Source: I hate you… (A letter to porn)
In case this is my last post, I wanted to post a song I hope becomes a theme you try to live by. OneRepublic isn’t necessarily my favorite band, but they have songs that I have loved since 5th grade. The song I Lived comes from their most recent album, Native. You might have heard of the songs If I Lose Myself and Counting Stars from that album, but I think this song really captures not only what I hope for myself, but for all you lovely readers as well.
I think this song is rather to the point, so there’s not much I can add to it. I just hope that when you live your life you aren’t afraid to jump and when hard times come, you are prepared. I hope that the people in your life really appreciate you and that you fall truly, madly, deeply in love…
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Journey Out Of Captivity
As a pornography addict, i had to embrace Danger in order to take the journey out of captivity. The Danger was being brutally honest with my wife about what i had been doing the first nine years of our marriage. The healing of my heart required me to walk a Dangerous road and there was no guarantee that things would all work out along the way.
i struggled to be fully honest. It was physically painful to tell her my sordid past. But secrets need to be exposed.
As Proverbs says:
He who conceals his sins does not proper, but whoever confesses and renounces them finds mercy. (28:13)
Through the years i had done some confession, although what i shared in so-called accountability groups was never the whole story. But i had never renounced anything.
i was being forced to renounce my previous life. In the…
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I had coffee with a friend recently who is in the middle of a Major Life Renovation. She has gone from a known life and full home to an existence in flux and an empty apartment.
I did a lot of listening.
And I left her with three pieces of advice for a life in transition:
One – Plant Your Seed
When you take the leap from one life to a new one, it is so easy to focus on what is left behind rather than embrace the possibilities for the future.
I felt this acutely in my early months. I had gone from a home (not to mention a husband and dogs) to a spare bedroom in a friend’s house. It was exactly what I needed at the time, yet I knew that it was only temporary and I struggled to imagine the next step. Let alone how…
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You’re not special.
That realization was the hardest pill for me to swallow post-divorce.
I would read or listen about the depths of pain others experienced through divorce and silently believe that my pain had to be different.
And I had plenty of evidence to back up my belief. After all, how many 16 year relationships end with a text, fraud and bigamy?
It was a great excuse to delay the real work of healing for a time; by focusing on the sordid details, I gave myself a reason to ignore the collective wisdom from the universal experience of love and loss. On the surface, I would graciously accept guidance and advice while tacitly believing that it didn’t apply to me.
Because I thought that my situation, my experience, my pain was special.
I focused on what set me apart rather than what bound me to the common.
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As a runner and weight lifter, I am very familiar with trigger points – painful balls of muscle or fascia caused by acute or repeated trauma. They are hyperirritable, overresponding to even the slightest pressure or pull. They cause intense pain at their source and can often lead to referred pain in a distant area, frequently occurring along predictable pathways.
As a survivor of a traumatic divorce, I am also very familiar with emotional trigger points – painful memories and associated responses caused by repeated or acute trauma. They are areas of hyperirritability where the response far outweighs the preceding factors. They cause intense pain at the time of their trigger and can cause referred pains in seemingly unrelated areas.
I am consistently amazed at the magnitude and quantity of my emotional triggers. A snippet of a song last night brought me to tears as it reminded me of…
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I experienced a moment of synchronicity this past weekend – just as I was typing, “I hope the Ravens win,” a Tweet showed up on my feed about the limitations of the word “hope.” Patrick Brady (@MrMindMiracle) compares “hope” to the word “try,” pointing out the inherent weakness implied by both.
The thought made me pause. I rolled the idea around in my mind for the next few plays (where, I might add, my hope of the Ravens doing well was coming to fruition). “Hope” is a word I frequently use, both in my words and my writing. There are times when hope can be dangerous (as in holding onto the idea that an expired relationship may yet again find footing) and there are times when hope is essential (such as when it keeps us from drowning in despair).
And it’s true, that much like “try,” “hope” is passive. It…
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