Constructing Something New

"Can you spend the next year of your life building on what you learned? Even if it was the hardest of lessons. It’s not even about the specificity of the lessons. Keep them, yes. Don’t toss away what you’ve earned, handled, massaged. But right now, you’re tired of processing it all, managing the repetitions of this existence. Now it is time to climb to the top of that heap of ideas, even if they feel like rubble. Now you will begin to construct something that feels fresh.
Don’t throw anything away. But build something brand new."
~Jami Attenberg, Craft Talk 

I will preface my post by noting that the above comment is from a writing newsletter. It is NOT about responding to infidelity, which is important to note because, having done both, finishing a book during a pandemic is not even close to as painful and difficult as healing from infidelity during normal non-pandemic times.
Still...I was struck by Attenberg's words because what she's recommending to anyone who's survived this pandemic is that we 1) acknowledge that it's been, at times even for those of us lucky enough to shelter at a stable, safe home, really difficult; and 2) that we not just throw away what we've learned through the experience simply because it's over. 
It is exhausting to process the pain of infidelity. And it can be tempting, when our lives begin to return to something remotely resembling "normal" -- for instance, we can go days without crying – to put it behind us and "focus on the future" as our husbands so often plead with us to do. But I think that's a mistake. 
Because even those "hardest of lessons" are valuable. Maybe even more valuable for the price we paid to learn them. I'm not referring exclusively to what we learned about our marriage. Many of the lessons I learned through healing from infidelity had to do with other relationships. I had friends, for instance, that I had been forever giving a pass for various unkind remarks, or disrespecting my boundaries or just, generally, being shitty friends. One of my takeaways from infidelity was to establish clear boundaries in all my relationships and to stop letting people put one toe (or two) over the line. To stop saying, "I'm sure she didn't mean it", or "I'm being too sensitive". But rather to insist on being treated with kindness and respect in order to have a place in my life.
It was, as Attenberg calls it, "hardest of lessons". Another was to cut ties, temporarily, with my in-laws. I struggled mightily for the first decade of my marriage to maintain my stability around my in-laws. It was hard enough when I wasn't dealing with my husband's infidelity. But after I learned what my husband had been doing? It felt impossible to spend time with them, feeling undermined and gaslit, while trying to heal. And so I opted out. Yes, my husband hated it (his own family-pleasing, I realized, was his problem to solve, not mine). Yes, it went against everything I thought I owed to others. But it was necessary. And, with time, I regained my footing and was able to reestablish a relationship with them. I hadn't made a big deal of not seeing them and so, when I returned to the fold, it also wasn't a big deal. But I felt different. And, consequently, they treated me differently, whether or not they were conscious of it. When we stand firmly in our own truth, others have no choice but to either respond with respect or walk away. 
But Attenberg also makes an important point. Healing – assimilating the lessons we've learned – is exhausting work. Which means we must rest. We must allow ourselves to sometimes put down the burden and simply catch our breath.
That's not backsliding. It's self-care. It's acknowledging the weight of our experience. We aren't throwing away what's happened to us, what we've learned. We are building on top of it. We are creating something new. Whatever that looks like for you, it is difficult, important and necessary work.