The Myth of Closure

"When will this be over?"
How many times have we asked ourselves that question, in the days, weeks, months...sometimes years following learning of our partners' betrayal? Particularly disheartening is the awareness that, after much hard work and healing, we can still be brought to our knees by a song on a radio. Or a glimpse of the OW at the grocery store. Or stumbling across an old credit card receipt that reminds us.... And suddenly the pain feels so raw it leaves us breathless.
And asking the universe – for the zillionth time – when will this be over.
The unfortunate answer is, likely, never.
We can do everything "right" according to the infidelity experts. We can sign off on the no-contact letter, create boundaries, redefine our relationships, even deal face-to-face with the OW and triumph.
But we're deluding ourselves if we think that we can somehow close the door on what happened. Tuck it away in some box and put it on a shelf where we don't have to think about it.
And, frankly, that wouldn't be wise.
"Pain engraves a deeper memory," says poet Anne Sexton.
Which is why, in spite of years of happiness, one act of betrayal can cut us to the bone.
And yet, pain is often where we find our most valuable lessons. It's where we find our truest selves.
Burying those lessons and the self held within only makes them more determined – and likely – to resurface.
Instead, though the idea of denial is an appealing one (just one more drink! A tiny pill to help me sleep! A new pair of shoes! Another piece of cake!), it's important to examine the pain. To see where life took that unexpected turn. To turn it over in our minds, not for the pain itself but for the lesson it holds.
When that lesson is revealed – we sacrifice too much then feel resentful, we ignore our gut feelings, we  need to create firmer boundaries... – it's far less likely that the pain will have the same bite.
Closure? It's possible, I think, to create rituals that help us move forward in our life. Or to have the necessary conversation. Or burn the letters. Or whatever it is we think is necessary to heal. But to think that we can ever shut the door on betrayal is a myth. We are changed by it...from this day forward.

Are you nice? Or kind? It's NOT the same thing...

I recently read a great post from Danielle Laporte, whose e-mails/blog posts I highly recommend for their thought-provoking and butt-kicking energy. Laporte is a champion of women and a hero to the betrayed -- in large part because of her take-no-prisoners approach to life, something most of us could emulate to move us from victimhood to triumph.
But one thing in particular stood out for me in her post. It was this:

"She knows that playing nice perpetuates irresponsibility, but that kindness is wildly fertile."

Wow.
I think I've spent far too much of my life being nice...and not nearly enough being kind. Especially to myself. Nice means remembering to send the thank-you note. Kind means only attending if I really want to.
Nice is writing the cheque. Kind is rolling up my sleeves and helping.
Nice is...lukewarm. And forgettable.
Kind is hot-chocolate warm. And memorable.

What does any of this have to do with betrayal?
I used betrayal...after I could manage to get myself out of bed, showered and functioning the real world, to take a long, hard look at my life and figure out what to keep and what to toss. And yes, my husband was up for debate.
Betrayal stripped me bare, which allowed me to start from scratch – rebuilding a life that served me. I figured I'd done enough to make other people happy. Now it was my turn...
The result? The "nice" me is nothing more than a bad memory. The kind me has taken her place.
It's not easy. The "nice" me still tries to jockey her way back into the lead. She whispers recriminations, like "the Parent Association not going to like it if you say "no" to their request". Or chastises me for telling my husband that, yes, I am too busy to pick up his dry-cleaning.
Kind-me, however, is quick (well, okay, sometimes not so quick. Sometimes she's snoozing...) to edge nice-me aside. Kind-me remembers how frustrated I felt by all the demands on my time. How powerless I felt. How desperately I thought I needed everyone's approval.
She remembers the lies I told myself to keep my world intact.
Kind-me knows that nice abdicates responsibility for my own happiness. It fears the type of just-dive-in commitment that creates an authentic life. Kind ensures my happiness is top of the list. Not anyone else's list but my own.
Which is as it should be.

For the newly betrayed...

Though I'm more than three years out from D-Day #2, lately I've felt as if I'm dealing with it all over again. And though I know this happens (it's called "recycling", says my therapist, and it's NOT to be confused with regressing), it still frightens me that I'll never get past this.
And it reminds me of those first few weeks/months. Perhaps by outlining what happened to me in those hell-filled days, I can help someone else whose days seem too dark to ever see light again.

Sleep
Or rather lack thereof. Though I'm tossing and turning lately, immediately post D-Day I barely slept a wink. If I was able to fall asleep at all (thank-YOU Gravol!), I would awaken a few hours later with that horrible pit in my stomach and the tears would flow again.
Rest assured (ha!), you will sleep again someday. Melatonin can work wonders -- it's non-addictive, available in the vitamin section of your pharmacy and basically gets your adrenal system under control so that your body isn't sending shots of adrenaline to warn you that you're under attack. The attack is over. Now's time to figure out what the hell happened...

Eating
Though I suppose it's possible to turn to food for comfort, every BWC member I know couldn't touch a think – not even Brownie Fudge Meltdown with Skor bars sprinkled on top. The upside was a butt considerably smaller than pre-D-day. The down side was, well, the down side was that I felt like absolute crap, no matter that I looked awesome in skinny jeans.
Eat what you can – a small bowl of soup, a few bites of grilled cheese. Whatever you can get past that lump in your throat. Steer clear of junk food...and alcohol. Both contain the wrong kind of calories and can lead to increased self-loathing. Keep your loathing targeted where it belongs – at your husband.

Staying sane
I'm not exactly an expert on this one. I swear I'm nowhere near as sane as I once considered myself. However, I'm still standing and my children haven't been taken from me so I must be doing something right. The best advice I can give is to keep the focus on you. As much as you can, resist indulging in fantasies of what you'd say to the OW, given the chance. Or what you'd do to her. Or trolling Facebook to find out what she's saying. Or calling her cell phone to leave nasty messages. Or. Or. Or.
It might be a struggle (some days more than others) but focus on what YOU need: a warm bath, a good run, some new clothes, lunch with a trusted friend, a movie marathon... Whatever! Give it to yourself. And when you find yourself thinking of the OW or your husband with the OW, picture a huge  STOP sign. Or put an elastic band around your wrist and give it a good snap when you shift focus off of you.
There's nothing you can do to change what's done. But you can treat yourself with the respect that everyone should treat you with. And, in the process, find your way back to sanity a whole lot faster.

Find help
I was more devastated by my husband's betrayal than I ever dreamed I would be. It, quite literally, killed my spirit and send me spiralling down. If, like me, you find yourself harbouring thoughts of suicide, run, don't walk, to your phone and call a suicide hotline or find yourself a therapist who can pull you back. For me at least, suicide looked like an escape hatch from seemingly insurmountable pain. But the pain is surmountable. It's an illusion that you won't get over it. You will. That I can promise.

Gather strength from those of us who've been there
There are some great online groups with plenty of wonderful, wise people who can assure you that life will get better. Survivinginfidelity.com is a great site, which saved me from total despair more than once. And please don't hesitate to share your story here (or just lurk, if that's all you're ready for!). We're a great bunch of women. Though the details of our betrayal might vary, we share a strength and a compassion. And a road back to happiness.

Shame on You...For Being Betrayed?

I was amazed and saddened by the comments to my last post. Saddened because so many of us struggle with the notion of shame. As if we're somehow stupid for not knowing our husbands were cheating on us. As if we have something to feel ashamed about. As if we had any part in our own betrayal.
Most of us can accept that we played some role in our marriages – whether for better for worse. I know I had fallen into a bad habit of playing the martyr – then resenting my husband ferociously for not being around much to help out. What did I expect? When he was around, I simply tsked tsked the way he did everything from putting the kids to bed to chew his food. (Passive-aggressive?? Uh, yeah. That was me.)
And there was certainly far too long a period following D-Day when I all too eagerly offered up my shortcomings as evidence that I could control his cheating. In my desperate mind I figured that if my actions caused his cheating, then different actions could prevent it.
Right?
Uh...no.
For one thing, his sex addiction pre-dated me in his life. It was simply his medication of choice. Life not exactly living up to expectations? Take one blow-job with a stranger and don't call back in the morning. 
So recognizing that I really didn't control his actions then...and I certainly didn't control them now was lesson #1.
Lessons number 2 through...uh, lost count, have related to letting go of shame. Shame that I trusted something untrustworthy. Shame that this didn't happen to other women. Shame that I spent far too many mornings weeping in bed while my kids ate stale Cheerios. Shame for...well...I could pretty much muster up shame for just about anything, whether the fact that I hadn't yet cured cancer to shame that I could barely keep my house clean. 
And so, it would seem from your comments, could you.
So let's give it up, shall we?
We got screwed. Not literally, of course. That was our husbands. Nope, we got screwed by life and circumstance. Just like every person on the planet does as some point or another.
But rather than sit back and wring our hands and point the finger squarely at ourselves, let's take a big step back and remove ourselves from what happened to us. It happened to us. Just like earthquakes happen to people. And cancer happens to people. And other bad things happen to good people.
And let's show shame the door.

Are Unsuspecting Wives Senseless?

A recent Twitter comment noted that Tiger Wood's ex-wife Elin Nordegren said she didn't suspect Tiger's trangressions. "Does she have no sense?" asked the tweeter.
I recoiled.
I'm increasingly fed up with the blithe remarks about how women who get cheated on are idiots for not somehow knowing. Behind the nastiness of the remarks, I think, also lies a bit of blame. As if part of the reason we got cheated on is because we're such dim-wit doormats.
Even Elin herself admits she felt "embarrassed" in her recent People magazine story.
I suppose I could be accused of being too sensitive. Perhaps the comments are just off-the-cuff remarks from otherwise well-meaning people.
But it's too widespread to completely ignore.
And, frankly, I think it's nonsense.
I didn't know.
I may have had niggling doubts. I may have, in hindsight, suspected more than I wanted to admit at the time. And I did discuss my concerns with my husband.
His response? Don't be silly. There's nothing going on. With her? Of course not. 
And I believed him. Because, after all, he was telling me what I wanted to hear.
Does that make me an idiot?
Some might say yes.
But not me.
I've never been a cynic. And I've never been someone who doubts. Though I put on my skeptical journalist's hat for work, I take if off in regards to my personal relationships. I tend to give people the benefit of the doubt.
Other people's husbands might cheat.
But not mine.
And not Elin's.
And not yours, too, I imagine.
So, to all those who think I somehow deserved what I got because, after all, I didn't have sense enough to figure out what was going on while my husband was, as far as I knew, working and while I was writing books, shuttling three kids to soccer, piano and friends' houses, making meals, walking dogs, caring for aging parents, volunteering at an AIDS hospice and spending time with friends...I say, well, I say they don't know me at all.
And I have sense enough to stop caring what they think of me or my situation. And compassion enough to not wish it on even people as smug as they are.

Creating the door to your future

Women will draw doors where there are none, and open them and pass through into new ways and new lives.(Clarissa Pinkola Estes)


I've been coming across a lot of quotes lately from Clarissa Pinkola Estes, author of Women Who Run With the Wolves.
Most of them resonate with my situation – not just that of betrayal, but reaching middle age, having a career crisis and dealing with kids whose hormones are raging at least as much as my own. Her quotes reveal a quiet wisdom, an understanding that my life must be about finding contentment and wholeness within myself if I'm ever to completely heal from betrayal...and cope with everything else that comes my way.
I love the above quote because it reminds us that sometimes, when we feel that there is no way out of our pain or our situation, we need to draw doors "where there are none." We need to use our creativity to imagine a way out.
It can seem to require more than, especially at this point, we are capable.
But it's often when we feel least equipped that we find a hidden reservoir of strength.
When I look back on what I coped with -- learning of my husband's betrayal with one week before a book deadline and two chapters left to write, my mother dying suddenly three weeks after D-Day, the day-to-day mothering required by three young children – I'm astounded. At the time, I was unaware of my strength. I could barely drag myself out of bed to brush my teeth...and yet I can look back now and see that somehow I found it within myself to "draw a door where there was none."
To find support. To seek out hope. To create a new life. Not the one I thought I was moving toward, but one that -- though it remains a work in progress – shows promise of things I couldn't have imagined for myself.
What can you imagine for your self? What will your new life look like? And where is your door? 

Worrying that I Worry Too Much

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. Nothing major. Just a sense of anxiety and fear that would mount until I could move myself away from whatever was triggering it.

And 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, crack whores 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 very wretched!!)
It's one more instance where I refuse to let betrayal's long reach affect me any further.