Tuesday, September 9, 2014

My Story: D-Day 1

Read more of My Story: herehere, and here.

In May of 2012, my girls were turning ONE. I planned for many weeks and was so excited to have family and friends celebrate with us. 

Their first year was tough. We dealt with the NICU for two months, a colic baby, a reflux baby, low milk supply, slow weight gain, avoiding public places, and a lot of other bumps in the road. 

Having a baby (or babies) takes a toll on your marriage. 

I put 150% into being the best mom for my daughters and to making sure they were developing without any concerns. I was stressed. I was exhausted. 

During that time I noticed how our marriage had changed. I thought some things were unusual and promptly ignored them. 

My husband spent a lot of time on the computer. He always stayed up late. He was emotionally gone. He didn't want to be around my friends. He was irritable. He was rude. He didn't seem to want anything to do with church. He stopped giving me compliments or doing nice gestures. He got bored easily.  

Three days before the big first birthday, one day before my family came to visit, I had one of the worst moments of my life. 

I went to bed as usual. My husband stayed up watching YouTube videos and reading ESPN articles. I had spent that day baking cakes for the birthday party. 

I woke up about an hour after falling asleep with the thought I don't think I turned the oven off.

I got up (without glasses on), walked to where we had a baby gate in the hallway and asked my husband "Will you check to make sure the oven is off?"

He was sitting on the couch with his computer in front of him. He awkwardly said yeah. I walked back to my room. I thought to myself that something was off. Something was weird about that situation. But, I went back to sleep.

The next morning I woke up thinking about that moment.

I knew I had caught my husband doing something I found so disgusting, revolting, and humiliating. I started looking online for more information. I wasn't sure what to do: ask him about it or not?

I started having doubts and questions: did I really see something? Did I make it up? Was I looking too much into it? What will happen if I ask him about it? What will happen if he says yes? No? Gets mad because I would even think that? How do ask? 

But, as I read more about the signs and watched videos from recovering addicts and spouses I knew. I cried the entire afternoon. 

I sent a text (trying to keep it serious, but light-hearted): Were you doing something frisky last night when I woke up?

He said: What? No? What do you mean?

I responded: I thought I saw you doing something you shouldn't. Maybe it was nothing. Sorry.

He then said: No, I wasn't doing anything.

I was confused. I was so sure.

He got home from work a couple hours later. I was doing the dishes.

He came into the kitchen and I apologized for the text saying I must have just been seeing things.

When I finally looked at him, his face looked strange and he said: No, you were right. I was doing something I wasn't supposed to. I'm sorry.

I had caught him.


Even though I had caught him and knew, him admitting it still shocked me. I was angry. And when I'm angry I tend to want to be alone and not talk about it.

From my reading that day I knew a little of what was going on. But, not enough to be strong. 

After our girls went to bed we stayed up most of the night talking. Our conversation basically went like this:

How long have you been having this problem? I dunno, since I was younger

Have you ever stopped? Not really

Why do you do it? I dunno

Where did you first see pornography? I dunno

I had a million questions and received very few answers.

The next few days was more of the same. Except I started to be blamed.

We don't have sex enough. You never want to have sex. You never initiate sex. You are always too tired. I don't think you find me attractive. 

So what did I do? 

Blamed myself, also.

I made myself do things I did not want to. I thought I could fix him by having sex with him.

And we all know that did not work.

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