A Place to Share Your Story

I'm a firm believer in the power of sharing our stories as a path toward healing. As long as that sharing takes place in an environment of mutual compassion. No matter our circumstances. No matter our choices.
So...I believe that environment exists on this site. I'm enormously proud of the community we've created and it fills me with a mother's joy when you comment on each other's posts and offer up empathy and, often, humor. There's HUGE power in that connection. Suddenly we're not alone in our pain. Suddenly there's someone who knows exactly how we feel. A virtual hand to hold. A virtual hug.
I've long wanted to find a way that each of you can connect with each other. I'm not quite there, mostly because my ability to navigate technology is more of a dis-ability. And partly because blogger, the platform I've used for this site, doesn't offer up much of an option. However, I've created a second page, which you can find by looking at the top of the Home page. There you'll see a tab marked "Join the Club...and Share Your Story." It's you invitation to do exactly that.
I hope you will. It'll take a while for people to find your story so don't take the initial lack of response personally. You've put it out there. And someone, somewhere is grateful to you for that. Including me.

The Importance of Understanding Infidelity as Trauma

The traumatic nature of disclosure of infidelity intensifies when the threat continues, through the continuation of the marital affair or lack of proof of its discontinuation...

This can't be overstated. The insanity we feel when we suspect an affair increases exponentially when we confront the cheater, expect that he'll end the affair only to be left without any proof that it really is over.
And though the research paper focuses exclusively on wives of sex addicts, this holds true for all wives who've discovered their husband's secret life.
It's the reason that any husband remotely interested in saving his marriage must immediately establish no contact with his affair partner. It's the reason that there needs to be total transparency – with you having access to his computer passwords, cell phone, all records and whatever else makes you feel that he some measure of accountability. It's the reason that he must always be available to take your calls any time you need to check on him. It's the reason that he must always be where he says he is, with whom he says he's with and for how long.
It's not about you becoming police and watchdog, it's about you being able to slowly feel safe again. Post-trauma can even follow you into a new relationship, or impact friendships. We become suspicious. We don't trust our own judgement.
Trauma following betrayal isn't the exception, it's the rule. Sure there are some women who recover more quickly but the rest of us are generally shell-shocked and paralyzed for a year, or two, or three. Post-trauma leaves us frightened and anxious, feeling isolated and unable to determine our next step. It's not something we can force ourselves to move past or will ourselves into stopping. Self-help books can't make it go away, though they can help us recognize that we're experiencing it.
I spent the first half year wondering why I wasn't feeling any better and was, in fact, feeling worse. More hopeless. Though my husband was in counselling for sex addiction and attending a 12-step group, though he was doing what he could to support me, I felt fearful and anxious. I also found myself highly mistrustful of just about everyone. I questioned their motives, wondered who they "really" were. I felt constantly off-balance. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.
When a friend, who worked at a support centre for sexual abuse survivors, suggested that what I was experiencing was post-trauma, I dismissed it. As I've written here before, I thought post-trauma was what rape victims or veterans dealt with. I thought what I'd experienced didn't "qualify" me for post-trauma. It seemed too dramatic a label for something so, sadly, common.
But what my friend had said at least made me open my mind to the possibility. Now it seems I'm reading everywhere that being cheated on leads to post-traumatic response.
It's not just semantics. Be recognizing the depth of your trauma, you can better heal from it. By truly acknowledging that what happened isn't just about your husband being an ass, you can recognize that your responses/reactions to a wide variety of things – from a friend cancelling a lunch date to the death of your pet – are through the lens of post-trauma.
Betrayal is traumatic. But continued betrayal or inability to determine if betrayal is continuing is worse still.

Can There Be Joy Behind the Pain?

A betrayed wife recently commented on this post that she wondered if she had recovered too "easily". She was six weeks out from D-Day and, though she had her rough days, nonetheless was feeling pretty positive. She asked if I thought she was maybe in denial.
Though, of course, I can't answer that, it's possible but it's also possible that she's just a really healthy, wholehearted person who recognizes that her husband's horrible choice doesn't define her in any way. And then I came across this on this site here, which perhaps explains it as well:

It has never failed that when I have been through the most heart-breaking passages of my life – betrayal, financial hardship, divorce, dreams dashed – the pain brought me to the floor of my being, and what was there to be found?: The simple joy of being alive. So cosmically basic it's mind-blowing: the joy to be here, connected, animated, breathing, blessed, resilient, to be broken, to be open, to have what was, what's left, what's coming. The joy just to be part ofreality. 

What do you think?

Five Ways We Hurt Ourselves After Our Husband's Affair

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Infidelity is excruciating. Never in my dreams did I imagine how excruciating. Like most women, I had talked about what I'd do if I found out my husband cheated. My friends and I, when we heard of someone having an affair, would inevitably say to each other, "Well, if my husband ever did that, I'd show him the door so fast..." We imagined we'd wipe our hands of the scumbag, throw his stuff on the front lawn and be done with it. At no point did I imagine years of therapy, anti-depressants, and a stack of books on my bedside table that covered on everything from forgiveness to sex addiction.
Life has a way of messing with my plans.
I've learned, however, that though I clearly couldn't control what choices my husband had made (oh, if I could have!!) I could learn to control myself. I say learn to control myself because I'd never really thought of it that way before. I'd always operated from the "I am what I am" school of thought. That my responses to life were the result of some personality lottery, and I received a rather impetuous, emotional, mercurial one. So when I knocked a television off a table to indicate just how angry I was with my husband well...how could I control that? I was fiery.
Ummm....no.
Over the years following discovery of my husband's cheating, I began to recognize just what I could control (actions). And what I couldn't (feelings). By controlling actions I can so often better manage feelings. I can keep them from galloping away, and taking me with  them. The goal, of course, isn't to turn into some sort of automaton whose feelings are experienced with precision and control. It's to get to a place of healthy healing, where you can feel all your emotions – joy, pain, fear, excitement – without acting in ways that aren't consistent with your values.
Unfortunately when we're in such emotional pain we can lose sight of what we can and cannot control. The part of our brain that performs the so-called executive functions has been hijacked by the part of our brain that focuses on pure survival, our reptilian brain. And by survival, I'm not referring to scrapping it out with our five-year-old over the last piece of pizza because we're starving...but rather emotional survival, a craving to understand just exactly what the threat is that we're dealing with so that we can be prepared for it. It's a rational impulse. But our ways of achieving it can be irrational. Julie Gottman calls at least some of our behaviour PTSD and had this to say in a New York Times story about deception: "When secrets emerge ... the partner suffers profoundly. Post-traumatic stress disorder is the result — being battered by unwanted intrusive thoughts about the betrayal, nightmares, emotional numbing coupled with unpredictable explosions, sleep disturbances and hyper-vigilance as the partner or spouse searches for yet some other betrayal."
Consider these five ways we hurt ourselves in the name of "survival".

Pain shopping (or asking the same questions over and over and...): Most of us, when we finally get proof (or an admission) of cheating from our spouses are flooded with questions. How did this happen? When? Where did they meet? What did they do? Did he meet her friends? Did other people know? What does she look like? Where does she work? Does she wear high heels? Is she vegetarian? and on and on and on, until our poor brains simply can't absorb the volume of information and our spouses can't even keep track of the details.
The need to know is crucial and valid. For too long, we've been outside the door of the affair with no awareness of what's going on behind it. In order for a marriage to heal (or you to heal on your own), it really does help to open the door and have the chance to take a look around. But – and it's a big but – at a certain point you have all the information you really need. The rest is pain shopping.

Digging for "evidence" of an affair he's already admitted: My husband came clean fairly quickly about his affair. Within 24 hours I knew pretty much everything I needed to know. Did that stop me from rifling through his drawers, his phone records, his VISA statements and anything else I could get my hands on? Of course it didn't. I was like some sort of crazed forensics expert, pouring over everything as if it could doubly confirm what I already knew. Did I discover anything crucial? Nope. Not a thing. Sure I saw some receipts for dinners out with her. But given that I already knew they'd slept together on a number of occasions, what did it matter that he felt obliged to buy her a steak? I already knew at that point he was a liar and a cheater...everything else was a matter of degree. Do yourself a favor. Find out what you need to know to paint the big picture. Then stop. At this point you're distracting yourself from actually feeling the pain of what you now know. You can't dam up that flood of emotions no matter how long you spend looking at receipts. 

Staying in contact with the Other Woman: I sent the OW a Christmas card (my D-Day was December 11) in which I included a photo of my husband and our kids, along with a note about how I knew how much she'd "done" for our family. It was the type of card that, had she taken it to my husband's and her employer, would make her look insane because on the surface it was innocuous. Almost sweet. But she -- and I -- knew exactly what I was saying. But that was where the contact stopped. I know too many women who stay in touch with the OW, either via Facebook or mutual friends or even face-to-face, and I can't believe anything good can ever come of it assuming the OW knew about you. Block her on FB, steer as far out of her way as possible, cut her out of your life. She's poison.

Numbing ourselves with drugs/alcohol/food/shopping/insert-compulsive-behavior-here: Oh...it's tempting. So tempting that I didn't take a drink for months after D-Day because, as the daughter of two alcoholics, I was pretty sure it would end badly. But forewarned is forearmed. Recognize that right now you are incredibly vulnerable. And for most of us the discomfort of feeling vulnerable is something we'll do almost anything to stop. Like eat a chocolate cake, buy four pairs of shoes, pop Zoloft like it's candy, even exercise to the point of injury. Whatever your compulsion of choice is, now's the time to put it under a microscope and determine just how much is healthy...and how much is harmful. You need you right now. Not some numbed out zombie with too many shoes.

Maintaining toxic friendships: Infidelity brings up a lot of issues for a lot of people. There are those who will suggest you "get over" this, those who dismiss your angst with impatience that you don't just kick him out, those who avoid you because your experience brings up uncomfortable feels about their own marriage. It's tempting to keep everyone close because you're feeling so alone. But toxic people simply make your pain and loneliness worse. You need compassion and understanding, not blame, frustration, impatience or unsolicited advice. If there's no-one in real life, please remember that we're here, we know your pain and will lovingly guide to toward healing.

That's the short list. Are there things you do that you recognize are only hurting yourself? Share your story here. Others will no doubt recognize themselves. Together we'll heal.

What Porn Really Offers: Rejection-free Sex

I've been reading Brené Brown's Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent and  Lead. There's lots of insight into why we act the way we do...but I hadn't anticipated stumbling upon her thoughts on porn addiction. Although, given that the book is largely about shame, I shouldn't have been surprised.
While interviewing a male therapist about men's shame around sexual rejection, a point she considered when a male in a research group pointedly brought up how vulnerable men feel in the sexual arena, Dr. Brown sought the therapist's thoughts around addiction and pornography. His response? "For five bucks and five minutes, you think you're getting what you need, and you don't have to risk rejection."
She calls the comment "revelatory" for her because, like so many women, she'd always assumed that porn was about men seeking novelty, sexual expertise, spectacular bodies. Of course porn provides that. But in this therapist's point of view, the appeal of porn is rejection-free sex. "I guess the secret is that sex is terrifying for most men," he says, noting that porn offers "power and control". (Hardly makes porn harmless, there's still evidence that viewing it alters neural pathways in the brain.)
My husband has been telling me this for years. I didn't really believe him. Or rather, I listened. And then dismissed what he'd told me in favor of self-bashing. My body isn't firm enough. My breasts aren't big enough. My sexual gymnastics aren't exciting enough. Despite my husband's repeated insistence that porn never ultimately provided what he now understands he craved – intimacy – I too often assumed he'd simply had his fun and was okay with it being over.
I've said before, however, and it seems I've forgotten my own words: sex addiction and porn addiction are hardly "fun". The rest of us assume, because sex is generally "fun", that, as addictions go, one that allows you to indulge in sex anywhere with anyone has to be a laugh-riot.
It's not. It's steeped in shame and fear, no matter what mask it's wearing.

Help: Your First Prayer

There’s freedom in hitting bottom, in seeing that you won’t be able to save or rescue your daughter, her spouse, his parents, or your career, relief in admitting you’ve reached the place of great unknowing. This is where restoration can begin, because when you’re still in the state of trying to fix the unfixable, everything bad is engaged: the chatter of your mind, the tension of your physiology, all the trunks and wheel-ons you carry from the past. It’s exhausting, crazy-making.
Help. Help us walk through this. Help us come through.
It is the first great prayer.
~Anne Lamott, from Help, Thanks, Wow

Easy for her to say. Easy for any of us to say, perhaps, from the far shore of healing. Easy to see that the freedom was there, after hitting bottom. The freedom to wave the white flag. To take to bed. To pull the covers over our head and wait until the world made sense again.
But when it's happening to us, when we're in that moment of falling-but-not-quite-yet-hitting-bottom, it's not freedom we're feeling but sheer terror.
We're terrified that there is no bottom. We're terrified that what we think is bottom can still get worse. We're terrified that we're trapped. That we just won't be able to find our way out of the darkness of betrayal. That if we were wrong about this, about him, what could we possibly be right about?
But Lamott, who knows a thing or two about hitting bottom having done it plenty in her life, is right. There is freedom in abdicating responsibility for anyone but ourself. What's more, once we recognize that freedom, which means free from saving or rescuing anyone else, we realize that we're not trapped at all. We have choices. They might not all sound like a picnic in a park, but that's okay. Life isn't always about picnics. Sometimes it's about pain. And sometimes it's about using that pain as a compass pointing us in the direction away from it. Pain can be acute, as in discovering a spouse's affair. And it can be a dull ache, something we've grown accustomed to and hardly notice anymore. When we ignore that dull pain, the one that stops us just shy of truly feeling fulfilled, life sometimes delivers a blow we can't ignore. Like a spouse's affair. That one will knock us to the ground and leave us gasping.
Life's got our attention now.
Which is where the freedom comes in.
It was never our job to save or rescue anyone. To tell them, cajole them, beg them, plead with them, manipulate them, charm them or otherwise spend our precious time on how they should be spending theirs.
Lamott calls it "the place of great unknowing". And for so many of us, we can't imagine anything more terrifying. Not knowing means that anything – ANYTHING – could happen. Except, for you reading this, it likely already has happened. He had the affair. Or affairs. Or is still having it. And you're realizing just how much more painful it is than anyone of us thought it would ever be.
That's the bad news.
The good news is that, as Lamott reminds us, the place of great unknowing is where restoration is free to begin. While we're still holding on with white knuckles, our minds and hearts racing, we're not open to restoration. We're focused on survival. And survival, for me at least, meant controlling everyone and everything around me. Out of control was out of the question.
So finding myself out of control was at first terrifying. Then (after a long time while I refused to recognize that I was truly out of control – I'm a slow learner) it became liberating. I didn't need to have all the answers. I didn't have to be ultra-capable. I could let go and fall. I could hit bottom and I could whisper at first then shout, "Help".
And it arrived. First in the form of my mother. Then in the form of a wonderful friend. A compassionate therapist. A great Web site. Help was there, offering me signposts toward restoration.
But first, I hit bottom hard. And it wasn't the end. It was the beginning of a journey I continue still. Toward choice. And self-respect. Toward freedom.
Try it. Ask for help. Recognize that you've hit bottom, the place of "great unknowing" and that you're ready for restoration. You can't "fix the unfixable" by which I mean you can't fix anyone but yourself. Start there. Restore your own soul. Respect your heart. Slow your mind until your choices become clearer.
Help.

There is Only One Right Path to Healing: Yours

There's been a bit of...debate...raging on another Web site dedicated to helping women deal with infidelity. It began with a post about infidelity being abuse. Similar to a guest post on this site, that blog post was adamant that infidelity is abuse.
I commented that while I think it can be abuse, it isn't always abuse.
I won't revisit the issue. If you're interested (trigger alert: please don't read it if you're feeling fragile!!), you can check the site.
But I want to examine what happened in the wake of my comment and subsequent address by the woman who runs the site. My argument was deconstructed. Commenters offered up pity to me. They offered plenty of well MY ex was a rat-bastard and though I hope I'm wrong I pretty much think yours is too and you're abused but simply can't see reality.
Of course, the site's motto is "leave a cheater, gain a life" so it's not surprising that my plea for open-mindedness around reconciliation wasn't embraced. Most commenters admitted that reconciliation hadn't exactly worked out for them. Fair enough.
Nonetheless, the response took me back to post D-Day when I was so damn confused and afraid. When I wondered what the hell had happened to my life and what I could possibly do to get it back.
And it took me back to how few people in my life were able to be with me in my uncertainty.
Humans hate uncertainty. Humans "have a desire to impose certainty on something that it inherently uncertain," says Malcolm Gladwell. Like our future, for example. 
Even watching another grapple with uncertainty makes us acutely uncomfortable. But what are you going to do? we ask those at crossroads. And when they don't really know, we tell them what we think they should do.
What's more, if we've gone through it ourselves, we have a hard time entertaining alternatives, as if someone else making a different choice somehow threatens our certainty that we made the right choice.
But, when it comes to infidelity, there is no right choice. There is only the choice that's right for us.
But getting clear on that can be a challenge.
For one thing, our cultural conversation around infidelity lacks nuance. Those who kick the cheating bastard to the curb? Well, after we've silently judged the woman for being cheated on (she let herself go, she's a shrew, blah blah blah), we applaud her chutzpah. Those who stay? Kinda...pathetic. After all, who puts up with that? Unless they're codependent. A doormat. Abused. 
But as Cheryl Strayed reminds us in Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Love and Life from Dear Sugar,  "Most people don't cheat because they're cheaters. They cheat because they are people.... Which is a complicated way of saying, it's a long damn life..."
BWC member Laura S. puts it this way: "We cannot judge another woman's choices, and unless we have walked in her shoes we cannot know what her world is like."
All this is not to say that the answer to whether you should stay and rebuild your marriage or toss it on life's garbage heap and move on is an easy – or clear – one. 
It is to say that nobody knows what's right for you, except you. Even if you don't think you know, you do know somewhere, perhaps deep down in a place you've forgotten about. A place that bends towards healing like a flower bends toward the sun. 
It's also to say there are no guarantees. You might choose to stay and discover that your husband never stopped his affair. Or has another one. Or the marriage might fail for other reasons entirely.
You might choose to leave, thinking the whole problem is the cheater...only to discover he was a symptom of your unhappiness not the cause.
Certainty is a construct. 
So ignore the people in your life who think there is just their answer. A friend of mine, who'd left her husband after his affair, dismissed my confusion with "well, I could never stay." Which might have been true. But was hardly helpful. 
Equally unhelpful were the pleas to "think of my kids." I was thinking about my kids. I did little more than think about my kids. But did that mean I should stay and show my kids that sometimes we give those we love second chances? Or did that mean I should show them that when someone betrays our trust, we don't give them the chance to do it again? 
I've chosen to stay and rebuild. My husband, thus far, has worked harder than I ever imagined he could to exorcise his demons and become someone who deserves redemption. And I've become someone who's lost a lot of her moral certainty and made room for nuance. For possibilities I'd never thought I could consider. 
I'm happier than I thought I could ever be again. I'm able to witness others' pain without thinking I know what they should do to stop it. I see beauty in imperfection and strength in struggle where before I saw failure and disappointment.
I don't wish this pain on anyone. And I still refuse to say it was "good" for me. But I've followed my path toward healing. And it's been just right for me. Right now.