What is Love?

I was talking with my life-long friend recently and she asked me this question.  "What is love?"  When you think about it, it is not an easy question to answer because love can be elusive and difficult to define. Is it something you recognize when you see but are hard-pressed to quantify?  Many malicious intententions can masquerade as love so it often is not easily recognizable.  What may look and feel like love can be something sinister and malignant.  So, I'm left with the question, "What is love?"

What does a child need from her parents to truly know that she is loved and valued just because she exists?  How can a woman trust that the man wooing her truly loves her?  How can a man be certain that the love his partner expresses is really love that can be relied on when hard times come?

I spent many happy hours on this porch!

And I remember my grandmother and my own granddaughter.  Sandwiched between these two generations I gain a glimpse of what true love looks like.  My grandmother still has a very special place in my heart though she transitioned to heaven a long time ago.  She enriched my childhood in so many ways.  I loved spending time with her because she encouraged my imagination and nurtured my fragile self-esteem.  She gave me the gift of time, even when I know she was exhausted after a 15-hour day.

There is something pure and fierce about the love a grandparent has for her grandchild.  I have loved my own children thoroughly and delighted in them since before they were born.  But the love I have for my grandchild is different--maybe because I am different, more mature or maybe because I can enjoy her without being responsible for her. Whatever the reason, she has taught me so much about love.

Love says, "You are enough just as you are."
Love delights in you with your unique gifts and quirks.
Love values and honors you.
Love never gives up on you.
Love cares more about you than it does for self.
Love doesn't force itself on you; it focuses on your needs, desires or preferences.
Love doesn't fly off the handle or keep score of your misbehavior.
Love isn't gleeful when you are hurt.
Love is patient, kind and compassionate.
Love is faithful and unconditional.
Love is extravagant.
Love is tolerant.
Love is commitment.

There is nothing that my sweet granddaughter can do that would disappoint me.  I delight in absolutely
everything about her and everything she does.  I love her slight lisp and her tangled curls.  When she smiles, I feel as though my heart will melt.  From the moment she slipped into my life, I have been captured by her.  I am mesmerized by watching her.  Cuddling and holding her has been one of the most amazing experiences of my life.  She cannot do one tangible thing for me and yet I would gladly give my life to protect hers.  Every milestone, every new word and every tear are incredibly important to me. Providing for her needs when she is in my care is my most cherished responsibility.

This is love--pure and simple, profound and deep.  It is the kind of love every little girl needs and deserves.  It is the kind of love few of us are fortunate enough to receive.

A Twist of Irony or an Epidemic?

The Ebola Epidemic in Africa has captured the attention of the world.  Fear is the natural response to a virus that so ravages the human body, especially when there is no known cure.  Recently we learned that aid workers in Guinea were killed by villagers who feared that they were there to deliberately spread the feared virus.  As "enlightened" Westerners, we scoff at the ignorance of unenlightened third world societies that embrace and act on such wrong information.  And yet, when it comes pedophilia, fear often drives our response and as a society, we are often guilty of similar knee-jerk reactions.

Over two years ago my wise sponsor suggested that I find other partners of pedophiles as part of my recovery journey.  I had been faithfully attending S-Anon but found that there are some distinct differences in the experience of a pedophile's partner as compared to that of the partner of a sex addict.  I remember putting the phone down and sighing at the seeming impossibility of the task.  How does one go about finding other partners of a disease that is so deeply hidden?  I had a hunch that neither Craig's nor Angie's lists would be helpful.

But I picked up my laptop and began the search.  It was a search that eventually led me to one other partner, who just happened to live in my geographical area.  And in a bizarre twist of fate, she had actually written anonymously to me after my own life exploded.  We met for dinner and she confessed that I was the first partner she had spoken to about her experience in over 18 years.  I had found one other former partner.

The Ebola virus

Since that time, through my own blog and others', I have encountered dozens of women who are or have been in a romantic relationship with a pedophile.  I quipped recently that I need to create a spreadsheet to keep everyone's story straight.  On average, I hear from one new woman every week or so.  While the names and particular circumstances are varied, the reality is our stories are very similar.

• We were wooed by a man who seemed to be the man of our dreams.
• We worked hard to create a life and family with someone who was present but not fully present in our lives or in our relationships.
• We had no clue that our partner had a secret life, often until his involvement with the criminal justice or child protective services.
• We are left with a devastated life--a past that now begins to make sense and a future that seems uncertain at best.
• Our children are impacted, either as primary or secondary victims.
• We feel very little support from any quarter.  We are isolated and alone.
• We feel shamed and scorned and often feel pretty stupid that we didn't know.

So I am left wondering if this avalanche of partners/former partners in my small world is a cosmic twist of irony or if it is indicative of an epidemic.  Maybe it is both.  I firmly believe that the protestant church is facing a scandal at least as large as the Catholic Church has faced and maybe larger.  We have pointed at the celibacy requirement for priests as a reasonable excuse for the huge percentage of pedophiles that have been exposed within the Catholic Church.  But what excuse does the protestant church have?

The reality is that pedophiles are drawn to professions where they will have a legitimate reason to be around children.  What better place to hide than in a school or church?  And it is far easier to gain unsuspecting parents' trust if one wears a clerical collar or carries a large Bible, hears confessions or organizes Sunday School. It is a perfect set-up for the predator-in-waiting.  And he looks so normal, with a wife and children of his own--why should anyone suspect him?  He looks and sounds authentic so we blindly trust him with those who are most vulnerable and precious to us.

I believe that my ever growing pool of partners/former partners is indicative of this exploding problem.  As a society, we can continue to blame and belittle her--it may make us feel good but it will do little to protect children from the man in the pew or the one in the pulpit; the neighbor next door or the youth group leader.  We need to reach out to the partner in kindness, empathy and support and enlist her in this battle to protect our children.

How we should respond as a society to this growing pedophilia epidemic can be informed by the West's response to the Ebola epidemic.  We need solid information, good containment and isolation practices informed by the best research and a determination to do all we can to protect and assist those who have been exposed to the virus.  Instead of "killing" those who could provide us with inside information if given the support, information and compassion they need, we should invite her to the conversation.  Only then will we have a workable plan to contain and eradicate this menace to our children.

Are Victims Inherently Narcissistic?

The question this posts asks leaves me a bit queasy.  Is it possible that victimhood and narcissism are related?  The victim advocate in me riles at the suggestion and yet the victim in me sees it as a distinct possibility, particularly if one becomes stuck in victimhood.  The perspective of a victim is necessarily self-centered, and there is absolutely no shame or judgment that is appropriate for that self-centeredness.  An individual who has suffered relational trauma through betrayal, abandonment or rejection is certainly and rightfully a victim.  And as a victim, she deserves the time and space to process what happened to her.  Indeed most individuals who have experienced relational trauma probably have a long history of not being self-centered enough.

But I'm wondering if it is possible for legitimate victimhood to become chronic and to move the impacted individual into more of a narcissistic state?  When I first began attending S-Anon, a 12-step program for friends and family members of a sexually addicted individual, I was initially repulsed by the idea that I could bear any responsibility in the relational trauma I had just experienced.  And I still believe that the language in some of the conference-approved literature needs to be updated to reflect the partner's experience through a trauma lens rather than that of co-addiction.  But as I am processing through the steps, I am beginning to believe that the hinge that can swing an individual from that of "narcissistic" victimhood to a fully functioning, healthy adult is step four.  Steps one through three facilitate an understanding of our own powerlessness and inability to manage our lives.  But by requiring a heroic and daring moral inventory, step four offers us a way out of that helplessness and powerlessness.  It is the key to moving from being a helpless victim to empowering ourselves for change.

Most people approach step four with reluctance and with fear.  This is particularly true for individuals who come from very legalistic religious backgrounds.  We have spent so much time thinking of ourselves as worms because of poor theology that we are frankly tired of that perspective.  And the traumatic relationships we have experienced have been rife with projected blame and carried shame.  We're tired of being the "responsible" one.  We become paralyzed by the idea that we must now analyze our own part of the equation.

Let me just pause and state for the record, that I do not believe the partner bears any responsibility in the addiction of her spouse--she didn't cause it, she certainly cannot control it or cure it  But she has vulnerabilities from wounds received in her home of origin, culturally or from other victimizing relationships.  These vulnerabilities were exploited, either knowingly or unknowingly by her addict.  This is the core issue that step four addresses--identifying and understanding those vulnerabilities.

Step four is intended to be a compassionate and empathic look at self--at strengths as well as character defects.  It is not an either/or evaluation but a both/and look at ourselves.  Character traits that are now "defects" began as a means of protection or as the Big Book calls them, "Assets gone astray."  As children, we adopted learned behaviors as a defense against a hostile and toxic environment.  Maybe we became a caretaker as a means of obtaining needed affirmation or attention from our parents  For a while, the role of caretaker worked--it provided us with significance.  But as an adult, caretaking becomes more of a liability than an asset because it makes us more prone to becoming involved with an addict.  We tend to view defense mechanisms in a negative light, however, they once were protective actions essential for our emotional survival.  We have just outgrown our need for them so step four invites us to discard those "defects/traits" that are no longer useful.

You cannot heal what you do not acknowledge and understand.  I have found that identifying character traits that have become problematic for me as an adult and seeking to understand why I needed them as a child makes it far easier to lay them down.  The "inventory" is not so much a listing of the "whats" as it is answering the "whys."  Another list of faults or defects is not that helpful, particularly for a survivor of a relational trauma.  But understanding why I have behaved in the way that I have and why these "defects" developed is far more enlightening and leads to a deeper healing.

Step four asks us to stop denying our pain and to cease from blaming and accusing others for it.  Note, that it does not absolve others but simply changes the focus from their bad behavior to our coping behavior.  Step four requires that we become willing to face our true self and to put aside the false self that has protected and defended us.  Step four demands that we become willing to make amends to others we have hurt, including ourselves.

The hallmark of a narcissistic individual is is the inability to feel empathy for another.  Step four encourages us to move into an empathic response towards our own wounded and broken self and to others we have wounded in our pain.  Step four offers the wounded victim a gentle way out of victimhood into healing and wholeness.  Hurt people hurt people so the choice we have after victimization is to allow the pain to transform us or we will inevitably transmit it to others, including ourselves.

A victim is powerless over the events that created her victimhood.  She feels vulnerable, needy, frightened and
very much alone.  Relational trauma rends the very fabric of her soul.  By gently and courageously working step four, the pain of trauma and victimhood can be transformed.  Where there was powerlessness over circumstances and even over self, a new independence of spirit that is empowered for change emerges.  Where there was low self-esteem and the incredible weight of shame, a healthy evaluation of strengths vulnerabilities is born.  And what once felt like an impossible task--making amends and moving forward from victimhood becomes an exciting and rewarding possibility.

I'm not ready to call those stuck in victimhood narcissistic because that would be adding more pain to incredibly wounded individuals.  But I am willing to admit that the pain of my victimhood generated what has become an unhealthy narcissistic bent in me.  So I'm pushing forward ever more eagerly with step four.

Is it Well with my Soul?

I was reminded recently of the story behind my all-time favorite hymn and want to digress today from my normal blog posts to explore the story behind the story.  I believe that story has something to offer to those of us who have been terribly wounded by organized religion.  Horotio Spafford was a successful Chicago attorney and real estate mogul during the mid to late 1800s.  He and his wife, Anna, were members of a well-known church in the Chicago area.  In 1870, the Spaffords only son died of scarlet fever and then during the fire of 1871, Mr. Spafford lost much of his real estate holdings.

Because of the difficulties the family experienced in 1870 and 1871, the Spaffords decided that an extended European vacation was in order.  So they booked passage to England.  Just prior to their departure, however, Mr. Spafford was detained in the city on business but sent Anna and their four daughters on ahead of him.  On November 2, 1872, the ship that Mrs. Spafford and her children were on collided with another ship and sank within twelve minutes.  All four of the Spafford daughters died.  Mrs. Spafford was saved because a plank floated under her and kept her unconscious body from sinking in the cold Atlantic.  Her last memory of her daughters was of her baby being torn from her arms by the cold rushing water.  When she reached England, Anna sent a telegram to her husband stating, "Saved alone.  What shall I do?"

Horotio immediately boarded a ship sailing for England to be with his wife but asked the ship's captain to let him know when they were near the spot where his children had perished.  When the captain brought him to the deck as the ship neared the site of the wreckage, he informed Mr. Spafford that the water was at least three miles deep.  After contemplating his daughters' watery grave, Horotio went back to his cabin and penned the words to this well-loved hymn.

This part of the tragic story is somewhat familiar to most regular church-goers.  Many sermons have been preached on the courage and strength that Horotio drew upon to overcome unfathomable tragedy.  What is not as familiar, however, is the reaction of the Spaffords' church to their overwhelming loss.  Church elders believed that the tragedies had befallen the Spaffords due to secret sin and according to the church dogma, the children could not have gone to heaven.  At a time when comfort from their community of faith was most needed, the Spaffords experienced rejection, blame and were eventually expelled from the church.  Friends who supported them were expelled as well and it became a media scandal.  Ummm, sounds a bit familiar.


A daughter born after the tragedy later wrote about the family's life prior to 1872, "In Chicago, Father searched his life for explanation. Until now, it had flowed gently as a river.  Spiritual peace and worldly security had sustained his early years, his family life and his home.  All around him people were asking the unvoiced question, 'What guilt had brought this sweeping tragedy to Anna and Horotio Spafford?' Father became convinced that God was kind and that he would see his children again in heaven.  This thought calmed his heart but it was to bring Father into open conflict with what was then the Christian world." Source

It seems the notion of churches killing their wounded is not new nor is the tendency to blame victims of horrendous tragedy.  Expulsion, banning, finger-pointing and abusive "church discipline" are not new ideas, unfortunately.  I don't know how the Spaffords reconciled themselves to the rejection they experienced by their religious community; I don't know quite how any of us do.  My hope is that Horotio and Anna found peace in the arms of their Shepherd, even if they didn't in their church.  

I am encouraged by the communities that are springing up of disenfranchised former church attenders.  They are leaving organized religion because of abuses much like the Staffords experienced and they are finding each other.  They are banding together to heal, to encourage and to reform a system that has become unbelievably corrupt and dysfunctional.  I am privileged to be part of that group of people so can truly affirm that it is well with my soul.

Staying Safe and Sane

I live in a community that has an intense love of fireworks, which has never made sense to me because of the dryness of our natural environment.  Most cities have outlawed all fireworks except those deemed "safe and sane," which is a term designated for fireworks that do not fly or explode.  In spite of law enforcement's efforts, however, many unsafe and insane fireworks are regularly displayed around major holidays in my community.  Sometimes neighborhoods look like war zones because of this intense love of things that go boom in the night.

For a family living with the fallout of exposed pedophilia, staying safe and sane becomes a challenge.  Sometimes it feels like we are winning the effort and at other times it feels like we might as well surrender because we have already lost the war.  The collateral damage from the arrest and incarceration of a fmamily member is huge, especially when the crimes were committed against children.  Safety and sanity feel illusionary--like the desert mirage promising a respite from the heat and unquenchable thirst.

We crave validation and affirmation but are afraid to risk telling another our "secrets" for fear that we will be judged guilty by association.

Our sense of personal safety was destroyed when a family member became involved with the criminal justice system.  As all victims of trauma do, we seek to re-establish saety but since we are distrustful and suspicious, it is challenging.

We crave the ability to live productively in the world but constantly fear repercussions and exposure.  Will our employment be threatened if we tell our story?  Will we come under criminal investigation simply because we lived in proximity to the criminal?  Will we be seen as damaged goods by friends and potential romantic partners?

We want to become crusaders for children's safety but instead we guard our privacy, isolate and hide.  It is risky to identify with this form of social leprosy, it is very risky and we know it from our personal experience.

So we struggle for truth, authenticity and transparency from a place of safety.  Staying in that safe place requires every bit of faith, hope and sheer grit that we can muster up.  the boundaries of our safe place keep changing so we must shift and change with it.

We long for stability and security in a world that has become quite unstable and chaotic.  We flinch when we hear a loud noise or see a police cruiser because these are no longer symbols of help and safety.

We don't like things that go boom in the night and we don't enjoy life explosions.  We have lived through enough of those to satisfy us for a lifetime.  And really there is nothing sane or safe about holding even the "safest" firework in one's hand--sparklers are estimated to burn at 2,000 degrees--hot enough to cause significant damage to the human body.  And there certainly is nothing sane or safe about pedophilia--even for the innocent parties, which include the predator's family members.

Re-Envisioning the Empty Nest

I can still recall the overwhelming love I felt when each of my children were born and the accompanying grief that one day they would grow up and leave.  At the time, I couldn't imagine that loss.  There were times, however, especially during those difficult teen years that the empty nest didn't seem like such a bad thing.  I looked forward to returning to just the two of us once more and to celebrating the life and family that we had created together.

We purchased an Amish hand-made dining table that extended to accomondate seating for nearly twenty people.  I envisioned our children and their families gathered around that beautiful table for years to come, celebrating holidays, birthdays and the traditions that we had carefully developed over the years.  Our children were grown and soon grandchildren would come but we still had each other.  Our impending empty nest would provide a much-needed opportunity to rediscover each other and to enjoy the fruits of our marriage and labor.

But that didn't happen.

As I continue this journey of recovery, I am realizing that I must now redefine or re-envision the empty nest because the definition I have always used is now outdated.  There is no "us" in my nest, only "me."  And the divorce has redefined the cherished relationships I have enjoyed with my children.  The expectations we had for this time in life have been radically changed.  Loyalties are divided and hurts abound--this is a common side effect of divorce.

I thrive on connecting with others; indeed this has been the focus of my life to this point.  My connections have changed and I am challenged to adjust my expectations of what connections will now look like.  My children are adults now with lives of their own.  While my connection to them continues, albeit in a different way, I must now focus on connections with others outside my family.

I mentioned in a recent post that I have lived life based on plans created by someone else's expectations of me or of their own dreams and aspirations.  Re-envisioning the empty nest offers an opportunity to create an authentically "me" plan for the rest of my life.  As I have contemplated on what I want my life to look like for whatever time remains, it has become quite apparent that it is not so much the container of my life that I am concerned with but rather the contents of that container.

The container or "nest" is typically developed during the first half of life and consists of establishing a home, career, family and identity.  The contents of that container become far more important during the second half of life.  I do not want my life to be defined by my career or house for they are simply the container of my life but rather by the quality of my connections with others, including my connections with self and with God.

• I want to have friends I can just be silly with--someone who will call me up and say "Let's put on our cowboy boots and go line dancing!"  (I don't own cowboy boots and I don't know how to dance, but I don't want to care about those facts anymore).
• I want people in my life that I can laugh with--belly laughs without inhibitions.
• I want my life to be full of meaningful connections--people I can be authentic with and with whom I can cry or shout or simply sit in silence.
• I want to grow in my capacity to love and in my ability to live loved.
• I want to embrace paradox--both the light and the darkness, realizing that without both, I cannot fully see.
• I want to continue to learn how to be fully present in each moment rather than living in the what-ifs of the past or the what-nows of the future.
• I want to grow and expand and stretch myself in new ventures.  I want to step out of my comfort zone and try new things, maybe create my own "Bucket List."
• I want to become more comfortable in my own skin and with who I am becoming.
• Knowing that the second half of life will bring additional challenges and more loss, I want to continue to practice the disciples of acceptance, surrender and courage.
• I want to live fully until the moment I die--no sitting around waiting for the inevitable but dancing and loving and living until my final breath.

If I can achieve even half of these goals in my new life plan, then my nest will never be empty but fuller than I can imagine.  And though I may be alone in my nest, I am guaranteed to not be lonely.  Hand me that twig, will you?  I'm gonna start building.

The Substitute

A gentleman in my neighborhood came calling recently and while I was initially shocked and a bit flattered by his attention, it soon became apparent that he was looking for a substitute.  His wife of many years died within the past year and he is looking for a replacement.  In mulling over the emotions that his attention raised for me, I realized that I have been a substitute for my entire life.  I also realized that I no longer wish to be a substitute anything for anyone.

A substitute is an individual who stands in or acts on behalf of another, in essence, a place holder.  Substitutes typically have no authority or value on their own in their substitute capacity but derive their purpose from another.  They are in that place for that moment in time because of the existence and absence of another.  They are not there because of their unique intrinsic value.

Remember those days when the teacher was absent and a substitute was in the classroom for the day?  Wasn't it just a wee bit fun to see how far we could go in misbehaving since the "real deal" was gone?  Most of us can readily confess to quickly sizing up the substitute to try to determine just how far we could get in our misbehavior.

But for the substitute the experience often was a grueling one.  She was required to try to decipher and implement another individual's plan for the class.  She knew she would be judged not on her own merit or missteps but simply that she was not able to be exactly like the person she was replacing for that moment in time.  She instantly was at a disadvantage because she didn't know the individuals in the class as well as the person for whom she was substituting.  It was rarely a win/win situation for the substitute.  The best she could hope for was to survive the day intact.

So it occurs to me that my days of people-pleasing and approval-seeking were days when I was allowing myself to be used as a substitute.  The real me didn't show up on those days instead a substitute me performed, contorted and aimed to please, thank you very much.  This fake/inauthentic me was substituting for the real me who was curled up in a ball on the closet floor, afraid to show up for my own life.  And to be fair to myself, my fear of being seen was not entirely baseless.

I grew up in a family where it was not safe to allow yourself to be seen; I marinated in a religious environment that placed an extreme emphasis on perfection and I married a man who needed me to cure something that is incurable.  So I learned the fine art of hiding at a tender age.  I didn't show up for myself or for others that I loved.  I was my own substitute for over five decades.

There were rare times when I sent the substitute home and showed up for my own life.  But because I was so rarely present, I did not have a plan for how I wanted to live my own life.  Oh, I had plans, lots of plans because I am a planner by nature.  But they were based on what someone else wanted from me, not on what I wanted for myself.  I made my plans based on the expectations and desires of others; I had no real plan apart from the important people in my life.

And it might have worked out ok but then I'll never know.  What I do know is that I can no longer allow a substitute me to live my life. I can no longer live my life based on the expectations of another, even if they disapprove of decisions or views that I have.  My days of people-pleasing and approval-seeking have ended.  I'm showing up for my life in an authentic, real, embodied way.  I have fired the substitute but then, she was exhausted and ready to retire anyway.

So, I'll gently send the widower seeking a substitute wife on his way--I cannot be what he has lost.  And I'll thoughtfully make a plan for my life and I will show up to implement that plan.  I won't do it perfectly and I'm sure that I will make mistakes.  But is is my life and I am the only one who can truly live it.  What an incredible thing to learn after so many years of living.  I'm just grateful I am learning it while I still have time to be me.