Value

From the experiences I had as a child, as a youth and particularly during my late teens and early twenties, I felt worthless.  I learned that my opinion didn't matter and that no amount of good deeds could earn me friendship from men or women.  I learned I would always be the second choice, left at home if a better offer came along.  Loyal to a fault myself, I would make excuses for them all the time wondering how I could improve my personal package.  Experience taught me that in no way was I pretty enough, talented enough, smart (or ditzy) enough to warrant attention.  Was that real?  Probably not, but the feeling of isolation was.  Whether or not my description is accurate -- that is how I chose to interpret what was going on around me. 

I had to sweeten the deal.  I had to come up with a way to put the odds in my favor.  It started online -- I spent hours in chat rooms honing my flirting skills.  A devout member of the Mormon church, I had no intention of going to far.  I just needed to learn to walk the line a little better.  When, a few months later, one chatter suggested we talk on the phone, I was game.  It was another skill I needed to learn. 

The whole thing began innocent enough -- all tame, get-to-know you conversations full of flirting and innuendo.  When he asked if I had ever masturbated, I wasn't going to lie.  After that, the conversation was a runaway train, destination: phone sex.  I couldn't stop it or control it.  I couldn't even slow it down or say no.  It was going to fast, and it felt good.  I rationalized the whole thing -- it wasn't like we actually had sex or touched each other, right?  Nothing to feel guilty about or repent of.  It was a nightly ritual within days -- thirty minutes of normal "how was your day?" back and forth, followed by an hour of foreplay and phone sex.  I LOVED the first thirty minutes, and tolerated the next hour.  For the first time in my life, I felt wanted. 

I had figured it out.  Within weeks, I had multiple phone partners, a morning and evening regular and a few others that I connected with at random.  When phone sex wasn't enough, I started meeting these men in person.  I was never happier, I told myself.   

My life was never the same after that.  My sexuality was what I turned to when I needed to feel wanted.  But it was never a healthy offering.  It was laced with, at least on my end, with guilt, confusion, manipulation and fantasy.  So many times I remember laying in bed, staring at the ceiling while my latest partner kissed my neck, wanting with everything in me, for it to be over, fighting the tears, holding it together, knowing it wasn't real.  But those long nights became the price I paid for the emotional connectedness I so desperately needed. 

Every encounter damaged my sense of self and value.  Who was this monster living inside of me?  It wasn't congruent with who I thought I was or who I wanted to be.  My isolation grew as my world shattered like a mirror.  I desperately tried to hold all the pieces together, hating the slivered images staring back at me.  I held one boundary the entire time.  I wouldn't have intercourse.  That carried a spiritual consequence for me I wasn't willing to pay.  Phone sex partners didn't care, but those that I met in person would ultimately leave when they found out I was serious.  In the end, everyone left. 

The years came and went with periods of deep, serious addiction followed by desperate periods of white-knuckled sobriety.  The cracks in my mirror never allowed me to be whole in any scenario.  In my addictive life, I played the part of the fun, relaxed girlfriend.  These men loved me, or so they said.  They told me I was pretty, smart and sexy.  I would see multiple men at a time and have phone sex with others as well.  The attention never seemed to be enough to fill the hole inside me.  But there was so much about me they didn't know -- my spirituality, my dedication to my Savior, my loyalty to my family or to the people I served.  In my "real life", I was the rock for my family, the dependable church member who always fulfilled her callings.  I was a dedicated teacher and successful professionally - but my friends and potential partners found me disengaged emotionally.  People, both men and women, claimed I was stand-offish, and too serious all the time. 

A cracked mirror holds no value and always returns a distorted image.  After 10 long years of fractured living, I knew things had to change.  I was desperately depressed and alone. I knew I couldn't sustain both lives and needed to find a way to blend it all together and figure out who I was as a whole person.  It was time to face both the good and evil inside me and make peace.  It's been a long journey.  Next week will mark two years since I entered recovery.  It's been over three years since I had phone sex, over two years since I engaged in any type of sexual chatting or been physically intimate with anyone.  Reigning in the last personal bits of my addiction were more difficult, but even those have yielded. 

My own experiences in finding and identifying my own personal self worth and value has been amazing.  It has produced blessings in my life that I never imagined.  I began recovery for completely selfish reasons and with completely selfish intent.  From the very beginning I told my therapist, sponsor and others that I was doing this for myself and I didn't care about sharing my story, being an example to anyone or helping anyone on their own journey.  It was too much pressure.  I didn't want to worry about letting anyone down if I slipped or fell.  I couldn't handle that.  Recovery was all about me.

However, finding my own value, has allowed me the opportunity to see value in others as well.  I look at people differently now. I interact with them differently. I see things I would have never seen before.  I wonder about the heavy burdens and crosses they carry. I wonder what fractured their mirror and what distorted view is being reflected to them.  I want people to be happy. I want people to know how loved and precious they are.  I find myself constantly wanting to help and reach out to them. 

I've also learned the importance of keeping my mirror whole.  I do that through self-care.  I know I am responsible for meeting my own needs, for tending the dings so they don't become cracks.  I understand the importance of checking the reflection with others to be sure it's not distorted in ways I don't recognize.  When the mirror is whole, the reflection is real and true and I don't always like it.  But I recognize that when I can see clearly, I can also work to fix the things I don't like and improve the reflection.