What does it mean to forgive yourself—especially in the wake of infidelity? Is self-forgiveness only for the wayward spouse, or is it an assignment for all of us? If you'd asked me that question before Discovery Day (D-Day), I would've said without hesitation: "Self-forgiveness? That's on the unfaithful partner to do that!"

Not because I saw myself as the oh-so-perfect wife, but because I believed the person who chose to stray was the only one needing to seek forgiveness. While I suppose it may be the case in some marriages that self-forgiveness is only applicable to the wayward spouse, that was not true in my case.

It's Relevant for Both Partners

The reality is that self-forgiveness can be relevant for both partners, and if it's relevant, it's essential. Without it, the recovery process stalls.

I'm going to share what my journey of self-forgiveness (as a betrayed spouse) looked like, along with some insight I've learned from other betrayed and wayward spouses in my life. When the D-Day grenade went off in our marriage, I wasn't just consumed by hatred for my husband—I had plenty left over for myself as well.

But Candace, you're the betrayed spouse. Why would you suddenly hate yourself?

Because I felt so incredibly stupid!

See, I wasn't blindsided like some of you might have been. I had accused my husband of being unfaithful on and off for years. But instead of feeling relieved when the truth finally came out, I was furious with myself for every moment I allowed my spot-on gut instincts to be silenced by his bottomless supply of plausible explanations.

Unfortunately, he was aided by a couple of mediocre marriage counselors who dismissed my concerns with, "Well, did you ask him?" It was as if it never occurred to them that he could be lying to the both of us.

Before D Day, I went into full CSI mode more times than I care to admit. I'm not sure if this will sound impressive or crazy, but here goes:

I lint-brushed the inside of his car and found long brown hair. But guess who else has long brown hair? Myself and our two daughters. I went through laundry, work bags, credit card transactions, and bedroom and office furniture. Despite my ability to play an award-winning role in countless sessions of "good cop, bad cop," I never confronted him with anything he couldn't talk his way out of.

Coulda, Shoulda, Mighta, Woulda

Leslie Hardie, author of our Harboring Hope curriculum for betrayed spouses, has a phrase that I absolutely love: "Coulda, Shoulda, Mighta, Woulda," referring to things that, with the benefit of hindsight, now became glaringly obvious.

So, what was on my "Coulda, Shoulda, Mighta, Woulda" list?

Candace, why didn't you buy a tracker and put it in his car? This was before Apple AirTags, but I failed to make the mental leap that regular, non-crime-fighting citizens can purchase tracking devices. Quick public service announcement: Putting tracking devices in cars is illegal without consent, but that was not a consideration my brain was making at the time.

Candace, why didn't you dig into the treasure trove of evidence in the cell phone records before D-Day? Not just for the call logs, but because each call he made or received was tied to the nearest cell tower, marking his location with a nice little date and time stamp.

So much of what I did in the two weeks leading up to D-Day, I beat myself up for not doing years earlier. My therapist offered an answer that didn't fit for me, but it might resonate with some of you. She said, "Maybe you didn't want to do those things, on a subconscious level, because you were afraid of finding out the truth."

For me, that was a big, "Nope." I was hell bent on figuring it out, which is why I continued to emotionally beat myself up with more thoughts like: But why didn't I just show up to the company Christmas party that I was suddenly told I couldn't attend after being invited for the past SIX years?

Here's a low risk one that I really was furious with myself for not doing: Why didn't I show up at one of the hotels where he was supposedly on a business trip? If he was alone, I could have played it off as a surprise visit. If I was right, I could have cut years off of my story.

Getting Stuck in a Rumination Loop

I'm sure you're picking up on the theme here. I was stuck in a rumination loop for close to two years until I finally accepted that I was only capable of making decisions with information I had at the time, and that I was not a detective or a forensic scientist. I also had to eventually accept how poorly I treated myself after it all came crashing down.

Another betrayed spouse shared with me that he had to forgive himself for the resentments he acquired and the damaging actions he took once the infidelity was exposed.

Some betrayed spouses will cause a great deal of destruction to themselves and/or to others. There's a saying that can ring true: Hurt people hurt people. This may lead to a list of things betrayed partners may need to forgive themselves for, including revenge affairs, along with a host of other ways we can physically or emotionally become human wrecking balls.

Why the Wayward Spouse Needs Self-Forgiveness

Okay, let's shift to the wayward spouse learning to forgive themselves, because that's important, obviously. I'll be the first one to admit that early-recovery Candace thought, I hope he never forgives himself. That's because I mistakenly believed that if he never forgave himself, he would always carry the weight of this with him, and that would magically translate into him never doing this again.

I was wrong. That's not how this works. It's essential for the wayward partner to eventually be able to forgive themselves. Please hear me when I say forgive does not mean forget.

But if they maintain a mentality that says, "I screwed up my life and my marriage. I'll always just be a screw up," that hopelessness and shame spiral can set the wayward spouse speeding down the road to relapse instead of the path of recovery.

One person I spoke with shared, "I had to forgive myself for not knowing how to handle things in my history. I had to take a 30,000-foot view of my life to see how I got into this mess."

Please don't think for one second that this person was searching for excuses. However, it's fair to note what we call "contributing factors" that might have come into play. For example, some wayward spouses I've spoken with were abused as children. Without proper recovery, self-forgiveness for not knowing what to do, and healing from those wounds, the wounds continued to fester and led to more poor choices and relational brokenness.

One person I spoke with added, "I had to forgive myself for failing everyone around me AND myself." She said, "In the beginning, the damage was all I could see. But I had to step back and ask—what else am I? Yes, I was unfaithful, but that wasn't all I was, or all I had been. It couldn't forever define me.

I started with three steps: facing the truth, grieving the costs, and then letting go, not because it didn't matter, but because I couldn't afford to keep carrying it. As long as I wore it as a badge of condemnation and regret, I could not move forward, and neither could those around me."

She continued, "Relationships couldn't grow. I couldn't be a wife, mother, coworker, daughter, or anything else as long as I saw myself only as "the unfaithful person." It took a long time, but I accepted that while I can't change the past, I can change my relationship with it. And as I moved into forgiveness, others could as well."

I asked a coworker who has been leading recovery groups for over 10 years what to say to someone who says, "I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive myself." His advice was to not try to forgive yourself now but to start with focusing on forgiving yourself for how you got there. Don't give yourself a deadline, acknowledge this is going to be a process, and celebrate the small wins no matter how small, along the way.

And I absolutely love my coworker's advice, "Develop pride in freeing yourself from that behavior, living in gratitude for what it taught you, and drawing on the strength it revealed within you."

When I asked my husband how he began forgiving himself, he said he knew from the start it would be a long journey, no quick fix, no straight line—just time, patience, and the courage to face himself.

He shared that, along the way, he anchored himself in three core commitments:

1. A daily dedication to making the next right decision.

Because no matter how far off track he'd gone, he realized he could still choose—every single day—to do the next thing that felt honest, productive, and good. That small act of agency gave him hope.

2. Radical ownership of his past.

He told me, "If I don't own my past, how can I ever create my future?" For him, accountability wasn't punishment—it was power. By owning his story, he could finally face who he'd been, understand how he got there, and clearly see what change was non-negotiable. Boundaries and safety weren't optional anymore—they were essential.

3. Doing the actual work.

In his words, "I got myself into this mess. It's on me to get myself out." That meant asking himself hard, uncomfortable questions. It meant seeking help through courses, therapy, self-reflection, and for the first time in a very long time, having honest conversations with me, his wife. It meant committing, over and over again, to becoming someone he himself could love and respect.

There is a path to forgiveness and getting there is most certainly a process. It's not a one and done; it's a rinse and repeat. You take a step. Then another. And sometimes you circle back and take that step again. That's okay! That's what forgiveness looks like. It's not a destination. It's not a single moment. It's an essential journey. If you're ready to take another step on your journey, consider our courses that walk through, in depth, what forgiveness can look like for both spouses.