Entering Wonderland 'Part Two' - and I lost everything.

So, there we were… my bishop – sitting in the corner of our living room in our oversized blue chair, my husband (Mr. Wonderful) – sitting on the couch, and me – sitting directly across from where my husband was sitting, anxiously waiting and curiously wondering what was going on. 

I knew something was “off”.  I didn’t know if it was a "good off" or a "bad off" but it just felt awkward.  There wasn’t much small talk or chit-chat… it was just strange. 

Then, Mr. Wonderful, without any sort of an introduction, pulled out a piece of paper… a letter that he wrote to me, a letter that he started reading to me.

And then… my life changed.

My world shifted.

I wasn’t safe.  I wasn’t safe.  I WASN'T SAFE.

I was scared.

As Mr. Wonderful read the letter, he revealed and confessed his sex addiction to me.  His confession consisted of years of viewing and lying about viewing pornography.  It also covered the general details of other women, strip clubs, lap dances, sexual chit-chat, adult bookstores (what the hell is an adult bookstore again?)… and so on. 

I remember listening in absolute unbelief.  Even as he was sitting there, with my bishop, confessing all the lies and manipulations and deceit and money and girls… I just didn’t couldn’t believe it.  It was like Mr. Wonderful was telling me a story about someone else, some other sad couple and their tragic relationship, not ours. 

Mr. Wonderful sobbed through the entire letter.  I sat there emotionless, across from him, nothing between us but our coffee table.  Occasionally I would glance over to the corner of the room where my bishop sat, silently listening… silently observing.

When Mr. Wonderful finished reading his letter there was silence.  I just sat there.  I sat there trying to wrap my head around this massive tsunami that just destroyed my reality, my reality turning to Wonderland.  I sat there trying to process the destruction.  Then I stood up. 

I stood up and in absolute shock I walked over to Mr. Wonderful and hugged him… (WHAT???  I know, I should have kicked him in his jewels but I didn’t, I hugged him) and I said to him, “Mr. Wonderful, I bet that was really hard for you to share with me, I appreciate you telling me.”  Then I grabbed my cell phone, looked over at the bishop and said to both of the men, “I need some fresh air”.  And just when I was about to escape that room, just as I reached for the doorknob, I heard Mr. Wonderful’s voice.  He said, “Alice, because you grabbed your cell phone, I feel like I should mention to you that”… (and here is where I instantly lost EVERYONE I EVER TRUSTED IN MY LIFE)… “I feel like I should mention that your dad, your mom, your sister and your therapist already know about my issues, and they have known for several years”. 

I listened to this. 

I stepped back from the front door and walked to the closest chair where I quietly and softly set my cell phone down before disappearing out the front door.

I didn’t need my phone anymore.

Who could I call?

Who could I trust?

Everyone, not just Mr. Wonderful, kept this life-altering secret from me for years.  They sided with the secret.  They sided with the addiction.  They sided with the addict.  My parents, my very own parents, chose Mr. Wonderful over me. 

I sat on my driveway holding my knees to my chest.  I sat there all alone in 119 degrees feeling cold and invisible.  So alone. 

I didn’t need my cell phone anymore.

Entering Wonderland 'Part One'

It was 119 degrees and I remember laughing, literally laughing, at how hot it felt outside.  It was July 4^th, 2007 and it was our first summer in the blazing heat of Arizona.  My family (Mr. Wonderful, our 2 boys, and I) had been in this new and exciting place for a short 5 months.

When Mr. Wonderful was offered a promising job in Arizona I was excited.  I was ready and fearless and confident and ambitiously ready to take on the world.  And so, we moved. 

It was the first time Mr. Wonderful and I weren’t living within 5 miles of at least 20 of our relatives; his parents, my parents, his siblings, my siblings, my grandparents and cousins and aunts and uncles, etc.  But we were thriving in our new life.  We loved our neighborhood.  We loved our ward.  We loved the people we were meeting and the friends we were making.  I loved how strong our marriage was growing because, for the first time, we were forced to rely on each other completely.  We were communicating with ease and supporting each other in ways our extended family normally would.  We were each other’s everything… and more. 

I was happy.  I loved the sunshine.  I felt like, not only was it 119 degrees outside in July, while my little family sat on the asphalt waiting for the fireworks to start, but it also felt like it was 119 degrees inside my own heart and soul.  I was just.that.happy.

When the doorbell rang in the evening of July 5, 2007 I answered it without a thought.  The kids were in bed, the dishes were done, the evening had arrived and I wondered who was stopping by for a visit.  When I opened the door a familiar face in a suit stood on my front porch.  I struggled trying to remember exactly who this man was.  I knew he was a member of my bishopric, but I wasn’t sure if he actually was my bishop!  In an attempt to hide my confusion from him, I smiled curiously.  I remember thinking it felt a bit strange when he pushed his way through my front door without me announcing that my husband was home first (normally, in my church, a man won’t barge in {or even enter} a home without first knowing that another man is home).  Just as I was thinking how strange this was, Mr. Wonderful bounced around the corner welcoming our BISHOP into our home.

“Hello bishop” I said, in a way that would make anyone believe that all along I knew he was my bishop.  The bishop shook my hand nervously and took a seat in our big blue chair.  I joined as Mr. Wonderful awkwardly sat on our couch…

…and here is where my life changed forever.

…and here is where things get very blurry.

Annoying Fly

So, the other day I was thinking… and I guess I was feeling too.

I was feeling bad about something that triggered me.  I was feeling bad for Mr. Wonderful.  I felt guilty that Mr. Wonderful had to "deal" with my unpredictable triggers and the unpredictable emotions that often accompanied those triggers.

Sometimes I get angry, sometimes I get so sad.  Sometimes I'll down right cancel any plans right as we are walking out the door due to my inability to "handle" the real world while dealing with the trauma of betrayal.

I started apologizing to Mr. Wonderful for my inconsistencies when (in mid apology) I realized that what I had to "DEAL" with was so much bigger in comparison.  {Now, don't get me wrong, I believe in apologizing to anyone and everyone (even those that have hurt me beyond belief) when I have done something that merits an apology.}

While I was apologizing something clicked in my brain and before I had thought it through I said… "Mr. Wonderful, I'm so sorry that you have to deal with me when I experience random triggers and random emotions that come from all the hurt and pain of our relationship and our past."  He graciously accepted my apology, so I continued… "but the more I think about it, what I have to deal with compared to what you have to deal with is metaphorically like comparing the hassle of swatting an annoying fly to the hassle of shoveling the poo left by a dozen grown elephants.  I'll admit it, flies can be annoying, especially when you are trying to enjoy a picnic outside… but I think anyone would choose to swat a fly over the task of running around with a shovel that weighs 50 pounds scooping enormous piles of shit that seem to be the size of a 10 year old… what do you think?"

Then I walked away.

PS… I think I may start sharing my story soon!

Let's Make It Wonderful

I love Christmas.

I have had some pretty terrible and painful Christmases in the past.

I still love Christmas.

I'm not sure if anyone reads my blog but if you are reading then I am talking to you.  I hope you find a way to have JOY this wonderful time of year.  Sometimes it doesn't feel wonderful but it is.  The Savior was born.  The SAVIOR WAS BORN.  How about we make a deal… you, my only reader, and me.  How about the deal be, when it gets hard (because it will), when the triggers and the pain comes (because they will come), then we, you and I, focus on the Savior.  And more specifically, the new born, squeezable chubby, soft baby skinned, baby boy Savior.  I think that will help me… maybe it will help you to.

So what do you say?  Deal?

I want you to love Christmas too.

All my love,
Alice