"If This Isn't Nice...": How to be happy again

“And I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, ‘If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.’” ~ Kurt Vonnegut

After months, often years, of longing to feel happy again, we notice that we're laughing a bit more. That our chest doesn't feel quite so tight. That we can go hours, sometimes half a day without remembering the betrayal, without a trigger, without that ache.
What is this? we wonder. How can I possibly be happy right now. My husband cheated on me. In fact, he might still be cheating on me. Where is he right now? I better check his e-mail account. 
And our pulse quickens and our heart pounds and we're right back in that dark storm of fear and anxiety.
Which confirms for us that we'll never feel happy again.
And which is simply not true.
In the wake of betrayal, we speak in absolutes. I will never be happy again. I will always hurt. I will never trust him again. People always let me down. I will never be the same. 
It's important, of course, to parse out the truth in those statements. So let's examine them more closely:
I will never be the same: On its surface, that's true. You never will be the same but who among remains the same person? But I know the fear hidden in that statement: That you're fundamentally changed in ways that you don't want to be. You don't laugh so much. You're anxious a lot. You don't feel as safe in your marriage as you did.
I felt all that. And I was convinced that I was somehow destined to remain this shell of my former self, this damaged person. 
I was wrong.
With time and whole lot of healing, I have changed. My eyes are a bit more open to others' treatment of me. I no longer shake off bad behaviour instead calling people on it. My boundaries are so much more clear and strong than they ever were. 
I treat myself better. I try and catch myself when I shift into martyr mode – when I tell myself that my family would shrivel up and die without me there to cook, to clean, to organize, to comfort. Stoking my resentment is unhealthy for all of us. Far better to teach them to cook, to clean, to organize, to comfort. 
I will always hurt: My dear wounded sisters, this hurts like a sonofabitch. I know that. It hurts in a way that you can't ever imagine it not hurting again. And it will continue to hurt for a while. Months. Maybe a year or two. The dull ache will last even longer.
But...
You will not always hurt. Not if you do the work of healing yourself from not only his infidelity but all that old stuff that the infidelity dredges from the muck of your soul. The critical mother's words. The schoolyard bully's words. The nasty sister's words. The belief, somehow lodged in your psyche that you just don't quite measure up. Pull all that stuff up, along with the bullshit beliefs around why he cheated and spread it out, metaphorically, in front of you. And then examine each belief. Challenge it. Is it true? Probably not. Is it helpful? Doubt it. Keep examining the belief behind that default message that plays in your head ("Elle isn't available right now because she's lazy/ugly/stupid/unlucky/pathetic/whatever"). Challenge it each time. Where's the evidence that this is true? REAL evidence. Not your out-of-whack beliefs. Actual empirical evidence. If change is necessary, then change what you want to change. But notice too all the ways in which you're pretty great. Remind yourself of those qualities often. 
What will happen is that hurt will slowly heal. Whether or not your marriage survives, YOU will. And you will grow stronger because you're nurturing yourself. You will grow healthier because you're treating yourself like you matter. We bloom under a benevolent sun not a storm cloud.
I will never trust him again: H'mmm. Probably not if by trust you mean this absolute conviction that he would never EVER cheat on your. That genie is out of the bottle. We know what he's capable of doing so we can't ever convince ourselves that he's not capable of it. 
Even when HE thinks he's no longer capable of it. He is. 
But we're all capable of it. And those of us who think we're not are kinda lying to ourselves. 
This is where his work comes in. When he can honestly look at the various lines he crossed to cheat and recognize what they look like and what he was telling himself, then he's far less likely to do it again.
I knew my husband was worthy of a second chance the day he told me that, whether I stayed or left, he was focussed on becoming a better man. He did not want to be "that guy" again. Twelve years later, he remembers well the profound disappointment he had in himself. I have no guarantees that he won't cheat again. But neither do any of us, whether our husbands have cheated or not. Husbands are completely trustworthy. Until they're not.
Trusting him again really comes down to trusting yourself to be in your marriage in a way that's rooted in self-respect. 
People always let me down: This was my go-to conviction. I had a long list of people who had let me down. My parents. My grandmother. Friends. Boyfriends. Thing is, once I really pulled this bullshit belief into the light of day, I was faced with a deeper truth. I had let myself down. I had let myself down by staying in friendships that were one-sided. I had let myself down by going back to a boyfriend who was careless with my heart. I had let myself down by not expecting more of myself when I knew what I was capable of. 
The difference is though I can't control  how others treat me, I can absolutely control what I allow. And that's all the difference that matters. 
Once I stopped letting myself down, it mattered far less whether others did. It still stings, of course, when someone I considered a friend does something unkind. But once you value yourself, you're far more likely to tell them how their actions hurt. To expect accountability. To not take responsibility for others' bad behaviour but also to take full responsibility for your own. 
I will never be happy again: I promise you that you will. But it requires, as my beloved Kurt Vonnegut reminds us, to notice those moments. Tiny slivers at first. A smile at your child's antics. A beautiful harvest moon. A moment of grace from a friend. A doctor's appointment that delivers good news. A gorgeous pair of shoes, or just the right shade of lipstick. A mighty tree in the woods that has withstood a century or more of Mother Nature's blows. Pay attention, my secret sisters. Pay attention. Happiness returns to those who create a home for it. "And if that isn't nice..."