A Message to Those Considering Infidelity

Before you cross that seemingly enticing and ‘glamourous’ line–and in doing so betray the one person you vowed to love, honor and cherish—know that that choice will not only shatter your sacred vows, it will forever rupture your partner’s dreams of their one and only special partner in life.

While they will one day move forward, your actions will freeze them in the knowledge that you chose fun, fast and easy over them. Over your promised ‘us’. Nothing you are telling yourself they are doing, or not doing justifies your decision to betray them. Integrity demands you speak about your struggles and any disappointments WITH them. You can work out any perceived ‘problems’. You can not through silence and acting out.

While they may one day learn to forgive, a process that is for their mental health, not yours– it will be a long painful process lasting years. And in that forgiveness will never come forgetting the mortal wound you choose to inflict on your relationship. Your marriage/committed relationship is dead—contract broken. You will be living in a lie. For as surely as you betrayed them, you ended that promised loving, exclusive and precious relationship with them. Their life, and yours, will never be the same.

Through their grace, you may one day build a new relationship, but it will never be the same, never allow them or you to say you chose love over your self centered desires. They, and you will always carry the burden of that fact.

If you want to end your marriage or committed relationship, choose to do it in a loving manner with integrity, truth and respect for your partner. If you do not wish to end that relationship–then don’t betray your vows. Because if you do cross that line, you are ending your marriage. You are abusing the one person you swore to love. Whether your partner knows it or not, they are no longer being protected, loved and cherished. They are being used, manipulated and duped. You are controlling their ability to have agency over their own life and decisions, fundamentally disrespecting their human rights.

You are playing God with their life….possibly their very life should you pass on an STD to them. When they find out, you are the cause of the greatest traumatic pain they are likely to ever experience.

Should you wish your ‘cake and eat it too’, know it comes at a very high price– not only to your partner, but to you; to truth, to intimacy, to transparency and to integrity.

You may claim to love your partner.

You do not.

You are telling yourself yet another lie enabling you to justify leaving your marriage unilaterally.

Infidelity is not a victimless crime.

Choose better.

Choose love.

_____________________________

Here is another perspective from ‘author unknown”

Before You Cheat On Her Know This

You will break her. Like the violent shattering of glass as it crashes to the ground.You will not just break her heart. You will break her trust. You will break her spirit. You will break her joy. You will break her belief in love. You will break her sense of self.

Before you cheat, know this: She will not sleep—not through the night, as she counts the cracks in the walls at 3 am, seeking answers from a God she didn’t think she believed in.She will not eat—not by choice, but because she can’t stomach her reality or the thoughts of texts and images that haunt the corners of her mind. She will not smile—not because there’s nothing to smile for, but because she doesn’t know what these things are anymore.

Before you cheat, know this:It will teach her to hear “You are beautiful,” as “but not beautiful enough.” It will teach her to hear “You are brilliant,” as “but not brilliant enough.” It will teach her to hear “You mean the world to me,” as “but one person is not enough.” It will teach her to hear “You are the love of my life,” as “but I don’t love you enough.”It will teach her to hear “You are enough,” as “but you are still not good enough to satisfy me.”

Before you cheat, know this:She will cry. She will sit at her desk until 7:30 pm too embarrassed by tears streaming silently down her face to get up and go. She will curl into a ball on her best friend’s living room floor, cheek pressed into the carpet—She will get a lump in her throat anytime she walks past places that used to be yours until she decides to avoid these places entirely. She will rage. She will snap at friends, family and colleagues for no apparent reason at all. When they are stung by her anger, her cheeks will burn red with shame. She will curse at her reflection as she’s brushing her teeth, and think if only she were prettier, funnier, smarter—if only she were more, it would have made a difference. She will throw a picture frame at the wall, and be too dumbfounded to clean the blood off her finger when she cuts it picking up the pieces. She will scream into the wind by the river, wondering what she did to deserve feeling this way, hoping her words will carry far enough to be heard by someone—anyone—who can tell her. She will not feel. She will be turned by shock into the same stone she uses to build walls to keep people out. She will be numbed in new ways that her hopeful heart had not known to be possible. And then she will feel everything at once. She will feel devalued, discarded, disassembled, disillusioned, distraught—she will feel bewildered and betrayed. She will feel foolish, frenetic, fraught and full of fear. She will feel hate—toward you, toward them, toward herself. She will choke on her own confusion as she tries to hold on, yet yearns to let go.

Before you cheat, know this: She believed in you. She believed in romance—and that a chivalrous manner meant chivalry in all manners of the heart. She believed in honesty—and that being honest with your partner first meant being honest with yourself. She believed in respect—and that a love respected meant not being gaslighted, nor played a fool. She believed in goodness—and that being good meant working on being good together, even when it was not easy to do. She believed you would protect her—and that being protected did not mean hiding the truth. She believed in you—and that believing in you, believing in each other, meant the mutual support of a two-person team through the ups, downs and everything in between.

Before you cheat, know this: These are all avoidable. You have a choice. You can choose to walk away. You can choose to let her leave, on her own accord. You can give her a choice.

But if you cheat, know this: You will break her, but she will grow back stronger.You will dim her light, but she will shine more brightly in the dark. You will lower her expectations, but she will raise her standards. You will cause her to hate, but she will find relief, release, and beauty in the breakdown. You will make her question her sanity, but she will learn to trust her own intuition better than before.You will crush her ideas of love, but she will never settle again. You will burn her world to the ground, but she will pour her heart into becoming the best person she can be—and this time, it won’t be for you; it will be for her.

Was I A Shell Of Myself?

A recent recovery blog posed that the writer was a shell of herself post discovery. Maybe it is semantics, but this recovery path has led me to really appreciate just what a kick butt woman I was–before and after discovery.

As far as feeling a shell of myself, to me it felt more like an inauthentic me. I took up plenty of space. I went back to school at 42 to earn another degree that would enable me to be marketable as a public school teacher. I lassoed that job and kicked it–becoming a mentor teacher before any who had, in our district. I advocated for my son to overcome prejudice of his disability. Later, I learned to run and indeed won a 5K footrace. I taught myself how to write and sell a novel. Yeah–this girl did it all.

I even researched why I’d all but lost my libido. Went the doctor route, the supplemental testosterone route and prayed. Yup–I thought there was something wrong with me–always assuming responsibility for myself. (never putting 2 plus 2 together– I was starving for TRUE intimacy with my husband. Was God protecting me from exposure to what he may have been bringing home as a result of his acting out?)

Of course none of it kept my husband from maintaining a secret life…for 27 years. Of which I was totally unaware. No denial of red flags here, just nose to the grindstone, be the Enjoli woman (see 1982 tv commercial “I can fry up the bacon, bring it home in a pan…and never let you forget you’re a man”) Yup, I’m the woman’s lib generation trailblazer who fell for it hook line and sinker.

And I lost what I wanted to do with my life. All I did with my life was good and added to society. It just didn’t do a lot of adding to me.

So now in retirement, five years post sexual betrayal d-day, eight years post financial betrayal d-day, I am still working on self discovery and care. And loving it. I can read a whole book, not just a magazine article, for F-U-N. I garden and use the harvest on my table. I taught myself a new art—painting. I write a recovery blog in hope of helping those women (and men) who walk this path with me. I hope I am a lantern that might shed some light onto OUR path.

So it may be semantics, but I felt I was huge in my life. An accomplishment Queen who fell exhausted into bed every night metaphorically patting myself on the back, “Good job, you.” I think this ‘hugeness’ allowed me to realize pretty quickly that my husband’s choices were about his (childhood wounds) and brokenness —not me. My childhood taught me to achieve, unfortunately at my expense. And those are my issues/wounds to heal.

I, too, am a work in progress.

I Wanna Hold Your Hand

All I ever wanted was a partner to hold my hand…and my heart.

I dreamed of finding a guy whose face would light up when we were together. A guy who would share his thoughts, his cares, his struggles and victories. Someone to walk next to me through life as equals. Someone who could lean on me when he was sick or discouraged as I could lean on him when I needed support. Someone who had my best interest foremost in his heart and mind. Someone who brought me some small thing or note he knows I like, “Just because”—letting me know I am on his mind.

Someone who understands my tender heart and joys. Someone who asks me– what I’m thinking and feeling. Someone who asks what I need or want. Someone who knows I love to give and do for others—who would protect me against myself should I take my giving too far by reminding me to care for myself too. Someone who wants to see me, know me more every day. Someone who takes joy in the learning.

I had no expectations of wealth. No expectations of an easy path. No delusions that there would not be challenges, setbacks, sickness or painful losses. Those are all part of life.

What I did expect was that we would face those inevitable losses and challenges together. That we would do all we could to protect each other against damages of those challenges and losses. And hold each other’s hand when we could not prevent a loss. Help each other heal. Someone who would step in to defend me from harm, to the best of his ability, be it emotional, physical or financial. Defend me to all others. Build me up. Protect me from anything or anyone who was unfair toward me or who did not have my best interest at heart.

Someone who would call me, text me or leave a note, just because he wanted to show I was on his mind.

Not riches. Nothing that was not hard earned. Struggles. Things to overcome, earn and learn. I expected hardships. I expected to have someone who had my back in those hardships as I did his.

What I never expected was to be rejected for another, abandoned in mind and heart, but still told I was not. I never expected to be placated into thinking I was central and precious.

I never expected to be betrayed. Rejected intimately, yet used for all I could provide.

Betrayed hundreds and thousands of times both through intention and through passive inactions. I never expected to slip into the realm of persona non grata…

noun

an unacceptable or unwelcome person

Someone who was used and taken advantage of. Someone whose trust and giving were expected benefits. Someone who was manipulated into believing she was safe.

Lied to. So many, many lies. Someone who was avoided and set aside when times were difficult—or for his own pleasure. Someone who is still avoided–abandoned to her grief.

All I ever wanted was someone to walk through life with. Someone I could rely upon to love me, even when it was not easy—as I would love him.

I have not received what I wanted. I didn’t get my life’s dream. I, like many others, have been let down. Over many many years, I have been fooled. Denied agency in my own life. My greatest life dream did not come true.

I have loved and given and thought of him everyday. I brought him things I knew he would like—just because. I included him in every consideration. I did my best to add something special, even in difficult times, to make life a bit brighter. I gave what I hoped I would be given—my heart, my effort, my love. I tried to figure out why I could not give him more when he asked. I didn’t know I was already broken. But, I tried so damn hard.

And I wonder how it is that he does not see me or that. After living my life as I believed a loving person does, how does he not know this about me? That I never asked for riches or ease. I only asked to be thought about, considered in all things and loved. Why does he still not think about me, have my back? Why do I seem to be more of a burden, rather than a joy? Why does he not tend to the brokenhearted, sick me? The one who is hurt… he has hurt. Why is that too much to do? Why am I neglected in my greatest time of need? When I have always been there for him—why is it so impossible for him to be there for me?

Why is it so impossible for him to tend to the heart he has broken?

I don’t understand.

I guess I never will.

An Inconvenient Truth

Happiness will come only when I open the door to pain.

You can’t have one without the other.

I am a betrayed spouse. I have learned to live with what happened. It has become a part of my history, something I went through. I have received the shattering and it has become a part of me, woven into the fabric of my life story.

I think they call that ‘Acceptance’.

It has not come without truckloads of pain. Messy, dark, catastrophic, heart shattering pain. I’ve opened the door to it because I know down to my toes it is the only way through the devastation they call intimate betrayal.

Acceptance. The final stage of the Kubler-Ross five stages of grief. Her co-author and colleague, David Kessler, got permission from Kubler-Ross’ estate to publish a book outlining the sixth stage.

Finding Meaning

“Your loss is not a test, a lesson, something to handle, a gift, or a blessing. Loss is simply what happens to you in life. Meaning is what you make happen.”
―David Kessler, Finding Meaning: The Sixth Stage of Grief

That is our uncharted, unwelcome task: To find meaning. Loss happens no matter what we do or fail to do. It is truly not about us. Sometimes it is caused by the behavior of others. Sometimes it is a natural disaster. Sometimes it is even the loss of personal health, in which case it is internal to our body, but not our intention.

The unilateral choice made by one of two marital partners to break the marriage contract ends that marriage. It matters not whether the other faithful partner is aware of the breech. Just as avoidance of going to the doctor or absence of symptoms to propel one to make that doctor visit has zero effect on the truth of the cancer. It is there. And it happens to us, not because of our intention.

It just is. One of life’s inconvenient truths.

The ancillary consequence of loss is the mandate to heal. That healing IS within our control. We have agency over how and even if we grieve the loss. In the case of marital betrayal, it is wholly our responsibility to heal our wounded heart. It will not happen without our choice to invest in our regaining of health.

That said:

“Each person’s grief is as unique as their fingerprint. But what everyone has in common is that no matter how they grieve, they share a need for their grief to be witnessed. That doesn’t mean needing someone to try to lessen it or reframe it for them. The need is for someone to be fully present to the magnitude of their loss without trying to point out the silver lining.”
―David Kessler

Part of healing is being heard. Validated. As communal animals who crave attachment, we likewise need to be heard, upheld and validated. We need to know our pain matters, our loss matters. Our loss is real. We do not heal in isolation. We stew. We build stories in our mind that more than likely skew from the truth. We begin to tell ourself untruths such as ‘I could have stopped this from happening if I just _____________….(was more then, less then, different etc.) Or we tell ourselves we will never heal. We are permanently wounded. Our lives will never regain meaning.

Such internal battling is normal, but not helpful or in most cases based in reality. We need each other. We need another human being to hear our struggles and in their presence, reassure us we are not crazy or fatally flawed. We are humans in a great deal of pain.

Serenity comes when you trade expectations for acceptance. Expectations are a set up for disappointment and resentment. They may reflect our wishes. They do not dictate reality.

We can only regain serenity through grieving our losses and turning toward life. Building a new life with or without the presence of the wounding partner. Regain equilibrium and balance. Wipe the grime of betrayal from our life lenses and begin to see reality as it is. Flawed, painful, yet also beautiful and rich. Truth is there is so very much wonder and magnificence in the world and in the living. It is our individual work to regain our zest for life. Heal the wound with self care and love.

“You don’t have to experience grief, but you can only avoid it by avoiding love. Love and grief are inextricably intertwined.”
―David Kessler

Some have gone as far as to say that grief is the cost of love.

I have heard many a dog owner vow to never own another after the painful loss of their beloved canine companion. At what cost? The absence of canine unconditional love. To love a dog is to eventually lose that dog.

Nothing in life is permanent. All is destined to end. With clear life lenses we can see that we all experience the risk and inevitability of the loss of all we love. Including our own life. Truth. Reality.

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.”

― C.S. Lewis

So it is indeed our choice whether to risk again. To risk to love. Love comes with loss, but it is also the root of joy.

An inconvenient truth

You Are Not A Role

…you are a participant.

In this thing called life we are all born innocent and unique. Experiences written on the immaculate slate of our purity. As years of sun leather and freckle our skin, so too does trauma assault our serenity.

We are malleable. We are resilient.

Society gives us all sorts of messages. Many of them are gender specific. Some uplift. Many burden.

I came ‘of age’ in the 1970’s. It was a time of cultural and political upheaval. For all the optimism, there was and is the underlying truth of human frailty and foibles. We live in a world of evil and good. Yet it has been my experience that good eventually prevails.

“The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” – Martin Luther King jr.

Greater minds than mine recognize the magnificence of the human experiment. Just as our democratic political system is deeply flawed, so to has it proven to be the salvation of multitudes.

In the 1970’s and 80’s the womens liberation movement was in full swing. As is true of many movements, the pendulum of its truths required such intensity to shift the arc toward change, unforeseen and unwanted consequences ensued. Young women of that generation were told they could and should have it all.

A perfume commercial of the era summed it up:

I found myself into the position of being able to have it all but not the time or energy to accomplish it all.

“What do you do?” A familiar party icebreaker of the day.

“I’m a homemaker/mother.”

During that era the facial expression such a reply engendered was often one of disappointment, pity and negative judgement. “Oh (you are JUST a homemaker)” Such conversations were often cut short. The person asking, swam in the cultural times and either saw a woman who stayed home as a simpleton, unmotivated, unqualified to do anything of real importance OR lazy/entitled.

As the years passed and reality of juggling home and outside employment became apparent, such wise women as Oprah Winfrey stated the truth. “You can have it all…just not all at once.” Even that message has taken decades to sink in. Many still don’t believe it.

So I went back to school. Already having earned a B.A. and teaching credential, I found the profession had changed and now required a C.L.A.D. certificate in addition to the aforementioned university work. (Cross Cultural, Language and Academic Development) in order to be considered employable as a public school teacher. I gained the status of ‘having it all’.

As my kids were young I’d run an in home daycare and then taught preschool. Both these pursuits brought in minimum wage or less. I wanted to make my university degree mean something–to assure my father (who footed much of the expense) AND the cultural expectations to bd good enough. I wanted to earn my way AND be a world class mother homemaker.

“You can have it all…just not all at once.” Even though I heard and appreciated that ground breaking message, society did not support it.

I became a human doing. Relaxation and rest faded into the rear view mirror of the times and the stage in life. The mother of children knows she is depleting her internal resources. I knew it. And yet I fell for the story. A truly good woman can do it all.

I became my roles. I ran a home, raised the kids, earned that CLAD and a full time job as a public school teacher. I did it all— except it cost me. Yes, we now had some expendable income (another legacy of the women’s movement–rising prices forcing many women into the workforce to survive). We finally achieved a lifelong dream of mine–to take my kids to experience their European roots before they left the nest. I knew most probably they would not have the perspective enhancing experience of travel until their kids grew up without a similar cost to their mental, emotional and physical health. I wanted more for my kids–a dream of most all parents.

What did it cost for me to survive the tsunamie of that stage of life? Personal exhaustion. Plummeting libido. Less “Us” time. Notice I said ‘less’, not none. Something has to give when children arrive. Usually both parents realize this reality and accept less couples time for the season of childrearing. They consider themselves on the same team and carve out as much together time as they can both manage. Usually (and especially in my era) that required the man to do more at home. Not a little bit more. A chunk more. Balance the domestic scales. Step in when his wife was exhausted by life’s pressures, as she did when his calendar demanded it.

I was not blessed with a healthy husband. Unrecognized by me, I married an addict. A man with deep childhood abandonment wounds and an alcoholic father. A man who felt entitled for the universe to pay him back for all the losses of childhood. A man who did not share his challenges, ask for or give help. Once he began his twenty-seven year affair, both his real and fantasy lives went behind a mask. He could not afford to be truthful and transparent with anyone–and keep his addiction. Unhealthy coping mechanisms built and solidified over the years until he thought he wanted to leave and escape into fantasy 24/7.

Reality smacked him in the face and he realized all he had to lose. He is still afraid to face his grief and so he maintains a role of hiding behind a mask of pretend and silence. This is a continuation and escalation of his abandonment of feeling his emotions or sharing them–thus abandoning me emotionally and physically. He chose false praise and sexual adoration over working on and nourishing the real love in his marriage. What seemed fun fast and easy was actually just another unhealthy coping mechanism which devastated his real marriage, and me. Thus is the way of addiction. Hurt people hurt people. Pain that is not transformed will be transmitted. Secrets and hiding what he considered unlovable–him.

Oh the webs we weave when first we learn how to deceive. First self-deception and betrayal of all he holds true in favor of believing no one could love him as he is. Play the role of the loving committed husband; the attentive hyper sexual lover to his infidelity accomplice. Both lies. Both masks. Both roles played in misguided belief they were the answer to his emotional pain and loss.

So I played the Enjoli perfume woman of the commercial and he played the good guy, Santa dad. Both of us believing a delusion.

Are all roles unhealthy? Carried to an extreme, yes. Played to self detriment, yes. Leaning on one role to the exclusion of balance, yes.

And so he blamed me for not being sexual enough and I resented him for not being present emotionally or physically enough. Expectation gone awry turned into pain and detachment. So sad. So sadly common.

The truth is none of us is a role. None of us is the combination of the roles we play–even the helpful healthy ones. We are all unique and uniquely precious. Even with the best of intentions, roleplaying can be our undoing. Balanced and flexible roles are our happiness and success. Sharing our roles, our struggles, doubts and fears–success. Share the burdens and the joys. Always a work in progress—never perfection.

Participate in roles. They are not you. They are tools to accomplish goals, not life sentences. You are worthy of love, good enough and lovable apart from your roles.

Into Every Dark Night of the Soul, Epiphany

Life is just one damned thing after another. – Mark Twain

Into every life comes tragedy, betrayal, desolation or ruin. It is pretty much impossible to make it through unscathed. And into every crisis, every transforming crucible comes the opportunity to choose–bitterness and detachment or to see the crisis as a creative moment that can not be forced, only discovered and chosen.

Every one of us has a unique invitation toward growth. To be the best one and only us that we can be. Yes—our outlook is 100% within our control and responsibility. We may not have any choice as to what is done to us or what befalls us, but we do have opportunity to choose our response.

As author and death camp survivor Viktor Frankl has wisely said, “Life is never made unbearable by circumstances, but only by lack of meaning and purpose.”

So the job hoist upon us is to find meaning and purpose in the midst of the horrendous grief intimate betrayal brings. What could possibly be salvaged out of the most painful life-altering thing we have ever experienced?

Nothing.

There is nothing positive or good about being manipulated, lied to, gaslit and used. The awful wounds are not the point.

What? “But I’m here bleeding out emotionally!”

Precisely.

It is in just such seeming hopeless situations that we must remember our worth, our value, our preciousness. We must breath and dig deep into our heart. To believe. To rediscover all the beauty around us and within us. After all, we did not make the choices that have so wounded us. We are still the same amazing person we were before the d-day bomb was dropped on us. We, the betrayed, were living our lives in our truth. We loved, gave, worked, played and built our lives in reflection of our integrity, our dreams, our reality. We are unique and precious.

And no one–not even a spouse–can take that away from us. Not one thing about us has been diminished by the actions of another. What has happened is opportunity. I know you probably don’t want to hear that, let alone act on it. I know the deep pain of having your reality yanked from beneath you. I know. Me too.

It takes a lot of time and intention to grieve the thousands of losses inflicted by betrayal. It overwhelms our lives for a season. It must. It needs to be felt. It demands to be grieved. And yet even in the midst of the deepest grief there remains reality. Lives are still being lived all around us. Our job, our home, our kids, our friends–all keep on keeping on. Sometimes that in and of itself is painful to realize that everyone else seems to be going on. How can they? Don’t they know that OUR world has been decimated?

Even if they do, they do not know our pain. Unless they have experienced the agony of intimate betrayal they do not know. Even if they have suffered betrayal, they have not lived YOUR betrayal. No one, not even your unfaithful spouse will ever know the depth of what you are experiencing.

And so it is up to you to heal you. Ultimately it is our job to choose life. Choose gratitude. Choose to go on and build a new life. Only we can do that for ourselves. Regardless of the obscene unfairness of it, it is our job to love ourselves and our life enough to move ever forward toward rebirth.

In every life there will be pain, loss and death. Deep grief is the result of deep love. In every life there will be the choice to go on or whither. And you are not a wilt-er. You are made of star stuff and miracles. You have it within you to take this awful life circumstance and turn it into wisdom and growth and love. You have a golden opportunity to really learn how amazing you are and always have been. You are a survivor of one of the most painful circumstances possible this side of heaven. You can be a lantern of empathy and compassion to others who struggle with betrayal or any other of the ‘one damn thing after another’ of which Mr Twain speaks.

As you grieve and tend to your broken heart the seeds of newborn strength are germinating. You have been placed squarely in the path of an amazing destiny of love and caring. The emotional muscles you are building will be capable of holding other’s time of need in the miracle of healing compassion only one who has suffered much can provide.

You are growing into an amazing asset not only to yourself but to a broken hurting world. It takes people whose loving hearts have been forged through fire. The alchemy of deep pain creates gold. Golden hearts that see wonder around every corner, beauty in every sunrise and love for those whose hearts are broken.

Covid and Comfort??

“How could you put those two words together?”

While there is certainly nothing funny about this pandemic we find ourselves in the midst of, there have been some unforeseen benefits to those of us lucky enough to access them. As a newly retired person (yes, I stopped working as an elder in-home caregiver in April because of the increased danger to myself as a newly minted ‘elder’ myself, with the underlying condition of asthma that increases the likelihood of suffering more severe complications should I acquire the disease.) I have found myself smack dab in the middle…of my house.

I have always loved being home. Never felt I had quite enough time spent there. As a member of the workforce, and for years a busy mom as well, home was more a pit stop than a place of calm relaxation. When I was home there always seemed to be more maintenance tasks to accomplish, meals to make, laundry to fold, floors to wash etcetera, than could be handled AND spend much time reclining…or acquiring a new hobby, tending a garden, organizing the garage (a chore on the list for what seems forever), let alone teaching myself a new skill.

Well during this, to date, eight months at home, I have taken up a hobby of painting portraits of beloved family, canines and a few florals/scenery. I ask Alexa to crank up the music, often a blend of oldies, even discovering some newbies (at least to me). I have also had more time to manicure the succulent garden, care for the raised bed vegetables and hire help to update the sprinklers and patio aggregate.

My old bread baking book has come out of the cupboard much to the delight of hungry mouths that are part of our ‘under the same roof congregate’, as pandemic doctors are calling those who live together. As the cases surge throughout the United States, we are being asked to return to former pandemic lockdown which, truth be told, has very little effect on us as newly retired. Not much change from pandemic normal.

The only time I get out from under this roof is for the daily dog walk and the rare occasion to go to a doctor’s appointment. I can count on one hand the number of times I have been in the car since April.

“Aren’t you bored?”

Nope.

I am reveling in the serenity and comfort of my home. I am doing what I always loved doing, but had precious little time to do over the years. I may have become a homebody, but I am far from isolated—at least as far as keeping up with the ongoings of the world. My computer and the television news keep me fascinated, not only with the raging pandemic, the contentious election, but also the ‘feel good’ stories that accompany all the ‘bad’. I’ve always loved to hear about (and celebrate) other’s good fortune or success. Seems this pandemic has brought plenty of human interest stores to the forefront.

Fred Rogers of “Mister Roger’s Neighborhood” children’s show fame used to say, (in distressing or frightening times) “Always look for the helpers.” And there are many. My faith in the basic goodness of the everyday person is daily reinforced with the tales of brave first responders, medical professionals, police and the public who go above and beyond to help those less fortunate who are struggling through the challenges of this pandemic. SO very many ‘helpers’.

It is so too easy to destroy; to take advantage of our fellows or to ignore those in need. God bless the many who do not. It truly is the exception rather than the rule of those awful disheartening stories that make the news about people of greed or selfishness. Yes, I admit to be an unapologetic optimist, though I do not believe I am a ‘cockeyed optimist’. I know all too well the uncertainty and powerlessness we as humans have over circumstances and other’s choices. We all suffer losses at some times in life.

Yet I believe in the basic decency and goodness of most of us. I believe there are and always will be ‘the helpers’ if and when we need them.

In the meantime I find so very much comfort at home during this time of Covid. I’ve rediscovered how very much I love not only my solitude, but my creativity. Gosh I love to read and soak up the experiences of others through their writings. I love the unconditional love of my dogs, the beauty of my own backyard in its ever changing display of flora and fauna. I love watching the bright breasted orioles splashing in the birdbath, the dit-ing hummingbirds as they scold each other while vying for a sip of nectar, the squirrel as he dashes along the back garden wall.

The simple comforts of home…and the time to enjoy them.

From Despair to Contentment

How many times does reality have to slap me in the face to get it? I have zero control over anyone other than myself. I have zero control over my unfaithful’s choices.

And for the time being, my UH chooses to attend lots of meetings and workshops, but does not choose to follow the well proven path toward healing. In this case, our healing.

Oh yeah, he is maintaining his sobriety. He no longer drinks. He no longer sleeps with other women. But he does not attend to his emotional sobriety. And that leaves our relationship in a deep freeze. There is no way for me to feel safety to reengage with him when he does not talk about his process toward emotional sobriety.

Why doesn’t he talk about it? My experience tells me it is because he is not moving toward emotional sobriety. He remains in his shame. He spends his energy beating himself up over how terrible a person he tells himself he is.

See–the problem with that is it leave no energy left to move toward repairing the damage his choices have caused. It keeps it making this mess still and foremost all about him.

He is stewing in shame soup.

And choosing to remain there.

Why?

Because it is so familiar.

His abusive childhood taught him he is not worthy of love. And he continues to reinforce that message inside himself.

Which has the unfortunate result of making it all about him. And it leaves him in the pain he is so adept at denying and sweeping under the rug.

Oh sure, he knows he got the short end of the stick in childhood. He felt abandoned, rejected and a witness to the abuse of his mother. I have huge empathy for little boy him.

I have no empathy for the man who will not heal that little boy and thus inflicts abandonment and rejection upon those around him–me being number one rejected and abandoned. He will not face the damage his choices have caused.

And that brings me to a place of despair….about any ‘us’. Step one of the 12 steps. I am powerless over __________. In this case, I am powerless over his mental health and healing. He has to choose it.

Where does that leave me?

Sink or swim.

I choose to swim.

I choose to focus on the good things in my life.

And mourn the loss of my husband—to his shame and his choice to remain there.

Is this the life I planned and worked every day of my life to be enjoying in retirement? Absolutely not. Is this the dream–the reward for all my investment in him, my home and family? Nope.

That does not mean it can not still be good.

He has no control over my choice to see the beauty in the world and the many blessing I have. And I have many.

I choose life. I choose to be content in the home I am blessed to occupy. I choose to love my dogs, my garden, my books, my writing, my baking, my portrait painting and my friends (even if they live far away and are in quarantine just like me)

This holiday season they will receive a portrait painted by me– of them. They will have something that reflects the beauty and gratitude I see and feel for them, in tangible form. And I will drive across country with my son to see my daughter and granddaughter. I will have the joy of giving them the many toys I have been saving for thirty years for my yet to be born grandchild(ren)– the toys they enjoyed as children and now my granddaughter can enjoy. I will rest in the contentment that I am blessed to live in a time and place that has brought many good things into my life.

I am not the first, nor sadly will I be the last, to lose my spouse. Some lose their’s to death. Some to physical abandonment. Some to emotional abandonment. Way too many of we betrayed lose our spouse to their sick, selfish choices. He deprived me of my human dignity to agency over my own life choices by manipulation of my reality– for many years.

I choose now.

I choose life. I choose to be content.

And in that contentment, perhaps I will find moments of happiness and joy–if I am open to them and not drowning in grief for what I have lost. I choose.

I guess this is what they call forgiveness. I choose to not rent anymore space in my mind or life to his destructive actions. Forgiveness is a gift I give to myself.

Choose to turn toward the light of the good, the positive, the blessings. Choose life.

Drowning In Disappointment

Such a descriptive alleteration: Drowning in Disappointment

Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

I am having a challenging day today. My UH wrote a ‘hurt’ letter to me yesterday that he read out loud after dinner (mistake. I was activated and awake until 2 a.m.)

H.U.R.T.

H: Harm. what is or was the harm inflicted?

U: Undserstanding. Express how you think the harm has impacted the life of the betrayed (me) and validate their right to feel the way they do.

R: Remorse. An expression of grief over the harm done. Tell the hurt party how you feel about doing “x” to them. A display of grief over the harm caused to the betrayed (not the personal harm it has caused to the unfaithful). True contrition.

T: Time. No placement of moral imperative on betrayed to forgive, but the expression that the unfaithful hope you can someday forgive them. “I want you to know I will be patient and give you all the time you need to heal and I appreciate you being patient with me while I heal.”

Now doesn’t that sound amazing?

It actually is.

Like all tools, the execution of it depends hugely on the genuine feeling behind it.

My UH said a lot of right words. He even hit upon a reflection of humility and unworthiness to even be extended the grace to still be present in my life.

So why am I struggling?

Because the genuine expression of remorse and grief is still missing. The use of this tool is a wonderful step in the right direction, yet I grieve and continue to drown in disappointment at his inability to truly feel what his choices and actions have cost me. For him to be genuinely grieved.

I have spent years and years in the relationship with him trying to communicate my needs and feelings only to have him fail to work toward meeting them. For example: I keep a list of repair projects that need to be done around the house. He has for years drug his feet to accomplish these basic maintenance tasks. even though he voices that they need doing. Mind you, these are not ‘wouldn’t it be nice’ sort of pipe dreams. I’ve not asked him to build a gazebo or she shed. This is the repair sort of honey do’s he could do with relative ease—ones I would not have the knowledge or technical skill to accomplish.

Nope. He ‘forgets’. He does not take on the responsibility. He puts me in the mom role. Always in the place of having to remind—or do without.

So I make due. I live without. I day after day feel disappointment. Nothing I do or do not do has changed this dynamic. He has been underinvested in adult responsibilities for years. (a common trait of an addict, I have come to learn). My counselor once made the observation: “Seems you have been disappointed in him for a very long time.” Spot on.

Should I be rejoicing in one HURT letter shared? He sure looks to me for cheerleading and confetti. I thanked him for sharing and said it was a good share. I crumbled under the weight of multiple triggers. He left.

And then I continued to think about what he said and how he said it. Too late to reengage–now past bedtime. I was tossing and turning, in spite of all my self soothing practices employed. I just couldn’t get past his lackluster presentation and the triggering of past wounds. I got up. I distracted myself with cute Facebook memes and tried again to sleep. Toss, turn. Activation.

Even though I know he has good intentions and is practicing empathy, it is so stilted and inauthentic. You know how you can just ‘feel’ genuineness or the lack thereof? *sigh* Disappointment my old and unwelcome companion.

If I didn’t have the decades long history of disappointment–being let down much more often than not, the triggering would have probably happened anyways. The compound trigger of the sexual betrayal wound and the ongoing lack of reliability wounding made the night long and dark.

So I self cared myself into a two hour nap this afternoon. He has returned to the usual pretend normal image maintenance good fun guy facade. No concern or interest in how I am doing even when I told him I needed him to share difficult topic in the morning (another long standing request I will have to enforce better–my bad.) It is so unusual for him to approach me with a share, I let my boundary down.

We both live and learn and struggle and walk this messy road forward.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Today was a Difficult Day,” said Pooh. There was a pause.

“Do you want to talk about it?” asked Piglet.

“No,” said Pooh after a bit. “No, I don’t think I do.”

“That’s okay,” said Piglet, and he came and sat beside his friend.

“What are you doing?” asked Pooh.

“Nothing, really,” said Piglet. “Only, I know what Difficult Days are like. I quite often don’t feel like talking about it on my Difficult Days either.

“But goodness,” continued Piglet, “Difficult Days are so much easier when you know you’ve got someone there for you. And I’ll always be here for you, Pooh.”

And as Pooh sat there, working through in his head his Difficult Day, while the solid, reliable Piglet sat next to him quietly, swinging his little legs…he thought that his best friend had never been more right.”

A.A. Milne

I wish for you a piglet friend in your life.