Yesterday my wife, Stephanie, drove to 2121 Main Street in Houston, TX, to sit, for an unknown amount of time, with a woman she befriended who was being released from prison. The amount of time was unknown because she couldn’t obtain information from the prison system regarding when she’d arrive at the bus station, nor what time her bus departed for her home in the Texas Panhandle.

2121 Main Street is in one of the worst parts of the city. I wasn’t sure how I felt about my little white haired bride traveling to that part of the city to wait for a woman who was a convicted felon. At the same time I knew that she’s not scared of anything; her attitude is “You can’t scare me, my husband cheated on me.” For Stephanie, caring for others is her comfort zone.

Upon arrival, finding a safe place to park proved a challenge. Her apprehension was first triggered when a gentleman, who offered to “watch” her car, approached her. She told him she’d take her chances. Then spotting a policeman on bicycle, she walked over and asked if it was safe to park here. “Lady, this is the worst part of Houston,” he informed her “and if you’re here to meet someone at the bus station this is the only place to park.” “You should be okay as long as we’re here,” he told her. A moment later they arrested someone for breaking into one of the cars in that parking lot and hauled him off to jail. Steph sat by the window for two hours, watching her car, hoping she’d have time to visit with her friend between the time when she was dropped off by the jail and her bus departing to take her home.

Finally, the van from the jail arrived and her friend (I’ll call her Gail) and another woman were set free to wait for the bus taking them home. All they had was the clothes on their back and a $50 check given to the inmates to help with their reintegration into society. The ladies had been told there was a bank nearby which would cash the checks. They walked to the bank and because they didn’t have an account with that bank (that’s hard to do when you’ve been in prison for years), they were charged a $6 fee for cashing the checks (even though the checks were from that bank). It was at that point my bride went ballistic; thankfully she didn’t make a scene, but I pity the CEO of the bank since Steph is determined to have that policy changed.

She made up the girls financial loss by buying lunch at McDonalds and was blessed to spend the first hour of freedom with Gail after 4 years of incarceration. Then it was time to go and the girls caught their bus home. Steph rescued her car and made the drive back to Austin.

What does this have to do with infidelity you may be asking, but to me it’s a great example of what happens with those who thoroughly grieve the loss of infidelity. Maybe the most brutal challenge we face as human beings is facing the changes in life which are brought about by tragedy or betrayal. How do we come to a place of acceptance and then to a place where that loss is transformed into something new and meaningful?

Apart from the journey Stephanie and I traveled during recovery, I can’t imagine how she would have ever been involved in an adventure like she had on Monday. Not only was she able to grieve the loss created by my betrayal, but she was able to accept it, grieve for what it meant to her and to our lives,  and ultimately allow it to be used for something greater than we both could understand.

When we as humans suffer greatly one of three things will happen: We will go insane, we will become bitter and resentful, or we’ll learn to love deeply and to have compassion for others who are suffering. Pain that’s not transformed will be transmitted, but on the other hand pain that is transformed results in a soul which is deeply concerned about the pain of others, and has far more compassion for the failings and shortcomings of others in life.

Over the next few weeks I’m going to explore how loss is transformed. Admittedly, the transformation of loss is at the latter stages of recovery, but having a guide to the path of transformation can be a useful tool. If you want others to help with that grieving process I hope you’ll join the AR community. Having others to support you in the process is a rare opportunity. Join us and find others like yourself who want to find something better beyond the pain of infidelity.