The In Between

When trying to beat my addiction to masturbation, I had to find the root cause of why I was masturbating and dig it all out from the root up. And I did-- I did not feel like I was lovable. So I feigned intimacy through the fantasy of masturbation, simultaneously cutting myself off from that which I really wanted-- to be loved and know I was lovable and intimacy. Thankfully, I was able to dig up that root and gain healing from the wound it left. But sometimes I still feel the way I did when I was addicted.

There is a lot of stuff between the root of something and what it is protruding as (feeling unlovable to masturbation, for instance) and sometimes that stuff can be overlooked. I overlooked it definitely. All I saw was: Root. Root! Root! Dig it up now!!!! Gone! NO MORE MASTURBATION! YAY!!! VICTORY!  But really, the wound leaves scar tissue related to the injury. Hence, I still deal with some of that "middle stuff" that was always lodged in between the root of my problem and the addiction itself.

Sometimes I still feel like I'm on the outside looking in, that I can never have something that I want, and this is in all areas of my life, not just relationships (friendship and romance and familial all alike). A dissatisfaction with the here and now because I worry I will not have the other things I want and, even more so, cannot have the things that I want. That has led to a rebellious heart and a lot of issues with God. I just want some proof that the things I desire are good things and that I am not just deserving but loved enough to be given good things.

So, I have to deal with the scar tissue of the in between. It's a work in progress. Some days I feel really good and other days are so so. But progress isn't linear, it's convoluted. There are steps to go through, in some fashion and sometimes more than once, and a lot of the issues probably have multiple layers. That's ok. I have multiple layers. I'm not one-dimensional. And in the hard times, I cling to the only things I know to be absolutely true: that God is good and He loves me.

No Limits

When I was addicted to masturbation and when I first began to realize that I was so, I used to go around bluntly telling people, in semi-appropriate settings, that is. I had no problem telling a relative stranger, when a friend asked me to, and I had no problem discussing it. I did not want to be The Masturbator, but that's who I was, at least self-defined, and so I thought there was no more reason to keep it in the dark.

When I found healing from the addiction, I started going around talking about my freedom from the addiction and how I was no longer The Masturbator. Instead, I became No Longer The Masturbator. And that defined a hole I then needed to have filled: if I was no longer The Masturbator, who was I?

We are not defined by our sins. That was the remedy to my addiction. But neither are we defined solely by our moments of healing or conversion. These are part of who we are, but not who we are in whole. These moments propel us on to be who we are and to define ourselves by what we no longer are in light of healing or conversion is limiting. I am not The Masturbator and I am not No Longer The Masturbator.

I am Theresa who once was addicted and is now set free. I am Theresa who entrusts her entire being to the Precious Blood. I am so much more. I am most assuredly without limits. It is good to recognize our limits-- it reminds us we are human and in need of Someone more than ourselves, it is humbling-- and it is only through recognizing our limits that we might rise beyond them.

Yes, I am Theresa who entrusts her entire being to the Precious Blood-- blood that pours out without limits.

Lenten Schizophrenia: My Lent as a 16 Year Old

Today I offer this recollection as a hopeful reminder that life gets better and that even when powerless in addiction, even when no one understands, God truly has the power to heal.

Sixteen, what a year-- Mommabear had cancer for the third time, I fell in love for the first time, I earned my coveted driver's license, I was confused about who I was and what that meant for my life, I received the Sacrament of Confirmation, I was completely addicted to masturbation and I found out that it is a mortal sin. There were many life-altering events that year, but nothing was more shattering than already struggling in the undercurrent of addiction and then being crushed by a tidal wave saying I was going to hell for something I no longer had any control over. I could not let that happen. I would not go to hell. So without any resources or support or know-how, I did the only thing I could think of: I gave up masturbation for Lent.

Previously my Lenten sacrifices consisted of giving up different candies or cracking my knuckles or other such things appropriate to younger ages, sacrifices that made 8 year old Theresa understand a little bit of Christ's sacrifice, that He willingly gave Himself up just as I was willingly giving up something I loved. But this Lent was different, this Lent I was not giving up something I loved but something I knew was holding me back from Love (and, coincidentally, love). This Lent I was scared, unsure, but determined. I also decided to begin reading the Bible from start to finish (and this has sparked my now typical Lenten routine-- give something up and replace it with something good).

This was all well and good until my parish priest said from the pulpit that we should be in Lent together as families, that all family members should share what they are giving up or doing for Lent to keep accountable or to choose something we could all do as a family. I almost broke out into a cold sweat in my pew. My parents knew of my addiction to masturbation as "my problem" or "the habit" and I was not in the habit of telling them about the depth of my problem. I wanted to keep this Lent under wraps. But while eating (wolfing down) my omelet and cheese danish with Meet the Press interrogating in the background, my mom looked at me and asked what I was doing for Lent. I scrambled and came up with giving up cracking my knuckles, swearing, and snacking between meals, to my mom's disappointed but consenting "okay". I was off the hook.

Until I went for a cookie a few hours later. Until I cracked my knuckles while helping prepare dinner. Until I cursed when I found more homework due the next day that I had forgotten about. Then I realized that this Lent was truly going to be different than any other Lent.

I quit my addiction cold turkey and was keeping it a secret and then, as a show for my mom, I was breaking the habit of cracking my knuckles, watching my mouth (which admittedly was a very good thing), and was skipping snacks while at home (what happened at school stayed at school). Truth be told, I remember next to nothing about those 40 days. All I remember is feeling stressed, pressured, and generally out of my mind. But whatever happened that Lent, I did not break, I did not fall, and I did not give up. I did not realize until that Lent that I could be strong.

I fell back into my addiction after that Lent but what I did gain was a thirst for truth, understanding, and healing. A thirst I have not lost today. A thirst that drives me closer to God every day. And I'm not afraid of my own weaknesses and limitations anymore because I am in love with a God who has none. When I was 16, I found that I was made for more than what I had been allowing myself to live in and I wanted more life. Holiness is pure, true life. That's what I wanted when I was 16 and that's what I want now that I'm 26. May this Lent purge us of whatever death we have been living in and open us to true life.

How Addiction Goes

This blog post I've linked to below describes exactly what it was like to be in the throes of addiction and desperately wanting a way out. And it also is spot on for how it felt when I began to struggle again after I had broken the addiction-- praise the Lord, truly, for giving me the grace to not fall under addiction again.

Steve, this is such an excellent post. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

http://www.stevegershom.com/2012/01/quine/

For the First Time, In Technicolor

The day I found freedom from my addiction haunts me. It haunts me like a beautiful mysterious lady haunts you after a simple hello. And I desperately want to have a conversation. I had given up on conversation right before this. I had tried talking and conversing for so long and still I was saddled with this ugly, hidden "habit"; this thing that made me less woman in so many ways and made me certainly not worthy of God, and it seemed there was nothing He was doing about it.

I self identified not as Theresa but as Masturbator. It had been with me for so long-- 20 years of "the habit" itself and approximately 10 of those 20 in actual addiction-- that it seemed like who I was. I could no longer see Theresa as separate and innately different from Masturbator. I didn't think God could either.

But, as is often the case, I was wrong.

The day I found freedom from the addiction to masturbation hit me like I imagine dying and going to heaven to be like. The old self not just melts but is violently ripped away and you are submerged into so much glory there is no possible way for you to take it all in, except in eternity. The veil had been lifted. As though I were the in the nitty underground of a black and white picture, I saw color for the first time.