Our Dark Teachers

I call these experiences our dark teachers. The lessons that hurt, scare, scar, wound, and almost destroy us are very often the things that make us who we are because they require us to muster what we thought we could not muster—courage, compassion, kindness, forgiveness, love, resilience, strength, generosity of spirit, ferocity of heart. The times we feel lost are the times that require us to find our way. The deepest losses often lead us to our most profound gains. 

–Cheryl Strayed, from: It’s From Darkness That Everything Grows, Dear Sugar Letter #2. Originally published on December 31, 2020

I don't blame you if you want to reach into your computer screen and punch me in the nose. It can be infuriating to hear that old chestnut "what doesn't kill you makes you strong" when you don't want to be strong or nearly dead or half alive. When you just want your life back before you learned that the person you trusted most with your heart had shattered it. 

But bear with me. Because whether or not you're ready to hear this, I want you to store it somewhere in your exhausted brain to pull out on those days when you don't think you can stand another second of this pain. I want you to know that, as Cheryl Strayed puts it, "it's from darkness that everything grows." 

Well, maybe not everything. But many, many good things. Like courage and compassion and kindness and forgiveness. Love, strength, ferocity of heart. 

Here I am, just weeks past my 28th wedding anniversary, 18 years past my D-Day. I have the long view. And whether or not you stay with your partner or leave, whether or not you rebuild your relationship with him or stick to rebuilding your relationship with yourself, you will — as long as you work through the pain and don't let it fester and rot your soul — come to the day when you, too, have the long view and can see the beauty of what you built in the ashes. 

My kids are adults now. They have friends who've been cheated on, friends who've done the cheating. And they are utterly certain that they will never stay with someone who cheats. That they will never cheat. 

I was that certain, once. 

I have a hunch we all were.

But now we know. 

That life isn't always so clear. That there are circumstances that keep us in place even if every part of our being wants to flee. Or circumstances that cause us to flee when every part of our being wants to stay. 

I hope my children never do have to experience infidelity in any way, though I know that statistically, one or more of them likely will. 

And if not infidelity, I know that life will bring them to their knees one way or the other. A sick child, a job loss, a terrible diagnosis. None of us emerges without our scars.

But let's note again just what is forged in that darkness if we let it: courage, compassion, kindness, forgiveness. Love, resilience, strength, generosity of spirit, ferocity of heart.

May that be yours.

Maybe not today. But soon. 

Betrayed and Want to Participate in a Focus Group with An Amazing Therapist?

This came to me via Dr. Caroline Madden, who I know (online) and who I think is smart and really gets betrayal. If you're interested, please reach out to Dr. Madden:

Focus Group Description: Online Course for Betrayed Wives Are you a strong and resilient woman who has experienced the pain of betrayal within your marriage? Are you looking to regain your sense of self, find clarity, and make decisions that are best for you and your family? Author and marriage therapist, Dr. Caroline Madden is seeking ideal participants for a transformative online course designed specifically for betrayed wives like yourself. Ideal Participant: Gender: Female Age: 35 to 55 years old Marital Status: Married for at least 10 years Parenting: Has at least one child D-Day Timeframe: Has experienced the pain of betrayal within the past, and we'd like to know how long ago D-Day occurred. Requirements: Commitment: Participants should be committed to actively engage in the course, providing valuable input, and sharing their experiences openly to create a supportive environment for others. Confidentiality: To ensure a safe space for all participants, both the participant and her husband (if involved) will be required to sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement (NDA). This will ensure that all discussions within the course remain private and secure. Husband's Involvement (Optional): Participants have the option to involve their husbands in the course, as we intend to provide tips for spouses to avoid triggering behaviors. However, if the participant prefers not to include their husband, that choice will be fully respected. Input and Feedback: Participants will have a significant opportunity to influence the course content. There will be a short phone chat in mid-August to discuss their needs, concerns, and preferences. They will then receive an outline of the course and related materials, such as handouts and journal prompts, to provide further feedback in late August. Course Access: Once the course is developed, participants will receive free access to the entire program. This is a unique opportunity to benefit from the course content and contribute to its refinement and effectiveness. Course Focus: The focus of this online course is not centered on whether to stay or go after betrayal but rather on empowering betrayed wives to reclaim their identities, heal from the pain, and make decisions that align with their personal growth and the well-being of their families. If you fit the description above and are ready to embark on a journey of self-discovery, healing, and growth, we invite you to join our focus group. By sharing your experiences and insights, you will help shape a course that has the potential to empower countless women facing similar challenges. Important Note: As this is a focus group to validate the course idea, participation is limited. If you are interested, please express your interest at the earliest opportunity, as we will be finalizing the group soon. Thank you for your consideration.

When the war is happening inside

Most people haven’t even noticed their strength. They’re so focussed on their pain.

~ Rachel Naomi Remen, author Kitchen Table Wisdom

Our household has recently welcomed a family of Ukrainians, fleeing the war. It's a mother and two daughters – the husband and 18-year-old son remain in their country to defend it. 

I just returned from walking the youngest to the school bus, where she climbed on with a dozen other kids for the ride to her new elementary school. It's been just nine days since she got off a plane from Poland. 

This family is weaving itself into our day-to-day lives. Their dog plays with our dogs and cats. We all sit down to dinner together. We grocery shop together. We jokingly call ourselves "one big happy family." But I notice how often they check their phones and then exchange glances with each other. The other day, they shared with us a photo of a magnificent church in a village near to their own, the turret engulfed in flames. 

"I don't know how to talk to you about this," my husband said to them, his voice deep with sadness. "But I am so sorry for what you're going through." 

They smiled. Those words, for the moment, were enough. Someone saw their pain. Someone recognized their loss. Someone acknowledged that none of this fair.

I'm awed by their courage. To pack up everything into two large suitcases and a couple of backpacks. To leave their family business, their home, their friends, their husband and father and brother. But they've heard the stories of what's happening to those who stay. They know the stories. And so they roll the dice on a family they'd never heard of before, who lives across the world in a country they'd never been to. They took the chance that they would be welcomed. That they would be safe. That what they didn't know in another country was better than what they knew in their own.

Any time our lives are turned upside down thanks to the actions of a madman, we are thrown into a fight for our survival. Infidelity might not be war but it can sure feel like it. Our bodies don't discern between threats, they only know that the bright alarm is flashing red. And so they fight. Or flee. Or freeze.

But though it might not feel like it, we have choices beyond fight, flee, or freeze. And though you might not recognize it as you're living through it, you have a deep well of strength that you're drawing on even as you're curled up weeping on the floor. It's a strength that will serve you. It's the strength that gets you to work more days than not. It's the strength that parents your children, that comforts them. It's greater than your pain. 

Rachel Naomi Remen, the provider of the quote at the top of this post, was diagnosed with Crohn's Disease in her early teens. She spent a decade, she says, "angry". And of course, she was. It wasn't fair that she had a disease that, she was told, would cut her life short, would cause pain and discomfort. It's not fair that Ukrainians are fleeing their homes because of an ego-driven authoritarian. It's not fair that our own lives have been turned upside down because of a partner's betrayal. We can choose anger, which is reasonable. And maybe we have to spend some time there. But we can also recognize that, greater than the pain, is a strength that will help us straighten our spines and walk into a future that might not be the one we'd have designed but that we can make beautiful too. 

Stuck Between "Now" and "Not Yet"

I had never heard of Jen Hatmaker and remain somewhat mystified how she came to my attention but I think it was around the time her marriage was falling apart. I didn't recognize the name but I recognized the story. A couple everyone seemed to love – a public couple – was announcing divorce, shocking those who knew of them. Hatmaker herself issued a statement along the lines of being blindsided, not wanting this, pleading for privacy, and so on.

Ah, I thought to myself. He cheated. 

And though Hatmaker's language remains somewhat cagey, you, my dear readers, know as well as I do how to read between the lines. He cheated. Of course, he did.

But though I still don't know a lot about Jen Hatmaker and am not part of her cool Christian girl club (no disparagement – just not my scene), I've become quite fond of her as a public figure. For one thing, she's funny. She's honest about who she is. She's eloquent. And recently, she was on Glennon Doyle's We Can Do Hard Things podcast at which point she made reference to that stage – one we're all familiar with – of being caught between "now" and "not yet". 

"Now" is what's happening. It's the gut punch of D-Day. It's the sleeplessness, the churning anxiety of "what if he's still cheating? How will I know?", it's the mask we wear to work. It's the "how long will I feel like this?". 

"Not yet" is that water hole up ahead, the one that promises to quench our thirst, the one that keeps being just a few steps (a thousand steps!) beyond where we are right now. 

You'll reach "not yet", I promise you will. And I know how agonizing it is to feel stuck somewhere in between. Maybe the pain isn't quite so acute. Maybe you've decided to stay and it seems to be working. Maybe you've decided to leave and you're settling into this new reality. Maybe you're still figuring out your next right step. But you don't feel there yet. You don't feel like this is in the rear-view mirror. You haven't made it to "not yet". Not yet, anyway. 

Be patient with yourself. Be patient with your shattered heart. Stop periodically and check in with yourself. Am I where I want to be? Or, if that's impossible, am I where I can find a way to be my best self? Sometimes we can make the choice and sometimes that choice is forced onto us. But we can still honor ourselves. Jen Hatmaker makes that clear too. That we can make healing our focus and that, no matter how much we may have not chosen our new reality, we can center ourselves and keep our hearts soft and find joy in the world. 

Let those of us further ahead beckon you forward. Let us be the light that helps you see your way through. Though I'm not as active on this site as I was (when we get to "Not yet", infidelity becomes something that happened long ago), I do still read your comments. And I do hope this site remains a safe space for all of you to find community and the reassurance that though you might feel stuck right now, "not yet" is possible, indeed a promise, for all of us.

Thursday's Thought

 

Thursday's Thought

 

Thursday's Thought

 

Thursday's Thought

 

Thursday's Thought

 

Thursday's Thought

 

Thursday's Thought

 

Don't Build the Same House

If a house is levelled, don't build the same house.

~Dr. Debi Silber, PBT Institute

If there is one fundamental misunderstanding by those who don't see the inside of our marriage (but who think they do, and yes, I'm talking about the other woman), it's that our marriage post-infidelity is pretty much the same as our marriage pre-infidelity. I've heard the wails: "He gets to go back to his wife and his marriage and I'm alone." As if we welcome them back with open arms. As if we aren't shattered by betrayal. As if...

But it's a mistake that, sometimes, gets made by those of us inside the marriage. We're so desperate to get past this, to have our marriage back, that we build the same house, as Dr. Debi Silber puts it. We recreate the same marriage with the same dynamics with the same guy and then expect everything to be different. Or at least one thing to be different: That he doesn't cheat again.

It's lunacy, isn't it? Even if we thought our marriage was great – even if he's telling us that our marriage was great, that his cheating had nothing to do with us, that he never stopped loving us – even with that, we still need to build a new house. Cause the old house is gone. The trauma of betrayal blew that baby to bits.

But the thing with trauma is that it can help us lay down an entirely new foundation. This is, in no way the same as saying that trauma is "good" because it helps us grow. (In some cases, it does exactly the opposite as Lisa Arends so beautifully described in a recent blog post on her site.) But trauma, when it hits us as adults, is lay bare all the cracks. In my case, the trauma of my husband's betrayal forced me to look at all the ways in which I'd been abandoning myself. I brought childhood trauma into my marriage. I was the capable one, the responsible one, the "fixer". Which left my husband the role of errant teenager, which fed into his family dynamic that, without an adult telling him what to do, he was likely to get it wrong. And so I seethed with resentment that I had to do everything. And my husband seethed with resentment that he was treated like a child. 

Enter the trauma of betrayal. I had the choice to either build the same damn house or build a new one. And though I still slip into that old house – my default as fixer shows up every single time I'm stressed – I nonetheless built a new one. One that required my husband to be a partner to me. One that required my husband to work through his own childhood stuff while I addressed mine. 

As Dr. Silber tells us, the problem isn't trauma, it's staying there. When you heal from it, you learn that even though it was done to you, it wasn't about you.

I had to learn that. And I don't know how else I would have learned that if I hadn't had my metaphorical house blown up. We betrayed wives tend to spend a lot of time playing "what if". What if he'd never cheated, would I be happier? What if he'd never cheated, would I feel more secure? 

It's a fool's game. He did cheat. And we are left to rebuild a new house with the same husband (or rather a husband who'd damn well better not stay the same), or to rebuild a life without him as our husband. Either choice is a perfectly reasonable one. But if you choose to stay, you cannot move back into that old house, no matter what the other woman thinks. That house is gone. 

Boundaries. Again. Because we (I) still struggle to set them...

I don't know about you but no matter how much I recognize the value in and need for boundaries, I still struggle. Years and years of being a pleaser has made "sure, I can do that" or "that's okay" my reflexive response to pretty much anything. You didn't have time to do that one thing I asked you to do? "That's okay." You need me to finish up a job for you? "Sure, I can do that."

Just this morning, I agreed to pay $40 at the dentist for a fluoride treatment that I kinda think is a gimmick because I wanted to be agreeable. Dammit, right? 

I'm getting better. I'm learning to build in a pause before I respond. Though it almost pains me, I now (mostly!) say, "let me think about that" when I'm being asked to do something that I'm not sure I want to. Too often, I don't know what I feel about something until I sit with it. My desire to please others remains, in the moment, stronger than my desire to please myself. But if I give myself that moment, if I allow myself time to check in with myself, then I remember: My job is to keep myself safe and my relationships free of resentment. And I can't do that when I'm agreeing to things that are disagreeable to me, or when I'm letting people off the hook for letting me down.

And so, here we are again: Boundaries.

Let's revisit what boundaries are not:

People think boundaries are a wall or moat around your heart, but they’re not

~Brené Brown

So what are they?

Good boundaries are a drawbridge to self-respect.

~also Brené Brown

Put another way, boundaries are about behaviours, not people. 

Put another, another way: Our problem isn't with the people in our lives, necessarily. It's with what they are/are not doing. And when we keep our focus on their behaviour and not on them personally, it's a lot easier to understand how to keep ourselves safe and to have the necessary conversation. These people can still be welcome in our lives but we can put limits on what we will and will not tolerate from them.

What's more, boundaries can change. What feels unacceptable to you right now (going to your husband's company BBQ because he cheated with his assistant) might feel acceptable in a year, or two, or three. In my case, I put limits on how often I saw my husband's family after D-Day. I found them critical and cruel and I decided I no longer would put myself through that. With time, I was able to see them more often while still respecting my limitations.

Boundaries confuse a lot of people because they feel dictatorial. Or selfish. But let's let Brené Brown's words be our guide. They are not a wall or a moat, they are a drawbridge to our self-respect. What do you need to be respectful of ourselves? 

•People may not _______________ (For me: People may not lie to me or be dishonest by omission)

•I have a right to ask for ________ (I have a right to ask for honesty)

• It’s okay for me to _______________ (It’s okay for me to say no to things I don't want to do or to take time to figure out what I want to do)

What might you add? I have the right to ask for...what I need to heal (counselling, a separation, a babysitter for time away). People may not...consistently be late. It's okay for me to...prioritize my needs.

It's hard if you don't have a lot of practice. And far too many of us have spent a lifetime squelching our own wants and needs to the point that we often can't identify what ours are. What makes me happy? Well, when everyone else is happy. Sad, huh? 

But, I'm learning. Slowly. But I'm learning. 

Stay tuned for a post on consequences. What they are and what they're not. Inspired by a Twitter conversation!

 

Thursday Thought

Guest Post: The Social Media Lie

by Chinook

Is there is a single woman out there who hasn’t Internet-stalked the Other Woman in the aftermath of discovering her partner’s betrayal?

What we find when we look her up can be gut-wrenching. 

A glorious beach vacation.

A perfect gym-toned body.

An expensive and immaculately decorated home. 

Accolades for her latest professional accomplishment.

A smile that glows with a happiness we will never know.

Eyes that glisten with a smug security we will never have.

It’s enough to make us feel inadequate about every single part of our lives. 

But Warriors, we all know social media is bullshit.

I know this not from the Other Woman but from my own friends.

I have one friend whose social media feed shows off her incredibly svelte body, her handsome husband and her adorable kids. All of these things are a true part of her life. But the whole truth? Her daughter has been in and out of hospital since birth. She and her husband are struggling. Her svelte body is because of a bout of very serious illness. 

I have an acquaintance who is phenomenally, insanely good-looking—like, magazine cover, walking-the-runway, not-quite-of-this-world gorgeous. Her feed is full of sunsets and inspirational quotes and photos of herself at various professional events in which her looks are dazzling. What doesn’t show up in her feed? She is a survivor of sexual abuse. 

I also know someone who looks kind of awful in her social media feed. She looks older than her age. None of the photos she posts of the places she visits make them look particularly envy-inspiring. Is that her life? Nope. She’s just a crummy photographer. In person, she is sexy and beautiful. She has a magnetic energy that makes everyone want her attention and approval. She is in a relationship with a gorgeous man who is besotted with her. Her children are thriving. She is one of the happiest people I know.

Because I know of all this (in other words, because my friends are honest with me and I’m honest with them about what’s really happening off-line), I wasn’t thrown off-balance with pain or envy when I Internet-stalked the other woman. The photos of her looking beautiful, confident, fit and happy were suspiciously out-of-step with what little I knew about her family life, her professional situation, and her relationship history—and what any of us can infer about the kind of woman who wants to participate in an affair. 

I’m grateful I knew these things about her, and about the false natural of social media, because once I saw that her feed was just a big lie, it became much, much easier to ignore it. 

The truth is that we all have sadness and pain and insecurity in us, whether we choose to let it show online or not. 

And honestly? If there’s one thing you can count on, it’s that affair partners have way more pain and insecurity than most.

Wednesday Word Hug

Wednesday Word Hug

Wednesday Word Hug

Wednesday Word Hug

"Vengeance is a lazy form of grief"

I am away on holiday and won't be responding to comments. A good friend of the site, however, will be moderating comments and ensuring that yours get posted so please don't hesitate to respond. I have scheduled some posts. I'll be back, with hopefully a spring in my step, by March 22. 

*******************************************

Everyone who loses somebody wants revenge on someone, on God if they can’t find anyone else. But in Africa, in Matobo, the Ku believe that the only way to end grief is to save a life. If someone is murdered, a year of mourning ends with a ritual that we call the Drowning Man Trial. There’s an all-night party beside a river. At dawn, the killer is put in a boat. He’s taken out on the water and he’s dropped. He’s bound so that he can’t swim. The family of the dead then has to make a choice. They can let him drown or they can swim out and save him. The Ku believe that if the family lets the killer drown, they’ll have justice but spend the rest of their lives in mourning. But if they save him, if they admit that life isn’t always just… that very act can take away their sorrow.
~Nicole Kidman in The Interpreter

We sometimes talk in code. A few other infidelity bloggers and writers and therapists and betrayed partners say things like "they're so...angry" and "they kinda scare me". We're referring to a portion of the infidelity Internet that traffics in rage, that insists on one response to betrayal, that dismisses anyone who pleads for nuance. We don't want to name names but...
"Vengeance is a lazy form of grief."
I knew I objected to the black-and-white approach to cheating. It's a blessing and curse of mine to always ALWAYS be able to see the other's point of view. And I know how infuriating that can be when what so many of us want is to be told that we're right. We're right to think he's not worth our time. We're right to throw him out. We're right to file for divorce immediately.
And, thing is, sometimes we are. Sometimes.
But "sometimes" doesn't cut it. People want absolutes, especially when we're reeling from news of our partner's betrayal. We want certainty. We want a community that will assure us that he'll cheat on us again so it's better to dump him now. We want a mob that will call for his head. Only a fool would give him a second chance. 
We want his head on a stick.
I know. I did too.
Except that I also didn't. Yes, he had betrayed me in the worst possible way, for years. And yes, there were many people who thought me a complete fool to even consider rebuilding a marriage with him. How much proof did I need that he was a cheater, destined to continue cheating? 
But...
He was the father of my three small children. He was my friend. He was my husband. 
All of that remained true, even as I wanted to strangle him with my bare hands. 
It wasn't until I cleansed myself of that desire for revenge that I believe I began to heal. And healing began with grieving. 
We'll do almost anything to avoid grief, won't we? We'll busy ourselves. We'll stoke our own rage. It feels so much more productive, so much more empowering to plan a takedown of a villain than to grieve a loss. Grieving feels passive. It feels pathetic. 
And yet, I know of no other path toward wholeness and healing. 
Those who let themselves grieve eventually discover that it guides them to an exit door. Those who don't remain stuck. Ever talked to a friend whose divorce was finalized six years ago and she's still cataloguing her ex's faults? Or the person fired from a job whose hatred of his manager burns as hot as ever? That anger that feels like empowerment is an illusion. Rage doesn't fuel us, it eventually consumes us. 
None of this is to say that anger isn't warranted. Being cheated on can trigger the deepest fury. I don't think I've ever felt so angry. And, trust me, if a genie had arrived offering me vengeance, I wouldn't have hesitated.
Time, however, has tempered that fury. And, assuming you're not feeding your own rage, it will temper yours too.
Also...know this: Behind anger is usually a deep well of grief. But we're so afraid of grief that we never pull off its mask. 
Go ahead. Trust that you will not drown in grief but you might strangle yourself with anger. Beyond that anger, that masquerading grief, is peace. Reach for it.