Avoid the Soul Robbers

Yesterday, I had coffee with Joelle Deyo.  We were talking about the shame we sometimes feel over the mistakes we have made as we have lived life in Crisis.

We were also talking about how, in a paradoxical sort of way, we embrace our mistakes.  They allow us to understand the mistakes of others.  Particularly, as we work closely with people in Crisis Recovery.

It is rewarding to visit with a woman who is in a compromising relationship after suffering through an abusive marriage, and know that she doesn't feel judged by me when I share my story, and the things I've learned through the mistakes I've made.  Seeing the perspective my life lessons provide?  Priceless.

For eighteen years I was in a marriage that was anything but conducive to my healthy self esteem.

As a young bride with a pre-baby body, I was regularly criticized by my husband for wearing clothing that revealed too much of my figure.  I was similarly criticized for wearing make-up.  For wanting to spend any amount of time primping, or shining.  I was conditioned that doing so wasn't godly.  That it was vain.  Wrong.

As the babies came along, and even a shower was a luxury, I fell into the t-shirt and sweats routine, wearing only what was easy to slip on, and run with in my day.

If I felt particularly needful of femininity, I would wear a jumper-style dress over a t-shirt or turtleneck (it was the 90s...don't judge me).  It's easy to "hide" growing booties under a dress.

I kept my hair very long, and wore French braids a lot.

I had a minor vision issue, but yet wore my glasses 100% of the time, in spite of the fact that my eye doctor said I didn't have to.

So, in my mid-thirties, I was a 165 pound frumpy woman in a 5'3" frame, wearing sweats, a t-shirt, a French braid, and glasses I didn't need.  I was plain, and to my husband plain was equal to being a good, and godly woman.  My conditioning was such that I had to be plain to get the very approval from my husband I so desperately craved.

In the meantime however, he had an addiction to pornography.  He kept his addiction a heavily guarded secret for the whole of our marriage.  Passwords.  Not teaching me how to operate a computer beyond using the Internet, because it would be too hard for me to learn.  He did whatever he could to keep me away from his secret.

All the way down to making sure that the mother of his children looked nothing like the women he watched in the pornographic movies and still images.

I now know that when a man is caught in a sex addiction that is contrary to his own moral compass, it is very important for him to keep a clear line of distinction between the sexual objects he lusts after and fantasizes about, and the woman he has at home, raising the children.

His behavior was very common.

Within a year of separating, I lost weight and was down from a size 14 to a size 6.  I stopped wearing my glasses.  I wore pants with a waist band, and blouses with buttons.

I worked at a country club, then a restaurant.  For the first time in years I had men around, giving me lots of attention.  Flattering attention.  Attention I was hungry for.  Starving for.  For the first time in years, I felt like a sexual creature, and although I'd like to think that I was giving off a virtuous vibe, I had to have been at least giving off a scent, or something known only to forward men on the prowl.

Sad thing is, I took the attention seriously.  Well, not all of it.  I have a girlfriend I used to work with at one of the restaurants, and all these years later, we still call each other dollface after a mutual venting session about men who insist on demeaning women with little object tags like that.  Little Lady, my friends and I would like another round.  Thanks a lot, Sweetheart.  Makes my skin crawl.

My heart was wanting love.  My self esteem was wanting a defibrillator.  But, my soul needed rest.

When I look back at those years, I wish I would have allowed myself the pain of loneliness.  I wish that on the weekends that my ex-husband had the kids, I would have simply stayed true to my worth, my commitment to my family, and even my morals, and simply stayed home.  Because, rather than keeping my head in the game of Crisis, I ran from it allowing the high and exhilaration of romance, or at least what I perceived to be romance, sway me away and lull me into a state that dulled my senses.

My ex-husband's behavior as a sex addict was just as predictable as my behavior post-separation.  Both behaviors came from a place of brokenness within each of us, and it's only after I have personally experienced such things, that I have been able to truly understand the reactions in pain so many people fall victim to.  Yes, we must take responsibility for our actions and do whatever we can to guard ourselves from falling prey to destructive behaviors, but likewise, those of us with people in our lives who are recovering from Crisis have a responsibility as well.  A responsibility to understand those who are hurting, and when needed, lovingly guide them back to a healthy way of living that won't leave them with a robbed soul.

I take this responsibility seriously, as do Joelle, Mike, John, Tracey, and Rossy.  We are here for our readers, happy to share our mistakes and our triumphs, if doing so will help you climb out of Crisis, to Life on the other side.  From here, the view is sweet.  And we want you to join us.  With your soul in tact.

deflection of the betrayer, and that little voice we can't ignore

So often, when we're confronted with something we're ashamed of, we tend to deflect.  Point out the other person's dirty porch, rather than acknowledge that ours has some missing floor boards.

Almost without exception, when you question an unfaithful spouse about their questionable behavior, they will point at the things that are making them behave strangely, like, the shiny object over there.  Or, they'll point toward you.  They have been living a double life, a lie, so they have an ability to direct attention away from the obvious, with a precision that keeps your head spinning.

That whole thing is a form of abuse in itself.

It sucked to be suspicious for all those months.  To have that little thing deep within my spirit that made me wonder, only to have it be dismissed.

Once, he was outside cleaning the inside of his truck.  This wasn't a normal thing for him.  He very rarely washed his truck, or cleaned the trash out.  He told me that a girl from work needed him to pick her up, and give her a ride to work the next day.  He said he thinks that she might have a crush on him, but that she was a sweet kid, and that he kind of felt sorry for her.  She lived with her mom, whose birthday was only 2 weeks apart from his.  This girl was literally young enough to be his daughter.

From the very early beginning of our relationship, he had established honesty as a virtue he held the most dear.  He wouldn't even tell a white lie.  He was brutally honest.  Blunt.  Proclaimed often that he didn't care what other people thought.  He was going to say it like it is, whatever it is, and if people didn't like it, it was their problem.

So, if I was suspicious or concerned, and I'd appease that thing in my spirit, and question the situation, he'd deflect.  And I'd buy it.  Over, and over again, as other situations would arise, or people in town  would come to me with concerns about this girl.

I believed him when he said I was being ridiculous.  That I was being paranoid.  That he would never hurt his family.  That I was wrong for even thinking that he could.  That I hurt him for even suggesting such a thing.  How could I even think that of him?

I believed him when he said that the people in town were liars.  That they were gossips taking a little bit of truth--the fact that that sweet girl living with her mother had a crush on him--and that they were running with that little truth, and creating a big, ugly, completely untrue story.

Naturally, I felt terribly for falling prey to lies and gossip.  For listening to the people in town, over the man I had been married to for all those years.  Never mind that thing in my spirit.  It was nothing more than female emotion, and everyone knows that women are run on unpredictable emotion, and can't be trusted, right?

For our entire marriage, he was bold in his rants against pornography.  He believed pornography was evil, that viewing it was sinful, and he was even against R-rated movies that contained nudity.  So much so, in fact, that he'd record a movie and delete that bad scenes so that we could watch an edited version.

So, when I woke up early that morning to get a drink of water, and I startled him, and he quickly minimized whatever it was that he was viewing on his computer, I was more than just suspicious.  I sat across the room from him and I struck up a conversation, wondering all the while what would happen if I clicked that minimized button on the bottom of the screen.  I watched him.  I observed him.  His nervous slurps of coffee.  His nervous laugh.  For a half hour I watched while we talked, and at that point, I knew.  That thing in my spirit was validated.  I was calm.

It wasn't just the pornography.  It was way that he had preached against pornography for over 18 years.    But, in spite of his stand against it, in secret, he participated.

I discovered once and for all that morning, that the pedestal of honesty he stood on, the same pedestal I had him propped up on, was made of Jell-O.

Pornography today.  What's tomorrow going to bring?  Within 2 weeks, I was able to get him to confess to multiple emotional, lewd, and sexual affairs.

Listen to that thing in your spirit.  That little voice.  Quietly watch.  Listen.  And stay patient.  The more agitated, frustrated, or angry you allow yourself to be, the more likely the cheating spouse will use it to strengthen that weapon of deflection.  They'll make it be about your lack of trust, or your paranoia, or your jealousy.

The pain of betrayal is complex.  We are complex.  But, God has given us simple things, like that voice,  and listening to that little voice can be just what we need to take us out of denial, and on the right path of recovery and restoration.

living with a sex addict and the clues I missed telling me that things weren't OK

Recently, I have joined the leadership team of Celebrate Recovery at my church, CCV.  Last night, I had the opportunity to share my story with just under 20 newcomers, as we explained the CR program to them.  It's helpful for people to see the roads we have traveled, as we present ourselves transparently, offering our help to direct them down their road to recovery.

Talking about my story last night has left me thinking today about things I don't always think about.  And thinking about those things has made me think about the many people who are currently wearing the shoes I wore those 7+ years ago.

We had been married 18 years.  My husband was home every night.  Every night.  Without exception.  In fact, he was home, in the house, and he insisted on the kids and me being inside the house with him.

He never went out on weekend nights, or had any guys nights out.  He never had private talks on the phone.  Or late nights at work.

None of the usual things that would cause alarms to sound, or red lights to flash.  No red flag waving moments.

Except...

He was distant.  Impatient.  Angry.  On the computer a lot.  A lot.  He worked out a lot.  A lot.  He tanned himself a lot.

He made no effort to be involved in the lives of the kids.  He never spent quality time with them.  He never spent quality time with me.  Unless it was bedroom time.

He never took interest in home repair or upkeep.  He would respond with irritated anger if the kids asked anything of him.

Fridays were fun, and we would have Family Night.  That would include yummy, fun food, sometimes a family game, and usually a family movie.  Or, at least, a movie he would want to watch that he would allow us to watch with him.

But, Saturday morning would find him back on his computer, sometimes in a good mood, but usually not.

He was an early riser, like, 3:30 or 4:00am, so bedtime for him would always be between 8:00 and 9:00.  He would go to bed slightly later on Friday night, but no matter the day, he was up very early.  On the computer.

He would position the computer so that the screen would be away from us, so the light wouldn't bother us if we happened to wake up for a glass of water.  

He kept passwords on everything, and never shared them.  With anyone.

I was never allowed to open mail that was addressed to him.  Ever.

He seldom pursued friendships with other men.  He seldom maintained relationships with male friends. He didn't like any of my female friends.  He didn't trust anybody.  He assumed dishonesty in everyone.

He didn't allow me to have male friends.  I wasn't allowed to talk with mutual male friends.

I wasn't allowed to wear anything buttoned lower than about an inch, or maybe two inches below by collar bones.

Bedroom time was very difficult.  Since he was a morning person, he would wake me.  Even if I'd been up during the night with babies.  These times were emotionally painful, and even more so if they followed a night of anger.  He'd berate me in my waking hours, only to want to use me in my sleeping hours.  I would eagerly participate, hoping that a morning started well would lead to a happy day together, and believing that it was my duty to submit.

There are so many women (and men) who identify with my story.  So many.  Too many.

New Life Live is a resource I have used for many years.  They have a ton of information about sexual integrity, and even resources that can assist you in identifying whether or not your spouse is being unfaithful, and what you can do if they are.  

Marriage is sacred, and worth the fight.  Even if you have a spouse who has fallen in this area, there is so much hope that your marriage can be restored, and greatly improved upon.  The powerful impact a restored marriage can have on the many broken people out there is tremendous.

Getting past the hurt, the pain, and even the disgust in the unfaithful spouse is no small feat, but with a lot of work, it is extremely possible.  There is going to be a lot of work required regardless, if you want any hope of having a fulfilling life that isn't stuck in bitterness.

Tomorrow would have been our 25th wedding anniversary.  My marriage didn't survive.  But, I did.

I submit myself to you, my broken-hearted reader.  Please contact me if you, or anyone you know needs help.  Email me.  Friend Request me on Facebook.  Search for Kristi Tisor Ambriz, and Message me.  I'll accept your request.

Your life is valid, and full of purpose, and although this painful time will always be a part of your past, it doesn't have to affect you negatively for life.  Fly above it, by climbing out of it.  Want it.  And know you're not alone.

Adam's Story -- Part 1

Adam.  He is my second-born child, and first son.  He was born when Tessa was 2 1/2, right after we moved from our home state of California, to our adopted home state of Nebraska.

When he was born, he weighed 10 pounds, 1 ounce.  I remember looking at him in the hospital, and thinking, "Who are you?"  I had been so intimately acquainted with Tessa, that all of my mommy-energy had been injected into her from the time I found out I was expecting her, up until I became the mother or two.  I thought it odd, that I had another child who wasn't Tessa.  It's hard to explain, but I somehow wrapped motherhood into being her mom.  Now, I had a new baby, and I had to redefine myself as a mom.

This was kind of hard.  Not the bonding part, as my "Who are you," question was answered during that first night in the hospital when I held him, and nursed him, and fell in love with him.  No, the hard part was being a codependent who had defined herself as the one who cared for the needs of Tessa for 2 1/2 years.  I couldn't devote 100% of me into her anymore, as that percentage had to be shared with her brother.  She never once had an issue with it.  Never a moment of jealousy.  But, I struggled with tending to a newborn who needed me now, when Tessa would need me too.  Maybe she fell and was crying.  Maybe she was hungry.  Maybe she needed me to reach a toy for her.

Adam did eventually settle into our family, I got my rhythm, and within seconds, it seemed, he was up and playing with Tessa.  It was at about this time that we started noticing that something wasn't right with Tessa's development.  Where she had been WAY ahead developmentally, she began lagging behind.  And then regressing.  She had known all of her colors by the time she was 1, but at 3, she couldn't tell blue from yellow, or at least she couldn't tell me that she knew.  She lost her English language, and she developed her own language.  A language I was able to understand, because I was with her every day.  It was also a language Adam understood.

With her development regressing, Tessa and Adam soon became the same age.  My twins.  Inseparable.  Each others' best friend.  Into the same toys, into the same Disney movies, into the same games and activities.  Adam was a tremendous comfort to me in those difficult days, because he just simply loved Tessa, and he reminded me with his actions that he never saw a thing wrong with her.  To him, she was a typical child, and although we had a team of experts diagnosing and treating her then diagnosed Pervasive Developmental Disorder -- Not Otherwise Specified, Adam allowed a perspective for me that proved that Tessa was OK.  That there wasn't a thing that she couldn't do that would stop her from being OK, and that even though PDD is within the Autistic Spectrum, Tessa could indeed bond with others, and when it's all said and done, she'll be fine, once we figure out the ways into her brain.

Adam has a very strong leadership personality.  My dad used to call him The Little General.  He'd take him to the park when Tessa was at school, and laugh at how Adam would just round up the kids and engage them with his ideas of what they could play.  He'd give everyone a part, set out a plan, and attack the playground.

Soon, I started to see Adam as my firstborn, with the combination of Tessa's more withdrawn and shy personality, and his more outgoing, problem-solving charge.  This continued on, throughout their childhood.

When Adam was 5, we moved from Gretna, Nebraska, which is a suburb of Omaha, to rural Gothenburg, Nebraska, which is in the very center of Nebraska, just south of the Nebraska Sandhills.  We lived in a very old ranch house on 640-acres.   We were a half hour from the nearest grocery store, and a mile from our nearest neighbor.

These two photos are courtesy of my dear friend, Mardel Manary.  A true Ranch Woman.

We had dogs, cats, and eventually a strawberry roan American Quarter Horse mare, and a black grade pony.  The mare was Tessa's, and the pony was Abi's.  Lee was a baby still.  Adam was 11 at this time, and he needed a horse.

He had gone the dirt bike route, but found that to be disappointing.  It needed to be a father-son project, and despite his requests, and even pleadings with his dad to work on it with him, he was left disappointed.  Tragically disappointed, even.  He would cry to me regularly, for nearly 2 years, begging me to do something to persuade his dad to spend time with him, working on the dirt bike.

The dirt bike was important to him, and so was baseball.  His coaches would tell him that he needed to be worked with at home.  I would work with him, but he wanted his dad, and he would seldom to never go outside to throw the ball.  This would upset Adam.  Clearly, the common pattern was that Adam desperately needed his dad to be there for him, and over and again, his dad wasn't.

We owned a house in Broken Bow, Nebraska, another rural Nebraska town, and our house needed its lawn mowed in the growing season.  We had tried to hire local people to mow for us, but decided it best for us to do the lawn ourselves.  This was a very good opportunity for Adam to spend time with his dad.  Weekly, they would drive the 40 minutes it took to get to Broken Bow, mow the lawn there, and then drive home.  Starved for his dad's attention, Adam looked forward to his every week.  But, he could never get his dad to do the things he was interested in, like work on his dirt bike, or throw a ball.  I started noticing anger welling up within Adam as he neared puberty.  He would never display that anger toward his dad.  It was always to me, at bedtime, when I'd tuck him in.  He would cry, and articulate his disappointment, and ask the questions.  Questions like, "Why won't Dad spend time with me?"

This broke my heart.  And his anger was strange to see, as he had always been the easy going, jovial kid.  Always happy, always funny, always sweet, and tender.  He had an intense love for his family, and Tessa in particular.  Hearing him convey disappointment to the point of showing anger toward his dad was difficult for me, and I didn't know what to do about it.  I would talk with his dad, but he would only get angry with me for nagging him about it.  I saw that my then husband was withdrawing from his family, wanting to spend less and less time with us.  Instead, he would sun himself in the bed of his pick-up truck, or exercise for hours at a time, every afternoon and evening after work, having little to nothing to do with us.

I made the most of my time with the kids, partly because I wanted to, and partly because I was trying to make up for what their dad wouldn't do with them.  We so enjoyed the horses, that I suggested to Adam that we sell his dirt bike and get a horse of his own.  He loved the idea.  And once the dirt bike was gone, we set out looking for the right horse for him.  He was 11 years old.

My husband had a friend from work who had horses, and she had a colt she thought would be perfect for Adam.  We went to her house one Saturday morning.  In her mid-twenties, she lived with her mom.  The colt she had was still a baby.  Adam wouldn't even be able to ride him for at least 3 years.  Adam needed a horse now, and he needed a horse that was trained.  But, my husband and his friend worked hard to convince Adam and me that this was the horse for him, and if we didn't geld him, he could be a stud to Tessa's registered mare.  Their lines were compatible.  We could raise horses, and even sell them.  But, I wondered, what about Adam?

Never was Adam considered by either his dad, or his dad's friend.  Sure, they said that down the line Adam would benefit, because he'd have an amazing potentially money-making horse with a very good disposition.  But, would it be safe for Adam to have a stud for a horse?  He was so young.  Would this be safe?

The friend with the horse, and her mother, both agreed that he would be completely safe with this animal.  But, not content with their confidence, I started asking around to people who have raised, trained, and cared for horses all their lives.  I had a long list of about 20 people, including my husband's friend and her mother.  With the exception of those two, it was unanimous that the stud horse idea for a little boy was a dangerous, and very bad idea.  And when I presented Adam's dad with my conclusion that we not get the horse for Adam, he became angry.  Because as it turned out, he had been having an intimate affair with that young woman, and he really wanted to help her out financially, by buying the horse.  With Adam's dirt bike money.

Of course, I didn't know that at the time, but I eventually found out.  Which led to me secretly taking all four of my babies away from Nebraska, and away from the life we knew and loved.  We moved to Ontario, California to live with my parents, and be closer to my family.

At this point, Adam was 12 and ready for 7th grade.  He had been home schooled his entire life, and would experience public school for the first time, in Southern California, in a junior high school.  I dropped him off at school that first day, only a few days after we rolled into California.  He was scared, disoriented, disillusioned, and holding in an intense, deep anger fueled by disappointment and disbelief that this thing he now called his life wasn't just a very bad dream.