Beautiful Disaster

The weather has been changing around these parts, but in subtle ways. It's not quite so hot, it's a bit more windy, the humidity is down. Fall is coming in gently, like the prelude to a love song. I'm fairly enamored with it.

I've always loved autumn, the changing colors of the leave and trees, the crispness in the air, the emphasis on warm sweaters and apple cider and the beginnings of fireplaces being lit in the evenings. It's a bit like a deep sigh for me.

This year, I think I am going to attempt to decorate a little bit. I'm not much of a decorator, to be honest, so I think I'll start with a small project, like my tiny porch. I'm considering purchasing these darling little fairy lights that look like leaves, and adding perhaps a tiny cafe table and chairs, some flowers hanging, some pumpkins maybe... I'm thinking about going back through God In The Yard, and think this arrangement might get me started on the right foot. Maybe I'll have my morning coffee out there.

Trever is working this Saturday, so I am still in my pajamas, watching most of my children out of my bedroom window, who are playing football. I really need to grocery shop, but I really don't want to. I also received a gift certificate for a pedicure. Maybe I will go do that today. I've already ignored phone calls and invitations for the day. I just want to quietly veg, maybe I'll start reading that novel I picked up. I'm definitely going to drink chai.

I tried Pumpkin Spice Oreos last night, while I was snuggling in bed with Trever watching reruns of the Big Bang Theory. They taste absolutely nothing like Oreos but I quite enjoyed them.

I also had a rather traumatic thing happen yesternight. In order for you, my readers, to understand this, I must confess: A long time ago, I had an affair. It was a one time thing, and it was a monumental mistake. My husband forgave me immediately when I told him, bawling like a baby. He loves me so well. I cried until I thought I had no tears left. I wanted to die. It was bad enough, what I had done, but having hurt the man I truly love so deeply, watching him cry even as he held me and whispered that we would get through this, caused an ache I can not even find words to describe. I struggled to believe even God could forgive me for being such a horrid human being. But Trever took my face into his hands and told me, "Amy, if *I* can forgive you, surely God can." And I knew right then that he was right, and it was as if God used my husband to speak right into my very soul.

We've healed. But then, last night, Trever received text messages from this man, who was apologetic and wanted to be sure Trever knew how sorry he was, how he carries around a good bit of shame and guilt over the whole thing. Maybe he needed closure, all this time later? I don't know. But to be honest, it just wrecked me. I began to rage and then I started itching all over. I broke out into full blown hives, which my body does sometimes when I am dealing with incredibly high levels of stress. Then I started crying. It shouldn't have been such an ordeal, really it shouldn't have, but it felt like a ginormous scab was ripped off an old wound, and I was left open and stinging and vulnerable.

Trever handled it as he always does, in the way that protects me best. He gave me Benadryl and encouraged me to stop scratching and made me look him in the eyes while he spoke words of love over me. Then he held me close until I was quiet and calm and could go to sleep.

And this morning? I'm left feeling pensive and confused by the whole thing. I realize I have OCD, and this no doubt contributes to the fact that I obsess over things, but it's as if this whole experience is playing over and over, on a loop. I keep wondering what the motivation was for him to text Trever, what outcome he was looking for or anticipating, if he was sincere or just narcissistic, looking for ways to assuage his own guilt. It makes me remember things he said to me during the time all that crazy stuff happened, it makes me relive things mentally I never want to think about again.

How does one let something like this go? Why do I so powerfully feel like I need answers, like I need to understand? Sometimes, when I am particularly agitated, I start skin picking. I know this is an OCD thing, and I'm working on it. But it is really hard. Years of deeply engrained habits that I developed in order to self soothe that just now, in my mid thirties, I am learning are unhealthy and potentially damaging to myself. I have a lot to unlearn. Some days, I really feel I am making progress, and the meds certainly help, but nights like last night make me feel like I have experienced a monumental setback.

So today I am being gentle with myself. I am putting one wobbly step in front of the next until I am steadied. And I am so grateful for the man who is always by my side, offering his love and support, and my best friend, who sings the song of my heart back to me when I've forgotten the tune.

They are God's love to me.

And I firmly believe Love is the answer to all things.

Amy