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Abstract

everything else is independent of you.It sounds logical, but it’s a long journey from the head to the heart. And the heart is the only place anything truly makes sense.Back then, every time I put the Stoli to my lips, I was insisting that I could control the alcohol, that I was fine, this time would be different, but it never was. And that’s because alcohol is, always was, and always will be alcohol. And I am, was, and always will be alcoholic. In sobriety, I accepted both of those things the way I’ve accepted that electricity will kill me if I put my finger into the electrical outlet. The two are deadly if mixed.They both seem pretty simple, logical, but one is a lot harder to move from our head, where we know it, to our heart, where we believe it. And that’s because while one has a quick and dirty outcome that is pretty unquestionable, the other has a longer more nuanced result. If you touch electricity, you’ll immediately die or be seriously injured. There’s not a whole lot to question or control there. But if you have alcoholism and drink alcohol, you slowly destroy your life, the lives of those around you, and eventually you die a slow, miserable death. When things have gray areas like this, it leaves room to question, and that makes it harder to truly believe we’re powerless over them.That’s often what happens when we enter a relationship, any relationship; we see the subtle nuances and suddenly the lines aren’t so clear. Sure, our behavior, how we interact with our partner can alter what our partner does and the outcome we receive. We give a rose and there’s a smile. We raise our voice and there are tears. But ultimately, what did we really change? What did we really control?While it looks like we controlled their behavior, because there was a reaction, all we did was control our own. What they did in response was completely under their control. There’s no guaranty that a rose will produce a smile. That person is under no obligation to be happy or grateful because we did something and expected a certain outcome.It sounds simple and looks easy to see, but when emotions fog our minds, especially when fear enters the picture, we sometimes begin to choose our actions based on what we’d like the other person’s actions to be in response.That’s not to say we shouldn’t consider how we affect our partner, of course. The difference is… do we want to do this action because we want to give this gift out of love, accepting whatever outcome arises? Or do we want to do this action because we <a href="https://psiloveyou.xyz/why-i-dont-feel-free-to-speak-my-mind-with-my-husband-74ecb6a1f100">fear</a> what will or won’t happen if we don’t? This feared outcome could be anything at all — from your partner’s coldness, sadness, or disappointment to something much bigger like emotional or physical violence.The behavior of the other person is not for us to decide. If we are choosing our actions based on what we want the other person to do, then we are not only being dishonest, we are not accepting the reality of what’s right in front of us.We’re not accepting our partner, our needs, the very real problems in our relationship, or even our potential. And when we don’t see these realities, when we don’t accept what’s

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right in front of us, we certainly can’t show up for them.For the past 23 years, I twirled this dance with my husband. We both turned away from one another expecting the other to be something we’re not, expecting our relationship to build itself out of our manipulations of one another, out of our fears.And neither of us showed up.Powerless… In the sunroom, that day, this word came over me like a warm light, and my body relaxed.I was suddenly reminded that this is not a thing that I can fix. It doesn’t matter what actions I take. My actions aren’t what will fix this. Sex is not what will fix this.All this time, I felt haunted by the same old solutions from the past… do what he wants and everything will be good, as if I was solely responsible for making him happy, for making us happy, and as a result of those things, I would be happy.This was our fiction.I had to see that. He had to see that. He was holding me just as responsible as I held myself all these years, and now, standing in the sunroom, he was back there again. I wasn’t, though. I was powerless.We love each other, but we’re human and we want the easy fix. If I do this, he’ll do that, but that’s not really a solution; that’s more problems to fix, more complications, more pain.The real solution is accepting reality. That means accepting who we are — the good, bad, ugly, and whatever. And that means accepting we may not be who we think we are, who we want to be, that we may have thoughts or feelings or actions that we don’t want to face or admit, and accepting that we’re okay, as is. And in tandem, we may be afraid to feel and experience the reality of our partner as well.This is hard, painful work. But we need to be willing to accept and show up for ourselves, before we can accept and show up for each other. And from that, we need to rebuild the foundation. We need to turn the puzzle over and build intimacy and connection in all the ways we neglected.Days later, in our bedroom, we had another conversation. It wasn’t about sex, or our needs, or what he or I did wrong. It was about our selves, our inner selves, who we are and how we’re affected. There were no accusations, no demands, no judgements, just pure unfiltered reality and emotion.We lost touch, a long time ago, with sharing who we are with one another. Like the cliché of ships passing in the night, we went about our obligations. We’d rant about our frustrations with work or the kids or each other, but we didn’t really talk about anything deeper, anything personal. We didn’t talk about what was behind all of those frustrations, the fear, the sadness and worry, the need for us to hold each other’s hand.We didn’t see each other’s humanity. All we saw was our own fear.Things weren’t magically fixed with one conversation, of course, but that was a corner, one of many more to come, that’s leading us to truly see each other, see our connection. This isn’t about fixing our problems or having a “good” marriage; it’s not about an endgame. This is about the moment, the humanity, the becoming; it’s about the relationship, one day at at time, and together sharing a deep and victorious breath.</article></body>

Grateful to be Powerless in My Marriage

I thought I had everything under control — here’s how admitting I’m powerless set me free

“I need sex.” He stood in the doorway of our sunroom. His face was soft but cinched and tight at his brow.

The single thin line of his words sliced through me like I was nothing. And I felt like nothing.

Again.

This was the crux of it. This was the one thing that our relationship kept pivoting on, the fulcrum that never seemed to hold us straight and balanced. Now, after months of arguments and “discussions,” after finally making “progress,” it juts between us again.

I looked away and down, breathing slowly, audibly. I focused on the sound, on the saw, it’s heat, against the back of my throat.

My feelings can overtake me like quicksand if I’m not careful, but my breath pulls me back. It’s my lifeline, my yoke that joins me with me, so I can choose to act with clear purpose and intention. In yoga, we focus on the breath; we practice Ujjayi Pranayama, or “victorious breath.” It’s this breath that helps us focus on our heart, move with it, and allow it to freely move within us.

When that wave of emotion hits, sharp and heavy with its slap, I often find that I’m holding my breath, or that it’s so shallow I’m not sure if I’m breathing at all. And if I stopped breathing, I’ve stopped living. I’ve put everything on pause, and I’ve trapped that emotion, like a predator clutching its prey, doing nothing, focusing on nothing, except consuming it, not realizing that the emotion is actually consuming me.

So as I sat, I breathed, in and out, and more words floated into the air between us, each one sewing like splinters into my skin.

Powerless… the word appeared in my head as a small speck, distant and unknowable, until suddenly it wasn’t. My breath had chiseled a path for it and everything else fell away.

I was powerless, and it was wonderful.

Over 14 years ago, this word began to form in my heart; I accepted that I was powerless over alcohol. Back then, the idea that being powerless could be a good thing was a hard and sharp pill to swallow... Hell, I’m not powerless! If you’re powerless, you’re a victim, and I’m no God-damned victim!

But I was wrong. Powerless didn’t mean that at all.

Accepting that you are powerless means that you accept what is right in front of you. You accept that the only thing you truly have power over, the only thing you can control in this world is yourself, your actions, your beliefs and feelings. And you accept that everything else is independent of you.

It sounds logical, but it’s a long journey from the head to the heart. And the heart is the only place anything truly makes sense.

Back then, every time I put the Stoli to my lips, I was insisting that I could control the alcohol, that I was fine, this time would be different, but it never was. And that’s because alcohol is, always was, and always will be alcohol. And I am, was, and always will be alcoholic. In sobriety, I accepted both of those things the way I’ve accepted that electricity will kill me if I put my finger into the electrical outlet. The two are deadly if mixed.

They both seem pretty simple, logical, but one is a lot harder to move from our head, where we know it, to our heart, where we believe it. And that’s because while one has a quick and dirty outcome that is pretty unquestionable, the other has a longer more nuanced result. If you touch electricity, you’ll immediately die or be seriously injured. There’s not a whole lot to question or control there. But if you have alcoholism and drink alcohol, you slowly destroy your life, the lives of those around you, and eventually you die a slow, miserable death. When things have gray areas like this, it leaves room to question, and that makes it harder to truly believe we’re powerless over them.

That’s often what happens when we enter a relationship, any relationship; we see the subtle nuances and suddenly the lines aren’t so clear. Sure, our behavior, how we interact with our partner can alter what our partner does and the outcome we receive. We give a rose and there’s a smile. We raise our voice and there are tears. But ultimately, what did we really change? What did we really control?

While it looks like we controlled their behavior, because there was a reaction, all we did was control our own. What they did in response was completely under their control. There’s no guaranty that a rose will produce a smile. That person is under no obligation to be happy or grateful because we did something and expected a certain outcome.

It sounds simple and looks easy to see, but when emotions fog our minds, especially when fear enters the picture, we sometimes begin to choose our actions based on what we’d like the other person’s actions to be in response.

That’s not to say we shouldn’t consider how we affect our partner, of course. The difference is… do we want to do this action because we want to give this gift out of love, accepting whatever outcome arises? Or do we want to do this action because we fear what will or won’t happen if we don’t? This feared outcome could be anything at all — from your partner’s coldness, sadness, or disappointment to something much bigger like emotional or physical violence.

The behavior of the other person is not for us to decide. If we are choosing our actions based on what we want the other person to do, then we are not only being dishonest, we are not accepting the reality of what’s right in front of us.

We’re not accepting our partner, our needs, the very real problems in our relationship, or even our potential. And when we don’t see these realities, when we don’t accept what’s right in front of us, we certainly can’t show up for them.

For the past 23 years, I twirled this dance with my husband. We both turned away from one another expecting the other to be something we’re not, expecting our relationship to build itself out of our manipulations of one another, out of our fears.

And neither of us showed up.

Powerless… In the sunroom, that day, this word came over me like a warm light, and my body relaxed.

I was suddenly reminded that this is not a thing that I can fix. It doesn’t matter what actions I take. My actions aren’t what will fix this. Sex is not what will fix this.

All this time, I felt haunted by the same old solutions from the past… do what he wants and everything will be good, as if I was solely responsible for making him happy, for making us happy, and as a result of those things, I would be happy.

This was our fiction.

I had to see that. He had to see that. He was holding me just as responsible as I held myself all these years, and now, standing in the sunroom, he was back there again. I wasn’t, though. I was powerless.

We love each other, but we’re human and we want the easy fix. If I do this, he’ll do that, but that’s not really a solution; that’s more problems to fix, more complications, more pain.

The real solution is accepting reality. That means accepting who we are — the good, bad, ugly, and whatever. And that means accepting we may not be who we think we are, who we want to be, that we may have thoughts or feelings or actions that we don’t want to face or admit, and accepting that we’re okay, as is. And in tandem, we may be afraid to feel and experience the reality of our partner as well.

This is hard, painful work. But we need to be willing to accept and show up for ourselves, before we can accept and show up for each other. And from that, we need to rebuild the foundation. We need to turn the puzzle over and build intimacy and connection in all the ways we neglected.

Days later, in our bedroom, we had another conversation. It wasn’t about sex, or our needs, or what he or I did wrong. It was about our selves, our inner selves, who we are and how we’re affected. There were no accusations, no demands, no judgements, just pure unfiltered reality and emotion.

We lost touch, a long time ago, with sharing who we are with one another. Like the cliché of ships passing in the night, we went about our obligations. We’d rant about our frustrations with work or the kids or each other, but we didn’t really talk about anything deeper, anything personal. We didn’t talk about what was behind all of those frustrations, the fear, the sadness and worry, the need for us to hold each other’s hand.

We didn’t see each other’s humanity. All we saw was our own fear.

Things weren’t magically fixed with one conversation, of course, but that was a corner, one of many more to come, that’s leading us to truly see each other, see our connection. This isn’t about fixing our problems or having a “good” marriage; it’s not about an endgame. This is about the moment, the humanity, the becoming; it’s about the relationship, one day at at time, and together sharing a deep and victorious breath.