I have been pondering for a while about the past couple years of my life. I constantly wonder if I am healed in certain areas because I go through waves of feeling like I still don’t know who I am. I know I have rediscovered parts of me that were lost, and yet… I know there is a long way still to go to feel like I am "me" again.
I just wanted to compile a list of some of the things that tug at my heart; a list of what I experienced that sometimes my brain tells me weren't real, or were entirely my fault. I don't fully understand why I feel the need to write this, but if it can be of any help to anyone who may have / have had similar experiences, then I write this to you. And I want you to know that I have full confidence that the Savior can heal it all.
I know what it's like to sit next to a spouse in the car, at church, at the dinner table, who is depressed and distant. I feel the heaviness of wondering how to help them climb out of the darkness and the hope that they’ll realize you’re trying your best to help, to stay positive, to carry the load with them. I know the feeling of wanting to connect with someone who wants to disconnect from everything, and realizing you are powerless to help.
I know how it feels to listen to a spouse - the one you are sealed to in the temple - doubt their faith and wonder if any of it means anything. I know how it feels to listen to them reason God right out of existence, doubt the veracity of the Book of Mormon, and criticize doctrine.
I know how it feels to ache to be hugged, to ache to have a loved one reach for your hand like they used to, only to realize that they haven't initiated hand holding for weeks now. I know the anguish of heartbreak when your loved one relapses, when he looks at porn over and over, when he weeps and weeps about his mistake, but doesn't bother to ask you how you are doing.
I know the heartache of going to the temple alone, without your spouse; the feeling of "this isn't right" as you leave him in the waiting room while you continue into the temple because, of the two of you, you're the only one worthy to enter.
I know self loathing and self denigration. I know the depths of gas lighting and manipulation. I know what it's like to not know who to trust, to not even know what to pray about, and to not feel connection to anyone or anything.
I know the weight of carrying a secret about him on your shoulders, wondering what he will do to you if he finds out you accidentally told it. I know the sadness of watching him choose not to partake of the sacrament, wondering if you should put your arm around him or squeeze his hand a bit tighter so he knows you’re there, yet not wanting him to feel like you’re drawing attention.
I know the deep darkness of isolation and fear. I know about distress and anxiety in intimacy, and never feeling like my body was beautiful enough. I know about worrying if what is happening to you in intimate moments is appropriate or not. I know about wondering if you are in danger from your own spouse. I know the feeling of fear, wondering if what you do will make him angry or not. I know the feeling of trying to guess what it was that you did wrong this time - if what you said or laughed at or suggested or shared was what caused the problem. I know what it's like to feel like you are walking on eggshells, never knowing when you would get it trouble next.
I know the abyss of hopelessness and despair, the desire to leave the world behind because no one cares about you anyway. I know the feeling of planning my death, walking over to carry it out, and being saved only by God - who knows exactly how to remind me of my value and enoughness.
I understand the pain of working through weakness. The desire to make a marriage better, yet knowing it takes two people to work on it. I know the heartbreak of hearing from your husband that he doesn't want to spend time with you, ever, and that he wishes you looked and acted differently. I know the feeling of confusion when he admits to have known exactly what he was doing by manipulating you, for your whole marriage, yet not seeking to fix what he had done wrong. I know the fear you have to look him in the eye, the fear you feel when you have to bring something up, the fear of offending him, the fear of what to say to him during conversation that won’t start an argument.
I know the loss of brain power because you rack your brain to find out what you could have possibly done wrong this time… wondering how to apologize, how to do better, how to try harder to not make him angry.
I know the agony of betrayal, when loving someone so purely and innocently is treated with disrespect.
I know that feeling when trust is broken and your world is shattered.
I know the moment you realize you’re in physical danger but you don’t have the courage to leave.
I know the feeling of losing a spouse.
I know the doubt, the uncertainty of choosing to get a divorce; wondering if you could have possibly "made it work" or "helped him more" or "fixed myself better". Wondering what would have happened if you had stayed. Wondering if he would have loved you again.
I know the pain of receiving that letter from his new bishop, requesting that you write a letter in response to his request for a sealing cancellation so he can be married again. I know the heartache of realizing that she now has the place you always dreamed of having.
Another time, I will write you all the things I know about the diamonds that came from this furnace of affliction, the pearls from the sand, the beauty from the ashes.
Another time, I will. But for now, these are the parts of me that sometimes still ache because, well . . . It hurt. It really, really did.
