I’ve watched my husband let his program and self-care slide over the last week, and I can see that he is suffering from that. This morning he was wallowing a bit and said something to me about giving up. My response was, “I’m really sorry to hear that.” He went on a rant of sorts about me not believing in encouragement, that I’m not a caring, loving person. I think I previously would have just taken it and stuffed the feeling, but I stood my ground and told him that I don’t accept him turning his bad feelings into a personal attack. I said I loved him and am willing to help him if he tells me exactly what he needs. He wouldn’t drop it. I eventually ended up yelling at him in front of the kids that he was hurting my feelings. He made a big display about me lashing out in front of the kids, suggested that my behavior would damage them, and then retreated upstairs.
Last night during a meeting someone shared that he finds himself acting out when someone says something that makes him fearful. I thought about this today and realized that I freaked out because what my husband accused me of might just be my greatest fear about myself. The thing that I worry might actually be true. The thing that probably is true because I’m an alcoholic.
Last night I was called out in an online forum for defriending a fellow alcoholic on Facebook. I fessed immediately, letting her know that I took her off my feed because I didn’t want to see her jokes about drinking. I didn’t think twice about that decision, I felt it was best for my sobriety. But then I read the other members responses to her, and a thought began to creep in. “Everyone else is trying to support and understand. You’re the mean girl.”
When I accidentally got pregnant with my son, the terrifying tape that played in my head was, “What if you don’t love this baby?” I wondered if I was one of those women who might harm her baby or abandon her children. In the final weeks of my drinking, my husband told me he was becoming afraid to leave me alone with the kids each morning. I was afraid, too.
The Big Book tells me I’m selfish, and I most certainly believe that. I have a hard time understanding other people’s struggles and have a low tolerance for their pain. I’m judgmental. I’m not affectionate. Is this the real truth about me? That’s what I’m afraid of, but I don’t think it is the truth. These are my character defects, right? This is the armor I put on a long time ago.
I can feel my brain fighting this. It feels really tense, weepy, angry, so I’m guessing a surrender is coming. I don’t understand how I’m going to digest it all, but I’m going to try and ride it out.
Here’s a fucking song.