Searching for Sleep in the Wake of Betrayal

The worst thing in the world is to try to sleep and not to.  ~F. Scott Fitzgerald


F. Scott Fitzgerald clearly knew a thing or two about insomnia. And infidelity, in a clear case of life imitating art. Or vice versa.
Those of us dealing with betrayal know the endless agony of a restless night. 
I would start feeling anxious about sleep hours before I actually went to bed. I would issue a silent prayer to the Gods of Betrayed Wives to please, please let me fall asleep and stay that way.
Inevitably, I would wake around 3:30 a.m. with a sudden, wide-eyed dread. And I would stay that way. My mind, to paraphrase my favorite author Anne Lamott, is like a bad neighborhood. You don't want to go there when it's dark. And – ohhhhh – was it dark. 
It would whisper awful things to me. About how hideous I was. How unlovable. Words it wouldn't have the nerve to say in the light of day. But night unleashes the dark dogs.
I was making a strong effort to steer clear of alcohol, barely trusting myself sober to stay on this side of the law and certainly not willing to tempt fate by climbing into a bottle of merlot. So that sleep-incducing option was out. I tried various teas. But my particular insomnia needed the big guns. I leaned temporarily on a doctor-prescribed sleep aid, Gravol and finally settled on melatonin, a hormone that a flight-attendant friend of mine relies on to adjust her body clock during long-haul flights.
Wonder of wonders, it worked. It took a week or so for my body to adjust. And the cynic in me wonders if perhaps it was a psychosomatic response to the ritual of taking the capsule... Whatever the reason, it worked. Not perfectly. But I perfectly recall actually falling asleep and waking up with enough energy to get myself to noon, if not to dinner time, without falling apart.
If sleeplessness if one of your betrayal-related souvenirs, what have you tried? What worked? Didn't work?

Porn Addiction: Not Just for Men Anymore

In university, I lived with two guys. It was completely platonic and based on necessity more than desire. I couldn't afford to live alone and, having grown up with a brother, I was more comfortable with the laissez-faire attitude of male room-mates than the estrogen-fuelled abodes of my female friends.
But every Sunday night, my room-mates would go to a nearby video store and rent porn. Really raunchy porn. And though I considered myself open-minded and can credit my university years with giving me a certain confidence in my sexual self, I loathed the Sunday night porn fest. My bedroom was right above the living room and the sounds (EGADS, the sounds!) would float upward, distracting me from reading, homework or whatever else I was trying to do.
But though I hated it, I nonetheless considered it harmless. And continued to throughout my life.
My husband, on the other hand, indulged, though secretly. It wasn't until after D-Day that the extent of his porn "habit" was revealed. And it wasn't until he really examined what messages he got from porn (that women were always sexually available, that they loved it fast and furious, that they were no more than objects to satisfy men) that he could acknowledge just how far along the path to porn addiction he'd ventured.
But it never dawned on me that women could become addicted to porn, too, though I suppose I would have acknowledged it was possible.
A recent video, from a courageous woman whose blog I follow, gives the addiction issue a female face...and a glimmer of hope that we can discuss this candidly.
Do I think all porn is bad? No, I do not.
I think much of it degrades women, but fortunately, not all. And, frankly, it has never really done anything for me...other than provide a source of derision or amusement.
And I think, like anything that removes us from our lives and offers up an intoxicating tonic of empowerment, entitlement and easy access, porn can be dangerous.
What are your thoughts? Do you use porn? Did porn have anything to do with the infidelity in your marriage? 

It Ain't Over 'Til...Well...It Ain't Over

I ran into a friend today. Once upon a time we were close friends. She was a bridesmaid at my wedding; I was MC at hers. Now we're "it's-great-to-see-you-how're-the-kids" kinda friends.
She married a guy I can only barely stand. He's a small "m" misogynist. He works for a company that builds army machinery. I'm a feminist and a pacifist. We tend to disagree. A lot.
Yet there was my friend. Still happily married, or so it appears. And there stood I. Pieced back together after betrayal and though the cracks might not be as apparent as they once were, I suspect anyone who looked closely could see them.
And I was so jealous I was almost choking on it.
Not that I would wish betrayal on anyone. But why, when my husband was such a good guy, did it happen to me? It wasn't supposed to happen to me. I chose so carefully – someone who treated people, especially me, well. Who seemed so principled. Who shared my pacifist and feminist leanings.
And my jealousy and subsequent short-lived fury at my husband made me realize – yet again – that betrayal changes everything. I will never be the carefree wife who laughed at the mere notion that my husband could cheat. He just...wouldn't. Or so I thought.
That person is gone. And she bears little resemblance to me, who still struggles to trust that anyone can be true to their word.
Sure, I have my good days. When I can appreciate the silver lining of being dragged behind the betrayal truck until I'm raw and broken. The silver lining that reminds me that I'm stronger. And that my marriage has more honesty (not sure it could have less...). And that my husband is a better and happier man who's faced his demons and is evicting them one by one.
But I also have those days when I hate that this happened. When I seethe with jealousy at women whose lives haven't been gutted by their spouse's secret. Who can still look at their husband and believe. What I wouldn't give to still be one of them...

Funny Friday: Eavesdropping on my son

A guilty pleasure of mine is eavesdropping on my kids' conversations. The best ones seem to happen in the car – my kids seem to forget I'm there. I simply stay silent...and listen.

Tonight, as my 9-year-old son was chatting with his friend, whose parents were packing and moving into their new house today, they got talking about the woman who bought the former house.

"It's her first house," explained my son's friend. "And she's only 23. Why would she want such a big house for one person?"

My son, who's never met a question he couldn't answer, responded, "She's at that age," he said. "She'll be getting married and having S-E-X."

I stifled a giggle.

"What's that?" his friend asked.

My son sighed...

Shifting Focus: Forget the OW! This is About You

I read a fascinating blog post yesterday about a woman whose husband cheated with – and ultimately left his marriage for – this woman's best friend. The story is heartbreaking. But the story of how this woman, Carolyn, came to a place where she no longer focused on the other woman, despite having to see her every time she dropped her kids off, and instead moved forward with her life is triumphant.
It's not easy. Many of us instinctively lash out at the other woman, heaping our fury, disgust and scorn on her. I dropped off a Christmas card to the OW (she worked for my husband) complete with a family photo and a note thanking her "for all she'd done" and noting that the holidays were a time to "reflect on all we've done over the past year and take stock of how we've contributed to creating a better world..." Biting sarcasm tends to be my preferred method.
Did it work? Did she suddenly acknowledge her role in the mess? Resolve to never again have sex with a married man? I doubt it.
And though it offered me up a measure of satisfaction (It really did. I cannot tell a lie!), it also kept my focus on something I couldn't control (her) rather than something I could (me). 
If you must dump your rage (and sometimes, really, you must – just don't do any illegal, immoral or undignified) on the OW, keep it brief. Then get to the rest of your life, however battered it appears at the moment. Wear an elastic band around your wrist and give it a good "snap" every time thoughts wander to the OW. It can help (really!) if your husband can give you something he hated about her or that was embarrassing for her. She's just a sad woman willing to sell herself short. 
Even if she winds up your spouse, consider these lines from Carolyn: "I also trust in karma. I don’t think she won anything great. I think what she took from me is probably making her life worse and she probably knows it."

Elin Nordegren: The Face of Betrayal

I'm sure Tiger Woods' wife Elin never planned on becoming the current face of betrayal, following, most recently, Elizabeth Edwards and Jenny Sanford. But there she is, her face "etched with pain", according to news reports.
Of course her face is etched with pain. Of course, she looks tired. Pain over betrayal is hardly news.
Why is it treated, then, as news?
Well I could be cynical and assume that it's because she's gorgeous and rich and the details of her husband's infidelity is so salacious that writing about her gives the paper another chance to dredge up the dirt. However – Pollyanna alert! – I like to think that it's because Elin and these other women, who bear their betrayal with a dignity and grace but never shame, offer the rest of us hope that we, too, can survive.
I suspect the thinking goes that if they can endure, with cameras in their windows, mistresses dishing on the talk shows and the whole world offering up an opinion of whether they should stay or go, surely we mortals can endure the stares of the neighborhood gossip and the possibility that our lame excuses for our puffy eyes sound...lame to the ears of our friends and colleagues. If they can overcome infidelity, we hope, then we can, too.
So, Elin, though you never wanted to become the poster woman for triumphing over infidelity, please know that you're inspiring many of us. Might be little comfort when your kids are asking when daddy's coming home. Might not help when you spot yet another tabloid cover in the supermarket selling lies and half-truths about your life. But you're certainly helping us.

Guest Blog: I'm Ready to Be Ready to Let Go

by Meg






Last Monday my divorce was final. I took the day off to go to court and the hearing took less than 15 minutes. I call this the year of my humbling and believe me it was humbling to have my marriage disolved quickly and without my ex husband there. People kept telling me congrats and I didn't know how to respond. I didn't feel like congratulations were in order, but what are you supposed to say? Lord knows, I don't know the rules for this.  I know I'm another step closer to something and hopefully that something is peace. My wants and needs are so different. I want my husband back, I want what I thought was my life back, but I know I need a life without him in it. I'm so lonely and I'm just ready to move on and I'm closer and closer to truly letting go of my old dreams. 

Friends threw me a divorce party and I highly recommend one. It was a way to release tension and have a few drinks and even some laughs. My party was the day after my divorce and a friend took a photo of me asleep on the couch after several cups of "D Punch". I can't get the image of me on the couch out of my head. She laughed about it, but I could see the pain in my face and my jaw was clenched tightly.  I don't want to be that woman anymore!

My last year has been so full of pain that I haven't enjoyed anything, so I'm ready for change. I've always been a bit of a homebody, a comfy couch and good book are two of my favorite things, but I say yes to almost every invite issued. Even if I'm tired I go out if someone offers. I've started taking yoga classes and that has helped immensly. I'm taking a break from the self- help books and I'm trying not to dwell on my pain. It used to consume me, and it still does at times, but I don't want it to define me. I want the cheesy clichés to apply to me: It's all for the best. I'm better off. It will get better. I'm determined to make those statements true. I'm ready to be ready to let go.