The Executive

Remember that Disney Pixar movie, Inside Out, where the little characters representing parts of the interior personality of a little girl run around the headquarters in the brain vying for attention and control? What a cute idea– steeped in actuality.

Riley Anderson is born in a small town in Minnesota. Within her mind’s Headquarters, five personifications of her basic emotions — Joy, Sadness, Fear, Disgust, and Anger — come to life and influence her ways of doing things via a control console (the executive). ‘Joy’ acts as a de facto leader.

We all have different segments of our personality, different emotions, that jump up and down at times, telling us what they want us to do. Because Riley had joyous memories predominate in her short life, Joy, the emotion, was in control.

This too is often the case in real life. What our past, particularly our family of origin issues, has taught us tends to be a default as to how we view our world. Could be dangerous, no?

I know in the case of my UH, as he describes it, fear and abandonment ruled his dysfunctional alcoholic family and his isolating boarding school youth. In my case, my parents were overwhelmed by the rebelliousness of my only sibling brother Dave. I couldn’t help but tune into the dynamic and thus became the ‘good child’– the one who never made waves or caused problems. I kept my side of the street squeaky clean and tidy all while trying to placate the underlying anxious tone in my house by being cheerful and giving.

The perfect storm for a marriage. I gave. He took. I felt it was my job to keep the family running smoothly. He felt relieved of that responsibility because he deserved it after all that lonely abandonment and rule following he never wanted nor agreed to. Highly empathic giver meet severely broken good guy poser with deep (hidden) abandonment and entitlement issues.

For him, addiction was almost inevitable—multiple addictions. As we know, addictions are the symptom, not the cause. And boy did he have a lot of cause in his mind. That added to his anger, fear and disgust running rampant over his joy. Poor coping skills.

My joy and fear were my major persuaders though a good solid upbringing void of abandonment, financial want or addiction dynamics. It led me to view everyone as basically good with good intentions, to be approached out of curiosity and love–definitely given the benefit of the doubt for being upright people.

Stage set for being taken advantage of, fooled and blindsided.

Variations of this dynamic are sadly played out time and again. We live in a broken world that creates broken people who transmit their pain until and unless they heal it.

Enter grief. We need to grieve the consequences of other’s brokenness upon us. It is incumbent upon each and every one of us to take responsibility for our actions and healing the results of other person’s actions. Ever heard the phrase “Life is not fair”? How True. We can stop the intergenerational pain with us.

It is also my responsibility to remain in reality and not allow myself to justify cruelty in any form as a result of any hurts inflicted upon me. We are all responsible to use our headquarter’s executive, our upper brain function, our humanity to mitigate all those emotional characters that are screaming in our virtual ear to act out. That is what separates ‘the men from the boys’, to use an outdated cliche. It is what defines immature or childish responses from mature adult, thought-out, emotionally controlled response.

We are all responsible to grow up, face realities and act in mature ways that neither hurt us or others. Yes–even those of us who came from dysfunctional families and childhood environments.

Our executive is ultimately able to control our choices. That is the mark of sentient human animals. That is the hallmark of responsible adulthood. That is the true manifestation of ‘healing’ from childhood wounds.

To healing.

When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me.

– 1 Corinthians 13:11

Our Brain Can Change

I’ve been reading about something called ‘neural plasticity’. In the midst of the seeming endless period of ‘recovery’ I really needed to read something positive and hopeful.

How could some scientific biological brain doctor stuff be uplifting?

When one finds oneself stuck in the midst of the slog of trying to change one’s attitude about one’s unfaithful spouse—when one has waited month upon month upon month to see any change of heart in the unfaithful, it can get pretty discouraging.

And then I read a book that described what science has found to be true in we humans. When we act a certain way long enough, the neural connections in our brains actually change. They adapt to our new way of behaving and that behavior not only becomes tolerable, it becomes part of us. In other words it would be as uncomfortable to return to the unhealthy ways we behaved, as it was to act ‘as if’ we wanted to behave in this more integrity-full healthy way.

Example: Suppose I am given community service at the homeless shelter to make meals. At first I go along because I’ve either been told to do so under duress or someone has shamed me into doing it. It doesn’t really matter.

My human brain allows for me ‘faking it until I make it’. I will actually come to not only tolerate cooking those meals, I will want to continue. The action itself will become its own reward and my very brain structure–my neurons—will reconfigure to support this newfound ‘habit’.

It is not a quick fix. It won’t happen over night. But it WILL happen.

I believe this is why so many 12 step sponsors require acts of service of their spons-ees. The sponsor gives his spons-ee a task(s) which the sponsee-ee is told to do no matter how he feels about doing it. I have heard story after story shared by those in recovery that mirrors the positive effect of repetitive action becoming their very nature.

How wonderful and hopeful is that?

We can change the way we act and so can they. We can change for the better. The key is A-C-T-I-O-N. Rinse and repeat.

Evisceration

eviscerate

to remove the entrails from; disembowel. To deprive of vital or essential parts.

I have yet to read a visceral enough description to convey the experience of being intimately betrayed by your avowed spouse. The word eviscerate, not at all pretty, comes close. We betrayed have indeed been deprived of essential parts–our trusting heart, our past, present and future paradigm, our history, our exclusivity, our preciousness to our spouse.

Yeah, I’ve read all the psychological explanation about attachment distress and how vital attachment is to infants. They literally die without it. The same dynamic is woven into the most intimate and important relationship of adulthood–the marriage partner.

It was literally beyond my conception to imagine my husband abandoning me to be with another woman. Inconceivable. He’d never voiced so much as a whisper or a hint of willingness or ability to be so duplicitous. On the contrary, he reveled in the ‘we-ness’ of us. He tagged along on all my outings and concerns and I, his. He worked a full time job, deposited his paycheck into the family budgeting account and engaged in fun activities with our kids. Sure—he complained about not enough sex as nearly all men do. He pretended normal.

He was always present, at least physically, in the important family events. I strived to get him to share more of his thoughts and concerns…longed for more intimate connection and chalked up his weak to non existent ability to share as just him—the classic male as I’d read so widely about.

A comment in a recent infidelity recovery thread hit the nail on the head for me. The betrayed wife was trying to answer an unfaithful husband’s query as to why his wife did not talk to him.

“You cut out her guts, like a wild animal in the field, and left her to bleed out and die.”

That was a powerful image. That felt right in all its wrongness. That is the gut wrenching pain of realizing the one person in your life that promised to always protect you and love you did the most vile eviscerating thing one human being can do to another. It is betrayal at its deepest most wounding level.

The betrayed wife went on to comment that she had never run across another betrayed spouse who could understand how one human being could do that to another– inflict life long, life eviscerating trauma on their spouse for the gain of their own pleasure.

Virtually–you destroyed me to have fun. I was obliterated in your mind, your body, your actions. You ignored my humanity and you robbed me of everything I held sacred about the most important relationship of my life. You cast aside the mother of your children, the ‘love of your life’, to have pleasure and fun.

The English language is rich and beautiful. The likes of Shakespeare have caressed the native speaker’s heart and ears with the elegant beauty, the depth and breadth of its power to evoke understanding and emotion. Yet there simply is no way to describe the screaming terror and pain in the moment and all the moments following the moment a spouse is found out to have shared the most intimate, private, exclusive, precious act of sex with another. It is indescribable. I apologize as words fail me. Words fail every author, every writer, every therapist, every common betrayed. It is the worst pain imaginable and then some. It has been described as trumping all other life traumas by a mile by those who have experienced those other horrendous traumas as well.

It is simply unimaginable the cruelty one human being can inflict upon another. One has to go no farther than to access images of Auschwitz victims–bodies piled like so much garbage in common holes dug into the dirt. All humanity stripped from their bodies. They treated in the most vile way.

Man’s inhumanity to man. It is an absolute requirement to dehumanize another being before you can inflict such atrocity. It was required of the unfaithful too. They had to dehumanize their spouse to rob her of her human right to self determination, and common respect.

I have been eviscerated of everything I held precious between a man and a woman. I was mocked as unimportant in the large picture of our lives. My life’s work and giving deemed unimportant. Only important for the good I could provide, but my humanity, my heart, my soul were valueless. Eviscerated.

No, I am not exaggerating. I understand there are many who don’t understand, who don’t believe, who can not comprehend how the act of sexual and emotional infidelity could be that painful. Like having a limb removed without anesthetic–I believe I will never comprehend the physical pain of that either, God willing I never experience it. But I believe it is true.

No-one would ever consider telling a war veteran of bloody unimaginable horror to just get over it. “Don’t react to that firecracker, you sissy. That’s stupid, weak. You’re just playing the victim.”

But I’ve had the same admonition from well meaning people when my trauma is triggered.

Indescribable. Unimaginable. Life long and life altering horror.

And we, the betrayed are left to heal ourselves, just as any victim of physical injury is, no matter the injustice of the cause.

When will it ever seem fair? Never.

Compassion. Kindness. Love is the balm.

Entertaining Thoughts

Nope…I’m not here to entertain you with thoughts. What I mean by the title is just this…

I can’t keep thoughts from coming into my head, but I can decide whether to entertain them. By allowing an endless loop of a thought, I am not making a mindful choice. I am allowing my thoughts to rule me. Oh what a habit we make when we are the victim of trauma. It’s human. It’s natural. It is totally understandable.

But it’s not hurting anyone but ourself.

A change in attitude is in order and that requires a change in our thinking.

I remember early on in my long road to recovery I was inundated with torturous thoughts of betrayal–the acts, the consequences, the unfairness, the anxiety. How I wished this were not my life. How I wished I could be anywhere or anyplace or be anyone but me. It was pure hell on earth.

It seemed as though my thoughts ran away with me. That I had no control. ….And then my dear friend threw a life preserver. She said that in her early recovery days from her spouse’s infidelities, she practiced, more like forced, herself to stay present in the moment.

I remember talking to her on my cell phone pleading for a way to make it all stop. How could I get off this merry go round of agony? The bombardment of painful images and losses just would not stop. I was desperate.

She asked what was right in front of me. I paused and realized that I had no idea. No idea because images of his betrayal were too busy occupying the theater of my mind.

“A field.” I yanked myself into the present.

“What kind of field?”

“I dunno. Weeds. Uh, wildflowers.”

“And what else?”

“Nothing else.” How stupid.

“Are there any trees?”

“Yeah. Some pine trees about a block down and eucalyptus lining the road to the right.”

“Now you’re getting it.”

“Getting what?”

“What do you smell?”

“Smell? I dunno. Uh…” I lifted my nose to the air. “Cow manure…no fertilizer. I think they must be fertilizing their grass.”

“Who?”

Geez… “The people down the street. Their lawn looks kinda dirty. Like they spread dirt all over it, but it stinks.”

“And what does their house look like?…..”

We played the ‘describe it’ game for a further few minutes until she had me telling the kind of insects I could hear and the color of the dirt.

“And that’s the way you do it. No matter where you are, you’re there.”

“Yeah.”

“And there are people, places and or things to describe.”

“Yeah.”

“When is the last time you thought of him or her or your stuff?”

“Right before….”

“Oh….Yeah.”

That has been one of the most powerful tools I have been able to use to break my cycle of painful thoughts. That and chanting/reciting at night when in bed and the lights are off and there’s nothing to see. I say the alphabet. I pray a hundred Hail Marys. I sing the 99 bottles of beer song. Whatever occupies my mind with repetitions, with safety and familiarity. And gratitude.

I am so grateful that I can choose my thoughts. I don’t have to allow someone else’s choices to live rent free in my brain.

I choose.

I choose beauty. I choose to be serene. I choose gratitude.

And I choose life.

I Hate Grieving, Not Grief

Infidelity betrayal is probably the most complicated and difficult life experience to handle, to grieve. It has so very many layers of losses that reach into the past, present and future.

-It is normal to grieve all the losses. Grief is the way to cleanse your heart and honor the truth of what you have been through.

-Grieving opens the door to healing and acceptance.

-Grief can be overwhelming and seem never ending. Releasing the pain is the best way to keep the pain from boiling over. Schedule grief time. Allow it to wash over you. You must feel it to heal it. Immensely difficult, but true.

-Writing about your feelings actually does help. Letters you never send and tear up or burn.

– It won’t last forever. No feeling, no matter how strong, lasts – the ecstatic ones and the heart rending ones. Remind yourself often of this fact.

– Limit triggers where possible. Advocate a safe environment, enforce boundaries to make it so. Make a list of triggers and remove as many as you can from your life. Enforce your safety boundaries. You deserve safety!

– Get out of the house. Walk, jog, breathe in the fresh air, notice nature. All this can boost your endorphins.

-Cut out as much junk food as you can. You don’t need blood sugar spikes and dips to deal with too.

– Count your blessings. Gratitude is indeed the antidote to protracted grief. It will lessen the severity, the duration and the intolerability. Really.

-Prioritize you and your welfare. Chances are you have given and given for so long you’ve set yourself far back in the queue of attention. It is time to give to yourself. Rest as much as possible. Grief is exhausting. Be kind to yourself as you would to a friend or a daughter suffering this most awful life disappointment. You are in trauma. You deserve as much time as you need to heal.

And you will heal. No feeling lasts forever. You will regain your energy and your life. You will feel the shroud lift. You will thrive again.

Personal Renaissance

Photo by Dominika Roseclay on Pexels.com

This is what I am aiming for, working toward, praying for, hoping for. After all the pain, trauma, doubt and wishing I’d just be gone/finished, it seems a small price to ask. After the thousands of hours reading, listening to pod casts, taking recovery classes, working assignments, talking in therapy, journaling, writing blogs, thinking, thinking and thinking some more one might think a renaissance is just around the corner.

I remember when I wrote novels and worked at having readers discover them, the common wisdom was ‘don’t give up—success/critical mass may be just after you give up.’ Well, I didn’t give up cold turkey. I decided that the hours spent inside my head and that of forming characters might better be spent in reality working a job that paid some bills. I haven’t lost them all. Those characters were as real as anyone I pass on the street. But they have gone into stasis. They live in an obscure little corner of the internet where my pen name dot com and my Amazon author page rest.

I thank them and that period of my life for bringing into the forefront of my attention that I am a talented writer with something to say, that I can entertain as well as educate and that I can hone my senses to a fine pitch so that I might experience the world in a richer, fuller way than those who need not figure out how to describe it in words so that another human being might relate.

My writing was a renaissance in and of itself. I awoke to the nuances around me that had remained dormant to my senses as I was raising children and growing a family. My mindfulness blossomed – a resplendent place to reside in long languorous hours filled with heightened awareness of what makes others tick and how they interact with their world. It was there, but it was mine as well for I saw all the detail and picked and chose those aspects that might ignite the imagination of the reader to form their own version of my imagined reality. It is quite an extraordinary experience I doubt I could have had in any other way.

For that I am so grateful. I have lived through my own imagination blended with fragments of my real past. Such a feeling of power over outcome and nuance one can never experience otherwise.

So what might be my next renaissance? What form will my further awakening take? Will it be wrapped in magnifying the particulars of recovery from this tortuous path? Will it mirror some of the inspirational life coaching I’ve read so broadly? Will I discover a sub genre of my own that might propel me toward my own wholeness –shared with those eyes and minds the stumble across my ramblings? It matters not if one life is touched or thousands. There are a thousand lives inside one soul. Through the magic of written communication we can share that ephemeral something that binds all humans together if only for a moment… or maybe a lifetime.

I know not what the future holds. So I unwrap each new day as a gift with the intention of living it on its own terms—not mine. What could be more fantastic, revelatory or exciting than the prospect of that?

Lipstick On A Pig

“I didn’t think you would ever find out.

You’d never know the difference.

It would not hurt you if you didn’t know about it.

I was entitled to more sex than you were giving me.

You rejected me on purpose by not having more sex.

You made me feel bad about myself.

I was angry at you a lot.

You meant to hurt me.”

Really? All the above was hidden from me until February 29, 2016. That is the day he decided, after 16 years of no sexual contact with his AP (‘only’ occasional lunches together and sexual teasing, i.e. an emotional affair) to explode my reality and thus my life. Except it wasn’t hidden well enough. You can’t hide the effects. I suffered the consequences of having an underinvested spouse. I just didn’t know why.

Lipstick on a Pig. All the above justifications, cognitive warping, self delusions and minimizations are an attempt to somehow make a ten year physical affair, 27 year emotional affair harmless…and somehow my fault.

Infidelity is a pig. You have to be a pig to commit it. Your affair accomplice is one too (I’m thinking Miss Piggy) and ANY excuse or reasoning given to make it seem in any way okay is smearing lipstick on something grotesque and ugly. It’ll never make it pretty.

A person in touch with reality would know that it takes time, a lot of time, to invest in an extramarital relationship. All the daydreaming, planning, hiding, fantasizing and actual copulation time—it ALL robs time from your wife and your family. You know–those people you vowed to love and protect from just such stuff as what you are/were doing?

Had I never been told of his affair. Had he ‘gone to my grave’ with the secret, it would not change the fact that he stole time and emotional/physical/brain disk space investment from me and our children. He is a thief of the worst variety–one who has no problem violating vows and putting those he professes to love in danger. Danger of STDs that may be lethal, danger of exploding a marriage thus plunging his wife and children into chaos, probable reduced standard of living (often poverty level), certin death of the marriage (yeah, you divorced her when you crossed the line. Broken marriage contract = null and void marriage) just to name a few.

How does that pig look as you sit with yourself in the silence of your room at night – separated from your spouse because she can not tolerate you being next to her? You aren’t safe and your presence causes high anxiety. Oh–you say your room is never silent at night? You’re too busy distracting yourself from any self reflection by watching you tube videos and old movies?

Still applying that lipstick on the pig eh?

Until and unless you wipe that lipstick off the pig, throw away the tube and look the pig straight in its hideous face for what it was, is and always will be–you will continue in self deception/ self delusion maintaining a view of ‘reality’ that isn’t.

Miss Piggy is cute. Self involved, shallow, but cute. Infidelity certainly is self involved and shallow, but it is never cute. No matter how glamorous films and media try to make it. It is never a victimless crime.

Thing is most unfaithful don’t even realize that the biggest victim is themselves. A man who has lost his self respect and integrity has sentenced himself to a lifetime of running from himself/hiding, distraction from the wreckage in his wake.

Time to look the pig in the eyes?

How free do you want to be?

On to Solutions

So how do we begin to heal ourselves?

What research reinforces is what many women have felt: Criticizing yourself=stress=reduced sexual desire/happiness and satisfaction.

Women have been trained and reinforced to beat themselves up. To be highly self critical. “I’m so stupid/fat/crazy etc.” “I’m a loser. I don’t measure up.” Trouble is our brains process self criticism in the areas linked to inhibition–putting on the arousal and interest brakes. So it’s not surprising self criticism is also linked to depression.

When you get right down to it, self criticism (and societal mandates/criticism) is another form of stress added onto our already full plate of modern day stressors. As science knows, stress triggers the evolutionary-developed mechanism of fight, flight or freeze–the lizard primitive brain. When you think “I suck”/ I am an inadequate person”, it is like releasing the lion to chase after you. Yikes! Your body reacts as though you are under attack.

What’s the solution? Practice replacing self criticism with self kindness. Seems logical–a ‘well duh’. Ah…but when we women start to think about doing it, we begin to discover a sense that we need our self criticism to remain motivated.

When we tell ourselves that “I can’t stop criticizing myself or else I will get lazy and fail forever,” it is equivalent to releasing the lion. I can’t stop running, fighting or playing dead or the lion will eat me. Our culture has ingrained this in us so much so that many of us believe it.

What would happen if you put down the stick with which you have been beating yourself..for years? When you stop beating yourself up–stop re injuring yourself—you can begin to heal.

Similar effect with perceverating over the past atrocities committed by our unfaithful. This is where the power of presence and mindfulness comes into play. When we distract ourselves with the safe present, the gifts for which we are grateful—we can begin to heal.

“I’m safe, I’m whole, I’m home.”

Change can happen one thought, one minute, one day at a time.

Victims as Villains

This morning on Good Morning American a comment made about victims caught my attention. “Sadly, society sees victims as villains.” This comment was made in reference to victims of sexual assault.

As I and many see infidelity as a kind of sexual assault causing severe trauma assaulting everything the victim holds as sacred about their sexuality and relationship, and as I have experienced my share of friends, family members and my UH either explicitly or implicitly telling me to ‘get over it, it is not that bad.” –Yes. I have definitely experienced not only having my feelings and traumatic responses minimized, but actually blamed for having them.

To this day my UH still gets condescending and angry when I try to share a trigger or my difficult feelings. Even though he logically knows this is most unhelpful and adds to my trauma, he chooses not to stop.

“You do the crime, you pay the time.” A phrase I have heard in reference to criminal behavior.

Jail.

SO why does an unfaithful think they should not have to be present for the consequences of their choices…a grieving spouse? In my Uh’s case, it is the shame monster. He continues to make my sadness, grief and anger about how it makes him feel….ashamed.

So what excuse does ‘society’ have? Ignorance? Fear? Discomfort?

YES to all three.

I have found that people behave afraid of infidelity when it is so close to home. After all if a marriage like ours could fall prey–we the golden couple everyone admired and envied–surely it could happen to them. Of course, they are right. Infidelity happens in the best of marriages—because it is not about the marriage. It is about a deficit in the unfaithful to handle life and its real challenges. A hole in their soul that nothing and no one can fill–except themselves. But they do not realize that. Surely feeling worthwhile includes someone else’s admiration or some force or substance from outside themselves to make them complete and happy.

No.

…So that’s fear. It also largely covers discomfort. It is not comfortable to be around someone grieving and traumatized. Time to bail. Surely they ought to be able to suck it up and act normal. Being cheated on is no big deal. All the movies and tv shows show it. It’s fun, right? Glamorous, right? Meaningless good time escapism, right?

Holy sh*t. This point of view makes my skin feel like it is about to combust. How can ripping someone unsuspecting spouse’s heart out be acceptable collateral damage for some ‘glamorous’ fun and good times?

And the last posit: Ignorance.

I’d like to believe this is of what the majority of folks are under the delusion. After all if it is so fun and glamorous and meaningless good time in the media, what’s the big whoop?

When your person, your number one person, in whom you have invested years of your life and giving love turns to another to commit the most private, exclusive, intimate act of marriage? Pretty big whoop. Life-changing whoop. Will never be forgotten or totally recovered from whoop.

When I attended Retrouvaille, the offshoot of marriage encounter for marriages in trouble, I marveled at the pure love of the couples who shared their intimate pain of working through betrayal in their marriages. It brought to mind the old film they used to show fifteen year olds in driver’s education: “Red Asphalt”. The idea was to present the actual real life consequences of poor driving choices. Bloodied bodies, maimed, injured and dead.

So why not have these Retrouvaille couples have a segment in the engagement and/or marriage encounter weekend? How about requiring marriage education in our schools? How much trauma and devastation might this prevent?

Some.

Sadly, another aspect of human nature is denial. “Nothing bad will ever happen to ME. That kind of stuff only happens to other people.” And so it would be with cautionary tales of betrayal and heartbreak.

If it could save even one marriage, even one shattered heart, even one decimated family… if only.

Are victims villainized? Sometimes. At best they are marginalized when the source of their hurt is too painful for people to handle. It’s hard to look at the bloodied car victim, the fire victim, the raging war hero with PTSD. It is so much easier to turn away, to minimize or to patronize.

Blaming the Victim – a book of long ago about blaming oppressed minority people for not excelling. Ugly as that is–so is turning away, or worse yet, blaming the victim of sexual betrayal.

Isn’t it past time our society THINK and look at how we treat those we have vowed to love and protect.

Maturity Is…

…the ability to handle unsolvable problems indefinitely.

Wow. If that is the definition (or one aspect of) maturity, I might qualify for a Ph.D.

In my life maturity has/does look like:

-Cleaning and cooking and shopping and nursing sick kids and driving kids to XYandZ.

-Extending grace day in and out for my spouse’s failure in following through. (Is it his ADHD/ forgetfulness/ laziness or intentional/volitional?) Trying to determine the why of the failures so as not to enable or condone them.

-Helping him and my son with their ADHD accommodations (making lists, reminders, endless encouragement and teacher conferences and doctors appointments and holding him accountable…) Walking the tightrope between accountability/ grace / compassion/ empathy and avoiding codependency.

-Doing home improvement projects to save money (Example: stripping, sanding and restaining kitchen cabinets, painting the whole interior of the house etc)

– Choosing to remain in a broken marriage in hopes of my spouse choosing the hard work to heal. Suffering the consequences of the triggers that inevitably brings.

-Working endless hours toward my own healing, knowing it will be a lifelong process.

– Holding my tongue as I watch my adult kids make their own mistakes. Praying for them and loving them even when their choice hurt me either directly or indirectly.

– Accepting that my son is truly disabled by epilepsy. Praying for him and me in that acceptance. Grieving this reality.

– Tenacity in trying again everyday to maintain and improve my diet and exercise.

– Accepting that our family finances have forever been diminished through my spouse’s selfish and broken choices. Paying off the debt little by little knowing it will not be paid off until I am too old to enjoy the resultant financial lightening of the load. Grieving this reality.

– Contributing to my granddaughter’s college savings to lighten her/my daughter’s burden.

– Being kind to those who have offended me even if they do not deserve it– because it is the right thing to do. (See Golden Rule)

– Working everyday to forgive my unfaithful spouse. Every consequence needs to be forgiven over and over and over again, grieved– so this process will also be lifelong.

What does your maturity look like?