TV Show Looking to Help Couples Coping with Infidelity

I have no idea whether this show has integrity or not. But I thought I'd pass this along for anyone who's interested:

Looking for people who think their mate is cheating or has

cheated and want help getting their relationship back on track. A

new tv show on WEtv with world-renown licensed family therapist,

Dr. Tara Fields, (who's been on Oprah, CNN, Dr.Phil) wants to

help your family work through it. There is NO studio

audience...just one-on-one counseling at the family's home and

her office. Families will be paid an honorarium as a thank you

for their time commitment.

You can e-mail Michelle Kenner at WETv at: query-vyj@helpareporter.com

Looking Back on Crazy

I had to do a reverse number lookup today to ensure that I had written down a number correctly. And suddenly I was transported back to a few weeks past D-Day, when my days were spent feverishly looking for evidence of my husband's affair. In spite of the fact that he had admitted to it, I kept looking for more. I dug up his cell phone bills, his VISA statements. I scrounged through dresser drawers for incriminating receipts (which I promptly shredded! He was NOT going to benefit on his tax return for cheating on me with his assistant). In other words, for a brief while, I lost my mind. It's not that I didn't have other things to do. Things like work. Raising my kids. Making beds. Doing laundry. Walking dogs. Planning dinner. Exercising. Showering! All those things still needed doing. But I ignored them so I could relentlessly, masochistically undertake my detective work to find evidence of something my husband had already confessed, in fair detail, to doing.
What the hell was that all about, anyway.
It seems strange to me today. To imagine that person was me.
She seems like a stranger.
Yet I still remember her raw pain like it was yesterday. I still get a catch in my throat when I recall her ache. Her bewilderment. Her deep abiding pain that came in waves, washing over and over her until she could barely surface long enough to breathe.
Yep, that was me, all right.
I'm not sure what happened to me. I do know that betrayal makes lots of us a wee bit (or perhaps a WHOLE LOT) crazy. It made me do things that the pre-betrayal me would never have dreamed of doing. It turned black to white, night to day. And it left me panting and exhausted by the effort of trying to make sense out of nonsense.
I have little advice for those caught in that craziness. Except please try and find someone to talk to. Or post your thoughts here. We've been there. We know how strong those urges are to call the OW. Or post on her Facebook wall. Or dig through your husband's drawers, his pockets, his files in hopes (or fears!) of finding...what? Evidence that all of this is just a bad dream? Or that everything you suspected (or that he's admitted to) is true?
Crazy seems a standard phase for most of us. I envy the betrayed woman who skips right past it (unless she's in denial. Another common stage for many of us. "My husband? He wouldn't do that...").
When I think back to the time I wasted digging up little more than the knowledge that – yep – that was definitely her phone number he called on December 9, 2006, I recognize that I probably would have been better served by taking that long, overdue shower.

A Banker's View of Forgiveness

So many of us get tripped up at the prospect of "forgiving" our spouses – especially if we choose to stay with them. Somehow forgiveness becomes akin to letting him off the hook, dismissing what he did and basically letting him wipe his brow and say, "Whew, glad that's over!"

And because of that perception, many of us withhold forgiveness – or any thoughts of forgiveness because we feel it puts us into a position of powerlessness. As long as we're still holding that trump card, we feel as though we're strong. 

But I recently came across a blog post in which the author, a survivor of childhood trauma, offers a really interesting take on forgiveness, based on her former career as a mortgage broker.

Using that model, she suggests we look at forgiveness the way a bank looks at a defaulted loan.

The bank, she points out, trusted the client and showed that trust in the form of loaned money.

Turns out, the client screwed up – whether once or serially, doesn't matter – and abused that trust (sound familiar?).

What does the bank do? Say, I "forgive" you and offer up more money? Of course not. But they don't necessarily withhold trust forever. Instead the bank takes steps to ensure that the client understands the consequences of their betrayal of trust. That they recognize how their actions will affect future credit history. Then they offer the client the chance to create a plan in order to make amends. If the client refuses, then trust, though not necessarily forgiveness, is withheld.

Applying a similar model to your own situation might mean that you insist that your husband take certain actions in order to make amends – perhaps that's allowing you to check cell phone messages or e-mails. Perhaps he has to give up "boy's night out", at least for awhile. It undoubtedly means that a "no contact" letter is sent to the OW. Like a bank, however, it's prudent to use discretion before you extend trust again – based on consistent evidence that he's cleaned up his act.

Forgiveness is never to be confused with meaning you have to extend trust. Forgiveness is acknowledging that the other person hurt you but that you're not going to hold their feet to the flames forever. Indeed, you're going to move forward knowing what they're capable of, but giving them the chance to show you – over and over – that they won't do it. 

It's accepting you can't change the past, but that you'll no longer be hostage to it. And you're open to a different future.

It's not easy though it seems the important lessons in life never are. And, in my experience at least, forgiveness wasn't something that "arrived" or that I "decided" but rather something that grew organically over time, as I loosened my own hold on anger and opened myself up to hope. Not rainbows-and-unicorn hope, but the kind that arises when I trust my own place in the world and feel on solid ground. The kind that arises when, most of all, I forgive myself.

Putting Down Your Pain

A friend gave me the most beautiful daybook over the holidays: The Book of Awakening by Mark Nepo. I'd never heard of him before, but already – on January 4th – he feels like an old friend.
On January 2nd, he tells the story of a friend who was preparing to paint a room in his house. He went to the store to buy the supplies – the paint, brushes, rollers, drop-cloths, etc. He returned home, then loaded it all up in his arms to carry it into his house. Of course, he reaches the door and has no hands free to open it. He refuses to put any of the stuff down and struggles to get the door open. He juggles, he twists. Eventually, of course, everything crashes to the ground, including him.
The lesson?
Sometimes we've got to put our stuff down to open the door.
It's a pretty straightforward metaphor. But how many of us do it? I know I'm guilty of carrying a whole lot more than I should. I somehow determined that the more I carry, the more I'm a martyr. And I've spent a lot of time over the years polishing my inner martyr until it's blinding.
The problem is that being a martyr doesn't really get you where you want to go. Which, in the face of betrayal, is beyond the pain – or, to stick with our metaphor, through the door. Being a martyr – you know the one who constantly reminds your spouse that you could "never" have done what he – keeps our hands full and our heart closed.
Holding on seems like the easier option. Or at least the safer one. To put everything – or even some things – down to open the door seems like more work. We think that we'll have to pick everything back up again.
But by putting down some of our "stuff" – our bruised ego, for example; our clenched fury – we're then free to pick and choose what we truly need. When it's all spread out in front of us, rather than piled in our arms, we can see what is useful to us and what is perhaps weighing us down.
It's hard, if not impossible, to walk through the door into healing when you're holding on to:
• blame (a favorite of mine was reminding my husband that he'd "ruined" me)
• ego (too frequently I reminded my husband that the OW was truly repulsive, comments that never failed to make me feel small and petty)
• fear (how could I ever be sure he wouldn't do this to me again? Truth is, I can't ever be sure)
• regret (how often did I wish I could turn back time and scream "Not in this lifetime!!" to the "do you take this man..." question)
• and on and on.
Once I could see how much all this was holding me back, it became easier to put it down. It became easier to focus on that which would take me through the door and prove useful to me once inside. Such things as compassion (for myself, as much as for him), patience (Good LORD, healing takes time...), faith (that I would continue to heal despite setbacks), and wisdom.
Is there anything you're holding on to that you could put down (like your 5th martini, for example? Or that Twinkie?) to help you through the door? Consider it. There's no prize for getting through without effort. The prize is simply getting through at all.

When the Going Gets Tough...the Tough Get a Plan

Whether or not you're staying and working it out, headed straight for your divorce lawyer or are adopting a wait-and-see stance, chances are you're feeling pretty off-kilter right now. Even if you're 110% that you're doing the right thing for you, you'll no doubt be faced with some opposition from those around you who think that they – not you. definitely not you! – know what's best. And it's often in complete contrast to what YOU think is best.
Herewith your guide to surviving tough times and tough choices.

1. Don't expect it to feel good.
Sure I blab on about how you need to trust your instincts and blah blah honestly blah, but that doesn't mean it's going to feel good. You might recognize absolutely that your husband is incapable of honesty and commitment and that you simply can't get over his betrayal, but that doesn't mean you're going to skip out the door into a glorious new life. Chances are you'll weep. You'll wail. You'll rant and rage. Your in-laws might cast you as a demon. Your friends might criticize you for "giving up (especially those who feel stuck in miserable marriages!)." Your children might accuse you of ruining their life. And you might wonder if you really do know what's best for you.
Yes. You do. The right decision isn't always the easy decision. But it's still the right one. You'll know the difference deep down. Even if you doubt it now and then.

2. It's absolutely critical that you take care of yourself.
A diet of soda and crackers isn't going to give you the strength you need to stand up to the critics (even the critics that exist only in your head).
This is a tough one because so many of us view self-care as selfish. There's a big difference. Self-care insists that your needs are as important as everyone else's. Selfish insists that your needs are more important than everyone else's. Where it gets confusing is that sometimes we need to be selfish about self-care. We need to put everyone else's needs aside (help with homework, a drive to the mall, you get the idea....) in order to give ourselves what we need (a warm bath, a run, a dip into a good novel, coffee with a supportive friend...). Now, especially now, it's time to put self-care at the top of your to-do list. Treat yourself as kindly as would a friend going through a similar tough times.

3. A network of support can prop you up when you can't do it yourself.
Get thee to a 12-step group for spouses of sex addicts, join Surviving Infidelity (which in my estimation, is the best online support group, with moderation to keep comments in check), seek out a group for betrayed wives (or start one!), post here and join and the conversation. Confide in a trustworthy friend, get a good therapist, talk it over with your dog. You can't go this road alone without making it a whole lot longer and lonelier than it needs to be. The isolation associated with a spouse's betrayal was, for me, almost worst than the initial betrayal. I felt so desperately alone in my pain. You don't need to be. It's the main reason I started this site...

4. Know that this all takes time.
Three to five years is the generally accepted timeframe for healing from a spouse's betrayal. I can't emphasize enough how long this whole damn process takes. The good news is you won't feel lousy the whole time you're healing. You will feel better incrementally, with occasional steps backward just to keep you on your toes. Then one day you'll notice you haven't cried all day. Or for a few days. You'll notice that you don't jump at loud noises. That your stomach doesn't flip at the sight of certain vehicles, or the sounds of certain songs, or on certain days of the year.
You'll never forget this. It's woven into the story of your life. But it won't BE your life. That I promise.

And to all a good life...

Just a quick post to let those of you still new to betrayal know that things will get better. I found out just before the holidays in 2006 and let me tell you that was one Christmas I'd like to forget!!
So hang in there. Don't get falling down drunk. Don't eat yourself into a Santa suit (though more likely you'll have a tough time choking down your turkey...and I'm not referring to your spouse!). And just remind yourself as often as possible: I am strong. I am valuable. I will heal...

Lucky? Why My Father is Wrong...

My 82-year-old father is coming for the holidays. We talk daily, since my mom passed away 3 1/2 years ago. He simply stepped into her shoes, answering the phone each time I call and chatting about daily minutiae.
Every now and then, however, we talk about matters of more consequence. Like today, for instance. He mentioned that our family was "lucky" not to have been affected by divorce. My parents remained married, despite my father's emotional betrayal of my mom. My brother and his wife remain married, though I know of no problems. And my husband and I remain married.
But...lucky?
I felt my temper flare. My father knows only of the first OW – and nothing of my husband's sex addiction. A few days past D-Day #1, he chastised my husband with words to the effect of, "We're all allowed one mistake. Do it again and I'll break your legs..." Though Don Corleone, my father is not.
Now, however, that's all behind us, or so he'd like to think.
It's not the first time my father has minimized the impact of my husband's betrayal. Perhaps it allows him to assuage his own guilt or validate his own response to lying to my mother. He never did quite understand how devastated she was. Or why she didn't just "get over it". After all, he figured, he didn't really cheat.
And though I think I've forgiven my dad and am able to love him for his many good qualities, one thoughtless comment and I'm fuming again. On behalf of myself, my mom and all betrayed women.
"Lucky?" You've got to be kidding me.
Lucky to discover that my husband had been lying to me about where he was? Lucky to be home with children and a cold dinner because I believed my husband was working hard on his family's behalf? Lucky that he "picked" me over her? Lucky that he confessed to a sex addiction and years more betrayals?
Lucky that I didn't have the strength at first to leave? Lucky that I can no longer look at him as absolutely trustworthy? Lucky that my children will never know what hell I rode through so that they could wake up in a home with both their parents?
Lucky? Luck has absolutely nothing to do with it.
And I refuse to believe that those women who ultimately chose to end their marriage or were forced into divorce are UN-lucky.
In fact, I don't know a single betrayed woman, whether she remained married or not, who hasn't shown incredible courage. And conviction. And strength of character. Who hasn't wept with despair over what staying or leaving would do to their children. Who hasn't dealt with humiliation and pain and rage with dignity and determination.
Luck is for leprechauns and lottery winners. Not for betrayed wives.