Now. And not yet.

Maybe healing doesn’t have to be the far off place we’ll never arrive; maybe healing is the now and not yet.

~Aundi Kolber

Good lord, we want it over, don't we? We want the pain gone. Banished. Never to darken our door again. We want to get on with our lives. To laugh again. To relegate "what happened" to the past and, fingers and toes crossed, something we never ever have to deal with again.

And we're getting there, yes? We're thinking about telling our therapist that we no longer need to come every week. Cause when we get there, we don't have a whole lot to say. And so we complain about random stuff – our jerk of a brother who isn't helping out with our elderly mom, our kids who roll their eyes at us, our office mate who takes credit for our work. But the infidelity? Well, it still stings sometimes. Our hearts beat a little faster when we drive by the street she used to live. But mostly? It's better. 

Or is it?

We think it's better but then he's late getting back from his guys' weekend and he's not answering texts.

We think it's better but then we watch a movie in which a husband cheats and the scenes are graphic and, ugh, sexy. And we wonder, was that what it was like?

We think it's better but then our friends invite us to their 20th wedding anniversary party and they look so happy and we think to ourselves, well, of course they are because their marriage isn't tainted by infidelity. Theirs is a real love story.

And then we think to ourselves, when will this ever be over? When will I ever be done with this pain? 

Now. And not yet.

You are healing. Have already healed in ways that you can scarcely imagine. Wasn't it just a few months ago, maybe years ago, when you couldn't go a day without sobbing. A day? An hour! 

Wasn't it weeks, maybe months ago, when you couldn't imagine staying with your husband for one more day while at the same time being unable to imagine leaving?

You are healing right now. But also...not yet.

Cause the thing with healing is that it's endless. There is no end point at which point the wound is entirely healed. Just as an x-ray will reveal a bone break from so long ago we have to think hard about whether it was our right or our left wrist, the injury of infidelity leaves its mark. 

And I know how disheartening that reality can feel. 

Because we're tired of hurting. 

I know that exhaustion. 

But I'm here, from your future, to tell you what I see. To tell you what I know.

When I look around, I see a family resurrected from ashes. I see a husband who reassembled himself from his broken bits into a man whose heart carries the weight of the pain he caused. 

I see a life that doesn't look exactly like the dream I had but that is nonetheless beautiful. 

I see the man who stood beside me at my mother's death bed. I see the man that stood beside me in my daughter's room in the psych ward. I see the man who wanted to be better. For me. For us. But especially for himself.

I ache when I imagine another's "perfect" marriage and then I remind myself that I know nothing of what happens between others, just as so many know nothing of my own.

I ache when yet another friend tells me that she discovered her husband's affair. It was years ago, it was months ago, it's going on still. And I assure them that I know their pain and that it will not feel like this forever. 

And I ache when I imagine any of my children going through the pain of infidelity because there was nothing in my lifetime of other pains that prepared for the agony of betrayal. And then I remind myself that they are stronger than they know. And that, if they do go through it, they will not feel that pain forever. And that I have taught them that pain is part of life and it's what we do with that pain, how we refuse to let it make us bitter, that keeps our hearts soft and open to all the beauty in our lives. 

You are healing, my secret sisters. Now. 

And not yet.

Chalking Up "Wins"

The initial burst of productivity hacks for our time in self-isolation has given way to plenty of pushback. No, we're not likely to write our version of King Lear, as Shakespeare ostensibly did in the 1600s during a plague. We're not likely to identify laws of physics, as Newton ostensibly did while quarantined.
And yes, there are those mastering sourdough recipes and creating adorably funny family videos. And then there are the rest of us, including some of us who are just trying to get through the worst pain of our lives against a backdrop of collective cultural anxiety. 
Healing from infidelity becomes a full-time job. It permeates everything we do. Our minds are never not thinking about it, at least for the few days/weeks/months. It's there when we awake in the middle of the night, it's there when we're putting our kids to bed, it's there when we're staring blankly at the television. It's there. 24/7. There.
And so, just like the more rational among us who think the pressure to create/invent/develop is ridiculous when it's enough to just get through the day during a pandemic, we need to lower our expectations of ourselves. Like low. Really low. In our uber-productive, life-hack world, lowering expectations of ourselves is tantamount to failure. It implies giving up.
Nothing could be less true. Lowering our expectations when we are fighting for emotional survival is the furthest thing from failure. It's a realistic, healthy and sane response to a crisis. 
And so I want you to celebrate yourself and your "wins" right now.
Win: Getting out of bed when you wanted to pull the covers over your head.
Win: Keeping your kids alive while they watch seven hours of television daily.
Win: Not smothering your husband in his sleep.
See what I mean? Just getting through the day is a win, especially right now when a trip to the grocery store creates as much anxiety as jungle warfare.
It is time to give yourself massive credit for what you're doing right now. Responding to infidelity is incredibly difficult at the best of times. Factor in potential job losses, financial stress, an inability to get away from spouse, kids...these four walls, and you've exponentially increased just how hard this is.
And so...lower expectations. So low that a slug couldn't scooch beneath them. So low, that a kitten could tapdance over them.
Win: I remembered to feed myself today.
Win: I took 15 minutes alone in my bathroom to write in my journal.
Win: I watched a bird sing on a branch outside my window this morning.
Win: I kept breathing, all day long.
And then, let's share our wins here.
I'll go first. Yes, it has been a LOT of years since D-Day and infidelity no longer looms large in my life. But quarantining is tough so...
Win: I got this post up today.
Your turn....

x

Thursday Thought

Healing From Betrayal: When It's All Too Much

This darkness is not a dead end. It's a hallway. 

Keep going.

~Emily McDowell & Friends

It can be easy for me to forget the darkness. It was a long time ago. And though there has been darkness since, different darkness involving children and disease, the other feels almost like another lifetime. A dream. A nightmare.

At the time, however, it felt like my life. My forever life. Darkness then didn't feel like a passage, it felt like my new reality. Though I was masterful at pretending I saw light, I didn't. 

For some of us, that darkness – and our inability to believe it's temporary – is evidence of depression. The clinical kind. The kind that could benefit from pharmaceuticals. I fought against that. My mother had spent much of my life popping pills and I'd be damned if I was going to be like her. But when my patient and saintly therapist, also a medical doctor, drew me a picture of my brain with Pacmen-type receptors and neutrons and I can't remember what else and explained to me that trauma and stress literally changes our brains, I agreed to give these hated pills a try.

Within 48 hours, it was like the clouds lifted slightly. A few more days and the heavy blanket of my pain felt less heavy.

These pills didn't work miracles. I still felt sad more often than not sad. I still fretted about what I was going to do regarding my marriage. But I could cope. What's more, I could spot a tiny bit of light up ahead. I was in a hallway, not a cell.

I bet it feels dark for you too right now. Betrayal turns out the lights for us. It leaves us isolated and terrified.

But please know too that this is a hallway. It is temporary. Keep going.

Focus on your next right step. Prioritize your healing. Practise radical self-care. Remind yourself (or teach yourself) that you are worthy of love and honesty and loyalty, no matter how untrue that feels right now. 

I often say that if this website assures readers of anything, I hope it is these two things: (1) You are not alone in your pain and (2) You will get through this. Both are things I know to be true. Both are things I didn't believe when I was in my own darkness.
But now, it's clear. That darkness was a hallway. I needed help finding my way out of that hallway. Not just anti-depressants but this blog. The books I read. My mother. The friends who sat with me in my pain offering not answers but acceptance.
Keep going, my secret sisters. The light awaits.