KNOW THYSELF HEAL THYSELF JANUARY PROMPT
Do I Ever Get to Stop Blaming Myself for Cheating on My Husband?
The shame is gone, but the blame lives on
I can’t think of a single reason to justify blaming myself. Can you?
Does it give me more confidence in myself? Nope. Just the opposite.
Does it make me stop focusing on the past so I can get on with my life? Nope. Just the opposite.
Does it make me feel any better about myself? Nope. Just the opposite.
Especially when these are things I had some control over.
Along with the regrets, out come the whips and chains.
In fact, if not stopped in its tracks, it leads me into a full-on shame spiral. Which for me is like rolling over and over on flypaper.
Not a good way to launch myself into the new year.
So thank you, Yana for this opportunity to purge myself of this emotional baggage. By committing to stop with the blaming already.
Learn my lesson and move on.
My biggie of course was cheating on my husband. Gulp.
The act of an emotional two-year-old silently screaming I’ll show you!
The dancer in me wanted him to come with me to ballroom lessons. And glide me around the dance floor, doing the waltz and foxtrot he even knew a bit of.
But he was scared to be a beginner in public, so he declined.
Well, I showed him!
I took all kinds of lessons, fell in love with salsa, and all my look-good dance partners I won midnight contests with and rewarded them after. Staggering in anywhere between two and four a.m., only to do it all again the next night.
I showed him all right!
Only it was a big ass secret till it leaked out sideways. Like any good codependent, he avoided the topic.
When he finally got brave enough to ask, I was skilled enough to dodge the question. I showed him! Again and again.
Until finally, a dear friend gave me a book about sex and love addiction just in case any of it applied. I read it cover to cover cause it all did.
It took another six months of I’ll show him to break through denial and get my arse to a meeting. Thanks to Higher Power I finally did and it changed my life.
Healing from Shame and Blame
Speaking at meetings and writing about it here has helped me release layers and layers of shame. But blame…not so much.
I chose to respond to my unhappiness in that juvenile hurtful way. Even after all these years. Even after a ninth step amends nothing short of miraculous, I still blame myself. Even after years of recovery, I still blame myself.
Even with the knowledge that we did the best we could with the knowledge we had at the time. Or the saying if I knew better, I would have done better. I knew better.
The definition of addiction consoles me.
That’s when we do something over and over despite glaring evidence it hurts ourselves and others. We’re hooked–on a feeling. Not just sexual pleasure, cause there was no guarantee of that with the young hombres I chose.
My heady drug was power — being in total control of the green and red lights on those hot midnights. While I felt completely powerless in many other areas of my life, not just my marriage. No wonder they call it acting out.
There are some areas of my life I currently feel a bit out of control over. Let me use this reflective opportunity to catch myself before resorting to any new and improved forms of I’ll show you!
If that’s the biggie, what’s the smallie?
Those take the form of missed opportunities.
I wanted to go to a big city liberal arts college instead of a state university with a rep as a party school. I tell myself I would have graduated and become a special ed teacher. But do I really know?
I fantasize about how my life in, of all cities, Cleveland. Interestingly enough, once I retired after 31 years in health care, that one’s finally losing its grip.
But other blames quickly filled that spot.
Once I landed in recovery, I changed dance venues. From ‘Frisco’s salsa bars to booze-free ballroom studios. Until I was in a serious car accident.
My car was totaled, but I wasn’t.
I could have returned to dancing, but for some crazy reason did not. And my body and health slid downhill. Especially my neck and shoulders. I’m paying for that now.
My bad. I can only blame myself.
When that accident happened, I was dating a man I loved I’ll call Gary. He had two daughters, ages 8 and 11 whose company I treasured. But he was in a hurry to get married and have another child
Being older, with a busted biological clock, that was not on my dance card. Adoption and motherhood weren’t either. A writing career was. So I ended the relationship, which was really hard. I broke his heart.
And I miss him. I blame myself even though I am not sure for what. I just do.
Even though he’s very happily married and their youngest is a teenager. The oldest just got married in Ecuador. Thanks to Facebook, I got to see him beaming. But still…
Wait, there’s more!
Speaking of being a professional writer, why is my novel taking so long? I’ve been working on it off and on for years. I’m finally working with a fantastic editor who knows my characters better than I do.
But I wasted big bucks on one who barely did a copywrite, and a poor one at that. How could I be so easily taken in?
Well, does that surprise you by now? I am laughing as I write this. Which is a good note to end this madness on.
Pushing publish can be my release and let go button.
Putting this out into the supportive Coffee Times world is one way to do that. Being immersed in the twelve steps, I know the power of surrender. I keep coming back cause it works. Every time.
So thank you for listening with your eyes!
And speaking of which, this story by Anna Woods about addiction and accpetance deserves your attention and love:
Thank you, Yana Bostongirl for this great prompt apropos of new beginnings!
Marilyn Flower writes humor to laugh the changes she wants to see and make. She’s the author of Creative Blogging: Ninja Writers Guide to Character Development and Bucket Listers, Get Your Brave On: How to Do the Thing You’re ‘Too Old’ & ‘Too Scared’ to Do. Clowning and improvisation strengthen her resolve during these crazy times. Stay in touch!