Who Do We Think We Are? Let's Answer That Honestly

I built my ego on never needing help. I fed on others' praise for being so "together". Asking for help felt akin to walking out my door completely naked. Exposed. If I didn't have it all together, why would anyone want to be my friend?
Dysfunctional families teach us that the world exists on a binary. We are either good or bad. Right or wrong. Valuable or worthless. We are either doing great or falling apart. We matter only or we don't matter at all.
Enter betrayal and the ridiculous binary that our culture imposes onto it – women who get cheated on are nags, frigid, homely; men who cheat are dogs, players, cads.
If we tell anyone, we face judgement: "You're not going to stay with him, are you? or "Think about what leaving will do to your children." Or, as a friend who'd been betrayed herself said to me, "Well, I certainly wouldn't stay."
And what that judgement does – whether experienced outright or perceived – is stir up the rot of our old stuff. My old stuff included a conviction that staying with a husband who cheated was what pathetic women did. It included a sense of non-surprise. Of course, he cheated on me. After all, I was all those things that I'd heard for years that I was: too sensitive, too demanding, too selfish, spoken in my mother's drunken slur. 
I'd suited myself up in armour over the years. I'd made sure that I was fit (two marathons!), a good mother (plenty of fresh air and no processed sugar for MY children!), successful (ten books written while my children napped). That I thought that armour of faux perfection could protect me is laughable in hindsight. At the time, however, it offered the only protection I had.
Then D-Day, the metaphorical bomb that blows up our worlds.
And suddenly my armour was revealed to be as useless as it always had been. Being "perfect" hadn't saved me from heartbreak. It had only lent the illusion of protection. As Liz Gilbert puts it, "perfect is just fear in good shoes."
And my rot was stirred.
Those old messages might as well have been written on my bathroom mirror. I couldn't see past them to the woman standing there. 
"You're not sexy enough."
"You're too demanding."
"You don't make enough money."
"You don't dress up enough."
And on. And on.
It felt akin to walking out the door completely naked. Even with very few people knowing about my husband's betrayal, I felt utterly exposed as a fraud. One of saddest, most vivid memories I have about that time is my sense that everyone was laughing at me, delighting in my humiliation. 
Who the hell had I thought I was?
Which is the question that has underscored every other lesson I've learned through this.
Who the hell did I think I was?
It's the shackle that binds so many of us who grow up in dysfunction. Hell, it's a shackle that binds pretty much any woman who expects to be seen, to be treated fairly. Any time we think we've transcended the shame of our childhoods, or shed the low expectations, it's there. Just who the hell do we think we are?
Who do we think we are to imagine someone could love us?
Who do we think we are to believe ourselves worthy of a good education?
Who do we think we are to apply for that job, that promotion, that opportunity? To be allowed in the room?
Who do we think we are to deserve fidelity? To be able to age? To go grey? To grow soft?
Who do we think we are?
Who I think I am is someone who is human. Who is worthy of love and belonging, despite – even because of – my shortcomings. Who deserves a seat at the table.
Just who the hell do you think you are? That's a question for you to answer based on the truth of you, not the old stories you've been told. 
But here's a start: You are someone who did not deserve to be cheated on. After all, just who the hell does he think he is? 

From the Vault: Worrying That I Worry Too Much

A reader commented that she enjoys my older posts...particularly this one. It's interesting for me to note that I no longer experience this chronic worry, or panic attacks. Meditation has helped enormously. And self-care: sleep, healthy eating, exercise, a place to share my thoughts/worries. That said, my teens, with their newly minted driver's licences, are putting my anxiety-busting skills to the test! ~Elle

One of the casualties of betrayal is a sense of safety. For many of us, that safety was our marriages and our homes. Not necessarily in a dull, passionless sense (though that might be the case for some of us), but in a warm, out-of-the-harsh-world kinda way. I, for one, relied on my marriage as a haven – and my husband as the person I could trust with my heart.

And when that trust is betrayed, it wipes out that sense of safety.

In the weeks and months following D-Day, I began having panic attacks. A sense of anxiety and fear would mount. My breathing would become shallow. I felt trapped.

Now, three years post D-Day, it has manifested itself as chronic, low-grade worry.

I haven't been a worrier in years, though I confess I leaned toward worry in childhood. As child of two alcoholics, I often worried when they didn't come home when expected. Even as a kid, I understood that drinking and driving often led to disaster...and I feared that disaster would befall my family. I worried about the fighting. About divorce. About whether I would live with my mother or father.

In my twenties, however, with my mother sober, my father sober(ish) and an understanding of the effects of alcoholism on children, I was able to leave worry behind.

Quite successfully.

I became almost the opposite, convinced that bad things simply didn't happen to me. In my twisted logic, I figured I'd paid my dues. Now was time to enjoy life. I succeeded at school, found a career I loved and excelled at, travelled (often hitch-hiking to get around), got married, had kids – I felt invincible. 

And save for a few scares, such as a cancer scare with my mother, and a health scare when I was pregnant with my first daughter, I worried very little.

But now.

Now, I worry about everything. Silly things. Like horrific car accidents that wipe out my entire family. Like my daughter growing up to become a meth addict. Like my son marrying someone who hates me and cutting me out of his life. That my career is over. That menopause will render me 50 pounds heavier with a full beard.
This chronic worry crept up on me.
At first, once I learned of my husband's affairs, I worried about the obvious: that he was still involved, that he wasn't where he said he was, that there was more than he was admitting, that my marriage was doomed, that I would live out my life in drunken, pathetic squalor...
But as those worries were eased by day-to-day evidence that they weren't going to happen, a tippy-toeing anxiety took their place.
However, as I fretted last week over something that I now can't even recall, the realization hit me hard.
I've become a chronic worrier.
And I don't want to be that way. I don't want to create anxiety where it need not be. I don't want to pollute my family's environment with toxic worry.
The solution for me seems to talk to myself (I swear, I'm getting crazier by the day!) whenever I notice that I'm worrying...and remind myself that my fears are groundless. Sure we could get into a car accident that renders all of us paralyzed from the neck down and suffering from third-degree burns...but it isn't very likely.
And sure my children could grow up to become white-collar criminals, drag-addled hookers or divorce lawyers...but it isn't likely.
And sure, my husband could betray me again with someone even more wretched than the OW. But it isn't likely (or possible. She was verywretched!!)
It's one more instance where I refuse to let betrayal's long reach affect me any further.

Dealing with D-Day: Unleash the outrage

I recently gave this advice to my 17-year-old daughter:
"Tell them to go f*#k themselves. Not those words, necessarily. But instead of apologizing. Instead of wondering what's wrong with you that your "friends" are excluding you, or talking about you, get outraged. How dare they treat you like this? How dare they judge you? How dare they presume to determine your worth? How dare they! They can just go f*#k themselves."
Ahem.
While nowhere in any of the zillion parenting books I read when my kids were young did I find this advice to a teen daughter, I stand by it. I've watched as my formerly self-possessed eldest, the girl who routinely stands up for the downtrodden and maligned, has become the girl most likely to apologize for things she hasn't done. She has no trouble defending her friends. She just can't seem to muster that same sense of outrage for herself. Instead, she doubts herself. She shames herself. She beats herself up for imagined personality flaws.
She assumes that if someone is mad at her, she must have done something wrong. She accepts that it's her job to keep people happy. To not outshine or outperform anyone. To be...nice. To be...likeable.
Yeah? F*#k that!
Remind you of anyone you know? Because it sure sounds like me in my teens. And my twenties. And, well, my thirties.
It wasn't until my husband cheated on me that I found my own sense of outrage. Like my daughter, I'd long been able to champion anyone I felt unfairly treated. I easily found my voice on their behalf. But on my own? Crickets. After all, I didn't want to offend anyone. I didn't want to make a big deal of something. I didn't want to be rejected.
And so...I did nothing when a "friend" moved in on my barely-ex-boyfriend when I was 20. I did nothing when room-mates trashed the apartment I was financially on the hook for. I did nothing when my new mother-in-law started changing the seating arrangement at my wedding to favor her friends and family.
I swallowed my outrage.
And then...he cheated.
Suddenly, I found my voice.
How dare you, I screamed at him. How dare you do this to me? How dare you disrespect me like this? How dare you put my health at risk? How dare you put my children's happiness at risk? How? Dare? You?
Oh, and by the way: F*#k you!
I can't say it felt good. Absolutely nothing felt good for a very long time. But I can say it put me on a path that has, literally, changed my life. While I used to simmer in resentment as people mistook me for a welcome mat, I don't any longer.
And though it felt counter-intuitive to me – I assumed being a friend meant never expecting them to say "I'm sorry" – my relationships are so much better for me having a voice. I recently told a friend that I thought her comments about refugees were racist and misguided. I told another friend that I thought his ideas around spanking children were archaic and harmful. Neither friend has written me off. But if they do, I'm okay with that. Because having a voice and expressing myself respectfully (I only imply "f*#k you" rather than say it outright) has given me deeper relationships based on a mutual appreciation of who we are. I can handle someone disagreeing with me without assuming it's a wholesale rejection of me.
Not long past D-Day, I read a book in which a marriage counsellor wrote that it wasn't the angry betrayed wives he worried about, it was the ones who didn't get angry. The ones who turned their anger inward so that it showed up as depression or shame. While not everyone will express their anger with my particular enthusiasm for four-letter expletives, it's crucial toward our healing to feel it. We should be outraged that our partners – the people we trusted to NOT do this to us – were so cavalier with our hearts and our bodies and our families.
I'm not advocating for anything that will get you arrested. And I'm actively discouraging anything that will terrify your children. What I am encouraging is that you point your outrage toward the person responsible for your pain. That you recognize that, while the time will come to do a post-mortem on your marriage as it was and see where you do things differently going forward, the betrayal is on your partner's shoulders right now and he can darn well deal with it.

D-Day 101: Is he worth keeping?

I've heard the stories from women who vowed to save their marriage and shake their husband back to sanity. Frankly, I couldn't do it. Though there's little doubt in my mind that a whole lotta these guys completely lose their minds in the midst of an affair, I don't think it's up to the betrayed wife to try and convince them to smarten up.

The way I see it, you likely don't have the energy or the motivation to bring him back from Crazyville. He hopped that train and it's up to him to find his way back.

Your only job is to figure out whether you want him back once he arrives. And most of them will arrive. Most of these guys weren't looking for a way out of their marriage...just out of their doldrums. Or their emotional isolation. Or their crappy childhoods. But that's for them to sort through with a good therapist.

Your simple task (beyond hauling your betrayed butt out of bed every morning and attempting to get through your day) is to really think about whether he's worth giving another chance. Some of 'em are. Plenty aren't.

How do you know? Well...you give him some tests, kinda like multiple choice, except there are no "guesses". This isn't about anger or revenge or "an eye for an eye." It's about treating yourself with respect...and demanding the same from him. Whether he can answer these things right away or he needs to sift through his own confusion doesn't necessarily indicate whether he's a good guy who screwed up or a total scumbag. Some of these guys have this ass backward. They figure that, 'if I had an affair, I must be unhappy with my wife'. When the truth is, they had an affair because they're unhappy with themselves. But it's so much more convenient to blame someone else. And it can take time to come to that unpleasant but ultimately true conclusion.

So...

Choice #1: Does he want his marriage or doesn't he? If he picks yes, then he's got some homework. Starting with a No Contact letter to his OW. No emotional good-byes. No "just one more meeting to let her down easy." No, "but she didn't know I was married. She got hurt, too." Simple, straightforward and vetted by you. Along the lines of "I made a terrible mistake getting involved with you and I've chosen to try and save my marriage. I will no longer have any contact with you. I insist that you respect his." You could ask that he threaten legal action if she violates this, but that might be unnecessarily inflammatory. Depends on just how stalkerish his OW is. His loyalty needs to be to you, right now. Your feelings are the ones that trump anyone else's. 

Choice #2: Is he willing to accept responsibility for the pain and betrayal he's caused you. That's not to say responsibility for the fact that your marriage likely had its issues. But total responsibility for lying, deceiving you and potentially risking your physical health. If so...good. But he still needs to work with a counsellor to uncover why he made this choice...and put boundaries into place to ensure it doesn't happen again.

If not? Well...don't let the door hit you on the ass on your way out, buddy.

Choice #3: Is he willing to offer complete transparency in order to regain your trust: access to any and all e-mail accounts, texts, cell phones, computer passwords, credit card bills and so on. Trust is tough to earn...and easy to lose. It's going to take time and steady proof that he's being honest with you. "Trust...but verify" is your new motto.

Choice #4: Is he willing to do whatever it takes to be the man you thought he was (assuming you thought he was a decent, loving husband. If you thought he was a total jerk even pre-D-Day, then your marriage has more issues than infidelity). This means answering your questions even if you've asked them a dozen times, holding you while you cry, listening while you scream...and supporting you through likely the most painful experience of your life.

Then – and only then – does he deserve his second chance. 

D-Day or "Birth" Day

I just received a birthday card. An e-card from a site that I read frequently and sometimes comment on. However, I comment as "Elle", my pseudonym that I also use on this site. I guess at some point, in order to log in, this site asked for my birthday. So I typed "December 10". Which is not my real birthday at all.
It is,  however, the anniversary of D-Day #1, the day I confronted my husband and the truth came spilling out, changing...well...everything. Why did I put that down as my birthday? Haven't a clue. But now, four years later, I'm wondering if birthday is exactly what December 10 is.
December 10 certainly caused the death of the former me. The me that believed absolutely in my husband's loyalty. The me that thought I lived a charmed life in which things like cheating simply didn't happen. Accidents I could imagine happening. A deliberate act of betrayal? Inconceivable.
Or so the former me believed.
A new me was born on December 10, 2006. Like any birth, there was a fair bit of pain. I was pretty messy for awhile. I wondered what the hell the point of life was and my survival was my no means secure.
But I fought my way through. Kept on getting stronger, using any means possible. There were days when I didn't feel quite "alive" but I knew I wasn't dead. I thought I was just existing.
However, I can look back and see that, even when it looked like there was no growth, I was in fact, getting stronger. Stronger in the broken places. My heart was shattered but still beating.
And though, outwardly, I look the same (perhaps a few more wrinkles, a bit saggier around the middle), inside I'm, quite simply, not the same person that I was.
Though there were inevitable losses, there were incredible gains, too.
I don't take happiness for granted. I no longer think it's my birthright but rather something I work hard and steadily to maintain. In fact, I measure happiness differently – in moments rather than chapters or lifetimes. I find joy in odd places. Like time spent with our beloved dog, who recently lost his leg to bone cancer. He reminds me that I could focus on what's gone. Or, like him, I could choose instead to focus on what's gained...or at least preserved. The pleasure in a new snowfall. The delight in a warm bed. The love of family and friends who accept us, even with our missing pieces.
And so, I think I'll start looking at my D-Day anti-versary as a "birth" day. The day I started my new life.
Perhaps your D-Day signalled the start of your new life, even if you didn't truly emerge from the wreckage until long after.
Perhaps it's signalled a new single you – who, going forward, knows how to take care of her heart and keep it safe.
Perhaps it's brought forth a new marriage. One that withstood the storms or has been rebuilt, using pieces of the old, but a whole lot of new, better materials, too.
Whatever D-Day means to you, at least consider that it might have created some positive change in your life. It might take Herculean effort, but there's likely something that was born that day that's worth celebrating.
And, if so, share it with us here.
Happy "birth" day, indeed.

Survival Guide to your Heartbroken Holidays

Let me share with you how I spent the holiday season 2006, which – oh how the gods spite me! – took place within days of DDay #1.
I woke up early. Had I even slept? My parents were here to share the holiday my family, including our three young children.
After opening presents and trying to smile nice for the camera, I can only recall that I somehow lost my mind.
I became obsessed with finding the Other Woman (OW) and letting her know that she had ruined my Christmas. I got into my husband's car and began driving to her part of town. I didn't know her address, only an intersection. So I cruised. And sobbed. And cruised and sobbed.
Eventually, I gave up and came home. Where I sobbed some more.
My husband and parents had been, of course, frantic.
My kids were confused.
And I? Well, I was sobbing. And reeling from the shock of my life.
So I'm hardly in any position to be offering up advice on how to handle the holidays...when your heart is breaking.
Except that I can at least offer up lessons. You know those things we learn from extreme suffering:
Lesson #1: Give up on traditions. Maybe the holidays in your house involve an elaborate gingerbread decorating event, followed by a family skate and hot chocolate. If you can pull it off, go for it. But many BWC members remember that any attempt to do "what we always did" simply magnified the one BIG difference this time around. Perhaps it's time to create some new traditions, like make voo-doo daddy dolls. Or beat the daddy-shaped piñata. Maybe a gingerbread home-wrecker? Seriously, this might be the year to implement the holiday movie marathon (Black Christmas, perhaps?). Give it some serious thought – and only commit to events and activities that you can handle. Give yourself the gift of peace.
Lesson #2: Peace is not to be found at the bottom of the punch bowl. Trust me on that one. A happy drunk can make merry. A sloppy bitter drunk just makes Mary, Larry and Harry cringe. (And remember, too, if you're hardly eating a thing, have lost weight and aren't sleeping, alcohol will hit you hard.)
Lesson #3: Look forward, not back. Sure it's tradition to reflect on the past year and make resolutions for the one to come. But nostalgia is often dishonest.
Take stock of where you are right now – even if that happens to be in a smelly bathrobe rummaging through the drawers for a sleep aid. This is NOT where you'll be in a year. It might not even be where you'll be in a month (fingers crossed). So face forward and march into your future – whatever it is – with a trust in yourself that you will handle this the best you can.

Guest Blog: Endless Questions...

by Meg


I've been coping with the fallout of betrayal for about a year. I keep asking myself "When do I get to be happy again?" I ask myself hundreds if not thousands of questions a day. Probably not healthy – maybe a bit obsessive. I've got to work on that negative self-talk problem.
There are the usual questions: "Why wasn't I enough?", "How didn't I know?", "Will I always be alone?", "Will I be able to trust again?"
It's hard to feel hopeful with those questions constantly running through my head. They are filled with doubt about my future and my ability to be me again. What if I find love again, will I be able to believe in it?
 For me, and for many of us, my life changed in an instant. The day before my D-Day my husband sent me a lovely note: "10 reasons why I'm so lucky you're my wife." How many women have a husband who says stuff like that out of the blue? I read that and felt so lucky, so loved, so safe. Now I think back to that list and think maybe he was was making a pros vs. cons list about me...and just decided to share the pros with me. 
Today I got an e-mail from him asking why our divorce is taking so long. My how times have changed! Yesterday, I spent a lot of time asking the question I ask the most: "What happened to the man I loved?"  Can I just ask all of you – when do the questions end?

Surviving Infidelity: Anti-versaries

December 11 will mark three years since I discovered my husband's affair. And though the date doesn't create the kick-in-the-stomach thud it has in years past, I'm acutely aware on many levels that the anti-versary is coming.
Anti-versaries can trigger all sorts of emotions, even if, on the surface, you seem barely aware of what the calendar says. Janie reports that she suddenly found herself angry with her husband about little things, even though their reconciliation was going well. When she realized that the one-year anti-versary was coming, her anger made more sense.
I made sure that my husband and I had plans for the one-year anti-versary. I knew that being alone would be hard. So he took the day off work and the two of us spent the day Christmas shopping. We had a nice, long lunch and though we were both aware of the date, we didn't talk too much about it. Instead, we enjoyed knowing how different things were from the year earlier. We did the same thing on the two-year anti-versary. This year, I haven't quite decided what to do.
This notion, however, of "reclaiming" the date is an important one. It's a way of taking back emotional power and, rather than having the calendar define how you feel, creating circumstances that encourage you too feel safe, positive and healthy.
Those who ignore the date tend to find themselves blind-sided by negative emotions. Those who determine what they need to get through the date often report that it wasn't as bad as they'd thought.
Figure out what you need to do. And please share your coping strategy here.