Here's why it's okay to change, well, everything

As you heal (read: apply compassion to your pain; forgive some people; turn anxiety into insight), what you’re attracted to is going to change.
~Danielle LaPorte

In the wake of D-Day, those blurry days in which our world feels turned around and we can barely remember our names, we also frequently assume another burden: whether to stay in our marriage or leave.
It's an understandable impulse, of course. We are furious. And sad. And shocked. And, sometimes, paralyzed. But the idea of standing still, of pausing, seems insane. Surely, we think, we need to do something. To kick him out. To throw his clothes on the front lawn, douse them in gasoline and light them on fire. To call up a divorce lawyer and immediately file. Or to shout his crime from the rooftops.
Some of us do all of those things.
I thought of every single one.
But, ultimately, I did none of them. (Though I did try and get the Catholic Church to grant me an annulment, which they pretty much laughed up, not exactly endearing themselves to me.)
And though I frequently remind all of you that there is no "right" way to respond to infidelity (though a "wrong" way is anything that will land you a criminal record or the inability to see your children again), there's also this further point: You will change.
As you heal, you will change.
As you apply compassion to your pain, you will change.
As you forgive some people, you will change.
As you transform anxiety and fear into insight, you will change.
And your choices are allowed to change too.
In other words, what you decide to do today – stay, go, or rest before choosing – is not carved in stone. You are allowed to change your mind as you change. You are allowed to change your mind as he changes, or doesn't change.
Because you don't know what's next. As much as it pains us – and as much as most of us spend our lifetimes denying this inescapable truth – we cannot predict tomorrow.
He will change. I hope it's for the better. I hope he uses this pain he's caused as mental clay to create a better man.
But if he doesn't, if he's one of those who doesn't "believe" in therapy, or who minimizes, or who refuses to hold himself accountable for making such a bad choice, then his change will be for the worse. He will have taken the mask off and you will see exactly who you're married to.
And you will be free to choose.
No matter who he is, you are free to choose. And as you heal yourself, as you transform, who you are attracted to will change.
You will no longer tolerate crumbs. You will no longer accept cruelty.
No matter what you choose today, you will be free to choose differently tomorrow.
Never did I understand that more clearly than in the first few years following D-Day.
I had no idea whether my marriage was going to survive this or not. I had no idea whether I would survive this.
So I made a choice each day: Today, I choose to stay.
I have made that same choice every day since. Thirteen years of days.
But my choice to stay is by no means intractable.
Today, I choose to stay.
My husband knows that can change.
And I know, entirely too well, that his choice to remain faithful might change. Only when my life was ripped open was I able to get a clear look into just how tenuous those promises we make to each other are.
But one of the great paradoxes of healing from betrayal is that, though I know those promises are tenuous, they hold incredible weight. Like the threads of a spider web.
Today, I choose to stay.
Today, he is faithful to me.
Promises we make daily.
To ourselves and each other.
The threat of leaving isn't something I dangle over his head, like the sword of Damocles.
Rather we earn each other's presence in our lives by being honest, respectful, loving and kind.
We can change our minds. We both know that.
But today, we choose to stay.