Working the steps

I’ve been attending Al-Anon for about 6 weeks now. This week I’ll stay in the large group meeting instead of going to the beginners’ meeting. I’m hoping that doing so will help me figure out how to move from being just a meeting-goer to actually working the 12 steps.

I’m not sure that one meeting a week is enough to help the 12 steps be ingrained in my life. But there is also a part of me that doesn’t want to invest more time in the world of addiction. However, I know that only 10% of alcoholics who quit drinking stay sober forever. And based on the men in AA that I’m familiar with, the ones who have 10, 15 and 20 years of sobriety are the ones who still after all these years go to multiple meetings each week.

Maybe attending the regular meetings will help me get to know the people in the group better, which will help me feel comfortable with seeking out a sponsor, who will challenge me to truly work the steps.

Boy, do I wish there was a magic wand for all of this.

Pancakes

Sometimes I forget that it’s more than just me in this alcoholic family saga. Oh, I’m often reminded that my sons miss their dad; they are pretty vocal about it. (Though he’s here so often, I think he is hard to miss.) But my daughter really doesn’t say much.

I’ve asked her a few times how she feels about the situation, but she doesn’t talk much. She’s shared her frustration that when her dad is here, he goes around barking orders and hollering. She remarked that it’s more peaceful without him here. But beyond those couple of sentences, she hasn’t said much.

This morning, I was in the kitchen getting out the griddle to make pancakes for breakfast. My daughter came downstairs, walked in the kitchen and said, “Mom, what are you doing?”

“Making pancakes.”

She got a funny smile on her face, walked out of the room, came back in and smiled at me again. When I asked what was going on, I got the typical pre-teen, “Nothing…”

Unsatisfied with that response, I asked her again.

“Well, yesterday I heard you and Daddy fighting. I was so scared, so I said a prayer. I asked God to let Mom make pancakes in the morning so I’d know everything was going to be ok.”

She started crying. I scooped her into my arms — as much as you can scoop someone already taller than yourself — and assured her that everything would indeed be ok. I told her about how my husband and I are going to counseling together. And offered that we weren’t fighting, but having a loud discussion about the merits (or not) of having Obama speak at Notre Dame and being awarded an honorary degree.

I feel guilty for the fear in which she must live her life. At 12 years old, the prospect of your parents getting a divorce and the reality of knowing that your dad is an alcoholic must be downright scary.

And I hope that as she went to school today, she felt some comfort in the knowledge that sometimes God answers prayers with pancakes.

Cracked

I’m not sure if it’s that I’ve been going to therapy or going to Al-Anon or if it’s that I’ve been praying that I wan’t God to remove the anger and numbness from my heart, but today I feel cracked. It feels as if my heart is literally broken open. And what I am feeling is pain and hurt. I mean really feeling it. The tears are flowing for the first time in months, maybe years. And they keep coming. And I can’t stop. And as much as it hurts, it feels oddly good to know that I have the capacity to feel something.

I prefer “bossy.”

Years ago when my husband went to rehab, someone suggested that I read Codependent No More by Melody Beattie. I didn’t. I was overwhelmed by life and didn’t have the capacity (or so I thought) to take on that book. Besides, my husband’s alcoholism was his problem and no amount of reading on my part was going to make a difference in that.

So when he relapsed six weeks ago, that same person again recommended that I read the book. I went out that day and bought it. Read the first three chapters, put it down and haven’t touched it since. But a different friend is encouraging me to not only read it, but to really do the work it asks for at the end of each chapter.

My husband and I have been separated for more than a month. He is doing everything that I have asked him to do and yet I really don’t feel any less anger than I did a month ago. So I figure maybe the book is a good idea.

I have joked before that I’m “codependent,” but I’ve never really considered it as a real possibility. I prefer to think of it as “bossy” or “opinionated” or “caring enough to help people see how they should live their lives.” Which of course sounds ridiculous when it’s written here. But I’ve read the first two chapters of the book and scarily identify with several of the examples written there.

The opening story of “Jessica,” which the author calls “an extreme example” could have been titled with my own name. Other stories shared too are like windows to my life:

“My family and friends think I am a tower of strength…The truth is I’m falling apart…”

“It feels like I’ve lost myself.”

“I’m sick of taking care of people.”

“I feel guilty when I don’t do what’s asked of me…I schedule my day, my priorities around guilt.”

Obviously, I see this in my relationship with my husband. But I also see it in the way I relate to my parents who are struggling financially and I feel like I need to do something. I see it in the way I relate to my friends and siblings. I’m quick to tell them what decisions and choices they should make in their own lives, even though I feel almost paralyzed by the decisions I’m faced with in my life.

Maybe “codependent” hits closer to home than I thought.

Somewhere between here and there

It’s been a little over 3 weeks since I updated here. I’ve thought of it often, but have honestly felt too tired to talk anymore about my situation. I’m not sure if this is depression (still taking my crazy pills) or unmotivation or what, but I haven’t felt like doing much of anything in the past several weeks.

My husband is still at the halfway house, but he is here quite often as well. I’m not sure if that’s good or not. He came by yesterday after work and just hung out, watching a movie. That irritated me. Should it have? I question whether he’s attending all the 12-step meetings he should be and know that the questioning would be frowned upon by the Al-Anon folks. But I can’t help myself.

I’ve gone to 3 Al-Anon meetings. Met another, different girlfriend whose boyfriend is an alcoholic. What is wrong with these girls? I hope I am raising my children to be stronger and smarter than that.

I know that I’m not “doing” Al-Anon the right way. I go to one meeting a week. I read one or two entries in “One Day at a Time in Al-Anon” each week, but wonder if surely there must be an updated version. The one I have was printed in 1984 and says crazy things like “We are asked to forgive those who have injured us. Unless we have first judged and condemned them for what they did, there would be no reason for us to forgive them. Rather we would have to forgive ourselves for judging.” (April 30)

Are you kidding me? So I’m the one who is at fault for making a judgement about the fact that my husband’s choice to give in to his addiction has led us to the brink of financial ruin, has split apart our family and has had numerous other negative impacts on our lives? If this is Al-Anon’s prescription for serenity, I’m finding it quite a difficult pill to swallow.

People continue to tell me that I am strong. I feel more stubborn than strong. They ask me how we’re doing and mostly I say, “okay,” even though I’m not sure that is the truth. My voice broke on that answer the other day. I was surprised by that, by how easily the hurt welled up from under the surface.

I kind of feel like a crazy woman. Happy one minute, irritable the next. I see that I am unavailable to my children (emotionally and sometimes physically), yet being any other way requires significant effort. I draw my husband closer in, then panic at his proximity and push him away.

And I find myself wondering if this is a situation, a relationship, that is beyond fixing? That very wonder scares the hell out of me.

RUN!

I went to my first Al-Anon meeting the other night. Well, my first this year anyway. I’d given it a try a few years ago, but I don’t think I was in the right place to embrace it then.

So, given all that’s been going on here, I decided to give Al-Anon another try. I got to the meeting a few minutes late and they were already going around the circle reading the 12 Steps and 12 Traditions. Someone asked me if I wanted to read one aloud. I didn’t.

Once that was done and the secretary’s report was given, I left with five other women for a “beginners” meeting. One woman was the meeting leader who seemed calm, welcoming and affirming. We all talked about who our “qualifier” is — who is it that qualifies us to identify ourselves as a friend or family member of an alcoholic.

The qualifiers were one father, one son, two husbands and a boyfriend. The girl who spoke of her boyfriend was just that — a girl, probably in her early twenties.

It took all I had not to march over, shake her by the shoulders and scream, “What the HELL are you thinking?! You are not married to this man. You don’t have children with this man. You DO NOT have to put yourself through this! Run — far and fast!” I wanted to yell.

After 15 years of marriage, I do still love my husband. But I would be lying if I said that my wedding vows and my children didn’t have anything to do with all the work that I’m putting into keeping this going.

I made a covenant promise to my husband and before God that I would be here “for better or for worse.” I meant it when I said it and I mean it today, too. But if someone had told me this is how my life would be, I’m not sure if I would have signed up for that.

There it is again.

I am angry today. My husband declined to take care of the children after school yesterday because he and his sponsor didn’t feel it was right for him to be in the house when I’m not home. Yet, he comes here everyday it seems when I am at work. Yesterday, he ate food from the freezer. How quick that anger flared seeing the empty box in the trash! Anger that he was here, lurking, while we were all gone. Anger that he isn’t eating the food we’re paying for at the place where he is staying.

Frozen pizza is not the issue. It’s a sense of dishonesty and “I’ll do whatever I want” that seeing the pizza, knowing he was here but then pulling the “I can’t help because you’re not home” card. This is the stuff I have to learn to deal with — to learn where to invest my anger and where to let things roll.

Tonight I’ve committed to attending an Al-Anon meeting. I am not at all looking forward to it. But I’ll go…because I am still angry.

The new reality

We’ve been away from home for almost a week now. We had a Spring Break trip planned before my husband left and I decided to keep the plans. I am glad I did. I think we all needed some time away.

I’m pretty proud of myself. My husband has always done the driving on our big trips, but I did it all! A total of 20 hours by the time we return home. I’ve been pretty calm the whole way, though the last 24 hours have definitely had me longing for home.

I’ve spoken with my husband most days. I don’t miss him a lot. But there have definitely been feelings that I want to talk with him before going to bed, or I want to share with him something one of the kids said or did.

I’m trying to embrace those moments. Those are the hopeful moments where I see there is future for us. To be sure, I also still have my angry moments and can say that this trip has not done much for me in the way of resolving that anger.

I suppose that is work to be done when we return to the new reality of our lives come Monday.

Breakfast coverup

My husband is at our house right now, packing up the things he’ll need for his stay at a halfway house. So I took our youngest two to the local coffee shop, handed them cinnamon rolls, milk and the Nintendo DS and a laptop and told them we were gonna enjoy some breakfast and video games. (The oldest is at a friend’s house.)

Seems like life will be easier when they know the truth and we can stop pretending that their dad is away on a business trip. Of course, when they know the truth, life will become infinitely more complicated with questions of when will Daddy be home? Why does Daddy have to stay away?

Last night the littlest one and I were watching “Free Willy.” When Willy jumped the rock wall and escaped into freedom, my little guy sobbed, understanding that the boy would not get to see his whale friend anymore. When I asked him why he was crying, my son wailed on about his frog who died. “I miss my frog!” he cried over and over.

I had to wonder how much of the true, wounded sadness was really “I miss my dad” that he just wasn’t articulating. And the truth is that I miss his dad, too. Oh, how I wish I could just throw the door open and say, “Come on in!”

But I am afraid that doing so would only take us 20 steps from where we need to be, which is in a place of honesty and sobriety on his part and forgiveness on mine.

Liar

It’s a term that I’ve used for my husband before when he’s trying to cover his drinking/drug use. But today it fits me.

I took our youngest child to a new health care provider and had the usual mountain of paperwork to complete. I’ve done this so many times that I could practically do it in my sleep. I really wish there was a universal electronic file that you could just upload to whomever needs the information.

Anyway, I was breezing through the filling out of the forms when I came to the question “Parents’ marital status?” That one stopped me dead. It was the first time I’ve been asked that question since my husband moved out.

There’s never an option for “Married, but pissed off.” Just “married” is enough. But the “Separated” option stared me at the face, so much private truth in that one word. So much acknowledgement of the pissed-offedness, of the turmoil that exists in our house. And I just couldn’t face it.

So I lied and quickly put my check mark next to “Married.”