Togetherness Project

All else will either fall into place or drop out of your life. 

The phrase echoed and replayed in my mind endlessly as I located the envelope containing my patriarchal blessing among the journals and sketchbooks in my bedside table, then sat to re-read the words I'd been given when I was only 14 years old. 

I was searching for the familiar, repeating phrase when my eyes lit apon a different passage. In it, I was advised to carefully consider, ponder, and pray over the decision of who I would marry. He should be ready and willing to take me to the temple, and together we would teach and raise our children in light and truth. 

Reading those words, I felt my stomach lurch. My mind was flooded with images and impressions of what was being described. A union full of hope and refuge; a marriage united in bringing our children up in strength and testimony; a home filled with respect and safety. Those words did not describe my marriage. Those words did not describe my husband. 

I sat, reeling. 

Where had i gone wrong? Hadn't I fasted and prayed over my decision to marry J? Hadn't I had strong, spiritual confirmation of my choice? Hadn't I turned to God after J's first disclosure? Hadn't I asked then if the marriage was a mistake? Hadn't I turned to Him every step of the way since? Hadn't I felt prompted to stay? Hadn't I been compelled to give up the dream of a loving, fulfilling marriage? 

I had. 

I had done all those things simply because it felt right, and now I was being confronted with a promise that I knew had not been fulfilled, and showed no signs of ever being fulfilled.  

I'd had to let go of a deeply held, tender dream! I'd only survived the last 15 years by convincing myself that the image I'd had of marriage was a fairy tail. Unrealistic and entirely unattainable in this life. But here it was, painfully in front of my face. Promised but still out of reach. 

I felt bereft, angry and trapped.

During the entire 9 hour drive to Utah the next morning, I cried, prayed, yelled, and cried some more. 

What do I do now? Is there no coming back from this?

Please don't tell me I have to keep doing this! Please don't make me live this pain indefinitely! 

What about my kids? How is it fair that pursuing my safety ruins their lives?

But I can't keep going! I have nothing left! 

What more can I do? How can this possibly end well?

Please God, what about my kids? 

At my arrival, I collapsed on the hotel bed, my eyes red and puffy, and slept the deep sleep of the emotionally spent. 

At daybreak, my parents joined me from Idaho. I clung to them like a river-swept woman clinging to a rock. I felt shattered and unmoored. 

Together, my mom and I sat through hours of classes and presentations, each dense with information, validation, and support. Though much of it wasn't anything I hadn't already heard, I took copious notes, desperate to divine any hint of direction on where to go or what to do. There had to be a magic formula. A miracle. A third option. 

My memories of the conference play like a highlight reel. 

I remember listening to Rhyll Croshaw describe what her relationship with her husband-in-recovery looks like now. The triggers. The still-present shame. Enforcing boundaries. Him occasionally sleeping in a separate room. 

I remember it sounded hard.

I remember a presenter talking about surviving a horrific divorce and what her second marriage looks like. Introducing a bachelor to parenting. Juggling culture clashes (he's German) and the difficulty of blending two strong personalities.  "The grass isn't greener on the other side," she said, "it's orange. But even though he's not perfect, he's perfectly transparent."

I remember that remarriage sounded hard as well.

I remember a woman behind me asking how to stop having feelings of love, attraction and hurt every time she saw the husband who left her for another woman. 

I remember realizing that I didn't have that problem. It had been years since I'd felt anything but dread and trepidation at the thought of J walking through the door.

I remember A Wife Redeemed saying that she stays in her marriage despite how antagonistic and unsupportive her husband is about her sharing her story, "because all the rest of the time, he's my best friend."

I remember thinking that I have not been able to say the same of J for almost a decade. 

I remember stepping in to the massive ballroom full of vibrant, faithful, beautiful women and realizing each and every one of them carried the pain of betrayal. That for each shining face I saw, there was a husband, boyfriend, brother or father that was breaking covenants and destroying lives. 

I remember having to remind myself not to hate all men. 

Most of all, I remember my mind, body and soul aching with the weight of the decisions I had before me. I felt drained and just as lost as I'd been from the start. I knew what I wanted, but it felt impossible to choose without the Lord's explicit approval.

That night, I asked my dad to give me a blessing of comfort and guidance. As he laid his hands on my head, I shook with anxiety and barely repressed tears. But in moments, I felt peace flow through me from my scalp to my toes. 

You are becoming certain, I was told, and you will be even more so as you examin the last 15 years in its entirety. 

Do not worry about your children. 

There is much happiness ahead. 

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