Sex, Anyone?

I’m writing this, not in hopes of discouraging anyone, but to offer some perspective that we are indeed all very different.

A member of a betrayal recovery forum has so well described it:

Every single betrayal and recovery story is different. Not better/worse, easier/harder, but different.

Past experiences of betrayed spouse + past experiences of unfaithful spouse + non infidelity dynamics of the relationship + extent & nature & length of infidelity + extent & nature & length of lies to hide infidelity + when & how infidelity is discovered + how long discovery process lasts before full disclosure is truly reached + the attitude of the unfaithful + the attitude of the betrayed + the quality of support received + the quality of professional help received + other life factors in the midst of recovery = Every Single Story Is Individual and Unique

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I am over three years out from initial d-day of his sexual betrayal. Six years out from his admitting to spending all his retirement money in secret (mostly on others to be Mr Generous) and his pursuant mental breakdown. Differing levels of libido had been an issue for us for years.

In retrospect I believe part of my issues of lower libido were because he pressured and shamed me for sex. (He has now realized he has a form of Sexual addiction–addiction to being admired) Part was a natural and common response to the exhaustion of being a mother of two young kids. Later a result of perimenopause hormone fluctuations and the many unpleasant, draining symptoms that brings.

He has been doing a lot of ‘work’ attending AA, SA, ACA, EMSO (marriage betrayal recovery), HH (personal betrayal recovery) classes/meetings. That said he seldom completes homework either on time, rushed at last minute, or does not complete it at all. In short, he still resists looking at himself and doing the deep painful work of authentic change.

He has improved in his behavior. He no longer breaks dishes, throws things, rages. He does still get angry, talks to me contemptuously. I often feel like a pebble in his shoe.

All that said–we have not had sex since d-day. He does not feel safe, warm or cuddly to me–does not behave safe to me.

My individual counselor asks if I can for-see ever having sex with anyone (Even another man should my UH and I divorce). I respond–yes. I have no revulsion to sex. Just sex with him. I do not trust or respect him. He has not regained that. We are in an in house separation that has been since our Gottman therapist dropped us because he would not do the ostensibly simple work of approaching me to talk — again, part of his homework. He will not make amends, express remorse or empathy–especially no empathy.

All my research, all my learning over these many months support the deep feeling I have that reconciliation will not be possible until or if he reaches whatever his bottom is and invests in the process of recovery wholeheartedly and vulnerably.

I do not feel safe with even his touch. It feels scary and forced. I feel I must protect what is left of my heart and dignity. My libido has plummeted from quite high before the d-days, financial and sexual. I had been experiencing empty nester and post menopausal ‘zest’ as I have heard it termed. I was pursuing my writing passion and blooming, post kids. It was marvelous. I was full of energy, life and happiness.

Even during this sexual zest–sex at least once a day for a few years post empty nest–In retrospect I feel/see that his participation was more driven by self need and desire for admiration than any real intimacy. He was riding the coattails of my zest and reblooming–not connecting with me in open-hearted intimacy, only in a sexual manner. It had been so long and become so accepted that he did not share, it seemed ‘normal’. His usual surface ‘good guy’ image was in full force. All our friends loved him because he was so ‘good time Charlie’. I had come to accept his lack of emotional intimacy as a feature of him. I never stopped asking his thoughts and feelings or sharing mine–simply did not get any depth in response. Most often a ‘I don’t know’ or a shrug.

Am I ‘screwed up’ now? I don’t now what an expert might say–a woman who goes from low to high to non existent libido. I feel and see it as my ‘normal’ as a result of all the above factors.

Do I miss intimacy and resulting sexual closeness? Not often or strongly. I am investing my time in healing me. That effort does not seem to include missing sex. Would I like emotional intimacy–yes. It just does not seem in the cards right now.Emotional intimacy would certainly need to precede any rekindling of sexual desire. I am not a robot automaton. I will henceforth need emotional closeness to rekindle sexual desire.

So I attend ALanon (12 step group for people who have suffered the effects of someone else’s addiction(s) ) and remain open to finding new friends as well as reaching out to old ones. That said, all my old friends live far away, so it has made this process more difficult and at times lonely. My little dog offers me his unconditional love. This has been a huge support. My housemate (a renter in our house) offers a listening ear. I am growing and becoming stronger.

I guess what I am trying to convey is that sexuality is so very complicated and for many of us–perhaps women, more complicated– a fragile part of our recovery.

I am happy for all those who are forging through sexual and emotional reconnection in spite of triggers. I wish you peace and love.

And if you are struggling with any of this, know you are not alone. If you road is very different, you are normal as rain. If you feel like you are betraying yourself or ‘dirty’ to consider or be sexual with the person who betrayed you–normal too. We have so very much to grieve and process.

How are you handling this, recovery warriors?

Justice?

The quality of being just; righteousness, equitableness, or moral rightness: the moral principle determining right conduct.

Guided by truth, reason, and fairness. Done or made according to principle; equitable; proper. In keeping with truth or fact; true; correct.

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Could there ever be commensurate amends made to a person betrayed? What could be given, what offering made that could equal the theft of a spouse’s rightful and contractual place as priority in her husband’s heart, mind, body and actions?

Many a betrayed have tried to grapple with this. Everything from grace offered to a broken person’ outcry for blood. The variance of right justice are as different as there are betrayed.

Let’s try to unwrap this.

For those sisters and brother betrayed who had relationships before this marriage that included intimacy both emotional and physical, the advent of new of intimate betrayal is shocking, devastating and life changing, as it is for us all. For that particular group of betrayed that gave their first loving heart and body to their unfaithful, the wound is irreparable.

Once one has given the gift of one’s virginity to another, there is no second chance. It’s like being a little bit pregnant. You either are pregnant or you’re not. You have never had sex with another or you have. It is a once in a lifetime gift of one’s most precious possession–her body. I put it to you that having that gift devalued by blithely giving one’s body to another is the betrayal not only of vows, but the betrayal of one’s very physical self.

I remember having my son in law question the veracity of my wound. “You are no hero,” I still hear his angry and contemptuous tone in my ears. He, a war veteran who had experienced war’s atrocities, could not conceive of anyone short of holding their dying buddy in his arms, as having trauma. PTSD is so named because it covers any post traumatic event–not just war related. That said, what is the point of comparing other’s trauma to one’s own. Is it beneficial to one up another’s pain? Does that not bring more agony heaped upon the suffering?

I put it to you that the pain of betrayal is what it is. Life changing, life destroying, agonizing, intrusive thought producing, irrevocable damage to the heart, mind and body of the person betrayed. It alters our mind and body chemistry right down to a cellular level producing hours, days and months of illness.

The Body Keeps the Score. (Excellent research based book by Bessel Van Der Kolk MD, of the same name)

That illness will be in mind, body and spirit. There is no getting around the triggers, the vivid displays of betrayal in the mind, no getting around the sleepless nights, the diminished ability to fight off sickness, the questioning of God. “Where were you? How could you allow this atrocity to happen to me?”

Is there anything to replace a dead child in the arms of its mother? It there any way to return a beloved son to his family once the sniper’s bullet has pierced his body and left it lifeless? It there any way to restore the innocence of the child raped by a relative? Can a life’s savings be restored in retirement once it has been stolen? There are just some things in life that no amount of wishing, praying or toil will restore.

How, then, does anyone make restitution to a spouse from whom they have stolen time, money, intimacy, authenticity and exclusivity?

It is Impossible.

Then, dear struggling betrayed, how are we to forgive? How are we to move forward in our life if the person who stole the irreplaceable from us can not possibly repay the debt?

Grace.

Definition of grace

Unmerited divine assistance given to humans for their regeneration or sanctification A virtue coming from God A state of sanctification enjoyed through divine assistance.

Favor or goodwill. A manifestation of favor, especially by a superior.

I put it to you that God is not the only one capable of bestowing grace. It is a favor, yes, an act of goodwill, certainly. It is the ultimate act of forgiveness. It does not demand reconciliation, yet it frees the giver from a lifetime of bondage and victimhood otherwise in store for those who can not, do not dismiss the debt.

Impossible?

No.

The hardest thing you will ever do?

Probably.

Each of us has done things that have hurt another. Each of us has broken places where the light of wisdom and grace can seep through. Each of us has been on the receiving end of grace and forgiveness.

Is grace fair? No.

Does it stink to be placed in the position of offering grace? Yes

Will it save the quality of your life?

Inimitably.

Must you believe in God to bestow grace? No.

You can save your life.

Take your time…but get there. Please, dear wounded betrayed. Be good to and gentle with yourself. Take as much time as it takes. But get there.

To healing.

D.on’t E.ven N.o I. A.m L.ying

Photo by Bennie Lukas Bester on Pexels.com

D.E.N.I.A.L. often leads to victim blaming. The unfaithful often “Don’t Even Know I Am Lying”

That is how delusional is their thinking. And this is the therapist-speak for what the unfaithful often do:

Deny, Attack, Reverse Victim Offender = DARVO

Minimize, Avert, Reverse Victim Offender = MARVO

If your unfaithful is in denial, attack, minimizing harm, averting you, or shifting you into the offender role while making himself out to be a victim–you don’t have to believe it!

Speak your truth. Respond, but avoid being defensive. It does not work. Avoid apologizing to any such comment from your unfaithful as “I’m working so hard, You just don’t appreciate me.” If you are triggered–Walk away with dignity. Live to respond another day.

When calm, you might say something like:

“I don’t have to prove my point, my feelings or myself.”
“That’s not who I am. This conversation is over.”
“I am not being heard. It’s okay to be misunderstood.”
“I don’t have to win this conversation.”

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If your marriage counselor/therapist/clergy person ever says:

Therapist to betrayed: “How did you contribute to his infidelity?”

Therapist to unfaithful: “So where’s you list of things she’s done wrong?”

Therapist to betrayed: “You shouldn’t shame him because he’ll act out again.”

From clergy: “So..how often are you having sex? If you don’t meet his needs it’s like sending him off everyday with a loaded gun.”

From therapist to betrayed: “I think we need to make you a safe person so he won’t lie to you.”

From clergy: “Have you prayed for him. His sexual integrity depends on your prayers.”

Do not walk—run to a different therapist/helper.

DOn’t you live in denial either. You did not cause his betrayal. You can not fix it. It is not your fault. Don’t believe the lies, up to and especially the ones you tell yourself!

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If your unfaithful or ‘friend’ say something like:

Unfaithful: “I could not tell you the truth because you would go off the deep end”. Or, ” I might hurt you.”

Unfaithful: “I’m working so hard and you never think I’m doing enough.”

From a friend: “I’d never put up with that if he were my husband.”

From friend or family member: “Well it sounds like you haven’t forgiven him.”

Know that their comments are ignorant and/or abusive whether they recognize them as such or not. They either do not understand or are trying to deflect. It is not your job while you are in the midst of trauma and grief to appease them.

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Respond to those you wish to keep in your life:

“Betrayal Trauma is documented. It is real. It is difficult to understand unless you have experienced it yourself. Would you mind if I sent you a podcast/article?”.

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Holy cow, sister. I feel for you. You are in no way, shape or form to blame for your unfaithful spouse’s choice to betray you. You certainly do not deserve to be shamed, ridiculed, belittled or made to feel even worse than you already do.

Easier said than done. If you are struggling with this, know that you are not alone.

What of the above resonates with you?

Please leave a comment below and share what has worked for you in warding off these unwitting attacks on your sanity.

Don’t be in denial. Betrayal trauma is real.

He “Always Loved” Me?

A common refrain from the unfaithful is “But I never stopped loving you.” This belief along with ‘there’s no harm if no-one finds out” are part and parcel of the delusional thinking possessed by a person capable of betraying their spouse.

Yes–My spouse loved all I did for him. He loved having a clean organized home and yard. He loved my ability to stretch a dollar. He loved that I cared for the finances, paid the bills and saved for retirement. He loved the way I made sure the kids could attend extra curricular fun classes. He loved that I worked to earn enough money to make going to Europe as a family possible. He loved that I found a loving church and choir in which we participated. He loved that I found a wonderful dog to adopt and made sure she was well cared for. He loved that my dad helped us afford our first and second home. He loved that my dad gave us his used cars so we did not have to buy one. He loved how I agreed to watch the kids while he went to his military drill weekends even though he knew well it would mean two full weeks without any break from mommy duties. (And *bonus* gave him time and means to have his affair.”Thanks for caring for home and kids while I had sex with another woman, my dearly beloved.”) He loved that I made weight watcher meals from scratch, froze them so we could eat them during the work week and stay on our healthy goals. He loved that I cleaned the house top to bottom each week. He loved that I did the yard work including all the hedge trimming and weeding. He loved that I set up dinner parties, birthday parties, wrote Christmas cards, bought all the Christmas and birthday presents. He loved that I found YMCA Indian Princess program for him to go to with our daughter (while I stayed home with our son). He loved that I advocated for our disabled son with teachers, administrators and doctors so he did not have to face them or the reality.

Yeah–he loved all that and more. He loved that I took care of myself, was fun arm candy at business parties, kept in touch with ‘our’ friends whom were pretty much my friends that he came along with. He loved going to my writer’s conventions and having fun at the parties. In short, he loved riding my coattails. Yep—he loved ‘me’…..NOT.

Love acts in the best interest of the beloved. Love does not betray. Love does not abandon for ‘fun and frivolity’, his affair accomplice’s nick name for their time together. Love does not keep secrets. Love does not share personal information with another. Love does not include being intimate with another woman. Love does not groom and seduce other women not your wife. Love does not include lying, cheating and stealing from your beloved. It does not include spending retirement money through hidden accounts. It does not include blaming the victim.

If all that were love–please, dislike me. Please treat me like all the other people in your life with whom you acted like a fun respectful guy. All those acquaintances and friends. Please keep on your image protection mask with me too. Please, please DO Not use me for your needs and pleasures.

If all those 27 years of lying cheating and stealing from me were love—please keep it. If you think that was in any shape or form love–you’ve no idea what love is. You lived in self delusion.

I pity you in your shallow, intimacy anorexic, fake life—watching we who lived in genuine truth feed your endless need for more. We experiencing genuine joy and love. You, always looking through a dirty life lens of justifications and guilt. What kind of a life must that have been? A life of lies–the worst of which were to yourself.

Fellow betrayed–Did your unfaithful partner love you–the person, not what you could provide for him/her throughout his or her betrayals? Absolutely not.

We the betrayed were doormats beneath a person who chose to wipe his filthy feet on us–at our expense…. all while portraying himself as a good guy.

We the betrayed were, however, living in our truth. We have nothing of which to be ashamed. We actually loved our spouse.

If you have the courage to admit that you’re a little scared, and have the ability to smile even as you cry, the nerve to ask for help when you need it, and the wisdom to consider it when it’s offered, then you have everything you need.

Is any of this easy to grapple with? Nope.

The floor is yours…

Truth be told, the most important decision you will ever make is what you do with the time that is given to you. Let every day be a part of a dream you can touch. Let every day contain love you can feel. Let every day be a great example of a life truly lived. You, my friend, have lived your truth.

Please leave a comment below and let us all know…

What do you need to start making time for again?

Marriage Exhausted

Golden State’s drought-stricken wildfire-ravaged hills, dales and deserts are experiencing an extraordinary gloriously showy display of Springtime Wild Flowers. Our unusually persistent December, January and February rain showers have awakened the sleeping seeds that have lay dormant awaiting their chance.

All those billions of seeds needed was water in consistent, ongoing amounts to nourish them. A seed requires more than sun and soil. It is water that softens the tough outer protective covering. Water that allows each seed to burst forth in all its glorious beauty.

The grass was not greener over there, dear unfaithful. You just failed to water the grass beneath your feet in your own backyard. You created emotional drought in your marriage. You starved your wife of the water of authenticity and she withered.

I gave my all to my marriage….a veritable flood of supportive giving. So much so that I lost much of my own being. I gave my soul to the UH, the kids, the house. The main goal in life was to support him, them, so they might reach for their dreams. I supported them in every way.

And turns out… he’s the one who wasn’t contributing enough. He had secrets from before the marriage. Family of origin abuse. Alcoholism. Abandonment. He kept secrets during the marriage (not infidelity but stress and things that bothered him). He was not available to me emotionally. In essence, I became the marriage. He checked out. Hotel family was born. He was the frequent visitor.

My only crime was loving and caring too much. Perhaps if I would’ve stood up more for myself and demanded what I needed, set boundaries, things might have been different. That was my contribution to the ‘exhaustion’. Funny how it all seems so normal when it was happening. Marriage is supposed to be hard, a struggle, require sacrifices, become less exciting over time. And so it did.

Over time, My UH reduced contributing to everyday responsibilities of house and kids and I filled in the blanks. That sacrificing thing–for those we love. I kept no secrets, shared my feelings (not that he was listening) planned dates, bought the only gifts anyone ever received, redid our fixer upper house bought in a neighborhood for the good schools it could afford our kids, created a vegetable garden, tried to raise healthy kids, tried to keep a warm and welcoming home and always made nutritious, delicious meals. I rarely spent time with friends because I was too busy being mom, dad, teacher, counselor, fix it specialist, philosopher, cook and bottle washer. I had no time for art and being creative. No time to sit and relax. I never read a fiction book- only books on being a more helpful, educated advocate for our disabled son, a better wife and mother. I set aside me…for what I thought was a ‘season’–the season of childrearing.

My husband kept secrets from before the marriage and added to them steadily over the years until an affair was practically imminent. I didn’t stand up for myself aside from plaintiff complaining to him about my miserable struggles a couple times a year. He would appease me with a shrug and making breakfast some weekend mornings.

When asked what I liked to do with my free time I said, “Be together with the kids” or “I have no idea. Where would I like to go? I don’t know- wherever you want.” I dreamed of Europe and allowing the kids to see it before they left the nest. My whole world opened up when I spent a year abroad in college– learning no book can provide. And so I worked to earn the extra it would take to get us all there.

I became a shadow of myself. If there is one good thing I can say about my Uh’s affair- it’s that all this was highlighted, like a huge floodlight had been turned on. I’d allowed myself to be used in all my loving, trusting, giving, joy–I was taken advantage of.

I am now on a mission to find me again. There is no marriage or real relationship as long as he avoids me and digging deep for his own healing- that’s all still up in the air. But I do have a new kind of hope for myself. No matter what happens I am determined to become me again–or maybe a me I’ve not explored.

I will never ever again fall into the trap of burying my identity for the sake of others. I will never be a doormat in this relationship, or in any other.

By letting go of what “should” happen or what “could” happen every step of the way, I can free up my life to lots of little surprises and joys. I plan on having a wonderful time going on dates–with me. I will bloom. Going for a ‘super bloom’ – Christine Renewed.

The Courage To Heal

What?

That’s insane. Why would anyone remain in the hellishly agonizing place of intimate betrayal? Why couldn’t I do what so many still broken unfaithful exclaim, “You’re not over it yet? We’ve already talked about it!”

To which I say, “Really? What color is the sky in your world?” And then I remember that unless you have experienced betrayal by the most significant, trusted person in your life, you can’t know the machete to the heart that it inflicts. My whole world was made tossed salad, scrambled eggs with shells, a post apocalyptic scene to rival the most vivid CGI disaster movie.

“Who the hell are you?” I thought. I obviously had no idea to whom I was allegedly ‘married’. Not the person he’d represented, that’s for sure. How could the man I allowed to touch, caress, have sex with me, give that precious gift away to someone else? The images of him and her performing the intimate acts of lovers filled the screen of my mind night and day. No matter how hard I tried to take the standard advise of therapists and betrayal specialists to mindfully focus on myself, the horror show kept flickering to life without regard to time or place. How could he share the same precious things with her he’d promised to me and me alone? What a fake. What a charlatan. What a liar.

They say time heals all wounds. That, dear betrayed, is largely bull, or so you may have discovered. Time may blunt the razor’s edge of pain, but the ghastly assault of reality on the betrayed’s limbic system is unavoidable, unbeckoned, unwelcomed.

Triggers.

Not unlike the war veteran, the assault survivor, the parent of a murdered child, the victim of any life threatening/altering trauma with ingrained images of horror indelibly branded into their brain – the survivor of intimate betrayal must find within her the resources to heal.

Wouldn’t it just be easier and less painful to die? This pain is unlike anything I have ever felt. It is so excruciating there are times death would indeed have been more welcome. This is an all too common feeling when reality is torn asunder by the one person you relied upon to always have your back. Abandoned. Rejected in the most intimate way possible. Betrayal is such an ugly word–an uglier act.

This life experience will test the metal of the hardiest soul. It is the stuff of the worst horror novels, the death of a dream.

This is gonna require enormous courage, girl. This is going to test the very core of your beliefs about life and your place in it. This is going to require you to gather all the fortitude you have, every day of your life for as long as you live. *Climb Every Mountain music swells in the background* This will never go away, be proved false or be forgotten. Yep, you’re stuck with the shrapnel deeply embedded in your flesh–the wicked shards of your spouse’s choices.

But you will heal. Scarred for life, yes, but the pain will go. Like a physical wound, it will be an ugly scar, but you will one day be able to look at it, even touch it, and know you survived. Be proud of your survival. Do better — thrive.

Be brave, dear warrior.

You are so very worth it.

When He Left

Inspired by a poem
By Mary Inman Begley

When He left
He used her support to exit
The one hidden behind
two small children, three and five
have now grown to adulthood
The one buried under
summer naps inside sun-drenched tents
The other surrounded by
school bullies and classroom terrors
The door labeled “never use” by
A woman in love.

When He Left
She wore
Greifs gown
with clouded windows
& magnifying mirrors
Reflecting his lies & her pain.

When He Left
She wrapped herself
in misery’s overcoat
with straitjacket buckles
& sweaty nightmares
Stifling her voice.

When He Left
She tasted
Dependency’s cake
No more romance-novel promises
Or empathy facades
Prolonging his lies.

When He Left
She stumbled
and fell into
a stifling-hell
no validation—trapped
by pity’s pride
And there she stayed– for a time.

But

When She Emerged
She wore
Adventure’s backpack
Open-sky explorations
Summer-break memories
Releasing her inner hippie.

When She Emerged
She wrapped herself
in new friends blankets
With coffee-shop warmth
And gratitudes weave
Launching her dignity.

When She Emerged
She drank
Learning’s cup
its brisk-air lectures
its linked-hands knowledge
Opening unmapped trails.

When She Emerged
She kicked over her trash can of
I’ve abandoned-you hurts.
And drove in her black-freedom car
To one toddlers jabbering & held her hand
To new slumber-party friends & a cousin’s laughter
To jazz clubs & open-mic nights
To airports & long-haired wisdom
To writers’ retreats & cooking classes
To musical plays & second hand sales
To college singers & starry night concerts
To soup-kitchens & environment lovers
To pod-casts & blog writing pasts

When She Emerged
She stood tall
Took in all
Reached inside
Unfurled outside
Drew it in, breathed
And celebrated life.

Isolation and Fighting the Lies

When I found out about my UH’s infidelity, my past and present instantly morphed into a surrealism not unlike Picasso’s dysmorphic representations of people and places. If I had been so blindsided and unaware of his secret life, how could I trust any of my reality? How could I trust my own judgement? It is one of the worst effects of being intimately betrayed. You have no earthly way of knowing what motives or actions your unfaithful took that were genuine and what were colored by the many lies inherent in committing and hiding infidelity.

As time passes I have regained some of my ability to separate the people, places and events of the twenty seven years I lived inside the framework of his secret deceptions. Fairly early on, post D-day, I told myself that I had done the very best I could have done at being a good mother, homemaker and employee. The feedback I received over the years has been overwhelmingly positive, often bordering on amazement that I was so organized, productive and accomplished. More importantly I knew in the very core of my soul that I was an exceptionally giving person.

Good start. For those women (and betrayed men) who do not possess such assured self-confidence, the power of isolation inherent in intimate betrayal can be a veritable ego wrecking ball.

Even so, I spent weeks and months in a sort of free fall. I perseverated over my past trying to insert this new reality into the timeline of my life. My UH was not helpful—at all. He remained deep in his shame, hiding, denying the severity of the fallout, blameshifting, minimizing — all that stuff so sadly common when an unfaithful person’s lies are shoved into the glaring light of day.

To this day he does not approach me—does not talk about anything but the mundane day to day realities of life living under the same roof. “What’s for dinner?” “Do we need more milk?” “Where’s the remote?” –Nothing to do with the dinosaur in the room – his betrayals.

So he lives in the front room, I in the back. I would not even dignify us as roommates because he still fails on regular basis to tell me where he’s going, what he’s doing, when he’ll be back. You know—common courtesy that my other roommate, a really nice guy who rents another room in my house, tells me naturally without a hitch. How broken must a person be to be afraid of the person he swore to love and protect? Afraid I might not agree with where he’s going or what he’s thinking; certainly afraid to process the pain of his infidelities.

And so I fight for my life—my happiness going forward. I know I love my life even if that means my ‘husband’ is not in it. I am grateful for my family, this country and all the joy my work has given me. I fight to do what is not natural to me—get out of the house and connect with strangers. I go to Alanon to hear inspiration and wisdom about how to find serenity and peace despite anything my ‘qualifier’ may or may not be doing. I can only control my own choices. I have power over my own life. I must focus on that which I can control–me. It has always been so, even though I allowed myself to be lulled into a false sense of security via this thing they call ‘marriage vows’.

I have to admit I am sometime jealous of other women who have loving, faithful spouses. I know my UH’s brokenness has nothing to do with me, but damn, I grieve having my dream shattered. Still I fight the lies—societal lies that tell me I somehow failed. I know I am a good, loving and supportive wife. Yet I fight the lies my spouse told me. “What did you expect?” he said on d-day. “You never had any sex with me.” (notice black and white, all or nothing thinking) Grand rewriting of history. Huge distortions, delusions, exaggerations, blame shifted to me saying I purposely rejected him. His self manufactured lies ruled his life. In truth it was he who did the abandoning. I know this in my head. My heart is still shattered. I know this is his brokenness.

Doesn’t make it hurt any less. I strive toward complete acceptance. This is the hand I have been dealt. Many blessings are in that hand. It also happens to contain intimate betrayal. Other women have lost their husbands; some to physical death, some to emotional death. It seems somehow particularly unfair that mine should have chosen to emotionally abandon me. Is this anything like what a wife left behind by her husband’s suicide grieves? Disconnection/death by choice/ death through brokenness? Physical death would have left me shattered, yet I’d have had finality and choice of moving forward in my life without the lies and deception that have kept me mired in place with a false, disengaged, underinvested spouse pretending to be otherwise.

Spilt milk.

Water under the bridge.

Over.

Done.

And so I move on trying to find a new life. A good life. A life I can love.

I will do it. I will struggle, stumble, make mistakes, hurt, sweat, and sometimes fail. I will find others to support me on my way, and I them. I will love my life again.

I will prevail.

A Bitter Pill

I remember singing Judy Collins “Since You’ve Asked” to my then boyfriend, later to be my husband. I’d had some dates in high school, some puppy crushes, even one great guy I loved, but I never belonged to any of them. My heart, my body was not their’s. It wasn’t until I met my future husband that I gave myself completely. I gave him my all, body and heart. Yeah, even in the seventies there were virgins in college. I was one of them.

I don’t know, but I suspect that we female humans are endowed with hormones and a heart that bonds with a man we give our heart and body to. Is it nature’s way of drawing a woman to a man so that any babies that might come from their sexual union would have a nest–a family to grow in? That is what it felt like to me. Nature’s plan to protect the woman, the children.

My future husband was different than any boy or young man. He held the key to my essence. He was THE one I felt safe and protected with, to give my precious body to. My body that I can’t separate from my heart, my soul. At least not this side of eternity.

I found a deep love song of that time to try to express this. I sang it to him….then.

What I’ll give you since you asked
Is all my time together;
Take the rugged sunny days,
The warm and Rocky weather,
Take the roads that I have walked along,
Looking for tomorrow’s time,
Peace of mind. As my life spills into yours,
Changing with the hours
Filling up the world with time,
Turning time to flowers,
I can show you all the songs
That I never sang to one man before.We have seen a million stones lying by the water.
You have climbed the hills with me
To the mountain shelter,
Taken off the days one by one,
Setting them to breathe in the sun. Take the lilies and the lace
From the days if childhood,
All the willow winding paths
Leading up and outward,
This is what I give,
This is what I ask you for;
Nothing more.

Sexual and emotional betrayal and all the lies inherent not only destroys the promises, the precious exclusivity, it makes a mockery of the one who so deeply gave them. It thumbs its nose at what it means to be committed to care for another soul above all others. It kills the soft heart. It wrings the joy from the giver like some great and powerful vise leaving nothing but a dry withered leathery thing in place of what used to be such a full and vital organ.

My heart has been used and abused in the most vile, dark and complicitous way. I could have never imagined it. I did not ever once think it possible. Inconceivable. Not him. Not my dearest most precious love.

I have been used for all my goodness, all my trust and faith and love poured into the one who betrayed that gift. The agony of it is indescribable. I do not think he will ever know, ever feel the depths of the consequences to me.

“Peace of mind” – never again. Not unless God were to make it so. I am powerless over the grief of it. I bleed trust, faith, joy. I bleed at the injustice, the inequity, the anguish, night terrors, the day terrors.

All those dreams of my young self, like boats, I thought would sail in time. The life we’d build together. “Us” would be a force beyond demise, beyond besmirching. Let no man put asunder.

He promised it. He promised me. And I think at the time he meant it. He meant it.

The promises are all broken. Nothing left but defensiveness, anger, contempt where there used to be a gentle kind young man. A young man who adored me. He murdered that gentle soul on the alter of his brokenness, selfishness…. Oh, the grief of it.

The bitter pill that will not go down my throat. The pill that I fight to reject with every ounce of my being. The bitter that I will not let consume my heart. I will look for the beauty–all there is for which to be grateful. A life preserver of gratitude.

And there is a universe of people, places and things that are astoundingly beautiful. I will survive. I will thrive. I will be grateful.

Gratitude is the antidote to my grief— and yours.

I will not be a bitter woman. Bitter lemons.

I will dream… and taste the sweetness of the fruits of this life.

Celebrate Gratitude

Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Pexels.com

Desperate to love. Desperate for a life well lived. Desperate to regain all of me and grow. Desperate to live this life fully and well…

I am a loving woman. I love many people, places, things. I adore with a depth felt forever. I am so grateful for all the blessing this life has bestowed.

I celebrate…

My infant granddaughter’s smiling eyes; chubby, glowing cheeks

The warmth of the California sun

Music – Choral, piano, ballads, rock, cosmic jazz, violins….and so much more

Warm, dry ‘Santa Ana’ breezes

Fast walking, deep breathing, cooling breezes

Spicy flowers in a vase

Loving gaze and wagging tails of my dogs

Deep rich aroma of coffee. That first taste.

The ‘super bloom’ after a long winter of rain.

The memory of my father’s love

The many memories of the glorious European explorations I’ve been blessed to have