Survivors Blog: 

Michaela

Shortly after our D-Day, Gary and Debbie, another couple who were decades into their recovery told us, "You are going to start to see things that other people don't see. You are going to start living at a new level and notice things in other people around you that you never saw before." I remember thinking, "Hmm... I wonder what they mean by that?" I would soon find out. I would discover that very few people would be willing to walk alongside us on that long treacherous path required towards healing. Recovery is messy. I would find that most people prefer to cling to their pretend images, pride, and comfort zones, running for cover every time a storm comes. Indeed, D-Day was just the volcano erupting, setting things in motion. It was the hurricane sweeping through, removing everything and everyone except those fiercely committed to love and transformation. During our darkest days, many of those who we thought of as strong and wise spiritual leaders showed themselves to be nothing more than resounding gongs and clanging cymbals. I'll never forget my in-laws' words: "This is too much. We can't be there for you. You're on your own. Goodbye." The hurricane was sweeping through and they were running for cover because it was too much. These were the parents we had thought were so spiritual and who we had always looked to for guidance. In denial, my husband and I thought, "We'll just attempt to please everyone and keep a nice fake little relationship with them." The problem was, as Gary and Debbie had told us, we couldn't live in that fake world anymore. We couldn't "unsee" truths. The more we tried to cling to old semblances of relationships, the more toxic it became to our marriage. We couldn't drag people down the recovery path with us who didn't want to go. I wish that I could say we learned this lesson quickly, but we kept trying to take them along with us. After struggling for a long time, I finally realized that letting go of toxicity is one of the most important things I will ever do. There was something in me whispering, "Trying to go forward while dragging around people who don't want to grow, is like plowing forward with a bag full of bricks in a pit of quicksand." As I began to observe those around me, I felt so strongly in my heart that so many people in their recovery were hurting themselves because they didn't know how to walk away, how to let go, or how to say "no." Life is a journey. We're constantly making changes, and everything is beautiful in its time. But when it is not in its time anymore, it starts to get ugly. The further forward my husband and I moved in our recovery journey, the more we learned to say "no" and the more we had to face the overwhelming fear of disappointing people who really did not have our backs anyway. It didn't matter what title or position these people had. We walked away from relationships that poisoned our marriage and our souls. One day, I saw a metaphor for what it looked like to travel this hard, narrow path. I saw a city bus continually picking people up and dropping people off. When you are on the bus of life, every place the bus stops, somebody has to get off. Where you are going they are not equipped to go, nor do they want to go. My husband tends to have an easier time letting people off of the bus than I do. I tend to want to keep everyone on the bus, even to my detriment. I've recognized that you can 100% forgive people and still let go. You can forgive and also recognize when someone has made the choice over and over again about the kind of person they will be. You can forgive and stop playing games with those who use "forgiveness" and "compassion" as excuses not to own up to their ongoing toxic behavior. As heartbreaking and awful as it was, we let them go. I think the most important thing I learned from this is that when you are committed to living a life of authenticity and vulnerability, there may be relationships that can't go with you. Letting go is not a weakness, but rather a strength. Letting people off at the next bus stop may ultimately be the blessing in disguise that moves you to embrace freedom and become your truly brave and authentic self.

People who have lost a loved one often ask me, "How do you understand so much about grief?" I suppose, before I lost my dad, it looked to the world like I really didn't know much about grief. The truth is, that's because as a society we often only judge a person's grief or ability to understand grief by the losses that fit into our prescribed "big" and "normal" categories. Everything else gets brushed under the rug. There is an overall general understanding and compassion for these big catastrophic losses, like the death of a parent or child, but even these losses are often categorized or minimized. What about all of the hidden, silent grief that can be just as impactful, just as big, just as life-changing, but gets glossed over in our society? The grief in these instances can be just as crushing and devastating, yet many times we bear this grief alone with little to no understanding from the world around us. There is often no funeral, no closure, and no public tribute or acknowledgment of these types of grief. Broken hearts, losing someone we love, broken relationships, divorce, infidelity, miscarriages, chronic illnesses, traumas, or injuries that change how you function in everyday life, separation, rejection, death of a beloved pet - and this is only a small sample of the various hidden grief happening all around us. Even when it's one of those "normal" losses, we tend to lose patience quickly for the person's grief. If it's been a couple of months, aren't they over it by now? When will they return to their old "normal" self? The answers to these questions are, "No, they will never 'get over it.' No, they will never return to their old 'normal' self." They will move forward in life and they will find a new normal, but they will never be the same. If it is a loved one lost, they will never stop loving and grieving that person. This doesn't mean they won't be happy again; it simply means that a loved one is irreplaceable. It's impossible for them to return to their old self because they have become something completely new, born out of life-changing grief. A photo taken with my kids at the zoo shortly after our D-day prompted me to reflect on the complexities of hidden grief. On the outside, I probably look like a mom just enjoying the zoo with her kids. On the inside, I was carrying a heart shattered into a thousand pieces. To those of you who are carrying silent grief or who have had your grief minimized, know that I see you. You are not alone. I know how gut-wrenchingly hard it can be to carry on each day. You try so hard and then people come along and say something ignorant and it feels like your grief is invalid. I'm here to tell you that your grief is valid. Not only is it valid, but it is an important part of your story that no one can take away. There is no shame in feeling every part of your pain. Let that pain become a tool that enables you to help others in ways that you never could have without that pain. It is a path to becoming your best self. Through my journey of grieving, I have come to appreciate the familiar quote, "Be kind. For everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about."

One thing is certain no matter which side of the infidelity you are on - after D-Day, anniversaries take on a whole new meaning. On our first anniversary post D-Day, we just wanted to crawl into a hole and forget it was happening. A million questions swirl around in your mind. Are we supposed to celebrate our anniversary? What should I do? How do I act? Is this all fake? If you were "getting by" before, there's certainly no room for that with what feels like this giant elephant looming in the background. Everything is out in the open, exposed, raw, vulnerable. On one of our recent anniversaries, I was prompted to reflect on "what does our marriage mean now?" While most of my friends and family members are sharing those cliche messages on social media like "We've always been so perfect for each other," what can I share that is truly authentic? I decided to write to my husband, from the depths of my heart, something that genuinely conveys the heart of our journey. One thing both of us have developed a keen eye for after D-day is fake, fluffy words. We can smell insincerity from a mile away. This letter to my husband was written several years after our D-Day. Please know if you are in the beginning stages of your recovery and feel like things will never get better, there is hope. "18 years ago, two kids got married. Don't tell the 'old' us that I said this, but the 'new' us is so much better. The new us has something that the old us never had. We are free to be authentically, individually ourselves. We are stronger and braver than ever before. We live and love on a deeper level than the old us ever could. The old us had a frilly external image, but inside was hollow. We have fought like hell for the new us and it is a continual fight. As quoted from The Princess Bride, "Anyone who tells you otherwise, is only trying to sell you something." That something may be an image, a tradition, a system of rules, you name it! The best marriages come out of the hardest conversations you will ever have. They come out of the ashes - death of old ways, old ideas, old mindsets. They know what it is to survive catastrophe and become something totally new. Both people have to sincerely confront and address the tough, uncomfortable, sometimes gut-wrenching issues and you have to do it over and over and over again. You do it so often that it becomes a solid part of your new foundation. Thank you for staying by my side on this journey for 18+ years. Thank you for being willing to evolve and grow alongside me. I love you!"

Preface: In Hope for Healing lesson 5, as a participant, I was asked to examine the difference between a prideful spirit and a broken spirit. At first, I thought maybe I had come up with the "wrong" answer because the other women in my group saw brokenness as a bad thing and a place to be ashamed of. I see brokenness as a catalyst for total transformation. Looking back on my journey through failure, disaster, and gut-wrenching pain, I came up with this definition of brokenness. How Do I Define Brokenness? Brokenness is the place where I realize we are all the least of these. In this place of being molded like clay, I accept that I am not defined by a career, position, title, abilities, or productivity. It's a place where I recognize at any moment I may become homeless, a refugee, disabled, or an outcast. This is a place where I release the need to try to make everything happen the way I think it should happen. On Christ the solid rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand. All other ground is sinking sand. The place where I crucify the image of how I thought everything was 'supposed to turn out', and where I recognize that the most influential story in my life is going to come from my deepest pain. Because it is that pain that is the path to those dreams I have held so dear. It is in the pain that I will find the greatest story ever told. In brokenness, I find that all of the things I have despised about myself, my journey, and my life are the very things that will allow me to connect to others in a way I could never have without them. As surfer Bethany Hamilton said after losing her arm to a shark, "I can reach so many more people with one arm than I ever could with two." Brokenness is a place of total transformation. When I have gone through the process of being broken, I have been willing to question every belief I have held so dearly and to utter the words, "I can be wrong. It's okay not to have all of the answers." It is a place where I have recognized that including others with different beliefs does not threaten my beliefs. It is a place where I allow my old system of beliefs and faith to be challenged down to the very core and even burnt to ashes. A new faith is then born from the ashes - a faith not dependent on systems or elders or images or "the way things have always been." To me, brokenness does not despise the journey but recognizes its beauty. It means I am willing to make the toughest decisions I have ever faced, even if it means sacrificing comfort and relationships. Brokenness means I would rather step into the Red Sea and drown than stay in the place of toxic bondage where everyone pretends to be okay.