Survivors Blog: 

Christine

One of the hardest lessons to grasp in the journey towards healing from betrayal is realizing your inability to control the path your wayward mate takes. This is particularly counterintuitive for those of us who have dedicated our lives to growing relationships and a family. We have invested our time and energy in paving the way for our loved ones to succeed and be happy. We have cared as deeply for our partner and family as we have for ourselves. Our life has revolved around their safety and growth. We must be careful not to burn out or overextend ourselves in the service of others and to take good care of ourselves. This is a reality we may not like. However, denial of that reality will not change it, no matter how ardently we wish things to be different. We need to respect our limits to remain healthy. The desire to overextend, however, is very normal when those we love are struggling. This truth suggests the brilliant work of Dr. Robert Weiss in his seminal book, Prodependence. As he defines it: “Prodependence is an attachment-based theory of human dependency which, by definition, states that those who partner with an active addict are loving people who may be caught in circumstances beyond their ability to healthfully cope. Moreover, their desire to help the addict and all related actions toward helping the addict demonstrate nothing more than a normal and healthy attempt to remain connected to a failing loved one while facing extraordinarily difficult circumstances.” He advises that looking at addiction not from a trauma perspective, but from an attachment perspective, illuminates the dark road of betrayal grief. Instead of viewing the loved ones of addicts as the inevitable victims of a traumatic past that has caught up with them and is now repeating itself in their adult lives—"prodependence views them as brave individuals struggling to love another person even in the face of the behavioral choice they have made. With prodependence, there is no shame or blame, no sense of being wrong, no language that pathologizes the caregiving loved one. Instead, there is recognition for effort given, plus hope and valuable instruction for healing." We, the betrayed, are suffering from possibly the most significant trauma inflicted upon us in our lives. In an instant, with the discovery of betrayal, our history is turned upside down, and our file cabinet of personal past is knocked over, spilling the entire contents across the floor in willy-nilly disarray. What we thought of as the closest, perhaps safest relationship in our life has now become the source of our greatest grief and fear. The attachment rupture is enormous. I remember the long nights, riddled with deep, lonely grief following my husband’s decision to drop the fifty-megaton bomb and admit to his long affair. I looked up at the stars hoping to hear the voice of my departed mother and dad or maybe my wise old grandmother offering advice. What to do, where to start, how to dig my way out of this mess I never imagined, asked for, or created. Where do I begin? Who am I, if not the person I thought of as “wife?” And who is this man who has acted as though he was a faithful spouse for years? What spouse would not be looked upon as valiant if she cut back on volunteer activities, took on a second job, looked drawn and exhausted, all-in support of a spouse that had cancer, Parkinson’s or dementia? Why should there be any less empathy and understanding extended to a partner whose entire life history and security have just blown up via the discovery of a spouse’s betrayal? Why wouldn’t she grasp for any help, any life preserver in the tempest of her now topsy-turvy life? She would naturally look for help for her unsound and disordered partner. How can she help him heal so he might return to be her trusted partner in life? Deep down inside, she wonders if he will ever be safe again. She signed up to be a life partner in sickness and health. In this life-shattering betrayal, she longs for the old days of attachment and ‘love.’ Much like her inability to heal the wounds suffered by her spouse from a serious car accident, she is likewise powerless to do the deep emotional healing work she faces to understand what led him to betray all he swore to love and protect. She cannot make the discoveries of his own life’s traumas, the delusion-driven choices he has made, nor can she repair the damage he has left in his wake. That and more are his work to do. How painful this realization can be. No amount of wishing, hoping, providing healing resources, or explaining her grief to him will build the framework of a healthier life for him. He must be willing. He has to be consistent, determined and committed to walking the long, difficult path toward healing. She cannot give him the gift of willingness. Oh, the wrenching pain of this reality. The sadness. The helplessness. Those who deny this reality sentence themselves to disillusionment, disappointment, resentment and needless angry drama. The answer lies in the ability to choose to care for yourself and tend to the deep wounds suffered. This is similar to the in-flight instruction to put on one’s oxygen mask before attending to anyone else. It’s not that betrayal is not a huge problem. It is. But it is not the central problem. Surviving and moving back into yourself is paramount before any wise and careful decisions can be made on how to proceed. What may have seemed central to your life, the care of others, must now take a back seat. If a praying person, pray for his willingness and heart change as if he were undergoing open heart surgery and recovery. Pray. Try to influence his decisions if he is open to listening, but at the end of the day, he must choose and walk the difficult path of change.

"Did they make those horrible choices because their addiction or mental illness clouded their judgment?" "Was I too busy trying to help and support them to notice they'd stepped out of our marriage?" "Was their emotional detachment due to childhood abandonment issues or are they just unhappy in this relationship?" Does any of this sound familiar to you? When the wayward spouse has diagnosed or suspected mental health/addiction issues, the betrayed partner can find themselves feeling as though they are the one losing their mind. Even in the absence of infidelity, marriage to a spouse with mental health and/or addiction challenges can strain even the strongest of unions. Those of us who are highly invested in happily ever after, either in the Disney cultural sense or in the hard-working, dedicated, spouse-valued-as-central, are hit particularly hard after an affair. We have invested greatly in love for months, years or even decades in our marriage, and we are both assaulted and instantly stripped of our happy ending. What we have earned in spades is stolen from us in a moment. What we thought was a mutual dream becomes known as a one-sided endeavor. What we thought to be shared values are discovered to be the direct opposite. Mental illness muddies the waters of infidelity. So much of the fabric of mental illness and addiction is riddled with distorted thinking and denial of reality. These individuals, by definition, do not see reality clearly. This leaves those around them to wonder: What part of their behavior is due to the disease? What part of their behavior is plain old oppositional, self- absorbed, damaging choices? Reflecting on the 'Why' After Infidelity When you come right down to it, there is not a whole lot of difference in their "why." Whether they crossed the line once or a thousand times, or their actions stemmed from the skewed thinking inherent in mental illness, a spouse's infidelity devastates and destroys just the same no matter the "why." So what is the point of pursuing an understanding of the unhealthy thinking of mental illness? Culpability... and forgiveness. The death of a marriage is detrimental to the hearts of both spouses, especially that of the betrayed spouse. Many betrayed spouses have voiced that dying would have been easier and less painful than living through betrayal. That said, assigning "degrees" is central to the culpability of the betrayer. Was there malice and forethought, or was the perpetrator mentally unsound? In the case of mental illness and/or addiction, the wayward spouse is under the influence of distorted thinking. Most unfaithful will readily admit that their choice to betray their loved one required some pretty fancy mental gymnastics - and isn't the very essence of mental illness "distortion in right thinking?" Whether the wayward spouse is diagnosed with a mental illness or not, the road to betrayal is fraught with justifications, minimizations, distorted judgements, entitlement and the like. As the wife of an addict with a history of mental crises, however, it matters a great deal in my processing to come to terms with the realities of an unhealthy mind. In doing so, I have found it easier to understand how he arrived in a cesspool of his own creation that ultimately destroyed the marriage we had. Learning Tolerance and Acceptance As a product of distorted, unhealthy thinking and actions, our marriage was unhealthy too. It is not something I would have chosen, and it certainly is something I would never want to return to. Even in my own state of unawareness of the particulars, I knew the man I was married to was unreliable at best. I knew I shouldered the lion's share of life's responsibilities as a result. I knew this fact made me unhappy and lonely in that marriage. I sensed there was more to aspire to, I simply did not know how to get there. My spouse has had ADHD all his life. As his wife, I took on the task of learning about ADHD. I learned tolerance and acceptance not only of his behavior, but also of the behavior of my son with ADHD. I became the supportive mama-lioness/advocate for my son and, in doing so, came to understand some of "why" my husband was so unreliable and frustrating. As my counselor so astutely commented, "Seems you've been disappointed in your marriage for a very, very long time." Bingo. Understatement. As a love-trooper, I took on more than perhaps I ought to, to demonstrate through actions my love, devotion and commitment. I did everything in my power to advocate for my son in school and socially, as well as accepted my husband's reluctance to do the same. He was, after all, burdened with many of the same challenges of his own. One cannot expect good results when assigning the fox to guard the hen house. I found that to be true in theory as well as in my reality. When their ADHD progressed and addictions ensued, as well as epilepsy and bipolar symptoms, it became nearly impossible to deal with the disappointment and fear. How was I to ever sift through the causes, the "whys," when their behaviors could fall under the category of "illness?" What kind of a person condemns a sick person, even if their actions brought financial, emotional and marital ruin? Talk about being placed between the cliché of a "rock and a hard place." Learning to Count and Observe Your Blessings How does a betrayed spouse heal when the world is focusing on the illness of the betrayer? It's not an easy place to be, and I am still sorting it out myself and expect to be doing so for the rest of my life. Chronic conditions do not resolve, and, as such, require lifelong attention. The question becomes: Was it first-degree infidelity, or betrayal committed under the influence? How is a betrayed spouse to ever really know? The answer: We're not. It is impossible to ever know the heart and truth of another's decisions and behavior, especially when they're consumed by mental illness/addiction. In this scenario, we betrayed spouses are robbed of anything even close to a satisfying "why," let alone being able to feel good in allowing ourselves to release the righteous anger that accompanies such deep wounding. Yet, it is vital to do. Be angry. Grieve. You have been robbed of a dream you worked your tail off to achieve. The universe has dealt you a pretty hard hand. I am eight years in from the discovery of my spouse's financial betrayals, five years in from the sexual infidelity's D-Day, and my son's entire lifetime in from realizing he has many life-altering, life-long challenges. It is not easy. It is not fair. I will never understand it all. But it is reality, a reality I never imagined, nor deserve - and neither did they, neither do they. I have come to believe this, as Charles Dickens so aptly said: "In every life, no matter how full or empty one's purse, there is tragedy. It is the one promise life always fulfills. Thus, happiness is a gift, and the trick is not to expect it, but to delight in it when it comes, and to add to other people's store of it." May you choose to look for the silver lining, the good in each person, and count your blessings, for they are as plentiful as the stars, should you choose to focus on them. Delight in goodness and happiness when it comes, and add to other people's store of it. This is the stuff of the twelfth step of recovery work programs, and it embodies the wisdom of the ages. I have found it to be the lantern that illuminates my path forward, and my wish is that it does the same for you. Harboring Hope registration opens Wednesday, January 19 at Noon CT. Harboring Hope is our online course for betrayed spouses to heal after infidelity. It often sells out within a few short hours. Don't miss it! Click the button below to be notified before registration opens. Subscribe to Registration Notifications!

Happiness only comes when you open the door to pain. You simply can't have one without the other. As a betrayed spouse, I know this all too well. I've learned to live with what happened to me. It's become a part of my history, something profound that I went through. This brokenness has become a part of me, one that's interwoven with the fabric of my life story. This revelation is what I think they call "acceptance." It hasn't come without truckloads of pain: messy, dark, catastrophic and heart-shattering pain. I opened the door to this pain because I know, deep down to my toes, it's the only way through the devastation of intimate betrayal. Acceptance. It's the final stage of grief in the five-part model developed by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross; however, her co-author and colleague, David Kessler, got permission from her estate to publish a book outlining a sixth stage of grief: finding meaning. Loss and Intention Aren't Intertwined "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," Kessler says in his book, "Finding Meaning: The Sixth Stage of Grief." Finding meaning in our loss is an uncharted, unwelcome task. Loss happens to us no matter what we do or fail to do. It's truly not about us. Sometimes it's caused by the behavior of others or a natural disaster. Other times, it's the loss of personal health, something that's internal to our body and not our intention. Once the unilateral choice is made by a partner to break the marriage contract, that relationship is fractured. In that moment, it matters not whether the faithful partner is aware of the breach because eventually they'll feel its effects. It's a loss created then and there. It's something that can happen to any of us — and not because of our intention. That's just one of life's inconvenient truths. Healing Is Your Own Responsibility The ancillary consequence of loss is a mandate to heal. That healing is within our control. We have agency over how — and even whether — we grieve the loss. In the case of marital betrayal, it's wholly our responsibility to heal our wounded hearts. That healing won't happen without an investment in regaining our health. As Kessler says in his book: "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." An essential part of healing is being heard. As much as we crave attachment, we likewise need to be listened to, upheld and validated. We need to know our pain and our loss matters; that our loss is real. We do not heal in isolation. We stew. We build stories in our mind that, more likely than not, skew far from the truth. We begin to tell ourselves untruths, such as: "I could've stopped this from happening." "If I was more ______, this wouldn't have occurred." "I'll never heal because I'm permanently wounded." "My life will never regain its meaning." Although this kind of internal battling is normal, it's not helpful or, in many cases, based in reality. We need each other. We need other human beings to hear our struggles and, in their presence, reassure us that we're not crazy or fatally flawed. After infidelity, we need to hear that we're not forever broken but, rather, just humans in a great deal of temporary pain. The Pain of Infidelity Won't Last Forever Serenity comes when we trade our expectations for healing with acceptance of its actual process. Expectations might reflect our wishes, but they don't dictate reality. They're just a setup for disappointment and resentment. That's why we can only regain serenity through grieving our losses and turning toward real life. Whether you're building a new life with or without your wayward partner, you'll still need to regain your own equilibrium and balance. Start by wiping the grime of betrayal from your perspective so you can begin to see reality as it actually is: flawed, painful and, yet, beautiful and rich. Truth is, there's so much wonder and magnificence in the world and in life. It's our job as individuals to regain our zest for life and heal our wounds 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," Kessler explains in his book. Experiencing Love Means Experiencing Loss Some have gone as far as to say that grief is the cost of love. I've heard many dog owners vow to never own another pup after the painful loss of a beloved canine companion. Loss is devastating, but the absence of unconditional canine love is also devastating. To love a dog — or anything or anyone — is accepting that you'll eventually lose them. Nothing in life is permanent, but being happy in this life means understanding that and taking the risk to love anyways. As C.S. Lewis put it: "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." To move through your healing journey entails viewing life with clear lenses, seeing that experiencing love also means experiencing the risk and inevitability of loss. But the biggest inconvenient truth of them all is this: Love is the root of joy. To love is to risk loss and its subsequent pain. And the choice of whether to risk getting hurt again is entirely up to you. Continue Your Healing with Harboring Hope for Betrayed Partners Affair Recovery’s Harboring Hope is a course for betrayed mates designed by betrayed mates. Over 13 weeks, you’ll gain the tools and support you need to forgive, grieve and begin to thrive once again. "After completing Harboring Hope, I wasn’t sure that I was in a place to be able to encourage others. But, I want to tell you, if it weren’t for Affair Recovery, I literally do not know where I would be. I was, and still am, determined to not let what my husband has done to me make me into a bitter person. I would strongly encourage everyone that has had the misfortune of experiencing this most gut-wrenching pain to join Harboring Hope."— K. MO, February 2021 Harboring Hope participant Subscribe to Harboring Hope Registration Notifications

significant adjective Important; of consequence. Having or expressing a meaning. Statistics - of or relating to observations that are unlikely to occur by chance and that therefore indicate a systematic cause. The significance of the choice to have an affair cannot be understated. Until and unless the unfaithful recognizes what led them to make those choices, they are at risk of a repeat performance. Humans must dig deep to understand themselves. Self-reflection is vital to self- management and self-control. When a person's thinking blossoms into stories they tell themselves that are not cross-checked with reality, when a person assumes, he or she crosses into the land of minimization, justification, villainization of others and, generally, what 12-step programs refer to as "stinkin' thinkin'." The unfaithful often have placed significance into their own thought processes without benefit of adjusting their lens to reflect 20/20 reality. In short, they fool themselves–self-delusion. "unlikely to occur by chance and that therefore indicate a systematic cause." Their choices did not occur 'by chance'. There is a systematic cause that must be unearthed in order to recognize it, clarify it, and adjust it so that they can defend against its repetition. What can we say about significance when it relates to the thinking and actions of the betrayed? So many of us are blindsided by our partner's betrayal. Rightly so. Not many people expect the most beloved and presumably trustworthy person in their life to destroy the contract, the agreement to support, honor, and cherish. What I am about to say may rub you the wrong way, make you mad, or, at first blush, just seem w-r-o-n-g. I was blindsided because I founded my sense of worth in the wrong things. WHAT??? You are probably thinking: "Is it wrong to be committed to my spouse, family, home and career?" But I did not say anything about commitment. I'm talking about measuring my self-worth by those commitments. Many of us have such a huge commitment to our spouse, family and home that it becomes our identity. We feel affronted should someone criticize how we are parenting or judge our housekeeping or our marital relationship. We take an inordinate share of our worthiness and place it outside our healthy circle of control. At the end of the day, we have zero control over (and, therefore, responsibility for) another person's choices–even those of our children and spouse. We have little control over anything or anyone other than ourselves. For those of us who find our sense of worth in the success of our marriage, our children, our career, the state of our house—we are bound to be disappointed. We may, in fact, live in a nearly chronic state of low-level disappointment. There is no such thing as perfection. It is not realistic to think that there is. Out of love, we misplace our value, our identity, sometimes our very significance on the perceived health of our spouse, children, home, and/or career. We put the golden eggs of our self-esteem and value in other people, places and things. We impose unenforceable rules and demands, whether stated or imagined, onto imperfect, limited persons and things. We set ourselves up for disappointment. When we judge our day, our week, or our life on how well others outside our circle of control are behaving and place the value of our happiness upon them, we will eventually, inevitably, be disappointed, even devastated should they betray us. I misplaced so very much of my identity, my value, my worth on how well I was doing in my primary relationships, how successful those relationships were in the lens of my upbringing and cultural influences. Did my life measure up to what I deserved because I gave so much and tried so hard to be a great mom, wife, and employee? Surely everyone else who professed to love me owed me the same. They would act in love toward me, support me, value me, and feed into my identity of good mom, wife, and employee. Nuts. It just doesn't work that way. What any given person invests in is seldom returned in full. Even when there are occasions of happiness, of support and investment of love toward us, it is imperfect and limited–as everyone and all situations are. If my significance exists only as long as I am a valued, respected and loved wife, mother and employee, I WILL be bruised and disappointed when not treated as such. In the case of infidelity, I will be devastated. My perceived value as that great wife, mother, employee is going down the drain when the plug is pulled. When the rug of my expectations is yanked from beneath me, the 'unfairness' of my expectation of faithfulness and love is shattered, I am in peril. I feel devalued if not worthless. All my love and work and giving did not yield what I told myself I deserved, earned. And why didn't I see it coming? Is there something wrong with me that this atrocity should have been cast upon me? My perfect world is shattered. My expectation of growing old with the spouse I loved always and forever at my side in loving support—obliterated. "Plan A" into which I invested all my golden eggs has proven to be untrustworthy, flawed and… *gasp* uncontrollable. I am now in the land of destroyed plan A–hoisted into a plan B I neither planned for, expected or deserved. Where do I go from here? The rubble of plan A is all around me and my outlook on life has taken a severe beating. From where do I find my strength, my value? For those of faith, a higher power is the one reliable answer. From a secular perspective, another safety net must be constructed or drawn upon. If we have put all our worth and identity in our marriage, then, after betrayal, we are starting from ground zero. For those of us who have spread our identity out to include a broad spectrum of persons, places, accomplishments, our task will have some support that is so vital to healing. Grief needs to be witnessed. Many of our unfaithful partners are too deep in shame or 'the fog' to help us. If our very identity, our significance has been placed in them, we are up that cliché creek without a paddle. What we all desire is to be loved. When someone we love lets us down in the most profound way and we do not have a strong relationship with our personal value apart from persons and things, we are bound to flounder. The first step of the 12 step recovery programs reminds us that we are powerless over _______________. Fill in the blank. Whether it be alcohol, overeating, drugs, or other people, the truth of it rings loud and clear. God, Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, The courage to change the things I can (myself, my attitude, my personal circle of control–ME!) ...And the wisdom to know the difference.

Most of us who have experienced betrayal have, at least for a season, anger as our front seat driver. But who is riding in the back seat fueling that angry driver? Fear? Frustration? Betrayal, Sadness? Loneliness? Once I uncovered loneliness and injustice as two of my backseat driver emotions, I've discovered that loneliness and injustice was part of my childhood when I struggled to be the 'good child' as my parents were trying their best to handle a difficult son, my only sibling. More damaging than that was my mother's very natural tendency to worry about me. Would I go down the same path as my ne'er-do-well brother? Would I stay out late? Lie and sneak? Of course, I knew that was not part of my character. Hey—I was the 'good child'. I earned good grades, flew under the radar of the drug culture of my high school. I was not interested. I found those sorts of choices scary, even repugnant. I wanted to live a life of no regrets. Why didn't my mother know that? I remember one evening she came after me, already upset, and accused me of planning to do the things my brother did. I went ballistic. So out of character. I NEVER went ballistic. (Good children are seen not heard.) I railed, "How could you possibly think that of me?" I was shattered. How could my mother, the woman who ostensibly knew me best, accuse me of these things I had not only never done, but would never consider? Why didn't she give me the benefit of the doubt? No…more than that—why didn't she praise me for all the hard work I actually did—all the 'right' choices, all the giving, loving behaviors? Looking back, I realize she was under tremendous emotional stress with the challenges of parenting my brother. Special classes, principal office and counselor visits, rebelliousness. He was in fact all that. I was not. My mother was upset about something that had nothing to do with me; just as my husband's choices to betray had nothing to do with me. Both of these human choices, the foibles that led to my personal pain and destruction were about their woundedness. My emotional explosion in that context highlights my sensitivity to unjust criticism. I have a lifelong trigger, if you will, to being accused of intentions I do not have. In my mind, I work too hard at being a good responsible person to be cast in such a negative light. Such aspersions cut me to the core. They break my heart. And so, the revelation of my husband's years of infidelity–sexual, emotional and financial—quite understandably sunk a dagger into my invested, responsible, loving, giving, hard-working heart. His casting blame on me for not being enough for him–"What did you expect? You didn't have enough sex with me!"—ripped the thin scab off the wound of not-good-enough-ness present from my family of origin. All the criticism poured over me by a mother who felt that that was the way to mold a good citizen (me), was, in an instant, proven 'right'. At least that is how it felt. How could a man who had benefitted from all my care, my support, my huge investment in home, children, and him, choose to abandon our marriage? I knew I was more than enough. I knew I was an excellent housekeeper, employee, mother, and wife. To be told I was not incited volcanic rage (held in check). This rage did not come out immediately. Oh, no. Good, responsible Christine had to see to the hearts of her adult children who had just been devastated with the news. (Yes, their father told me of his long-term affair in front of them.) It took me many weeks of torrential tears, sleeplessness, agony, and sadness to get to the underlying rage. I journaled that rage. Pages and pages. I filled notebooks. In moments of isolation at home, I would verbally rage at the imaginary him. I spent months and month venting this powerful, very human reaction to being betrayed. Oh, the injustice of it all! Until the energy of that injustice lessened. The sadness is still there. The pain resurfaces sometimes when I am tired, hungry, lonely. The difference is that now I have allowed myself the time to grieve. The anger at the injustice of being betrayed for so long has been vented. Revisiting that anger is less and less powerful. e-motion= energy in motion As an adult, I can find healthy ways of coping with, mitigating, and healing my anger. These methods may include, but are not limited to therapy, support groups, 12-step work, safe friends, going to church, prayer, meditation, exercise, gardening, and other fun hobbies such as painting, writing, reading. These things help me to relieve my loneliness as I heal mostly alone, and thus disarm it from influencing and 'driving' my anger. I have been put in my own driver's seat toward healing. And I knew I didn't want that seat to be forever occupied by a raging, bitter woman. These four and a half years have been the hardest, most painful of my life. They have also provided opportunity toward the most personal growth. This life experience has reinforced the truth. I am a good, invested, giving and loving person who has been accused, tried, and treated as someone guilty of something I am not by a person who is wounded by his own life circumstances and has projected them oh-so-painfully onto me. His inability to see my love in no way diminishes the reality of all the years of caring, giving, support and love that I gave. Hey—I AM that loving person who would no more harm, ignore, or abandon my family than I would fly to the moon using my arms. I gave all I had to give. I lived my life as a loving person. That is reality. And the broken accusations and behavior of another—even if that 'other' is my mother or my husband—cannot change that.

My friend recently had a terrible burn accident while frying bacon. A stumble and the hot grease splashed across the palm and side of her hand. As an EMT, she knew she must douse the injury in cold water and clean it. And not just clean but rid the area of the skin that was peeled away. The pain was exquisite. A trip to emergency room quickly followed. "Give me two minutes," the ER doctor pleaded. "You did a good job and the right thing in cleaning your burn, but I have to get the rest of the dead skin and debris so it won't get infected." My friend knew he was right. "You've been through childbirth?" He smiled wryly. He was understating the pain of those two minutes. It seemed more like two years. What is the metaphor here? Healing from the worst trauma a person may ever experience–the betrayal of the one person they relied upon to protect them—is painful. It is no more welcome than having a burn deeply cleansed after a horrible accident. Neither the betrayed nor the unfaithful likely had any notion of the severity of this deep attachment wound. Even the path to healing--the actual experience of dredging up all the ugly details, metabolizing the long-ranging effects on self, relationship and family and then talking it through ad nauseam for months, dealing with the neurologically-based trauma responses, the sleep disturbances–all of it is nothing short of painful. Sometimes very painful. Probably the worst emotional pain most will ever experience. And it is vital. To heal, you must make way for the new to grow. Tender, sensitive, unfamiliar new 'skin' will take the place of the damaged. The old marriage is dead, just as sure as those layers of injured skin. In an instant, your world has changed. Without warning you are plunged into deep unrelenting pain. And then to realize that you must attend to the wound through a process that will cause more pain? It is so unfair, so unwanted, never imagined nor courted. Yet here you are in what has been referred to as hell on earth. "I wouldn't wish this pain on my worst enemy." The unfaithful are likely gobsmacked by the intensity of their betrayed spouse's pain, by the depth of their own shame and guilt, by it all. And now, there is no choice. If you want to heal. If you want your new life to be strong, it is going to take Herculean courage and tenacity. If you want your marriage to be rebirthed into a new, stronger life, it is going to be painful. Like childbirth, like the scraping of a wound to remove the offending, old, and dangerous. You can heal. Whether or not you build a new marriage or part ways. Both of you can heal as individuals. If you want the marriage to rise like a phoenix from the ashes, you will have to BOTH come together for what will be a long period of hard discussions. The unfaithful must learn to hold the pain of their betrayed without defensiveness or anger. They must learn to validate their wounded partner's pain, to feel it, to empathize with it, and to repair it by becoming a changed, honest, person of integrity. Without these actions, there will not be relational healing. There will be pretending, limping along, ugly scars and more pain. The betrayed must learn to open to the unfaithful and gain understanding and compassion for their unhealthy path: choosing what seemed like getting their needs met without the messiness of true intimacy. Infidelity is ultimately an intimacy disorder. The betrayed must be open to seeing and feeling what it must be like to be so wounded, so lacking in intimacy skills, so unhealthy that everything loved in life is put at risk. This is not easy. It is incredibly painful. Over and over and over again, both partners, if they want a chance to heal, must make room for entering and feeling the world of their partner. They must acknowledge. They must empathize. Like my friend's hand, the wound will have to be tended for a long time. There will be pain. The gauze bandages wound around my friend's hand were cumbersome, unfamiliar, burdensome, time-consuming, and a constant reminder of the burning-hot grease. Even when those bandages came off, that new, tender, pink skin was sensitive. The least brush or bump sent shock waves, triggered her pain receptors. But the pain can be reduced. How? Empathy. Slowly, ever so slowly—never fast enough—her body, her self-care, the support and care of her husband and family have brought her through. Slowly, slowly, over time, acknowledgement and care, her wound has healed. Her hand has returned to full function. Because she followed the prescriptive path of healing, her skin is smoother than that of her other hand. Stronger. Even better. Could she have healed alone? Yes. As a strong, tenacious woman who was willing to take good care of herself, she would have healed. Did the love, support and empathy of her family help? Of course. Is she closer, more intimate with her spouse because of his empathy toward her and his supporting patient love? You bet. The Unfaithful must choose to move past their shame and guilt and turn toward tending the pain of their wounded Betrayed if they want to heal the relationship. They MUST. It is imperative to relational healing. Both partners have a long path toward healing of self. Like a three-legged stool—self, partner and relationship–without each leg becoming strong, the stool will collapse. There will not be relational healing. Make way for healing. Do the painful work of scraping away the unhealthy and damaged. Be patient. Healing takes enormous energy, care, and time. However, with these ingredients in place, healing will occur. There will be a stronger, wiser, more resilient 'you' down the road. If BOTH partners do their work and the work of repairing the relational wound, there will be a new "Us," a strong stool that will not topple. To healing.

"You have to trust the process." I've heard this mantra of sorts from many research-based and well-respected betrayal recovery sources. It is the very backbone and lifeblood of expert help such as what is offered through Affair Recovery's Programs and Courses. It is so hard to do when your heart is shattered into a million fragmented pieces, and all you want, all you need, is to escape the horrendous pain. A pain like no other. There are many necessary elements of successful recovery. Just as there are many spaces on the canvas of a paint by number. When you look at them up close, they appear to be oddly-shaped islands in a sea of other strange shapes. Or they could be compared to jigsaw puzzle pieces: when observed apart from the others, they are just weird shapes without congruent meaning. I have found that the road to recovery is much like trying to make sense out of a million little pieces. "Why do I have to do all this self-care work, reading, therapy, workshops, blogging, podcast listening, etc., etc., etc.? I'm not the one who caused this chaos." The refrain of every victim of crime or injustice rings down through the eons. We who have been cheated on are, indeed, victims of injustice. We did not ask and do not deserve to be in this position. But here we are. We will never have a better past. That leaves the only realistic choice. To move forward. But how? Acceptance. Herein lies the wisdom of those who have walked this path before us, those who have dedicated their lives to helping other heal from the same wounds, whose scars remain on their hearts. We who have survived, in this case, intimate betrayal, are the most powerful sources of compassion and empathy. Those who have chosen to make their mess their message and studied the proven process of healing so as to be a guiding light on the pathway forward, are full of supportive hard-earned wisdom and care. Those individuals can help us take each piece of evidence-based wisdom and learn how to fit them into our own situation. When I am painting by number, I focus on each weirdly-shaped area. I carefully choose the right sized brush as my tool. I follow the directions scrawled on the canvas. I check and recheck to be sure I have the correct color to apply to the correct 'piece'. I carefully apply the paint in patience. I work the canvas like a puzzle. Even when I sit back and look at my progress it can appear distorted. I can get discouraged, especially if I look at the whole too often. It can seem overwhelming, like a weird concoction of colored blobs that will never make sense, let alone create something of beauty. It has been my experience that if I follow the path—the directions—with patience and persistence, if I suspend judgement, if I am tenacious, careful and committed, I will eventually have a beautiful, painted picture. It has happened every time. Even when the painting still looks odd when viewed up close. Even if the colors were not what I would have chosen or expected. When they come together in the chorus of the finished product, they are surprisingly, rewardingly beautiful. Every time. So too is this path toward healing from betrayal trauma. If I grow impatient, or cannot see how this mess will ever come together into a semblance of a new beautiful life, I remind myself of my painting. I remind myself of all the thousands of couples who have walked through the valley of the death of their marriage from infidelity. (For, no matter if you remain together or split up, that pre-disclosure marriage is dead. No way to put the genie of innocence back in that bottle. You wouldn't want the disfunction of that marriage anyway. It is gone, done, passed.) It is up to each of us–unfaithful and betrayed–to commit to the process, work with diligent intention and consummate patience toward that day when we can stand back and look at our new life and smile. We can make something new, something never seen by us before, something we could not have ever imagined—a good, new life. Contentment. Serenity. Together or apart, we can heal and become whole.

I recently made this family favorite. The first two batches came out perfectly. On the third and final batch, the kitchen timer did not go off. I use this timer for all sorts of cooking and baking projects. It is the type where you rotate the dial past the time you want and turn back to the exact number of minutes desired. It ticks like a time bomb and rings as a school bell at day's end. My internal timer went off before I smelled burning, but the cookies were definitely a few moments past the point of no return. What's this metaphor got to do with life and infidelity recovery? Just this: even when we, the betrayed, have used our best ingredients from the supermarket, when we have followed—carefully and with lots of love—the recipe for cookies (or life), sometimes the timer doesn't work, and the cookies don't turn out. There is joy in the doing because we know we will enjoy the cookies, and so will our family. We set the trusty timer, put the cookies in preheated oven and continue to go about our life at earshot of the timer's brrrriiiiiinnnnngggg. But it never comes. And we're left with burnt cookies. Was it a mistake to count on the timer's reliability when it had not been unreliable in the past? Perhaps the most doubtful baker would keep an eye on her wristwatch to be sure that the timer goes off. Or maybe those of us who have had timers fail us in the past would be more likely to use the backup plan. Regardless, our cookies have been burnt. Our marriage as we knew it is over. It will never be the same. Even if we are fortunate enough to have a spouse who eventually takes full responsibility, makes amends on an ongoing basis, and becomes the person we thought we married (or better!), we might never trust completely, tenderly, innocently again. We will never have a marriage untainted by betrayal. We have been changed down to a cellular level.1 It's an end, a loss, and it's sad—like saying goodbye to our kindergartner on his first day is difficult and heartrending, like tossing the final rose on the coffin of a parent or beloved friend is unimaginably painful. Endings can be anything from bittersweet to just plain awful. Grief. Sucks. Sure, there are those first two batches of sweet, delightful memories. But this dark, bitter batch leaves an aftertaste in our mouth, even if it is still edible. We never want to go there again. We have been burned—badly. About as deeply and painfully as any experience in life. Infidelity changes you. The next time I make peanut butter cookies, even if my timer has resumed its apparent reliability, I will be more careful, more watchful, use a backup plan. Even if I was to throw out the old timer and get a new one, I would be reminded to be careful. I would not trust completely, perhaps for a long time—maybe forever—that the timer wouldn't fail me. I am more clear-eyed, more realistic, more mature. We will surely and truly never be the same. We will be wiser, more careful, less trusting. We will also be more appreciative of all the batches of cookies that are to come. We are grateful for the timer and even more grateful for the sweet results. We have been forewarned. No timer, no man, no woman is failsafe. We can do everything right but still have those we rely on fail us. It is part of life: Disappointment. Death. Birth. Growth after betrayal. Growth after the longest winter of discontent. There is hope. As we grieve the losses, as our formerly unfaithful repairs, as we invest in listening, empathy and compassion, we can once again grow as individuals and as a couple. We can also choose to use this as an opportunity to grow, regardless of the outcome of our marriage, to be even better, stronger, wiser. Would I ever consider quitting my love of baking because I had a bad batch or even a season of oven failures? No. Love and cookies are too important, too vitally special to me and my life. Even if our post-pandemic world looks different, even if we are fundamentally changed by disappointments and losses, we can grow into more loving and compassionate human beings. We can choose gratitude for all the blessing of this life. We can savor the fruits, the cookies, of our labors again if we let ourselves risk failure. We all risk when we love. We all risk every day when we get out of bed in the morning. Life is inherently risky, especially if we have the courage to reach for our dreams, if we choose to love. We all risk for what is good. We all hurt when what was good disappoints us. Especially when we did everything we could to make it right. But peanut butter cookies—and love—are worth it. See The Body Keeps Score by Bessel van der Kolk for more information

Sometimes, my thoughts are punishing, my brain on fire. Have you experienced this? I am someone who deserves to be understood and cherished rather than criticized and improved. It is time to arrest the process of depletion caused by the trauma I have suffered. It's time to stop ignoring my body's signals and instead allow them the authority to teach me about myself, time to keep my life as simple and quiet as possible, to allow myself comforts of the senses and small pleasures: Home cooking of familiar foods reminiscent of my childhood. Enjoying a steaming cup of my favorite tea. The sound of moving water, taking in the look of it, the soft caress it provides in a hot shower. Walking alongside it, whether a lake or the sea, as I marvel at its many moods. Laughter is as much a part of my healing as weeping. Revisiting favorite films from my past or watching a new series on Netflix helps to mend that sore ache in my heart that has been my constant companion. It is time to reset my internal clock to the rhythms of nature: Watch the sun rise and set. Gaze up at the constellations. Observe the cycle and changing shape of the moon. Connect to a simpler, slower time. Sometimes life offers a respite, something or, in my case, someone new. My first grandchild was born two years after D-day, and although she lives on the other side of the country, our precious few visits have allowed me to revisit the long hours of my own young motherhood spent watching the magical process of infanthood unfolding. What a treasure to look into the innocent eyes of the future and see in them the simplicity of life as it used to be. Even in a time of great suffering, there can be connection to our depth of character and memory: Memories of a season of life when I was under the protective loving care of my parents, living under their roof, eating my mom's simple, filling meals, lying next to my basset hound 'sister' while synchronizing my breathing with her soft snore. Even if life were no less dangerous and dark then, the darkness was hidden from my awareness as I was cushioned within the walls of my family home and the unconditional love I found there. In this time of recovery, I look for a way to transform all this misery into wisdom and compassion, just as the most revered men and women of history have done, just as every strong-souled person has found reincarnation as a more resilient, empathetic self. Although I allow myself to speak of my sorrow and loss, I will not let it define me. I've found a wonderful group through Al-Anon. The meeting I go to is composed mostly of senior women who have been molded by their grief. They remind me that I have choices, and it is okay to say no. After taking good care of my body and soul for as long as it takes, it will begin to, once again, take care of me. Slowly, I allow myself to enjoy the return of more positive emotions. Contentment sneaks back in with the balm of intentional calmness. A new spark of curiosity, a bit more energy punctuates what have been the darkest days of my life. I can, once again, feel the great tenderness I have held for the important people in my life, both living and dead. Little by little, I no longer feel quite so broken, so alone. It is akin to surviving a near-death experience, filling me with gratitude for the tulip bulbs that are pushing their way through the warming earth and listening to every Michael Bublé song that comes on the radio. It seems I can never plan a day as good as the one that unfurls if I just leave lots of white space in my schedule. Slow down, and let the day unfold. Maybe, just maybe, a day I thought would be dismal will become a bright memory. We all have seasons of suffering if we are fortunate to live long enough. In this season, if I allow myself to explore my self and my relationship to the world, my heart and body and mind will strengthen, grow, heal. Step out of the shadow-life great grief brings. I believe most of us are equipped to heal from trauma. We can choose to dig deep into the entrenched strengths of our identity. The cure is growth. When we expand our point of view, our life, so too, will follow.

"Wondering if I will come to a happy place in surrender to self-care. Surrender to me. Myself. And I. Self-talk, positive affirmations of my worth. It's my time now. My season of me. I've given and given and given. No time for guilt over self-care anymore. Over rediscovering who I was…who I am apart from my spouse. I really am still me. How wonderful that she, the little girl inside, has not been extinguished? Even through the incredible trauma of discovery, lies and deception—I am still inside. Inside my heart I am still that young girl who loved the outdoors, the simple joy of natural surroundings ...and just being. I want to just be. I long to just be me. Before my time is up." – A Betrayed Wife What is this inner child work of which they speak? For those who have committed wrongs against self and others, it is a part of recovery. One must learn to forgive and re-parent the little child inside whose lens was distorted and learned to handle life's pressures through harmful escape. What about those of us who have been abused and neglected¬—we who have lost our footing because of our spouse's choices? How do we nurture compassion and empathy for the child we once were? It has been said in many 12-step ‘anon' programs–for recovering friends and family of another's addiction-laced actions–that it is to ourselves that are owed amends. Many of us have sacrificed the hopes, dreams, and joys of that little inner child with the best of intentions for our spouse and family. In turn, we have neglected the tender heart of our inner child. The cliché "no good deed goes unpunished," comes to mind. Yes, we have done many good deeds—probably more than most. And yet we drew the short straw when it comes to having a faithful marriage. We will never be able to say we had all the things those greeting cards in the stores tout on anniversary cards. Through no doing of our own, that precious day of remembrance of white lace and promises has been tainted. Yet, that inner child needs to be embraced and loved—the one who dreamed of a 50th wedding anniversary, grandchildren on our knee, and celebrating a life of honesty, respect, and love. What were his or her dreams and joys? What simple pleasures made him or her smile? Lying on the carpet face to face with puppy breath, needle teeth, and a squirming bundle of love. Strolling along a necklace of foam at the crest of a wave as it reaches up the beach and then slides back into the sea—looking for a glint of shiny shell to capture in hand as treasured remembrance. Wiping away the milk moustache after a crunchy Oreo experience. Running just a little bit ahead toward the front door of the next neighbor's house on a cool and dark Halloween night; pillow case in hand awaiting to be ‘fed' when the door opens. Trading your latest treasure from a collection of rocks, marbles, stamps, or trading cards with a best friend. Pumping the pedals of your bike, heart racing, with wind tossed hair. Taking a juicy bite of summer's first slice of watermelon. Trying to fall asleep in anticipation of Santa's drop down the chimney. Running in from playing outside to sit down to dinner surrounded by family. Gazing at the moon and trying to see the man's face wondering how Swiss cheese could form such an image. Being tucked in and kissed on the forehead, "Goodnight." Find them. Don't give up. There are still so many simple pleasures awaiting your notice. Mindfulness is not just a tool to achieve a state of meditation, it is the crystal clear lens of reality that allows you to really see all the amazing wonders all around you: see, taste, feel, hear, and smell the breadth of life. Find that little person inside and promise to never let him or her go. Never again sacrifice so much that you can't look up at the clouds and dream.

Before what we in the infidelity community call "D-day," my life was full—full of gratitude, challenges, and mostly good. My life was nowhere near perfect—punctuated with the losses one experiences when we are lucky enough to live long enough. I had lived a largely intact existence blessed with friends, a beautiful place to call home, and good food on my table. As a function of my positive, benefit-of-the-doubt attitude, I'd taken difficulties in stride. I mostly found solutions or learned to live with, and even celebrate reality. And then came D-day. Yes, I was aware of my unfaithful husband's (UH) tendencies to procrastinate, to not follow through, to leave me to fill in the gaps. Yes, I knew he was, at times, uncomfortably focused on sex, how to get more from me and frustrated that I was not sexual enough for him. The beautiful, sturdy vase of many colors that was my life still shone day in and out as a testament to my positive look-forwardness and super energy to make things work, even if to 'work' was not what I'd imagined. I was resilient, flexible, and forgiving of the world's imperfections and mostly happy. My UH's choice to blow up my world shattered that vase of beauty–scattered the fragments of what I thought had been my beautiful life–into a million smithereens. In the space of time it took him to utter the words, "Affair," and "Since 1989." My love-lit, light- lit world detonated into darkness, dust, and the scattering of those lovely shards of happiness that used to be me. How could this happen? Hadn't I played life in all sincerity—giving and loving to the best of my ability? Why would the world deal me such a blow? Why would the man I thought loved and protected me instantly be exposed as my life's greatest threat and heartbreak? I reached for the pieces. I fell to my knees and tried to gather as much of what remained as I could. I wept over the pile of sparkle and dust in my lap, knowing I could never glue it all back together. My life as I knew it was gone forever—in one horrible moment. Even now, as I write, my throat tightens, and the weight of the truth presses against my chest, and a tear is brought to my eye. I grieve for the woman who gave everything she had to a dream that was not real—a dream that was being manipulated to look pretty. In reality, it was actually infused with the evil of addiction and the thinking/actions such emotional immaturity brings with it. Such brokenness disguised in a coat of many colors as a faithful husband. Beneath that cloak were lies and justifications and resentments. >ver the past six years, I have searched for the fragments of my life. I've looked through the many dark nights of my soul, through the vail of tears, through books, blogs, and workshops of experts helping thousands such as myself try to make sense of the fragments that used to be their lives. The experts helped. The books helped. The workshops, mentors, helpers, and counselors helped. Yet no one and none of it could help me piece together what was once my heart. None of them knew my intimate heart...but me. And so, I have worked tirelessly to reconstruct our finances after he decimated them on the altar of self-aggrandizement and bottomless need for adoration. I realigned the money ducks into that metaphorical row. And then two and a half years later came the sexual infidelity bomb that made my re-gluing all the more complicated—and impossible. No neat rows of numbers, no methodical counting and saving would do now. I had to come to terms with the fact that there was no way to glue together this level of destruction—no way to EVER have a better past that was protected and cherished by a healthy faithful spouse. That would never be my reality. It was smoke and mirrors. I hit rock bottom of my soul. I was never loved as I had loved. The beautiful, colorful sparkles and beauty of my life vase would never be able to be reconstructed—never look anything like it had. I spent three and a half years collecting what was left: the sparkly bits, the raw umbers, and rich golds; the bright, sunny, yellow pieces, the deep lapis, and pearly whites. And so painfully, slowly, on bended knees—bent over the cold, barren, hard floor of my new existence, I began to lay down one tiny shard at a time. I began forming a new pattern of broken pieces into some semblance of a new world: A reality that still held beautiful cloudless days, soft summer nights, tall golden grass on rounded California hills, gardens that sprouted tender new life and the birth of new faces into my day-to-day. The shards meandered like a lazy stream seemingly in a ramble toward an indistinct future. Slowly, so painfully slow on the hard floor of reality, a pathway, a stream, a new life burst of a million colors began to form something that might even be called exquisite: My new life–my mosaic never dreamed of, never courted, never meant to be in my mind's eye–a reality. My new reality that can and is still something good...even beautiful. My mosaic. My life.

This quote flashed on the screen behind the minister in church today. He'd already said he was not going to comment on any of the quotes behind him as he had his own schtick to say. When I read this, he lost me for a few moments as I took in the wisdom within the printed words. And then it occurred to me—I have attempted to pour out the effect my husband's betrayals have had on me in hope that you, the reader, might relate and feel validated. Perhaps the most poignant are the posts that offer the proverbial ray of light in the darkness. It certainly is what I need in order to maintain a positive perspective from the pit; grieving the loss of the marriage I thought I had. Step Twelve of Alcoholics Anonymous states, "Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs." So maybe the power of blogging is not so much in the sharing of devastation in hopes of building a community. Instead, maybe what we need is to look for what we have inside to help ourselves—and eventually, we can help others. So, my friends, how do you feel about journaling? It is recommended by therapists as a tool for healing all sorts of hurt and trauma. It is the release of emotion onto paper, with the goal to purge it from the life you never signed up for nor imagined. It is the hydrogen peroxide of emotional cleansing. I think the difference in blogging is that readers expect a thread of thought that can be followed, is comprehensible, and helpful. For the blog writer, it is our responsibility to compelling story that might actually provide solace—inspiration for a brighter future. Therein lies the rub—the original premise upon which this piece is based. Overall, is it not more helpful to focus on the positives, appreciations, and the rainbow that surely follows the storm? Truth be known, I think journaling and blogging each has its place and usefulness. We must get the infection out before the healing can commence. We must walk through the darkness before the dawn. So, dear readers, placate me, tolerate me, forgive me, maybe even support me in my efforts to heal myself; through your tolerance in these ramblings, "If I can help you in your healing, therein lies my own."

Remember Inside Out – the Disney Pixar movie where each character represents different parts of a little girl's emotions? Each emotion – or character in the film – vies for attention and control inside her mind. It's a cute idea, and one steeped in reality. 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 dominate her short life, Joy, the emotion, was in control. This too is often the case in real life. Our past, particularly our family of origin, has taught us how to filter the world, which is often dangerous. For my husband, 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. I couldn't help but tune into their 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 by being cheerful and giving. This created the perfect storm for a marriage – I gave; he took. I felt it was my job to keep the family running smoothly. He felt relief and entitlement after all that lonely abandonment. A highly empathic giver meets a severely broken 'good guy' poser. For my husband, addiction was almost inevitable – in fact, he had multiple addictions. As we know, addictions are a symptom, not the root of a problem. And boy did he have a lot of 'roots' in his mind. All of this added to his anger, fear, and disgust gaining control over his joy. Joy and fear were my major persuaders through 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. Variations of our dynamic are sadly played out time and time again with all sorts of couples. We live in a broken world that creates broken people who transmit their pain until they heal their pain. Which brings me to grief. We need to grieve the losses caused by other's transgressions upon us. It is crucial that each and every one of us take responsibility for our actions and heal the residual losses we feel. Pain that is not transformed will be transmitted. It is also my responsibility to remain in reality and not allow myself to justify cruelty in any form as a result of hurts inflicted upon me. We are all responsible to use our 'headquarters executive' – our cognitive brain function – to mitigate all those emotional characters that are screaming in our ear to act out. It is what transforms immature, childish responses to mature, thought-out, controlled responses. We are all responsible to grow up, face realities, and act in mature ways that neither hurts us or others. Yes – even those who came from dysfunctional families. Our 'executive' is ultimately able to control our choices and shape our behavior. 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

I've been reading about something called 'neural plasticity' in Emily Nagoski's book, Come As You Are – a book often recommended by Rick to learn about women's sexuality. In the midst of this seemingly endless period of 'recovery,' I really needed to read something positive and hopeful and validating. How could a book discussing women's sexuality and brain science be uplifting? When we find ourselves stuck in the slog of trying to change another's attitude about one's unfaithful spouse – when one has waited many months to see any change of heart in the unfaithful, it can get pretty discouraging. Then I read a book that describes what science has found to be true in 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 instinctive. In other words, it would be uncomfortable, if not impossible, to return to the old ways. For example, suppose I am given community service hours at a homeless shelter to make meals – at first I go because I've been told to do so under duress. My human brain allows me to 'fake it until I make it'. Eventually, I will come to not only tolerate cooking meals, I will enjoy and want to continue cooking meals for the homeless. The action itself will become its own reward and my brain structure – my neurons – will reconfigure to support this newfound habit. Reconfiguring our brain for healthy behaviors is not a quick fix. It won't happen overnight. But it WILL happen if we continue the healthy behavior. I believe this is why so many 12-step sponsors require acts of service from their sponsees. The sponsor gives his sponsee a helpful, healthy task which the sponsee is told to do no matter how he feels. I have heard many stories shared by those in recovery that demonstrates the positive effects of rewiring their brains. Bottom line? They learn to do better. They heal. How wonderful and hopeful is that? We can change the way we act and so can our spouse. We can change for the better. The key is A-C-T-I-O-N, regardless of feelings. Rinse and repeat. Come as You Are: The Surprising New Science that Will Transform Your Sex Life by Emily Nagoski.

"For what it's worth: it's never too late to be who you want to be. I hope you live a life you're proud of, and if you find that you're not, I hope you have the strength to start over." – Eric Roth Three years can sometimes seem like three thousand years, and at other times, it feels like three seconds. The perception of time is so variable depending on its contents in our conscious experience. When I used to craft romance novels, hours seemed like minutes. I was so focused on the characters, the pacing, and the plot unfolding before me that time seemed to evaporate into my flow of invested thought. As I transferred words onto the page, the sense of something greater than myself was very powerful. As so many artists caught in the dance of doing have said before me, the creative process is fueled by that unimaginable power that permeates the world with life, energy, and mystery. Even now as I type these words, I marvel at the thoughts as they flow from my mind, translated via fingers to the keyboard. Often when I look back at my words, I ask myself, "Did I write that?" It is an inexplicable phenomena: making something that has never existed before this moment. At 2:11 p.m. on a Sunday, wind whips the trees outside in a bustling rush while Bradley Joseph plays his exquisite piano on a Pandora radio station, and Milo Yorkie is at my side. The 'real' world melts into the imagined as I allow my stream of consciousness to flow. As horrendous as the impasse of time seemed to be in the trauma of betrayal and discovery, and the agonizing days and months that followed, my mindfulness practice of presence, is at times paying off. As difficult as it is to see the runway at LAX before I arrive home from a long air journey, so too is it impossible to discern the outcome of this thing we call 'recovery'. I remember a story told by a life coach I admire concerning a client of his that lamented the fact that he was in his early forties and had never taken a dive into his first love – medicine. As a pre-med student in college, his girlfriend had gotten pregnant right before he graduated; they'd married, and delivered a beautiful baby girl. He never pursued a post-graduate degree, but lots of love and two more children followed. As the bills rolled in and the responsibilities of young fatherhood mounted, the young man found himself working as a lab technician, supporting his new family by day, and helping his wife care for their home and children at night. The years passed joyfully, but the dream of medicine still lingered beneath the surface of his smile. "By the time I finish medical school and my residency, I'll be rounding on fifty," the man bemoaned. "And what will you be doing if you don't go to medical school?" The man's face brightened. "I'll be turning fifty." Time does not heal all wounds. It does not earn you a degree or solve your problems. It's what you do with that time that matters. Making no decision is a decision, and there is potentially a huge cost to taking no action. Are you vacillating between reinvesting in your shattered relationship or leaving your marriage? Are you so wounded that you simply cannot fathom ever reestablishing intimacy, emotional or sexual, with your unfaithful partner? That's okay. That is normal. It will take as long as it takes for the clouds to part for you, and for your partner. Clarity takes its own time. The mere fact that you are reading this, indicates commitment to your own healing. Bravo. You are proactive in your forward movement. Even if you are totally blind as to the eventual outcome, you, dear friend, are moving in the right direction toward the beginning of wholeness. You will, God willing, turn 30, 40, 50, 60 even 70 regardless of your decisions now. The century mark is on the dawning horizon of your life too. How will you spend that time? Those decades that lie ahead? You are worth loving and caring. Take good care of yourself, my fellow survivor. You will add to your storehouse of wisdom and strength by minute, by hour, by day, by week, by month, by year. You are going to be OK. You have a magnificent person looking after you: Y-O-U. Christine