels, there is great value in experiencing heartbreak; in the grander scheme of things there are some benefits and opportunities the experience offers:

Hearts broken open have a larger capacity to love than those that have never been broken.  It is through heartbreak that we more thoroughly open ourselves to the hurts and pain of another.  We develop more empathy and are less black and white, which makes us more accepting and open to others.  And that openness and compassion increases our capacity for love in a profound way.  When a glass breaks, it loses its capacity to hold a liquid.  When a heart breaks, its capacity to hold another, to love and to empathize increases rather than diminishes.  It becomes a more useful container than it was before it broke.

Hearts that have been broken open offer an opportunity for deeper self-reflection, transformation and growth.  Heartbreak offers us a glimpse of the contents of our internal world.  When a full container is broken, the contents of the container spill out.  When one's heart is broken open, we can more clearly see the "stuff" that is inside--maybe "stuff" we were not aware of or had forgotten about.  Prior losses that have not been fully grieved, insecurities, distorted thought processes, coping mechanisms that are no longer adaptive are just some of the "stuff" that may flow out of a broken heart.  Heartbreak creates a mechanism and motivation to once more undertake the work of healing and transformation but at a deeper level.

Broken hearts do heal but on their own timetable; there is no rushing the process.  When a heart heals after having been broken wide open, it has an enlarged capacity to give and to receive love, a deeper self-awareness, and greater compassion and empathy for others who similarly hurt.  Healing a broken heart is not easy work, however.

• Healing involves choice--not all who experience a broken heart choose to allow the pain to transform them but rather transmit that pain to all they come into contact with.
• Healing requires a change in perspective--rather than focusing on the specifics of the breaking, the healing heart focuses on the growth potential the breaking offers.
• Healing demands surrender--surrendering the right to exact revenge, demand justice or hold onto bitterness.  Surrender involves accepting those things we cannot change and holding it all--the circumstances and pain surrounding the heartbreak and the future--with open hands rather than clenched fists or tight death grips.
• Healing becomes redemptive when the heartbroken seek to reach out to others in compassion, kindness and love.  The heartbroken become the very best of healers--wounded healers

No one would voluntarily sign up for the experience but when heartbreak inevitably happens, a unique opportunity presents itself.  Maybe we all need a bit more heartbreak?  Maybe the world would be a kinder, gentler place if we allowed pain to transform and change us into channels of peace and compassion for others?  Maybe heartbreak is the solution rather than the problem?  Maybe, just maybe?

Leap Year

This is my 100th blog post!  While I had planned a different sort of post for this milestone, I think this is appropriate.  Thanks for journeying with me on this road to healing and activism.

 

Thirty days hath September

April, June and November;

All the rest have thirty-one,

Excepting February alone

Which hath but twenty-eight, in fine,

Till leap year gives it twenty-nine.

In the quest to keep our calendar year synchronized with the astronomical and seasonal year, an extra day is added to February once every four years.  Adding a day to the year is a corrective measure since the earth does not orbit around the sun in exactly 365 days.  A number of superstitions and traditions surround this four-year phenomenon, including:

• A woman can propose marriage to a man on February 29
• Marriage and divorce should not occur in a leap year
• Couples should avoid having a baby during leap years
• Natural calamities abound in leap years
• Children and the elderly are especially vulnerable during this time

The last leap year was in 2012 and it was on February 29, 2012 that my life was drastically and dramatically altered.  Before the sun was completely awake that cold winter morning, the police broke down the door of the house I shared with my daughter and now ex-husband in their quest to serve a search warrant.  They had been investigating my former spouse for a number of months, documenting each time he downloaded child pornography.

There are things I will never forget about that morning:

• the crash of wood splintering
• my daughter's scream of terror
• thundering footsteps of officers with weapons drawn headed for the bedroom I was in.  In their eagerness to secure the scene, they ran right past the room the target of their investigation was sleeping in.  With the help of Ambien he was oblivious to the terror my daughter and I were experiencing.
• opening my bedroom door in an attempt to get to my daughter and seeing so many men in black, shining a bright light in my eyes
• my embarrassment at only being in a nightgown and feeling the need for a robe
• the humiliation of being forced to sit with bedhead and morning breath for hours while the sanctity of my home was invaded
• the impatience I felt at the chatter of the officers assigned to sit with my daughter and I
• maintaining eye contact with my terrified daughter, trying to communicate love and strength to her
• her stoic and resourceful presence even after they had forced her to the floor at gunpoint when they entered the house
• my helplessness at no longer being able to protect her from the knowledge of her father's secret and criminal behavior
• my screams of rage and terror when the officers finally left and I was alone in my dismantled life and house

Scene from "The Impossible"

These are the things I will forever associate with leap year, specifically leap day.

In a technical sense, one could argue that today is the first anniversary of our world explosion day but I'm glad I am further down the road of recovery now than I would have been one year after that fateful morning.  This blog has been part of my solitary healing journey; it has provided a venue for processing what happened to me.  And it has proven that even the most heinous pain can be redeemed.  I have seen that redemption process in the many women who contact me or leave comments because they are in a similar life explosion.

February 29, 2012 was a pivot day for me.  It was preceded by 33 years of marriage to a man who had a secret identity but who worked hard to create an illusionary facade as a successful family man and professional.  The days that followed were filled with trauma, betrayal and scandal.  This event did not begin and end on that 366th day of 2012 and while we are healing, it will always be the defining day in our family history.

My story is not just about a marriage that went south or a husband who misbehaved and was caught.  It is also about organized religion's failure to respond appropriately, colluding therapists, the criminal justice system's zeal and then compromise and society's discomfort with the fact that predators do not fit the comfortable caricature we have created for them.  My story is not an anomaly, unfortunately.  The major systems involved have fatal flaws in them when it comes to really protecting, supporting and defending victims, including secondary ones, against predators.

http://www.comfortprints.org/

As I reflect today on that event four years ago, I grieve.  I grieve that while much as changed in my personal life, little has changed in our societal response to predators.  I grieve that so many other families are experiencing their own world explosion days silently and with little or no support.  I grieve that very few are willing to get in the cesspool of pedophilia and addiction with wounded and betrayed partners and children.  It is lonely and frightening, stinky and messy--not a suitable place for good, law-abiding, church-going citizens.  I grieve that so many of these cases seem to be occurring in churches and that the response is often exactly that of the predator--minimize, deny, rationalize and deceive.  I grieve for the women who are made to feel responsible for their husbands' deviancy, for the innocent children impacted either directly by the molestation of the predator or by his betrayal of trust as their father, or both.  I grieve and I truly believe that Jesus grieves as well.

When will we get it right?  There is too much at stake to keep hiding our heads in the sand--too many lives are being decimated.  Our children are vulnerable--not just in leap year but every day of every year.  We need a multi-pronged approach to this insidious problem and that must include the predator's partner and his children.  It is time, way past time.

What Happens in Childhood Does Not Stay in Childhood

Childhood is a relatively short period of time compared to the average lifespan.  And yet so much of  what happens during those formative years impacts the individual for decades.  A landmark study that actually began in 1995 illustrates this convincingly.  It is known as the Adverse Childhood Experience Study and is "one of the largest investigations ever conducted to assess associations between childhood maltreatment and later-life health and well-being.  The study is a collaboration between the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and Kaiser Permanente's Health Appraisal Clinic in San Diego."  Source

The ACE Study has followed over 17,000 enrollees in Kaiser's health plan who underwent a comprehensive physical exam as well as completed the ten-question ACE Test.  Data from the study revealed "staggering proof of the health, social and economic risks that result from childhood trauma."  Source.  ACE scores can range from zero to ten, with ten reflecting the highest number of adverse childhood experiences by category.  It is important to note that the ACE Test does not account for the total number of adverse experiences in each category throughout childhood but rather the number of categories of adverse experiences an individual encountered.

The ACE Test asked participants about ten types of childhood trauma:

• Three types of abuse (sexual, physical and emotional)
• Two types of neglect (physical and emotional)
• Five types of family dysfunction (having a mother who was treated violently, an alcoholic or drug addicted household member, family member imprisoned or diagnosed with mental illness, divorce or separation of parents)

The study revealed that childhood trauma is far more common than previously believed and that the consequences of the trauma last a lifetime.  Individuals with an ACE Score of 4 had increased prevalence rates for the following behaviors:

Source 1   Source 2 

 
Clearly, what happens in childhood does not stay in childhood.  We focus a lot on the horrendous impact of child sexual abuse and molestation, as we should.  But there are other harmful experiences that negatively impact a child for life that we should be just as concerned about.  Improving the quality of the parents' marriage, making sure mom is not treated violently, dealing effectively with depression, addiction and other types of mental illness that may be present in the family as well as having a zero tolerance for abuse and neglect of any kind are all incredibly important aspects of a child's life that we need to pay critical attention to.  We can never give up on the important task of ensuring that our children have safe, healthy environments so that they can enjoy a long and productive life.

But what about those of us who are already grown?  We may recognize and acknowledge that the environment in which we grew and developed was toxic and we may already be struggling with some of the consequences that the ACE Study revealed.  Is there hope?  YES, there is.  Simply acknowledging that what happened in childhood happened to us, that we did not cause it, we did not deserve it and we were powerless to prevent it, begins the process.  We change the questions from "What's wrong with me?" to "What happened to me?"  There is power in naming our experience and acknowledging it as trauma.  And by dealing with the trauma, with the help of qualified individuals, we can change the outcome--we can minimize or eliminate the potential health and behavioral risks that our ACE's have created.  We commit ourselves to practicing good self-care, mindfulness and gentleness with that frightened, traumatized child within.  By re-parenting our inner child, we ensure that what happened in our childhood stays back there and does not continue to impact our present or our future.

Our goals when it comes to childhood maltreatment are twofold:  we must do all that we can to change the culture of violence, exploitation and maltreatment that exists today so that tomorrow's children fare better than yesterday or today's.  And, we must commit ourselves to caring for our first child--ourselves--and to healing those hurts of yesterday.

Kicked Out of My Life

Among the items on my bedside table are two framed photographs of my only daughter--one taken when she was a curly-headed three year old and another when she graduated from high school.  As I glanced at them this morning while making the bed, my heart broke yet again.  For a number of reasons, I am in yet another cycle of grief--it rolls in unexpectedly and while it is not as intense or all-consuming as it once was, it still requires processing through the pain that betrayal and loss have brought into my life.  This morning as I held the picture of my curly-headed toddler, I grieved for the life that I've lost.

I resonate with the feelings of another betrayed wife who bravely pulled the curtain back on what infidelity and sex addiction really look like within the privacy of a marriage.  She writes, "Sometimes I feel like I am sleepwalking.  I don't recognize my life now.  I feel like it must surely belong to someone else.  It is a good life in many, many ways, but it does not feel comfortable in that I don't feel like it belongs to me.  It's like wearing someone else's clothes--the feel, the smell, the look is all wrong.  I don't know how to explain it."

Life post-betrayal is full of paradox.  While I am grateful to be living in truth and authenticity, free of pedophilia, and am deliriously happy with my new marriage, I am homesick.  I'm homesick for the familiar life that I no longer have.  My ex-husband's arrest on child pornography charges brought a tidal wave of change into my life, all at once.  I was anticipating some changes because six weeks prior to his arrest we had decided to divorce.  But his arrest dramatically changed those plans.  I did not know it then, but I was entering a period of imposed change.

According to Dr. Patricia Wiklund, imposed change results from a life-changing event that you couldn't predict, didn't cause, don't want and can't avoid (Wiklund, Patricia, Lesson One of e-course for women of child molesters).  Change that we anticipate and plan for is exciting but all change carries with it stress and loss.  Imposed change, on the other hand, is not planned for and does not result from a personal choice--another or circumstances beyond our control imposes it upon us.  Here is some of what I recorded in my journal five months after my life exploded:

"I guess I'm also realizing how much of my old life was cut off and thrown away.  I smashed a 25th wedding anniversary photo of us, threw away my wedding bouquet and our anniversary album.  These parts of my life have been consigned to the trash heap--so many years.  So many years.  So much of who I am and what I have lived for is now in the trash.  Where do I go from here?  How do I redeem this?"

And

"Life as I knew it ended five months ago.  Life as I anticipated it ended.  My budding career--my hopes and dreams--all died five months ago.  I don't know what or who I am or should or will be.  I am in a place I never wanted to be in--literally and figuratively.  A dusty, congested, barren place that I now call "home."  Maybe I enjoy seeing the barren hillsides surrounding this new home because they symbolize my internal world--barren, without life, future or hope.  I don't know--just know that I am waiting.  Waiting to see who I will become when I grow up--hoping I get to grow up before life's hourglass runs out of sand."

There were many layers to the grief I experienced when I wrote those entries and even today as I
write these words.  Loss has marched through my life in so many different forms during the past few years but of all the varied types of loss, that of imposed change is the hardest to contend with.  No one asked me if I wanted my door broken down or if I wanted my life displayed on the evening news for all to see.  I wasn't consulted about any of these changes; they just came.

So today, I honor the grief that has come yet again.  I allow it to wash over me and acknowledge that I feel like an alien in my own life--an undocumented, non-resident in a world that is no longer familiar to me.  And I vow to take this grief and make meaning of it by sharing the journey with others who similarly grieve.  It is time to tell the truth about pedophilia, sex addiction, infidelity and betrayal.  It is time to reclaim that which we have lost as a consequence of imposed change--ourselves.  It is time to own our story and to tell it with vulnerability, courage, and determination.

It is only when we dare to show up and allow our stories to be heard and ourselves to be seen that real societal change begins because it begins in us.  This is how we change a climate that sanitizes and minimizes the pain of sexual betrayal and loss.  We stand up and say "ENOUGH ALREADY!"