Survivors Blog: 

Jen F

Jen is our newest Survivors' Blog writer and staff member for Affair Recovery. She is a woman who has lived the journey from betrayal to a restored marriage and knows what it takes to find solid ground again. She and her husband have spent years leading marriage groups in her church and she is incredibly passionate about helping couples trade their self-protective walls for real, honest connection. We hope her story inspires courage and ultimately healing in your recovery journey. ~Rick Reynolds, LCSW The news article popped into my email and immediately my stomach roiled. Free solo No ropes 101 stories …a massive spire? He has a family. A wife and two young children. Why would anyone risk a fall from that height? With one misstep, one missed hand grab, one crazy gust of wind, he would lose everything. And his family would lose him. I tuned in to watch Alex Honnold free solo Taipei 101, not because I am a climbing enthusiast or an adrenaline junkie, but because I wanted to see how his wife processed this kind of risk. I couldn’t fathom being anything other than angry. As I watched, I realized I wasn’t angry for her. I was angry at him. How can I be mad at someone I don’t even know? Whose decisions have exactly zero impact on my own life? But as I got quiet, I realized I was viewing this whole situation not as a climbing enthusiast scaling a building, but as a husband not choosing his wife. And I have been a wife whose husband chose risk over me. I viewed Alex’s adventure as risky, selfish — something done for the rush and the title and it reminded me of all the times that my husband chose porn — also something done for the rush, the fantasy of adoration, the getting to feel like a “man” without having to be one in the mess of real life. From the depths of my soul, I found myself continually shouting, “Why are you risking your life? What makes you think this will be worth it? Is there anything I can say or do to convince you otherwise?” The Misdirected Climb Not unlike scaling a building without ropes, Craig’s betrayal was a high-stakes, life-altering risk, but he took this “external” risk to avoid an even riskier internal one: vulnerability. Being vulnerable is the scariest climb of all, isn’t it? To reveal our true self invites either full acceptance or total rejection — and we don't know which one we’ll get until we’re committed to the wall. I remind myself all the time that “to be fully loved, I must be fully known” but the deepest fear I have is that if someone fully knows me, they won’t love me. I will be too much or too little, too needy or too independent. For so many years in my marriage, I employed my self-protection plan — to be anything and everything anyone needed me to be. Craig’s self-protection plan was to disappear into the fantasy world of pornography. We both hid from ourselves, from each other, and from God. If we view the definition of intimacy as “into-me-see,” we didn’t have any of that. What we had were self-protective walls that served as facades of independence. The Adrenaline Mask Having childhood wounds or a fear of vulnerability isn’t an excuse for having an affair or a sex addiction. But because I know what it’s like to fear vulnerability and have used my own coping mechanisms, it helps me understand that my husband’s actions were motivated by those same fears. They are big and heavy and loud. They drown out the deeper, truer needs of intimacy and connection. What I have learned from our story of sex addiction and the stories of others is that when we engage in risky behaviors — consuming the illicit content behind the locked door, the furtive text to a co-worker, the secret hotel room — adrenaline keeps us singularly focused on the “Now.” When Craig looked at porn, he was able to shut out his past and present hurts, his disconnection with the one he first chose, and the sheer weight of living. In any type of affair or betrayal, there is this search to finally feel alive, but in actuality, it just puts people in survival mode. Whether you’re climbing without a rope or sneaking around with someone else (or a device), your nervous system is on fire. What we have mistaken for relief, passion, or true love is really “stress-induced alertness.” The War Within This was true for Craig. While he could convince himself in the moment that I wouldn’t find out or it “wasn’t that big a deal,” a part of him still knew the truth about what he was doing. This created a war within himself. His limbic system drove him toward dopamine and the escape. Meanwhile, his prefrontal cortex screamed “error messages” that he tried to ignore: This isn’t honoring. You’re hurting your wife and your kids. You’re risking your integrity. You were made for more than this. What he did to escape pain only increased it. He risked betraying me because it felt less scary than feeling exposed. This is not emotionally satisfying to those of us who have been betrayed, I know. It feels unfair that their 'fear' resulted in our 'destruction.' I sat in that unfairness for a long time. I wore my brokenness like a badge and reduced Craig to the villain until one day, after finding him engaging with porn again, I got really vulnerable with God. In His graciousness, He listened to me fling rage and bitterness at Him, at Craig, and at the fact I was stuck in this miserable place. As I curled in a heap of exhaustion, I heard a whisper: Would you like to try this my way? The Real Risk: Surrendering the Illusion Free-soloing is terrifying, but so is the work of marriage and honestly, revisiting and healing childhood trauma. In addiction or an affair, we have the illusion of control. Craig thought he was skilled enough to hide his actions and I tried to control the environment to prevent more pain. Both of us were trying to manage this mountain on our own terms and get our needs met without each other. This is what God was showing me that day: True healing for both of us required turning away from our fierce independence and carefully crafted facades. And this is the real risk — the danger of being honest. It’s the risk of turning toward each other with our fears and true needs exposed. It’s admitting that working on this marriage meant that there was very little we could actually control at all. The Gear We Didn’t Have Craig and I eventually found our way to the other side, but honestly? We did it the hard way. We didn’t have a map. We didn’t have a guide. We spent years falling, bruising ourselves, and nearly giving up because we were trying to scale this mountain with our bare hands. I deeply wish Craig and I had known about Affair Recovery when we were struggling through his addiction. We would have not floundered for as long as we did. You don’t have to. These just might be a lifeline for you. For Individual Healing: For us, recovery began with finding our own footing. Before we could heal our marriage, we had to heal the things that kept us from being vulnerable. Whether you’ve experienced the fall of betrayal or you're exhausted from climbing without a rope, you need an individual path. Joining a group of other people who have experienced betrayal or unfaithfulness reinforces that you’re not alone on this journey and hope and healing are real things. These groups are led by fellow sojourners who are passionate about the power of community and are dedicated to helping you heal your own heart first. For the Marriage: When you are ready to climb together again, EMS Weekend is designed to provide the ropes and anchors you need to navigate the hardest parts of your story. Having witnessed the transformation of couples who attend this weekend—and having read testimony after testimony of those who followed—I can tell you that this isn't just a workshop. It is a proven path to safety, vulnerability, and hope. You aren't meant to do this alone. The bravest thing any of us can do today isn't to keep climbing without a rope; it's to reach out and let a community hold the line.