Survivors' Blog

My aunt was radiantly beautiful in colored head scarves and rocked GI Jane length hair throughout the three years of her battle with cancer. She remained joyful and full of life, even in the midst of multiple rounds of treatment. When she was unable to travel to a family gathering last fall, I missed her, but simply assumed this was just one more round of chemo, and I’d see her again. That did not happen. When she passed, I remember wondering why I had not even considered the fact that this might happen. A gentle inside voice that often reminds me of recovery literature whispered, “What about denial?” Denial is avoidance of reality or a blindness to the obvious or the inevitable. For me, a long time user of fantasy thinking to self-medicate, I see denial as another form of fantasy thinking. No, I am not beating myself up for not going to see my Aunt Jane; she did not desire visitors mid-treatment anyway. When she communicated that she was ready to stop trying, we arrived just in time for a beautiful passing of a spirit from this life to the next. I do recognize now that I was in denial of the possibility of any outcome other than treatment working. The return of my aunt’s health and vitality was the only thing I expected. I was not thinking realistically or accepting the reality of her situation. As I grieved my aunt’s passing, that little word “denial” kept resurfacing in the back of my mind, and I began to think of all the other times I used denial to deal with uncomfortable situations in my life. I had never framed my thinking in early recovery as denial before, but in looking back at the disclosure of the affair that brought my husband and me to AR, it was absolutely denial – a total avoidance of reality – that drove me to my almost-unbreakable attachment to the AP, as well as my inability to clearly see the horror of my choices. Denial, like all good coping mechanisms, served me at one time. As AR founder Rick Reynolds says, denial is a God-given ability humans (particularly children) involuntarily use to survive certain situations that would be too difficult to face head-on. In addition, avoidance of discomfort is innate to our human bodies and minds. When overheated, our bodies are designed to regulate temperature. When injured, our nerves may temporarily stop sending pain messages while the brain has a few seconds or minutes to react and process. Sometimes, when facing trauma, we create an alternate reality so we don’t feel the pain. And… like all good coping mechanisms, once denial of my reality was no longer needed, I still held onto it. I had quite an active fantasy life from a very young age, both romantic and otherwise. I denied the reality that it is impossible to avoid conflict or to keep everyone happy. I denied the reality that not everyone could like me. I denied the reality that I could not juggle the needs, wants, approval, and problems of everyone around me. I denied any critique that came my way. I denied the fact that I was living more life in my head than in my life itself. I denied the reality that I couldn’t control everything. I denied the existence of my own emotions, needs, and wants in order to maintain the peace. I denied myself basic information, exploration, and curiosity, for fear of being wrong. I denied the consequences of my actions and embraced rationalization. In short, I told myself whatever I needed to hear in order to avoid the obvious or the inevitable: my humanness and my fallibility. In the process of separating from the AP, I clung to my denial story for dear life. I insisted there was real love and care. I lamented the story that “If not for this, I could be happy with that.” I obsessed about the man and ignored important information, as well as the ramifications of staying with him. I told myself it was “meant to be.” I clung to that version of reality for many reasons, but there are two big ones that I recognize today. One, I could not face any possible outcome other than the fantasy outcome I had created in my head. Though it was the fantasy of an insane mind, the idea that everyone would not come out better and happier with this new life was unthinkable. The other was that I could not face the reality of the danger I had put myself, my family, and another person in. Surely, not me, the one who always had the best intentions, who always cared, who always wanted what was best for others and bent over backwards to keep the peace and ensure happiness! Was I really that selfish, self-serving, careless, and untrustworthy? I could not face it. The one person I would be with forever was me, and if I could not trust me, then I’d never be safe. I could not possibly expect me or anyone else to accept me if I had actually used these other people instead of loving them. I needed that make-believe story of my actions, and I clung to the fantasy version of that affair for much longer than anyone could believe. I literally felt like my life depended on it continuing on. There is much more to the “why” behind the affair, why that person, and why did I need coping mechanisms in the first place, but I know for sure that denial is an important piece of my story! Reality would have been too much to bear at first, and only by the grace of God did my husband stay with me while a loving recovery community helped me clear the debris of the past, face the present reality, and eventually envision a better future. It is also through God’s grace and love for me that I was able to face and accept the non-fantasy version of myself, my actions, and my childhood. Contemplation of the role of denial in my life continues. Since my aunt’s passing, I’ve continued to ask myself where I see denial in my life? I see it sometimes. I know it’s important to keep looking for signs of denial entering my mind. I don’t want to go back to those days when it had such a grip on me. It’s a self-protective mechanism, I know, but I want to be content with things like getting older or accepting the fact that my parents won’t be with me forever. I don’t want this inevitability to promote fear, but rather to promote the preciousness of today! Denial can only get us so far. Eventually, the weight of reality sets in, and we are confronted with the consequences of our destructive thought patterns. If you are stuck in denial, if you cling to a version of reality that simply does not stand up to rational thinking, I encourage you to keep pushing for clarity. Keep seeking to align your inner voice and your outer behaviors. If you are ready to break free, we are ready to help you, just like we’ve helped thousands of courageous individuals who have walked this road before you. We’ve been there. We get it. And we know the freedom and peace that comes when you choose to reject denial and start living an authentic life. Join Hope for Healing today and begin your recovery journey in a safe, encouraging community. To Reality! Amber

There I was sitting at my dining room table. I was three days removed from “D-Day” and as the betrayed spouse, in a bit of a rough spot. My wife had left to go stay with friends for the week so we could both take some time to determine our next steps individually and as a couple. As I was sitting at the same table where our family had eaten countless meals together, the thoughts of comparison kept creeping up in my mind. It was like a bad nightmare that I couldn’t wake up from. For two days, I had been trying to find things to do around the house to occupy my mind, and I was tired. The inner voice was relentless: What did her affair partner have that I don’t? I was in a state of denial about what was happening and how this all could have transpired. At that moment, I did what seemed right and turned to the internet for comfort. In my scrolling, I found a few articles and blogs about infidelity. Most of the information I found was not of a positive tone nor was it helpful in nature from a betrayed spouse’s point of view. Therefore, I just couldn’t seem to shake this amplifying question of what my wife’s affair partner possessed that I didn’t. So there, at the dining room table, three days removed from discovering my wife’s infidelity, I couldn’t resist it anymore. About to erupt with emotion, I picked up my phone and fired off several texts to my wife in a fit of resentment: “What did he have that I didn’t?” “What did he provide you that I couldn’t?” “Do you love him more than me?” I had no idea what response I was going to get, but I asked the questions anyway. Consequently, the response I got did not provide me the relief I was seeking, in fact it caused me a lot of pain. My wife shared a long list of things about her affair partner that she preferred as compared to me at that time. Unfortunately, this opened the door for me to compare every aspect of the affair to our marriage and every aspect of myself to my wife’s affair partner. I would stay up at night wondering if everything we had in our years of marriage were as “happy” as the moments they shared throughout the affair. I became swept away by constant thoughts of comparison. Even during random times like watching TV or at my work desk typing, I would catch myself trailing off into thoughts of comparing our marriage to my assumptions about the affair. It was as if the affair voided all legitimate happiness or meaning throughout our entire marriage. Comparison robbed me of so much joy and even made me question my best qualities as an individual in the weeks and months following D-Day. I found myself giving up all my personal power and even let my wife’s affair partner determine my self-worth at times. I compared every aspect of myself to the affair partner as if he were a proverbial measuring stick of who I should be as a person. I even lamented the fact that he was a bit younger than myself, as if reversing my age would somehow make me a more worthy husband. I spent endless months in a self-imposed comparison loop. My hope is that this will help other betrayed spouses in this same position find some comfort. I encourage you to take some time in those moments of comparison and sincerely question if what you’re telling yourself is helpful. I was very hesitant to start seeing a therapist, but once I did, I found it incredibly helpful to speak with someone who was impartial and could help me work through my thoughts and emotions. I would suggest sharing your infidelity with a select few friends and family who you trust to support you throughout your healing. This support can be the single greatest asset during times of great internal turmoil. Finally, I want to share some advice based on what I’ve learned from my own experience. Take some time to do something fun or find joy. It can be easy to fall into the same loop of negative thought patterns. If you can interrupt these thoughts by trying a new activity, hanging out with friends, reading a new book, or finding something that is new and exciting, this will help retrain your mind that it doesn’t need to remain in a heightened state of alertness. I wish I had infused more joy into my healing sooner as it truly did help reshape my recovery for the better. Don’t lose sight of who you are as a person. Being the betrayed spouse in an affair will undoubtedly make you question aspects of yourself at times and comparison will be a catalyst for this. As a betrayed spouse, I encourage other betrayed spouses to not lose sight of who you are as a person. In the end, it took me some time to realize that neither my spouse nor her affair partner can determine my self-worth as a person. That’s my job. It’s your job too. Regardless of the outcome of your infidelity experience, you are valuable, and no event or person can change that! I am proud to say that after much focus on healing and personal work, I no longer fight this internal battle with comparison. It is possible to get through this and come out even better on the other side.

I sat in the therapist's office for the first time after my husband finally confessed his affair. I wasn’t sure what I was doing. Surely I did not belong here, did I? She introduced herself, we had some preliminary conversation, and I told her my story. I didn’t know what people actually did following betrayal, but I knew I needed help and I needed it now. The pain I was experiencing was excruciating and I could barely move through the day. My head was spinning and I desperately wanted to move past this as quickly as possible. I was willing to do absolutely anything to find some relief. “It takes most people about two years to recover,” she said. What? Are you kidding me? No, that wasn’t going to work for me. I came into her office thinking more along the lines of maybe two months of living like this. Maybe three. That’s it. I couldn’t deal with this for one minute longer. I was in total disbelief of her words, so I told myself I would just do it faster than all those other people. In early recovery, most of us are in a hurry to just get through it.. No matter what side of the equation you're on, no one wants to linger one minute longer in this mess than absolutely necessary. My husband was equally unprepared when I shared the therapist’s prediction. Neither of us really believed it, and we wondered if maybe she didn’t know what she was talking about. As the months went on and I continued to struggle, he sometimes gently noted the time that had elapsed, as though pointing it out would make me snap out of it and feel differently. “Jen, it’s been 100 days.” I was also frustrated, believing I must not be working hard enough or I would be doing much better by now. He was genuinely repentant, very understanding and supportive. Neither of us understood why I wasn’t starting to feel better. How could I possibly feel this terrible day after day? “Jen, it’s been 6 months.” We actually laugh about this now, but it was not at all funny at the time. I felt I was doing it all wrong and I would never recover. I assumed it meant I was doomed to fail. His intentions were good, he just really didn’t understand and neither did I, so I was not able to explain it to him. I thought I would magically feel better over time, and when I didn’t, I went searching for resources and encountered a few references to timelines that reflected similarities to my therapist’s remarks. Various sources described what “should” be happening 3 months following D-day, then 6 months, 9 months, at the one year mark, and so on. I waited for the days and weeks to pass, just trying to hold on until I reached that magical marker on the timeline that said I would start to feel better. I told myself that when I got there, something would be different. It just had to. And then when the date on the calendar came and went? Nothing. I was crushed. Of course, it doesn’t make any sense that something would spontaneously change on some random date, but I had hung my hopes on it because frankly, I didn’t know what else to do. So when it didn’t materialize, I felt even more lost than before. I just wanted someone to tell me when the pain would end, so that I could crawl into my bed and just hibernate until it was time to come out and be healed. As I passed each mile marker, I felt more and more discouraged that I wasn’t where I was “supposed” to be. I felt like I was falling behind, like I must not have the capacity to heal like “other people” did, and this conclusion only added to my feelings of hopelessness. The more time that passed without any real improvement, the less I believed there was an actual end to this pain and confusion. I lost all confidence this was going to get any better. My fear increased about being stuck indefinitely in this Recovery Purgatory, and the fear fed on itself the longer it went on. The more time that passed, the more fearful I became that I would never heal, and then more time would pass and feed that fear, and so on. The reality is that time does not heal all wounds. Time itself really doesn’t matter as much as what we do with that time. In reality, I spent much of that time just waiting. Waiting for him to fix it, waiting for him to make it better. He was also waiting - waiting for me to be healed. Time alone was not going to do it, but neither of us really understood the work that was needed. I wasted a lot of time either trying to avoid the work, or telling myself I didn’t need it. I would do bits and pieces here and there and thought that should be enough, but it wasn’t until I really jumped into my recovery wholeheartedly that I began to experience a significant shift, and things started to really change. Time became much less important as I started to experience glimmers of healing and hope for the future. I know we all want to look for answers and realistic expectations, but I really don’t like any of the purported timelines, since every one of us is as unique as our situations. I also think there are too many subjective variables that create a wide spectrum when it comes to how each of us even would define “healed,” so it further complicates those predictions. I know some people who are satisfied with just getting to a point of relative peace and stability, and others who won’t stop going until they truly thrive. There is no right or wrong, and sometimes the goal posts move along the way. Now that I’m no longer in the midst of the trauma, I prefer to look at healing in seasons rather than specific time frames. The initial season of recovery is awful. There’s just no way around that. There are triggers and reminders everywhere and everything feels very raw, scary, and overwhelming. There is little peace. Speaking for myself, what came next was a season of searching. I searched for hope, for guidance, for someone to tell me what to do. One very important thing to note is that even though it takes time to walk through recovery, the experience is not static. The pain and complete overwhelm I felt the first week is not the same as what I felt months and years later, even if it was still hard. Admittedly it may have taken me longer to gain traction than it might for others, so I was in pretty rough shape for a while. That supposed two year timeline to heal was not even close for me. I wish it had been. Even so, I can see there were shifts over time. Affair Recovery recommends taking an assessment at defined intervals (ie: every 3 to 6 months) to gauge progress since it can be really hard to discern any difference in the day to day. For me, one straightforward gauge of progress was the impact of a “trigger” over time. Initially, triggers were truly debilitating, causing intense physical symptoms that often took me down for days at a time. A bit later on, triggers were still present and painful, but they only took me offline for an hour, then only for a few minutes, and so on. The intensity lessened. Then the meaning and impact changed. While I wasn’t yet “healed,” my experience when I got triggered was not the same in later seasons as it was in the beginning. It’s important for me to say that here, because I remember when I first started out, I heard about people having triggers years down the road, and I was horrified to think that they felt the same as I did just a couple months after D-day. That wasn’t the case at all. And it wasn’t just about learning to suck it up and put on a brave face. It was a true lessening of emotional and physical response as I continued to do the work of recovery. So how long does it take to recover from infidelity? The exact amount of time is different for everyone, but the short answer is - it definitely takes longer than anyone would like. There is no way around it - only through it. Winston Churchill is quoted as saying, “If you’re going through Hell, keep going.” That’s all we can do. Just keep going. One day you will look back and be surprised to see how far you’ve come in your healing journey. It does get better - much better. But it also takes time. In the meantime, try to be patient, give yourself some grace, keep doing the work, and just keep going. We all get there in our own time.