The Rundown, Part 13

It seems that every pivotal moment in our marriage has happened while laying in bed together, sleeping and talking during the late morning hours of a weekend.

That day in July was no different.

We'd only been home from Alaska for a few weeks, and yet already J was feeling disconnected and dissatisfied. "I don't know how to keep that momentum going," he said, sounding lost and sad. "We were so happy and close, but now I can tell you're withdrawing. It's been forever since we've had sex, and I don't know what to do to stop you from.... I don't know. Getting lost in your head."

It was always a little hurtful to have to explain my fear to J. I wanted him to magically see my pain and hold me, comfort me, tell me that of course I was afraid. It was completely natural given I had always had reason to be afraid. I wanted him to reassure me that while I'd been right to fear in the past, that I'd never have to in the future. That he would be loving and faithful and patient, that no matter how triggered I felt, he knew that I loved him, and he would wait for me to feel safe the way I'd waited all these years for him to be in recovery.

But of course, J couldn't read my mind. So I explained myself. I told him that even after all this time, it felt that nothing had really changed. Things were too silent. I wanted to be told daily where he was at in recovery. I wasn't feeling safe, and I wasn't hearing things that told me I was safe, and I didn't know how much I could believe some of the recovery behaviors I was seeing.

I told him that I'd started watching Hoarders again; that I felt like the spouses who couldn't get excited by one clean room when they knew the rest of the house was still buried in trash. They couldn't believe that things were 'fine' now, that the hoarder was now cured and would continue to make progress. They needed to see the house stay clean. They had to be able to open every closet without fear of it one day being piled full of hidden trash. 

"Things can't just be fine," I said, starting to cry. "I know you must have struggles, but I never hear about them. The silence isn't comforting. Keeping things from me isn't protecting me. Please, if there's something you have to tell me, just do it. I can't take the silence anymore."

J held me, wiped away my tears, and then looked into my eyes. "I have been prompted by the spirit to tell you that there is nothing going on. I'm sober. I'm working the steps. I'm not looking at pornography. I'm not masterbating. I don't want anyone but you. I love you and I want you to feel safe."

He talked about how challenging it must be for me to make heads or tails of things when I had issues with depression. "Those voices in your head tell you that you're not beautiful enough for me. I wish I could replace all those thoughts with what I really see when I look at you."

We talked until I felt I had cried all my tears and I had and exorcized all my demons. Then, for the first time since J and I were dating, he offered to go running with me. "You always feel better after a run, and I could use the training for The Amazing Race," he smiled. 

It was sweet, and touching, and very, very reassuring. I believed him. 

Little did I know that just 12 hours before, he'd jeopardized his job to download porn to his phone. He'd lied to me telling me he was driving out to the desert to go train watching, and he'd spent hours acting out instead. 

When he disclosed his behavior a month later, that terrible day in August while I was staying with my parents, I don't think he even recalled this instance of reassurance. It had been something profoundly promising to me, one of those signs of hope that I clung to as reason to trust. For him, it had been just another moment he'd successfully dodged the truth. 

It was dizzying. Who was this man who could lie to my face so convincingly? Who could manipulate the moment until I was the one apologizing for my trust issues? 

I felt a cold, sick fear take hold in the pit of my stomach. I don't know him at all, I realized. 

{image by Michael Carson}