Wednesday Word Hug: Anti-versaries

Credit: @introvertdoodles

A Visit From Your Future

I often link to older posts so that anyone reading can go deeper into a specific point or issue, or read about it from a different angle.
This is what took Kimberly, a relative newcomer to our secret sisterhood, to an old post of mine. Seven years old, to be exact. And reading through the comments she came upon something I'd written that struck her as so different from the Elle she read on this site more recently: strong and content. Comfortable with her choices.
This former Elle spoke of wrote this:

I was TERRIFIED of losing the marriage. TERRIFIED of losing my kids. I was so afraid of what I might lose...that I hung on for dear life. And I think I focussed on saving the marriage instead of saving myself. It's in hindsight that I wish I'd actually left, though likely temporarily. I wish I'd given myself the space to truly determine whether this was something I could get past...and gain the courage and confidence to know that I would be okay on my own. I know that now...but I think it took me longer to get there...and here we are still putting our marriage back together. 

 Just as we're lousy predictors of our future selves, we're lousy rememberers of our old selves. I admitted to Kimberly that though I know I wrote those words, I don't think often of those feelings. Reading it woke up some old memories but they feel vague and fuzzy, like a yellowed photograph.
And it drove home a point that I often take issue with: Strip "always" and "never" from your vocabulary.
Admittedly, dealing with infidelity is devastating and it drives us to extremes, including language. We are shattered. We are destroyed. We are devastated. We will never get over this. We will always regret our choice to stay/go. He will never change. We will always be sad.
While those things feel true, I'm here – from your future – to tell you they are not. 
I felt them too. I was utterly certain I would never ever, not in a million years, experience joy again. I was positive that I would regret staying and equally positive I would regret leaving.
Infidelity generates our survival instincts – it feels like an existential threat and so we respond in extreme ways. 
I did things and said things that, in hindsight, were the ravings and actions of a madwoman. And I was mad. As in crazed. 
So, likely, are you.
But here I am, from your future, offering you some perspective. There is no "always" or "never". The only thing life promises us is constant change. That's not to say some choices aren't better than others. It is to say that, particularly during those early days, our choices aren't always made with perspective. They're reactions not responses. They're more about avoiding pain than seeking peace.
That me who was terrified of losing her marriage? She was real. Her feelings were real. But they were transitory. And they were rooted in fear. Notice the language. "Terrified." "Lose." "Hung on for dear life."
I wish I could hug that terrified Elle and assure her that she's going to be just fine. Just as I wish I could hug each of you and assure you of the same thing.
Yes, you're feeling devastated and shattered. That is real. But it won't last. Your body is responding to what feels like a threat to its survival. 
The truth is, you have everything you need to care for yourself. You are not dependent on this other person. Even if it feels like you are. 
I am not the Elle I was. 

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.

Wednesday Word Hug

How to Deal with Paralysis (aka You Have Options)

There was nothing I could do. I was convinced of that. Absolutely nothing. I had no choice but to resign myself to a life of misery. I would sacrifice any chance of future happiness for myself in order to preserve stability for my children. What else could I do, right? I had no choice.
That felt absolutely true to me in 2007 when I was absorbing my husband's betrayal. I was desperate to avoid creating chaos for my children. My own childhood was marked by instability -- my mother's addictions, her psychiatric hospital stays and rehabs, a constant sense of foreboding. I would spare my children that but at the price of my own happiness.
Or so I believed.
Maybe you've convinced yourself that, no matter which door you choose – Door A means staying with a man who cheated on you, Door B means throwing him out and Door C means being left for the OW – what's really behind it is misery. Loss. A lifetime of unhappiness.
I hear it so often on this site. "I don't have any good choices." We feel paralyzed. Caught between shitty and shittier and, sometimes, shittiest. And it's true. There are no good choices because any of them are a response to heartbreak. And what we really want is to choose some magical door that will transport us back to a point in our marriage where there was no infidelity. What we really want is to not have to make any choice at all.
I know. It's not fair.
But here we are. Shitty. Shittier. Shittiest.
No good choices.
But let's not lose sight of the fact that we do, in fact, have choices. We are not paralyzed. We have options. Even if we don't like them, we have options.
And that's crucial to remember. Because it reminds us that we have power.
We say it a lot here, don't we? We cannot control other people but we can control ourselves. And, with time, we come to realize that's all we ever could control. And it's all we ever will. And we also come to realize that it's enough to be able to control ourselves.
So let's examine what some possible options are to us when we're reeling from the discovery of our partner's infidelity.
We could make an appointment with a therapist and, with the guidance of a trained and objective person, draw up a list of terms for reconciliation. Terms that include absolutely no contact with the OW. Total access to electronics. Access to any and all financial records/bank accounts. Disclosure of the infidelity to his family and friends. A weekly appointment for him with a counsellor experienced in helping unfaithful partners. Or whatever you need to begin to feel safe.
Another option might be to ask him to sleep on the couch or a guest room until you feel ready to sleep next to him again.
You might choose to ask him to leave. Or you might leave. Temporarily or permanent.
You might take some time off work, if possible. You might take a solo vacation.
I could go on but you get the idea. The point is, you have options. They might all seem horrible but, if you refuse to give in to all the reasons why the options are stupid and simply make a list of any and all options, you'll see that some are better than others.
Let me tell you a story.
Years before I knew my husband was cheating, we were arguing a lot about him not walking the dogs. Dogs, I might add, that HE wanted more than I did. I was pregnant, then nursing and sleep-deprived, then pregnant again. And still, he wouldn't walk the dogs. I was, literally, vomiting from morning sickness of people's lawns (they must've LOVED me!!) while I walked the dogs. Why was I walking the dogs? Because he wouldn't. No matter how much I begged and pleaded and tried to shame him into doing it.
I went to a therapist to complain about my lazy-ass husband who wouldn't walk the dogs. What was wrong with this guy? I asked. Why wouldn't he just do what I was asking? She listened and then she said: You can't make him walk the dogs. You are choosing to walk them yourself. What else could you do?
I kept coming back to ways I could get my husband to walk the dogs.
No, she said. He's made it clear he's not walking the dogs. What else could YOU do?
I was stymied. What could I do? I thought and thought.
Finally, exasperated she said to me, "I can think of a half-dozen other options."
Really? I couldn't think of one.
So she listed them:
Hire a neighbourhood kid.
Hire a dog-walking service.
Give the dogs away.
Move to an apartment with access to a yard.
And so on.
I had excuses why these were stupid options. It would cost money, it was a hassle. But what I was doing wasn't working. I resented my husband. He was sick of my nagging. And, on some level, I was enjoying feeling more responsible, more magnanimous, harder working.
Having to relinquish that role in which I felt superior made something clear to me: We were in an unhealthy dance and I was the one who needed to change the steps.
What I did was change my attitude. I decided that walking the dogs gave me exercise, which I needed. I packed up the kids in the stroller and off we'd go. It helped me meet some of the neighbours. I combined errands, like grocery shopping, with walking the dogs. I stopped asking my husband to walk them. I DID ask him to come with us to the dog park to let them run, which he often did.
My husband didn't magically start walking the dogs. But I stopped resenting him for it.
This might seem like a trite example. After all, dog walking isn't cheating. But it is about trying to get someone to change and feeling paralyzed because they won't.
And there's some connection to me post-betrayal.
Once I decided that staying was MY choice – a choice I could change at any time – I felt more empowered. Yeah, my choices might have been shitty, shittier and shittiest but they were my choices. Even not making a choice was a choice. MY choice.
So...you are not paralyzed, even if it feels like you are. You have options. And each choice will introduce new options.
There is no right way through this. There is only what feels most right to you. You get to decide what that is.

You are lovable, you are enough, you are more than just a Hallmark Holiday

Get yourself a miniature horse! Better than the ass you married. 

I woke up to this beautiful note from StillStanding1 today. It was so sweet and thoughtful that I wanted to share it here because I know that a whole of you struggle with this day.

Here it is:

Good morning lovely people, I just wanted to send you a quick note on this day, which can be a difficult day. I wanted to remind you all that you are loved, that you deserve kindness and care, and that there are amazing people out in the world who value and respect you right where you are.

Today is probably a day for radical self-care, if ever there was one. 

Let’s break out our revenge ponies (or tigers) and ride (well maybe not the pony and tiger groups together. I have a  feeling that might end badly)!

I hope you'll all recognize the truth in SS1's words and take her advice to heart. Radical self-care. Deep self-love. Revenge ponies or tiger-riding (take your pick!!). 

Love,

Elle

We say we want the truth. Do we really?

I was relentless. My mornings began with questions: Where did you go? What did she wear? My day was filled with questions: How much did you spend on her? How long did it go on? My nights stretched late with questions: What positions did she like? Did you hang out with her friends?
When I wasn't asking questions, I was poring over cell phone bills, VISA bills, rifling through drawers looking for receipts and cross-referencing dates. I was the Carrie Mathison of Homeland: Infidelity. And sure, I was good at it. But I was making myself crazy.
I was close to making my husband crazy too when I decided upon my 24-hour rule: I would make myself wait 24 hours before I asked the question that I absolutely believed I needed the answer to. Most times, by the time 24 hours had elapsed, the question was gone. I couldn't remember it. Which told me something: The details really didn't matter. They didn't change anything.
My husband had cheated on me. For years. With many people.
That is, really, all I needed to know.
That, and what I was going to do about it.
That doesn't stop me from insisting that cheaters need to answer our questions. Rebuilding trust is a painstaking exercise that involves a delicate dance in which the betrayer is always where he says he is, always with who he says he's with, always doing what he says he's doing. There can be no untruth. There can be no stretching of truth. There can be no minimizing of the truth.
There is only the truth, offered without compromise.
There will be glitches. There will be the guy who forgot, genuinely forgot, that he also stopped for a coffee on his way to a meeting because this stopping for coffee was a non-event. Honestly. There will be the guy who says he stopped for a "couple of beers" with his friends because he, honestly, thinks a "couple" can sometimes mean "three". That's not what we're talking about here. We're talking about the guy who "forgets" to mention that he bumped into the OW at the coffee shop he didn't tell us he stopped at. We're talking about the guy who isn't supposed to be at the bar with his buddies at all so by saying he had "only a couple" of beers, he's really saying "why are you so bent out of shape? Jeesh. I can't do anything."
So, sure, I think that we betrayeds need to be able to ask any question and expect an honest response.
But, as a discussion is taking place on another site, it has prompted me to consider, again, just how much truth we really need. And why.
Because sometimes our need to know extends into pain shopping. Pain shopping, for those who haven't heard the term before, is about refusing to shift focus from the affair, instead keeping ourselves locked into it. Pain shopping is about deliberately driving by her house even though another route is shorter. Pain shopping is about stalking her social media. Pain shopping is about playing a song that reminds us of the affair, on a loop. Pain shopping is asking questions about details of the affair that don't change a damn thing but ensure that we're talking about the affair, thinking about the affair, and adding highly flammable fuel to the ever-present fire of fury that's burning in our guts.
Do you really need to know, as I was sure I did, what type of underwear she wore? Do you really need to know what her favorite drink was? Or whether she wore her hair up or down?
Some details change the nature of the affair. Introducing an affair partner to children, for instance. Bringing her into your bed. But, for the most part, does it matter whether they met at your favorite coffee shop? Wouldn't it be better to not know that? To continue to enjoy your latte without trigger?
And finally, the poster here makes a point about how, eventually, a cheater will agree with our versions of "truth" just to get us to shut the hell up about it. Is that what we want? Isn't that exactly what we're trying to avoid? Lying to keep the peace? Lying to avoid conflict? Lying for any reason at all? If we say we want the absolute truth, then we need to be ready to hear it.
And that's something that a whole lot of us aren't ready for. In the early days post D-Day and sometimes ever.
Our spouses will have secrets. So will we. There are things that my husband will never know about me. There are things I'm still discovering about myself. I have secrets I may or may not share – about aging, about envy, about disappointment.
Coming to a point where I can accept that there are things about my husband's infidelity that I will never know was quite amazing. I never imagined I would ever get there. Now? I honestly don't care about so much about it. It feels almost like a different life.
I know that's hard for a lot of you to imagine. You feel cemented into the life you have right now – one in which you're desperate to understand why he did this and you think that understanding will come from details. You think that knowledge is power. You think that by constantly pulling these details into the light, you will come to understand.
What she wore and where they met and who said what to whom likely won't give you the answers you really need. Those are details. The real truth, the one we truly need, is why he cheated, what he believed about his marriage and the affair, what he's doing to ensure he never cheats again, and whether he deserves a second chance. And that truth gets unburied with a whole lot of digging.