Since Mark took my inventory last week, I only felt it was fair to do the same for him.
 |
| Image credit: Photo by aussiegall on Flickr Licensed under Creative Commons |
Dear Mark,
Someone asked me recently what has changed in my marriage since I discovered your sex addiction, and I gave her an answer -- about building true intimacy and closeness in the real world, rather than the pleasant illusion of all that in a fantasy world -- that was true, but not complete. One of the things that has changed is the way in which I view you yourself.
I have always loved you, passionately, irresistibly. You're smart, kind, attractive and a joy to spend time with: someone who makes me laugh, who is deeply curious about the way things work, who loves to learn, who is an excellent listener and a delight to listen to, who exudes warmth and love.
Yet, when we met, you believed you were less than other people, and for a long time, I believed the press you put out about yourself too: that you weren't as smart or hard working as other people. As much as I was drawn to your strengths, we both know that your weaknesses slipped into mine like hand into glove. That insecurity about yourself gave you an innocence, a childlike sweetness and boyish playfulness that was endearing, but came with an impression that you weren't entirely capable of taking care of yourself. And so I stepped in to take care of you, to soothe and love and help you. I adored you, but I didn't entirely respect you.
What I love about these years in recovery is the deep respect and admiration that has come from seeing you approach your own spiritual growth with the same dedicated enthusiasm you give to working out a math problem or a chess move or a word puzzle. You (and I know you always squirm a little awkwardly when you hear this, because it still doesn't feel right to you) are my hero.
I've seen that far from being unable to manage your own life, you can and do take care of yourself. You aren't less hard working than other people, you're working your heart out each and every day. And you still may not always feel smart, I don't buy your press any longer, because I see proof in the beautiful insights - into your world and yourself and your recovery - that grow with each new day. And what is truly beautiful in all of this is that in gaining these new strengths, you haven’t lost any of what you had before; you are still as loving and playful and beautiful as you ever were, and more.
I feel so grateful and privileged to know you, to be married to you and to witness your recovery.
I love you,
Mary
This post originally published at The Second Road.
0 comments:
Post a Comment