The Rundown, Part 6

Even with all the therapy and study I'd done, I never truly understood boundaries until I was so broken down and tired that the best I could muster was to make decisions purely for my own survival.

In pain? Leave.

Overwhelmed? Let God handle it.

Scared of the future? Keep your head where your feet are.

So much of it was visceral. My sense of what was true, what was reality, what was right were so upturned that I couldn't make logical sense of it, so I clung to the only thing I did trust-- the still, small whisperings of the Spirit.

J would ask, "Can I call you in the middle of the night if I'm struggling?" and without thinking, I would say, "No. I can't take care of you. Get a sponsor." No matter how appalled he was, I knew it was honest-- I could not take care of him. Acknowledging that fact ignited a glimmer of peace inside my heart.

I quickly determined that taking on the burden of responsibility for something I had no control over instantly dispelled peace and introduced fear, so I guarded that peace with everything I had, even as J's manipulations increased:

"It is not good for man to be alone," he would try. "How am I supposed to succeed at recovery when you won't support me in it?"

"One of my biggest scars from childhood is rejection-- If you love me, why are you abandoning me when I need you most?"

"How are we ever supposed to heal our marriage when we're apart? God wants us to be together!"

"None of our friends or family understand why you're doing this! You're just hurting this marriage!"

The more J would talk, the more I felt every cell in my body scream IT IS NOT MY RESPONSIBILITY TO MAKE YOU SOBER!

In the years before, his pleadings would have moved me. Part of loving someone is giving them the benefit of the doubt-- that they have the best of intentions, and wouldn't truly hurt you maliciously. But addiction taints that. I could no longer assume that what he wanted was recovery and not just to restore the status quo. His words said "I love you" but his actions said "I love the addiction." Boundaries kept me from being too vulnerable with someone who had-- and still could-- abuse that vulnerability.

That isn't to say that I was immune to concern-- I still loved J and longed for him to change. I wanted the recovery I thought we'd had. Most of all, I desperately wanted to give my children a stable home with an example of parents who were faithful to each other and the Lord.

But as much as I yearned for those things, I knew they were out of my control. I did not have the knowledge, power, or energy to secure them. I was forced to surrender; to sacrifice my deepest desires on the alter of the Lord, and trust that He would turn even this to my good.

It was freeing.

I had a long and golden summer, as I ran amid the wheat fields, watched the kids roast marshmallows over a campfire and lounged in a deck chair as white sheets blew in the breeze on a laundry line. It was healing and sacred and I felt protected at home with my parents. Slowly, the world began to right itself again. I felt stronger, more confident in my connection with God and in touch with what I truly needed for myself.

I would need that strength for the year that followed.

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