On Detaching and Attaching

After the first big crisis J and I had early in our marriage, I'd decided that I'd allowed my happiness to rely on J far too much.

I told myself that I'd expected too much from him and from marriage in general-- buying into that fairytale thinking and happily ever after stuff. If I was going to stay, I had to come to terms with the reality of our relationship and determine whether I could find peace, fulfillment, and confidence regardless of whether J changed or not.

In short, I had to detach.

I'd grown up in a family that was very open. We talked about everything, relied on one another, and worked through things together. At first, it felt like life would be an empty, sad place if I couldn't turn to  J like that. What was the point of being together if we couldn't nurture each other? But I reasoned that if I divorced, I'd still have to find a way to be happy and whole. Why not discover the secret without the divorce part?

After a time, I felt I successfully developed an attachment cycle {albeit one independent of J}:

Tension, Triggers and Trauma. We all have them-- the responsibilities that produce tension; the comments that trigger self doubt; the traumas that are out of our control but cause us intense pain; and all the other myriad of negative thoughts and feelings that plague mortality. At times they roll off our back, but eventually they build up and become unmanageable.

When I felt tension or triggered or trauma, I had to Acknowledge what it was that I was feeling and Allow myself to feel it. Fighting it or trying to talk myself out of it or telling myself I 'shouldn't' feel it never worked. I had to acknowledge {to myself and to God} what I was thinking and feeling before I could move on to the next step. It couldn't be skipped.

Surrender. Once I acknowledged what I was feeling, I could then work through it or choose to let it go. If I was resentful, I could choose to forgive. If I was lonely, I could choose to reach out. Often, there was absolutely nothing I could actually change in order to 'fix' what I was feeling-- especially in the case of chronic clinical depression-- but I learned to sit with uncomfortable feelings. I practiced surrendering the feelings to God-- admitting my powerlessness to change what I was feeling and having faith that it would pass.

Happiness and Health always seemed to follow. I would reach a phase where I felt mentally and emotionally whole. Things that had seemed difficult no longer felt burdensom. In this stage, I could be creative, serve others and deal with things in a healthy way.

This worked for years. Despite depression, financial problems, J's emotional unavailability and all the other uncertainties of life, I felt intimately connected to and sustained by my Heavenly Father. In fact, I'd lived for so long without expecting J to 'complete me', that when he began demanding that of me, I was shocked. Then angry.

I knew I couldn't fill that void for J, and a large part of separation was J discovering it as well.

But writing the fairytale for J had been a turning point. I began to realize just how detached from him I'd become, and that it might-- just might-- be possible for me to let him in safely. Maybe I could meet some of his needs. Not because I had to, or because it was expected of me, or was my duty-- but because I truly wanted to. Because I loved him.

Our therapist described a new cycle. Our happiness wouldn't rely on each other but could include one another. I drew something like this to visualize the concept:

Life would still have Tension, triggers and trauma. For a time, even more so as we attempted to heal things between us.

I would still need to Acknowledge those feelings and allow myself to feel them.

But if I wanted to include J, at this point I could GO to him and Give him the Opportunity to nurture. To empathize. To even be aware of what it was I was thinking and feeling. While scary {he had never been able to handle my negative feelings very well}, it helped to keep in mind that I could move on to the next step regardless of his reaction.

Whether his reaction was positive {empathy} or negative {rejection}, I could still Surrender my feelings to God and achieve that Happy, Healthy state.

And here was the key: when I entered that Happy, Healthy state-- that one where I don't feel fragile, but feel like I have extra peace and contentment to spread around-- that is when I could Take the Opportunity to nurture. That is when I could be sure that there was no 'fixing' or 'saving' or codependency going on. That is when withholding affection might be punitive and unnecessary instead of protective. If I nurture while in the Happy, Healthy state, I can be sure that it is just pure, selfless, Christlike love.

****

This whole concept of attachment cycles has been on my mind a lot lately. It's difficult, even now, to take the risk and let J in. I worry about losing the peace and serenity I've achieved. And when I'm in that happy, healthy state, I still sometimes get a twinge of panic, as though turning to J and sharing my love for him makes me a doormat or gives the impression that I've never been hurt. It's a daily effort to be aware of what is going on inside of me and act with integrity.

I'm still learning.

Roller Coaster Ride

October 2012

While writing and illustrating the book for J, something deep within me cracked open. My heart, which had been protected by an icy layer of detachment, felt the first pricks of sunlight and slowly began to thaw.

The vulnerability was exhilarating at first. I could feel-- really feel-- love for J again. It was heady and hopeful and so very, very precious. I basked in its warmth for an evening as we went ice skating, grinning like fools and holding hands like newlyweds. But no sooner had I closed the door on his retreating back was I hit with the full weight of the heartache that had been held at bay by that same detachment. I panicked.

Are you a complete idiot?

Nothing has changed!

You're in for a world of hurt!

By Monday, when he joined the kids and I for dinner and Family Home Evening, I found his very presence profoundly painful. To avoid his gaze, I kept my eyes glued to the screen of my iphone. He tried to engage me in conversation, but I answered his queries in monosyllables. It was all I could do to stay in the same room with him. I was terrified and desperate-- desperate-- to regain detachment.

He was confused.

Then hurt.

Then angry.

Over the next several weeks, he tried to goad a response out of me. My quick withdrawal sent him into some kind of spiral, and he responded by persecuting and playing the victim. This only served to confirm my fears and drive me away further.

And so the pattern began:

• We would connect.

• I would get scared and back off.

• He would grow frustrated and livid.

• I would detach.

It was an exhausting roller coaster ride; one which our therapist calmly tried to teach us to exit.

"It's a trauma response," he'd tell me. "You have a right to be afraid of being hurt."

He'd say, "You can stop this cycle," turning to J, "Comfort her. Validate her feelings. Be patient."

As the holidays approached, we found that to be so much easier said than done.

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