Another Good Read

I'm still pretty busy getting everything in order for my move at the end of the month, so I haven't had much time for blogging. But I wanted to check in and share an article that a reader who is going through her own porn addiction-related divorce recently sent me. It's a 2008 opinion piece from The Atlantic titled "Is Pornography Adultery?" by Russ Douthat and it's, hands down, the best article I've read about why watching porn--especially Internet porn--not only feels like infidelity, but is infidelity. It also addresses the "all guys do it" argument in a particularly brilliant way. I recommend reading the article in its entirety, but here are some highlights:

• Over the past three decades, the VCR, on-demand cable service, and the Internet have completely overhauled the ways in which people interact with porn. Innovation has piled on innovation, making modern pornography a more immediate, visceral, and personalized experience. Nothing in the long history of erotica compares with the way millions of Americans experience porn today, and our moral intuitions are struggling to catch up.

• Start with the near-universal assumption that what [Elliot] Spitzer did in his hotel room constituted adultery, and then ponder whether Silda Spitzer would have had cause to feel betrayed if the FBI probe had revealed that her husband had paid merely to watch a prostitute perform sexual acts while he folded himself into a hotel armchair to masturbate. My suspicion is that an awful lot of people would say yes—not because there isn’t some distinction between the two acts, but because the distinction isn’t morally significant enough to prevent both from belonging to the zone, broadly defined, of cheating on your wife. You can see where I’m going with this. If it’s cheating on your wife to watch while another woman performs sexually in front of you, then why isn’t it cheating to watch while the same sort of spectacle unfolds on your laptop or TV.

• The whole point of a centerfold is her unattainability, but with hard-core porn, it’s precisely the reverse: the star isn’t just attainable, she’s already being attained, and the user gets to be in on the action. ...So yes, there’s an obvious line between leafing through a Playboy and pulling a Spitzer on your wife. But the line between Spitzer and the suburban husband who pays $29.95 a month to stream hard-core sex onto his laptop is considerably blurrier. The suburbanite with the hard-core porn hookup is masturbating to real sex, albeit at a DSL-enabled remove. He’s experiencing it in an intimate setting, rather than in a grind house alongside other huddled masturbators in raincoats, and in a form that’s customized to his tastes in a way that mass-market porn like Deep Throat and Debbie Does Dallas never was. There’s no emotional connection, true—but there presumably wasn’t one on Spitzer’s part, either.

• When apologists for pornography aren’t making...appeals to cultural transgression and sexual imagination, they tend to fall back on the defense that it’s pointless to moralize about porn, because men are going to use it anyway. ...In the name of providing a low-risk alternative for males who would otherwise be tempted by “real” prostitutes and “real” affairs, we’re ultimately universalizing, in a milder but not all that much milder form, the sort of degradation and betrayal that only a minority of men have traditionally been involved in.

The Beginning of the End

This is probably the longest I’ve gone without blogging. Two factors have kept me away this past month: A broken laptop, which I finally replaced yesterday, and being extremely busy with divorce and next-chapter-of-my-life stuff. I flew to New York to file the preliminary divorce paperwork (there will be one more trip to tie it all up), and I also traveled to the city to which I’ll be moving in a couple months to scope out living arrangements. But I’ll just talk about the divorce stuff, since I plan to keep the next-chapter stuff pretty vague to protect my anonymity. I will say, though, that I’m really excited (and, at the same time, a little anxious) about my move.

Filing the divorce paperwork wasn’t as difficult as I expected it would be, at least not while I was in New York. My mom tagged along for moral support, and that helped a lot. We took breaks from all the bureaucracy by peppering in some fun activities, like eating at some of my favorite restaurants and shopping at some of my favorite stores. The first day was a little rough--everything about New York seemed to remind me of Mark, but by the next day, it felt simply like home and I was able to remember the city as a place I also joyfully lived as a single person for a few years.

It’s been a little more difficult since I returned to the South. It’s like my grief emotions gave me a break long enough to get 'er done, and now they’re popping up from behind the sofa and shouting, “Surprise! We’re baaaack!” But it’s felt very healing to cry--after each sob session, it feels like I’ve purged some toxic shit and my spirit feels increasingly cleansed and a little bit lighter.

In the midst of this grieving, I also received a lesson in the “be careful what you wish for” department. Mark emailed me an apology letter, which is something I had really, really wanted. At first, I was stoked about it. Mark isn’t one of those addicts who says “I’m sorry” a million times, only to do the same stuff again--at least not when I lived with him. He would act slightly sheepish without apologizing, and then promise not to do it again (and, of course, do it again), or justify/rationalize the action and then claim he didn’t see any reason for not doing it again. So “I’m sorry” was sort of a first, and that blinded me temporarily. I wrote him back and thanked him for the apology, while wishing him well on this next part of his journey.

But then a few days passed, and his letter (and my response) kept nagging at me; something just didn’t feel right. I reread his email and saw that he didn’t take responsibility for his part. Instead, he took “our” inventory, and vaguely described the relationship’s unhealthy patterns without referencing his contribution and, specifically, his addiction. He also didn’t say anything about what he was doing to keep from repeating these patterns and hurting others (and himself) in the future. That’s when I realized that that sort of “apology” isn’t enough for me.

So I wrote him back and told him politely that though I still wish him well and have cultivated forgiveness on my own, I had thought it over a little more and I can’t accept an apology that doesn’t include any of the things I’ve been telling him I need for years. Just because the relationship is ending doesn’t mean that I still don’t need transparency and, most importantly, behavior that reflects recovery from him. Not surprisingly, he hasn’t responded. But I’ve been feeling much better after speaking my truth instead of doing the same old-same old and accepting crumbs in an effort to keep the peace and live wrapped in a warm, nubby blanket of denial. It feels better to end the relationship being true to myself than saying what he wants to hear in order to create the illusion of ending on a “good” note.

It Will Be For Me

I think I’ve already confessed that Gossip Girl is one of my guilty pleasures. Or, actually, it’s a strangely non-guilty pleasure. It’s one of those TV shows I wouldn’t have been able to watch with Mark without having a codiexplosion. There’s all sorts of sex, lies, scandal, betrayal and scantily clad girls. But for some reason, I can tune in every week and totally enjoy it without feeling triggered. Maybe it’s because after all the scuzzy stuff, there’s often a healthy resolution to each episode, a little nugget of wisdom to chew on and digest.

Anyway, there was this great scene in last night’s episode concerning two of the main characters, Chuck and Blair. For the uninitiated, the story behind Chuck and Blair goes a little something like this: They’re two totally dysfunctional, codependent people. Each of them is constantly scheming and up in everyone else’s business. During the first season or so, it was obvious that they were into each other, but they kept playing these really stupid control games and neither would admit their feelings. But then finally, Chuck lets go and tells Blair he loves her. They date seriously for a while and seem to be pretty loving to each other, though part of their relationship is still based on playing with other people’s minds.

But then recently, a few episodes ago, Chuck betrays Blair by objectifying her in a really shitty way, and she breaks up with him. Since then, he’s been sleeping around with other women and making sure Blair finds out (Chuck displayed some serious sex-addict tendencies before dating Blair). Blair then decides to retaliate and finds some random guy at a party to kiss in front of Chuck. But, right before she’s about to do it, she stops. Chuck approaches her and basically calls her a loser for not being able to move on, even though, according to him, he’s clearly moved on. Which is when Blair delivers this speech:

I could have kissed [that guy]. But I suddenly realized that the way to get over you is not by hooking up with some random guy or pretending that we didn't happen. You and I loved each other. And then you broke my heart. I've been doing everything possible not to face that fact. I'm going to kiss somebody someday. And when I do, it will be for me.

Blair then goes home and makes the decision to properly grieve, which her maid/confidant had been encouraging her do every time Blair would come up with another revenge-fueled scheme in response to Chuck’s sleeping around. She takes the box of Chuck-related memorabilia she had initially told the maid to pack up and throw out, and allows herself to hold each item, feel the messy mixture of emotions, and surrender to the memories.

And that's why I love Gossip Girl. On the surface, it’s all about the usual TV conventions—rich, good-looking college kids and their high-society melodramas. But then it digs a little deeper, and goes where most TV shows—and many people—don’t dare to go. It’s so much easier to throw away that box and declare oneself moved on. But then you’ll never really know if what you’re doing—whether it’s a kiss or a major life decision—is for you or if your life is just one big reaction, one drawn-out act of revenge. The trouble is, as I've been learning through my own process of going through the contents of my box of grief, finding out if something's for me often takes a lot longer than just one episode to resolve.

It's Too Late To Fight

I haven’t written about the details of ending contact with Mark because I’ve needed some time to process it. But, basically, here’s what went down: Everything went smoothly for a while. He cooperated as long as it took to give me the information I needed to fill out the divorce paperwork. However, he then offered more of his help—more than, in retrospect, was really needed for this to get done. I accepted this “help.” That’s when he began breaking boundaries. I called him on it, he corrected that behavior, but then he began undermining the process in more subtle ways: He asked numerous questions I had already answered and brought up issues we’d already gone over, all the while dragging out the paperwork process. I actually started re-answering and re-explaining, all the while feeling resentful that he was taking up my time with stuff we’d already covered and angry with myself for letting it happen. I started feeling crazy in that old, familiar way--feeling so unheard despite so much talk, and delusionally thinking that I'd be heard if I just talked some more. However, what was different from that old, familiar way was that I quickly recognized my feelings and the pattern, and I ended contact.

My emotions have gone through the usual rollercoaster twists and turns. I’m angry, I’m frustrated, I’m sad, and I’m incredibly relieved. I’m angry because it sucks that no matter how much time and space has been between us, we’re still in the same place. I’m frustrated because no matter how much work I’ve done on myself, it doesn’t mean shit when it comes to our interactions—it just means I’m much more calm and diplomatic, but much less willing to tolerate the craziness. The work I’ve done works, but not in the way I had initially thought (and hoped) it would when I started my own program. I’m sad because I love him, but there is absolutely no way I can be with him, even in small doses—it’s just too hard to keep my serenity, whereas I experience that serenity quite often when I’m on my own. And I’m relieved, because on so many levels I’m so glad to be ending the relationship, even though it hurts like lots of little paper cuts on my heart.

The visuals and the lyrics in the above video, “It Ends Tonight” by The All American Rejects, seem to capture that jumble of feelings--and the strange catharsis--that comes with the realization that this is indeed, and finally, The End. And then there’s the added bonus of an appearance by my boyfriend Tyson Ritter, who, in the past, has reminded me that I still have a pulse, even when my sexuality felt like it had been hit by a truck and run through a meat grinder. Enjoy!

Your subtleties
They strangle me
I can't explain myself at all.
And all the wants
And all the needs
All I don't want to need at all.

The walls start breathing
My mind's unweaving
Maybe it's best you leave me alone.
A weight is lifted
On this evening
I give the final blow.

When darkness turns to light,
It ends tonight
It ends tonight.

A falling star
Least I fall alone.
I can't explain what you can't explain.
You're finding things that you didn't know
I look at you with such disdain

The walls start breathing
My mind's unweaving
Maybe it's best you leave me alone.
A weight is lifted
On this evening
I give the final blow.

When darkness turns to light
It ends tonight,
It ends tonight.
Just a little insight won't make this right
It's too late to fight
It ends tonight,
It ends tonight.

Now I'm on my own side
It's better than being on your side
It's my fault when you're blind
It's better that I see it through your eyes

All these thoughts locked inside
Now you're the first to know

When darkness turns to light
It ends tonight,
It ends tonight.
Just a little insight won't make this right
It's too late to fight
It ends tonight,
It ends

When darkness turns to light
It ends tonight,
It ends tonight.
Just a little insight won't make this right
It's too late to fight
It ends tonight,
It ends tonight.

Tonight
Insight
When darkness turns to light,
It ends tonight.

You Believe and You Doubt

I heard this song, “One Step at a Time” by the lovely Jordin Sparks, in a store the other day and it caught my attention as perfect blog mix fodder. It’s the kind of song my old self would have loathed and deemed totally cheesy, but lately whenever I hear an inspirational song, I’m like, Oh, yeah, that’s my groove. Anyway, lyrics are below, and enjoy the video. I do, vow, however, to never subject any of you—or myself—to R. Kelly’s “I Believe I Can Fly.” There will be limits to my Inspirational Tunes library.

Hurry up and wait
So close, but so far away
Everything that you've always dreamed of
Close enough for you to taste
But you just can't touch

You wanna show the world, but no one knows your name yet
Wonder when and where and how you're gonna make it
You know you can if you get the chance
In your face as the door keeps slamming
Now you're feeling more and more frustrated
And you're getting all kind of impatient waiting

We live and we learn to take
One step at a time
There's no need to rush
It's like learning to fly
Or falling in love

It's gonna happen and it's
Supposed to happen and we
Find the reasons why
One step at a time

You believe and you doubt
You're confused, you got it all figured out
Everything that you always wished for
Could be yours, should be yours, would be yours
If they only knew

You wanna show the world, but no one knows your name yet
Wonder when and where and how you're gonna make it
You know you can if you get the chance
In your face as the door keeps slamming

Now you're feeling more and more frustrated
and you're getting all kind of impatient waiting

When you can't wait any longer
But there's no end in sight
when you need to find the strength
It's your faith that makes you stronger
The only way you get there
Is one step at a time

Push-Pull

The past couple weeks have been rough. On the bright side, almost all the major pieces of the “job plan” have come together, and it looks like I’ll be (finally!) leaving my parents’ house in the next couple months for a new life in another city. On the murkier side, the part of the divorce process that involves communication with Mark is now over, and all that’s left to do is get to New York and file the papers. Meanwhile, our wedding anniversary popped up right in the middle of this ending-communication process, and my anniversary grief was even greater than last year’s. I had a few days where I cried on and off, and then the night before the dreaded day, I broke down and sobbed from the pit of my soul for what seemed like hours. With the sobbing came a deep, resigned recognition that I’m done with this relationship, even though a part of me wishes so badly that I didn’t have to be. What I’ve known for a while now just sort of sunk in on another level. The anniversary day itself, however, wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be—I felt hollowed out from the previous night’s crying in a strangely peaceful way.

But it’s not necessarily the grieving itself that’s made this period so difficult. It’s the push-pull of “move forward” and “stop to feel the feelings.” In this past year of relative quiet and moderate activity, I’ve been able to give my grief the time and attention it deserves. However, with so many exciting pieces of my new life becoming a reality and having a lot more to keep me busy than I’ve been used to for a while, there are times when it still feels almost unnatural to not be grieving as much, even though I’m aware that my increased desire to move forward signals that I’m ready to let go of some of the grief. Or, I get used to the joyful, energetic, even-keeled feelings for a long time (much longer than these feelings have lasted in more than a year), only to be confused and thrown off balance when I’m rocked by another grief quake. I’m having to experiment a lot more to find new combinations of self care in order to be authentic in both this more potent, forward-propelling energy and in the stop-and-get-quiet grief that’s still there. But right now, it still feels really awkward.

Busting Out the Map

I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this before, but I seriously love Melody Beattie’s The Language of Letting Go, a book of daily meditations for recovering codependents. It’s kind of like a roadmap I bust out whenever I’m a little lost and not quite sure where I am in my process. I flip through the index, search for a topic that seems to resonate, and, sure enough, the first or second reading on that topic will usually provide the words, the language, to describe my feelings and what I’m going through. It’s sort of like how when I go to a meeting, the topic and the shares always seem to provide me with the answer to some pestering question.

A lot of good stuff has been happening in my life lately. I’m consistently getting more and more pieces of the “job plan” filled in (I just got more good news today). My divorce is going smoothly—Mark and I have been in semi-regular contact for the past few months without any boundary or communication breakdowns. I’ve also been feeling myself emerging from my grief. I’ve been feeling much more lighthearted and spontaneous, and I’ve been partaking in more activities and just generally engaging with life in a way I haven’t felt safe doing in a long time. But, at the same time, I’ve been experiencing these pangs of fear once in a while—a type of fear I didn’t feel even at rock bottom. At first, I could only identify this fear as pain, and, not being able to see it clearly, I felt the need to step away from it until I had a little more information. But then I read what good ol’ Melody had to say, and she helped fill in the details :

Letting the Good Stuff Happen

…The good stuff can scare us. Change, even good change, can be frightening. In some ways, good changes can be more frightening than the hard times.

The past, particularly before recovery, may have become comfortably familiar. We knew what to expect in our relationships. They were predictable. They were repeats of the same pattern—the same behaviors, the same pain, over and over again. They may not have been what we wanted, but we knew what was going to happen.

This is not so when we change patterns and begin recovering. We may have been fairly good at predicting events in most areas of our life. Relationships would be painful. We’d be deprived. Each year would be almost a repeat of the last. Sometimes it got a little worse, sometimes a little better, but the change wasn’t drastic. Not until the moment we began recovery.

…Things get good. They do get better all the time. We begin to become successful in love, in work, in life. One day at a time, the good stuff begins to happen and the misery dissipates. We no longer want to be a victim of life. We’ve learned to avoid unnecessary crisis and trauma.

Life gets good.

“How do I handle the good stuff?” asked one woman. “It’s harder and more foreign than the pain and tragedy.”

“The same way we handled the difficult and the painful experiences,” I replied. “One day at a time.”