When Life Intrudes

 I have been largely absent from this site for a week or more, and only sporadically engaged since the winter holidays. I am sorry for all those who have found themselves here, seeking guidance or advice only to be met with silence. I tell myself that the telling of our own stories is healing in itself but so is the comfort that comes from someone saying, "you're among friends. Welcome. You will be okay."

And so let me tell all of you, "you're among friends. Welcome. You will be okay."

It is the truth.

The last time I was this busy was in the weeks before D-Day. I was finishing up a book and organizing a massive fundraiser (we raised $75,000 in one night!!). I had three young kids and a husband who had just moved firms and was working around the clock with his clients. What I didn't yet know, but would find out soon, was that it wasn't all work. He and his assistant were taking time for sex. 

D-Day hit, my book got finished in a fog, D-Day #2 hit and my mother died suddenly, literally the day before my book hit the shelves and I had umpteen media interviews to do. It all happened in six months and when I look back, I remember little more than the emptiness I felt, interspersed with such biting pain that I could barely breathe.

But here I am. Still breathing.

And, again, busy in that same way where there doesn't seem to be enough hours in the day. 

So perhaps it's not surprising that old feelings are surfacing. Resentment at how responsible I am for so much around this house. Quiet fury at how little my work is prioritized among family members. Fear that the opportunities now presenting themselves will vanish before I can fully seize them. There is no question that opportunities that presented themselves in the wake of D-Day were lost because I simply didn't have the mental or emotional bandwidth to grab them. 

That was then, I tell myself. This is now.

True.

I have to remember all the lessons I've learned in the years since. I'm resentful for how much responsibility I take in this house? Well? Whose fault is that? My 20-year-old is capable of folding his own laundry so why am I doing it? My 17-year-old will not starve if I'm not reminding her to eat. Taking "responsibility" for others is really about my own anxiety. It's about control and my (unhealthy) need for it. "Help is the sunny side of control," my former therapist insisted.

I feel furious that I'm interrupted during Zoom meetings, or that I'm asked to "pick up milk" during the day, as if I don't have better, important things to do? Well? Whose fault is that? Why should I expect family members to prioritize my work when I've never prioritized my work? I have always always taken on the lion's share of tasks because it's more comfortable to me to feel resentful at others' lack of participation in household tasks than to ask and be disappointed. Far easier (and familiar!) for me to play the martyr. I need to feel needed because, on a deep level, I believe my value lies only in what I do for others. Ugh. 

And so I remind myself again, that was then. This is now.

I can do things differently. I can stop taking responsibility for things that others can do themselves. I can breathe through the anxiety as I let others deal with the consequences of their own actions. I can prioritize my own work and model self-respect rather than expecting others to mind-read. I can remind myself that have value because I exist, not because I serve.

I can do things differently. Without behaving like I'm some kind of martyr. Being honest with myself and them.

Life is challenging right now. Five adults living together on month 11 of a pandemic lockdown. Five very busy adults trying to navigate school and a growing workload. Serious mental health issues. A new puppy. 

And it's when we're under stress that old habits can resurface. Long-buried resentments. Barely suppressed fury.

I need to be careful that I'm not falling into old patterns.

That was then.

This is now.

Thursday's Thought

 

Thursday's Thought: Our Shero of the Betrayed

 

Thursday's Thought

 

Thursday's Thought: This is Us

 

Thursday's Thought

 

Thursday's Thought

 

Thursday's Thought

 

Thursday's Thought

 

Thursday's Thought

 

Thursday's Thought

 

Thursday's Thought

 

Thursday's Thought

 

Thursday's Thought

 

"How can I ever trust him again?" The bad news, you can't. The good news? You don't need to

 It's one of the questions I'm asked most often, along with, "when will I stop feeling so much pain" and "should I stay or go?". 

How, so many of you ask, can I ever trust him again.

Usually, this question is asked within the context of a marriage that has remains somewhat intact. He says he'll change, he says it's over, he says he wishes it had never happened. 

But we're aware that it didn't just "happen". He made it happen. He chose it.

And that not only hurts like hell, it makes it very very hard to believe that it won't happen again. As Dr Phil has famously said, the greatest predictor of future behaviour is past behaviour.

I wish I could tell you that there was some formula for success. That if he did this thing or that thing, then you could be sure he'd never cheat again. But there isn't. I know of people who cheated once, their spouse didn't know, and they never cheated again. I know of people who said they couldn't promise they'd never cheat again but who (so far!) have never cheated again. And consider this: I have this site where I've spent more than a decade talking to all of you about healing from infidelity and I have no idea if my husband will cheat on me again. It's impossible to predict what anyone will do. Consider also this: How many of you came here with the words, "I never imagined that my husband could do this." Yep, me too. Never in a million years.

And yet, here I am. Here we are. 

There are things we can pay attention to if we're considering rebuilding a marriage with someone who betrayed us. For a start, I wouldn't consider (nor would I encourage you to consider) giving a second chance to someone who's refusing to do the work of digging through his own shit: If he always minimized what he did, if he refused to break it off and insist on No Contact, if he refused to talk about it, if he refused to let me see his e-mails/texts/apps on his phone... Those, to me, are huge waving red flags that are telling me that he might not be packing his bags but I should be. 

Which brings me to the point of this post and, I believe, the most important thing we can do in the wake of D-Day: Learn to trust ourselves. 

I know how vague that sounds. And I know how confusing it feels. What difference does it make if I trust myself if I can't trust him? He's the cheater.

Yes. And trusting yourself is not the same as ensuring that you will never be hurt again. Nobody can promise that. 

But trusting yourself is about taking care of yourself. It is about ensuring that you are not tolerating anything in your life that makes you uncomfortable or compromises your value system. That's part of the collateral damage of infidelity. So many of us can look back and see that we knew something wasn't right. Maybe we didn't know he was cheating, but we knew there were times we couldn't reach him. Or we knew he'd suddenly detached from our family, or we felt unseen or unheard. We told ourselves that all marriages go through rough patches, that maybe he was stressed, that we needed to be patient. We made do with a situation that didn't feel enough for us.

Trusting ourselves is about never doing that again. Trusting ourselves is about never saying "it's okay" when it's not. It's about insisting on what we need to stay in the marriage. It's about refusing to trade our voice for his presence. Trusting ourselves is knowing that we are worth fighting for, and that fighting for ourselves is an inside job.

I was hard for me to understand what trusting myself meant until I felt it. And yet, I knew women who trusted themselves, though I might not have put it that way. Women who moved through the world with a certainty of their worth. Not arrogance at all. Assurance. 

And that's what trusting ourselves provides. Not a guarantee that he will never cheat again. But an assurance that, no matter what others do, we will not lose sight of our own North Star. That no matter how hard the winds blow, we will not topple.

Despite how you're feeling right now, regardless of how miserable you feel, let me remind you that you have not toppled. We have survived this. And since the greatest predictor of future behaviour is past behaviour, that's a pretty good indication that we would survive if it happened again. We think we wouldn't. But let's not confuse feeling deep deep pain with being annihilated. We can feel that pain and move forward anyway. And that's all we need to know.

My husband might cheat on me next week (though this pandemic means he's pretty much around 24/7 so he'd have to work  hard at it!). I cannot control what he does. I never could. But I know now that I can trust myself to respond in a way that is rooted in self-honor and respect. 

And, as it turns out, that is enough. It had always been enough. 

Guest Post: The D Word

by StillStanding1

A sunrise over a remote lake is an annual part of the life I choose for myself.  
Choose something beautiful for you.

I wanted to show up today to talk to some of our newer arrivals; those of you who don’t yet know what warriors you are and are reeling or are in full-on “try to save and fix everything” mode. I am more than 3 1/2 years out from D-Day and, looking back, would never have believed it would be possible to be where I am. I would have been a little mad/annoyed/not ready to listen to the Me now. In those first, shuddering, pain-filled months, all I wanted was for my husband to wake up, get his head out of his ass and see what he was going to lose. And to stop hurting.

I don’t come to the site daily anymore. While I care deeply about the friends and connections I’ve made and feel so much empathy and compassion for the endless, tragic string of new arrivals, infidelity and triggers just aren’t an influential part of my daily life anymore. And I've begun to feel that my experience as a divorced, single person post-infidelity, lines up less and less with what I read in the posts and comments. I think that’s okay. New folks are showing up and Chinook inspires with her fire and words; it’s like a changing of the guards (hear the rattle of swords and line up to get the dirt smudged under your eyes) but I can continue to show up and hold space for that.

But it has also been suggested to me that my experience and voice may still be relevant, especially for those who choose or have divorce chosen for them. Even for those of you who feel physically ill at the idea of divorce (like I did), it's important to know that it doesn’t have to be all fear, failure, loss, struggle and poverty. You can come out the other side a stronger, healthier, more confident person. I can’t tell you exactly how that will go for you because we are all different, but I do know you have to choose it and pursue it (even if you have no idea what the hell you are doing when you start).

I’m on my own healing journey and without the perp (my ex-husband) in my face daily, I don’t have the same challenges to navigate. I have different ones but I worry that talking about them on this site will trigger and terrify new arrivals. I know when I first got there, the last thing I wanted to look at closely was even the possibility of divorce, let alone wrap my head around the idea that I would end up better-than-fine. One of the biggest things to accept? That ending my marriage has been one of the best things to happen to me for a long time. It has freed me to work on and release old patterns and learn to value myself. Yes, my ex is still around (he comes to my home two nights a week for dinner with our son). But I am not obligated to make it work if it doesn’t work for me. I’m not required to deal with his shit when he tries to push past boundaries. And while he is working on improving as a human being, he manages to remind me how far he still has to go just regularly enough that I don’t feel anything much like regret. Not anymore. 

Instead, I have worked at crafting a life I can be proud of and a story I am willing to claim as mine. I pursued volunteer work that has led to friendships and connections that fill me up. There are real people in my life who love and value me, in all my flawed weirdness. I have learned to love myself and treat my time and health with care. I’ve been working on trusting myself, both with personal life decisions and in my business. I committed to growing my business so it could support me after the alimony runs out, and I’m doing it. I am succeeding. I learned all about money and budgeting because not being in control of your finances is the source of a lot of fear for a lot of us. And I’ve done a lot of work in therapy and on my own to bring old stories and unhelpful beliefs into the clean light of day.

I’ve even dated a little and learned a lot about myself in the process. It’s not for the faint or fragile, let me tell you. When you are still raw from the massive rejection of a spouse choosing to cheat, even the tiniest rejection (a guy doesn’t follow up when he says he will or ghosting or any of that stupid dating stuff) feels much bigger than it really is. I started dating way too soon, mostly out of a need to prove to myself that someone, anyone was going to want me. But what I learned was that people who barely knew me could treat me with kindness, be thoughtful, be affectionate and that I had been starved of that in my marriage. I decided that I had to find, create or be a source of that for myself, to be whole before I went looking for someone else. And where I’ve landed with the whole dating thing now is that I’m not in a rush. My life is full. I’m proud of who I am and I don’t need a romantic partner to be complete. Of course, I’d love to have a best friend who gets me and thinks I’m awesome and all the closeness that real intimacy can bring but I’m content to wait and see who shows up. And if no one does, that’s okay too. I’m living a good life.

When I look back at everything I’ve done and gone through and all the therapy and coaching and reading and running and meditating, I’m not sure I would have arrived here without the divorce. I needed the space to breathe and explore without those old dance moves getting in the way. And you should know that, after we separated, he tried to come back three times. Each time, I trusted my gut and said no. I knew he hadn’t done the work. I knew, on two of those occasions, that the OW was still in the picture and all he really wanted was for me to rescue him from the mess he had made. So, as I said to him, "I finally choose me".

Do I sometimes still feel like I was robbed of what I thought our future was going to be? Yes but the real talk voice reminds me that that was just my idea of a future and reality was not likely to have been what I imagined, even a little bit. And reality, my life on my own now, is so much richer than I would have believed possible in that first year after D-day. So, blessedly, infidelity and all the complex stuff around it, is becoming a thing that happened, in the past, and without much impact on my day-to-day life. It is diminishing in the rearview mirror with increasing speed. I know I’m fortunate in that regard. I want you to know that no matter how your story goes, if divorce is in your future, you can keep yourself safe. Not by hiding and closing off from the world but by running toward it, by claiming a space for yourself, by loving yourself fiercely, by choosing you.

What is Your Manifesto?

I was recently urged, on a writers' site I love, to create a Writer's Manifesto. This manifesto, I read, would guide me in my goals and help me focus on the longer road rather than just the assignment/deadline in front of me. It would help me clarify who I was, what I wanted to achieve overall. It would motivate me when I just wasn't feeling it.
Or so the author promised.
Her own manifesto went something like this:
In my work and life I will be...
Openhearted
Optimistic
Always seeking humor even when things are dark
...
I got thinking.
What if each of us created our own manifesto. Not for writing but for healing. A Healer's Manifesto.
What if we set out a framework for our healing within that. Something that helped us see beyond our two feet rooted where we are right now. Something that gave us a bigger picture. Something that reminded us that there's a tomorrow beyond today. And another tomorrow. And another.
And perhaps most important, something that reminded us, when we felt shaky and lost, who we are. Something to be our North Star.
My Healer's Manifesto is this:
In my life and healing I will be...
Honest
Vulnerable
Open-hearted
Sceptical but not suspicious
I will always act with integrity.
I will not intentionally hurt someone and if I do, I will immediately make amends.
I will make my healing a priority in my life.
I will make self-care a daily practice.
I will respond rather than react.
I will assume the best of others rather than the worst.
I will not tolerate dishonesty, toxicity, cruelty in myself or others.

This, of course, is my Healer's Manifesto 12 years past D-Day. An earlier Healer's Manifesto, which I think should be revisited and revised with time, might have been more like this:
In my life and healing I will be...
Honest
Open-hearted
Vulnerable
Sceptical but not suspicious
I will shift focus from the OW to my own healing.
I will not seek revenge.
I will not act impulsively but will rather establish a wait period before taking any long-term action.
And so on.

What might your Healer's Manifesto look like? Do you already have a framework guiding you? Can you put something down on paper or online.
The goal is a framework for your healing, a sort of guide. Think of the bumpers on a bowling lane that help beginners keep the ball out of the gutters. What will keep you out of the gutters? Write that.
And share here. Let's continue to heal together.

Note to the Newly Betrayed

This comment appeared below the All-you-need-to-know post-infidelity guide to quashing hyper-vigilance but it really applies to anyone who find themselves here with that perennial question: How will I survive this? While she speaks from the perspective of a wife whose husband responded by making sure he deserved the second chance he was offered. But much of what she says is about learning to take care of you.

Ok here goes...

I am 2.5 years from D-Day 1, almost 2 years from the final D-Day.  

It does get better. I promise.

When I first found out, and I read that it would take years to get over this, I honestly thought "screw it." I was sorely tempted to chuck my tattered marriage away but something stopped me. That something initially was my kids, because I didn't want to put them through the trauma of a complicated divorce.  

Then I started to see small changes in him. He made the effort to keep me in the loop, involved me in his work, talked about everything and anything, trusted me with his harrowing childhood stories. I slowly, slowly realised that his infidelity was his (terrible) way of escaping, of pushing boundaries, of holding on to something deep within himself that he was scared to live without, because he had never felt good enough, loved enough, safe enough to let go. He messed up and I hated him. I really hated him. I probably hated him for a year solid. He saw me become horribly thin both physically and mentally. I became a ghost person. I wasn't inhabiting my own skin. Instead my heart and mind were locked in another place, piecing together the fragments of truth and hiding from the pain. But you know what? He was there, he rode the wild donkey alongside me, he took my shit but wasn't afraid to call me out when I needed it.

Now, after a lot of work on both our parts, things are different. I hesitate to say better, although they are a vast improvement on the months following dday. We cannot go back, no matter how much living in a bubble can seem appealling. We live in the here and now in all its dirty, messy, beautiful glory. And, shocking as it may sound, I wouldn't have it any other way.

As a result of trauma, of having my world turned upside down, I have been forced to face myself and my own demons. I know myself and I love who I am. Sure, I wish I had behaved with a bit more dignity at time (yeah...the OW heard a few unpleasant truths from me). 

To the newly betrayed....you really have got this. It isn't about you but it is an opportunity to make it about you, to put yourself first and realise that you can deal with this shit and come out of it a stronger woman, deserving of love, kindness and honesty.

Hazel