Survivors' Blog

You may be familiar with the life analogy of the contrast between the way cows and buffaloes face an impending storm. As a storm approaches, cows sense it coming and move in the opposite direction, away from the storm. Unfortunately for the cows, they aren't very fast and as a result of this decision, they actually remain in the storm longer as they run alongside it, prolonging the unpleasantness. Buffaloes, on the other hand, will turn toward the coming storm and charge directly into it. By doing this, the buffaloes pass through it quickly, reducing the amount of time and discomfort they experience from that storm. I remember hearing this analogy somewhere along my recovery journey and confirming that I must be a cow. I wanted nothing to do with any of this, and would definitely run in the other direction if avoidance was really an option. But it's not. So I might as well be a buffalo and get through this. From my current vantage point, I can look back and see ways in which I prolonged the storm by trying to avoid it, even unknowingly. One of those ways was through minimization. On the surface, minimization might sound like a good idea. In the moment it feels healthy and helpful, like downplaying and making all of it less significant might help get me through it faster. Looking back, I realize I greatly minimized the affair after disclosure. As I mentioned in a previous blog, there was a 10 year gap between the affair and my husband's eventual confession. I had always been uneasy and suspicious, and could never feel settled about it. My direct questions and accusations during (and after) the affair were always met with blatant lies. I knew they had something between them, but for years I tried to convince myself my husband would never have done such a thing, and that I was just being paranoid. I minimized it, trying to believe it was "just" a flirtation or a crush, as though even that would have been ok. My instincts and fear persisted to tell me they were having an affair, which conjured graphic sexual images of them in my head, but my inner denial was equally strong, and this internal war raged on in my mind and heart for years. I could only settle the extreme anxiety by repeatedly telling myself, trying to convince myself, that he would never do that, that it hadn't gone that far, and that he was telling me the truth. I minimized what I knew to be true in order to survive. Then disclosure happened. It basically blew all those years of denial out of the water in one fell swoop. He told me the "worst" of it first: the part he knew would matter to me the most. He got it out of the way rather than leave me wondering as he went on to tell the whole story. It was devastating. Still is. Always will be. Anyway, looking back now, I see that after that point I took every opportunity to minimize the affair, rather than face it head on. I really thought I was facing it, but in reality I was trying to convince myself it wasn't that bad. I repeatedly tried to package it as "a long time ago" - as though it shouldn't completely rock my world, since so much time had passed. Or that it just wasn't relevant to my present life. Early on, before either of us really had much of an understanding of the full impact, my husband also echoed this a few times, "It was a long time ago," he would say, and for him it was. But for me it felt like it was happening now. So this statement just reinforced my attempts to minimize it, as I tried to believe it shouldn't matter that much now, and I didn't understand why I couldn't just get over it, concluding that I was at fault for allowing it to continue to hurt me, since it ended a long time ago. For context, my husband's affair was fully sexual, spanned well over a year, and included many occasions that intentionally placed me together with my husband and his affair partner. This included a variety of settings, including spending several holidays together at her home. It was not insignificant and there were many layers to his betrayal. I often found myself repeating minimizing phrases to myself, as though if I said them enough it would make it hurt less. I said things like: they "only" did (this or that) ___ times, or "at least" he wasn't planning to leave me. "At least" the affair "only" lasted ____, and he "just" felt ____ toward her. And so on. All the "only" "just" and "at least" statements served to soothe my heart in the moment, but kept me from facing the reality of the situation. I spent so much energy trying to convince myself it wasn't really that bad, I was just running away from the storm like the cows. Unconsciously, I put a lot of effort into these minimizations. In my Harboring Hope group I consistently felt and said out loud that my situation was "not as bad" as the others, since their husbands had cheated for more years than mine did, or had more affair partners than my husband did, or both. These kinds of minimizations made me believe I wasn't justified to feel the pain I did, since my situation was so much "better" than theirs. But here is the truth. Pain is pain. It's not a competition and there is an unlimited supply. Someone else's tragic situation does not mean there is less pain available for mine. By trying to talk myself out of being justified to feel the pain, I am avoiding the pain and all that is necessary to get through the pain. Skirting the edges by creating explanations and justifications as to why I shouldn't be feeling this way offers no benefit and just prolongs the storm, like the cows do. I came across a note I sent to my Harboring Hope Group Leader after our first or second meeting. This was 6 months post D-day, and reading it again now really illuminated my frame of mind at the time. These are actual quotes taken from my message: "I just feel like I will feel better knowing that you really understand what happened to me. In many respects his affair was so minimal compared to everyone else in our group….Sometimes I think it's ridiculous that I can't get past it because it is so minimal compared to everyone else's situation and that maybe I'm defective for feeling as overwhelmed as I do." But now I see none of that is valid. My pain is my pain and his affair hurt me deeply, regardless of how much "worse" it could have been, or how it compared to other people's experiences. I wasted so much time trying to talk myself out of validating my experience, that I lost the opportunity to face it head on and deal with it. Even with all the gut wrenching work I did with my first few therapists (and on my own), most of my effort was spent trying to figure out how to override my feelings through the perspective of minimization, rather than accept and deal with my feelings and the reality of the situation. I focused on the aspects of my husband's affair that "could have been worse" and tried to dismiss my feelings about what actually did happen, including the lies, deception, and manipulation, not just during the affair, but for years afterward. I tried to ignore all of this but still felt all the pain, so instead of minimization helping my perspective, it just made me feel as though I was a complete failure, a loser who couldn't even get over this correctly. I wouldn't even acknowledge the buzzwords - recovery, safety, trauma, self care, and so on. I felt it was all far too dramatic for me, and I didn't feel I was in a situation that warranted all that. I had not been on the battlefield and I hadn't been physically assaulted. My heart was just broken. I don't think I really felt permission to see this as legitimate trauma until I started working with my current counselor (therapist #4). I had dismissed all of it - the clear emotional trauma and the subconscious physical impact of years and years of continued deception and repressed emotions. I'm not looking for a trauma trophy or anything, but I do think it is important to accept and validate that a break in the marital relationship in such a deceptive and damaging way is in fact traumatic. I continually beat myself up for failing to recover from something I wasn't even willing to fully acknowledge, adding much more pain and frustration to an already painful situation. We can't heal what we aren't willing to name or face. Paraphrased from @Nate_Postlethwait: After experiencing trauma we often are apologetic for how we show up - needy, sad, unable to "shake" the depression or "live in the present" etc. These are often responses from our nervous system as we grapple to heal from and overcome the trauma, but it's ironic that we often apologize or feel "less than" for the experiences we have in trying to heal from a trauma, despite the fact that no one asked permission before harming us to create the trauma in the first place. Infidelity is huge, with many losses that we don't fully appreciate or understand until later on in this journey. There is nothing minimal about these losses or that pain that they generate. I don't want to confuse minimization with perspective. There are actual things about my husband's affair that probably could have been "worse" and while it's important to try to have perspective of the whole picture, comparison to others, or how much worse it could have been, is not going to somehow make the pain go away. As someone recently said on the Affair Recovery forum, when language like that is used about someone destroying your marriage, it just feels impossible to take in. The poster went on to say, "It's like saying, 'I only stabbed my victim in the heart with a knife one time.' Once, twice, a dozen times, the fatal blow is the same." Rick Reynolds shared an article about grieving that illustrates the importance of facing, and embracing, the grief. In the article, Rick says, "Those who go into "GRIEVING" mode may spend months sorting through their grief with tears, pain, and true sorrow, but at the end of their journey they feel refreshed and renewed." He continues, "I have never known of a single person who has thoroughly grieved and had any regrets or felt a need to blame anyone. They are free and at peace. When people fail to move forward after the affair, it's often due to the inability to grieve the loss. Instead of healing from the pain, they try to control and manage the pain which only results in further damage and isolation... A major determining factor between those who go forward with new life and those who remain stuck after an affair is their willingness to grieve the loss." In another article Rick says, "We mistakenly believe that hiding the reality of our situation will somehow save us from the pain, yet it only serves to enslave us to that very same pain. Hidden pain is then transformed into shame. Our shame then negatively impacts all those we love and serves as the fuel to perpetuate our cycle." The point of all of those thoughts is that the buffaloes have the right idea. Running into the storm, into the grief, into the loss is what is necessary, yet so contrary to every instinct we have to escape pain. Mona Shriver very accurately stated, "Recognizing the depth of the pain gives us permission to seek healthy ways to mourn instead of wasting so much of our energy trying not to feel the way we do." Healthy perspective is important, and along the way this will come. In the beginning I thought I was developing perspective, but I really was just trying to talk myself out of my feelings. Looking back I can see how unproductive and harmful that was, and how it just prolonged the pain. Now, I don't minimize anything, but I have developed a better perspective over time and with a lot of conversation and reflection. Facing this stuff is hard, and not for the faint of heart, but I never want to be a cow again. Let's be buffaloes and face the storm - together.

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I have tailored the truth to my audience for as long as I can remember. And it started with peanuts. I attended a non-denominational Christian elementary school. One day when I was in the fourth grade, I had to stay in from recess for a reason I don't recall. To ease my pain and disappointment of missing out on the best part of the school day, my friend told me that I could have some of the peanuts she had in her lunch box. So, while the class was outside, I helped myself to some. However, I wasn't the only one who had to stay in that day. When two of my fellow sequestered classmates saw me snacking down on the tasty peanuts, they wanted some too. Now, my friend didn't give me permission to share with anyone else, but I decided, without much thought, that it would be ok if I did. Before I knew it, we had cleaned out my friend's stash. Upon returning from recess and realizing that all her peanuts were gone, my friend was rightfully angry. She told our teacher that I had eaten "all" her peanuts. I defended myself by saying that I did not eat "all" the peanuts, because the two other kids had some as well. So, the three of us were sent to the principal's office for stealing. I pleaded that I was innocent because my friend told me that I could have some - which was technically the truth. However, I did not stand up for the other two girls by admitting that I told them they could have some peanuts - as if they were mine to give - which made them also seem guilty of stealing, when they really weren't. We all three ended up being paddled, and I was left feeling that "the peanut incident" had been a great injustice to me. The takeaway for me was that I told the truth from my point of view - I did not eat all the peanuts - but it did not matter. I got punished anyway. What I didn't take away from the incident was the deception and betrayal that were at play in my personality when I was a mere 9 years old. I didn't see for many, many years that I betrayed my friend's trust when I gave away her peanuts. Yes, I had agreed to only eat some, not all, of her peanuts, but that didn't mean that I could then give the remainder to others, causing all of her peanuts to get eaten. In reality, it didn't matter whether I actually ate all the peanuts or allowed others to eat them all. She trusted me to make sure that there were some left for her. I also never realized that I had a duty to tell my teacher/ principal that I told the other two girls that they could have some, and that they did not actually steal them outright. They were innocent. They should have never been punished. By remaining silent and withholding information, I got them a paddling that they did not deserve. It was eye-opening, while reflecting on this past incident, to realize that a lot of my behavior hasn't really changed much since elementary school. Since then, I believed that the truth is fluid. It is mine to mold to fit my purposes. It should be spun in such a way as to avoid any negative emotional backlash. Honesty is moot unless it benefits me and the person I'm telling. I am conflict avoidant by nature - I hate being in the hot seat. I'm a pleaser - I want everyone to feel ok. Therefore, I started to devalue honesty and place more importance on my self-image. I controlled how I felt about myself by controlling how others felt about me. How I appeared to people and how much positivity they felt about me became paramount. I selectively used truth as one of many tools to get the outcome I wanted, instead of using it to reveal what I was responsible for. These ideas about the truth have led to deceptive and secretive behavior that has incredibly damaged my character. It follows then, that I have been a nightmare to be married to. I had the perfect storm of character flaws to be unfaithful. My infidelity occurred while my husband and I were dating. We were exclusive, but I chose to have a one-night stand. I told my husband right after it happened. I knew the consequences it would have, but I really didn't want to lose him. I also wanted to get credit for being honest. Selectively using pieces of truth to craft the outcome I wanted, I spun a story that would soften the blow and still have me telling my husband that I had sex with another man. I told him that the sex wasn't consensual - that I really didn't want to, but was forced. Truth, but tailored to my husband's feelings. He would be upset, but spared the worst. Actually, I was able to get sympathy from him, due to my convincing portrayal as a victim. With the affair put in this context, he was able to forgive me, and we went on to get married a short time later. When I finally did tell the whole truth to my husband 27 years later, I still could not see that it was the right thing to do. In theory I knew it was right, but in reality, the pain he experienced, fully knowing what had happened, was horrible. It was devastating. His world was turned upside down, and he no longer knew what to believe about the woman he married. He realized that our marriage had been built on a lie. Who he had become as a husband was built on a lie. I had deceived him wholly. His reaction was proof that the truth had, once again, caused bad things to happen. Since D-Day, I slowly realized that I needed to change my relationship with the truth if I wanted to stay in a relationship with my husband. Through AR, I learned that it was my actual actions that caused bad things to happen, not the telling of them. In the early days of recovery, however, I regressed. I went from soft truths and fibs of omission that were common for me, to outright bold face lies. I could not stand to feel the pain brought on by 'fessing up to behavior that did not fit into the false image that I had of myself or that would cause a negative reaction in my husband. I had trouble accepting that my actions were what was harmful. I had it backwards. I was too weak to take on the burden of the truth at that time. To mitigate, I would try to be perfect. I thought that if I didn't ever commit hurtful acts, I would never be in a position where I was compelled to lie. It's easy to take ownership of good behavior. After a deceptive incident, I would try to just be good, but of course I was doomed to fail. And I did - a lot. Eventually, I realized that I needed to take responsibility for my actions, no matter what they were. Since I was never going to be a perfect person, I needed to develop the character to tell the truth instead. If I honestly own my thoughts, feelings, and actions in my heart, telling the truth will be an extension of that ownership. Easier said than done, for someone who has a malleable relationship with honesty. I needed to learn to sit in reality and deal with it like a mature adult. Sadly, at 51, I didn't know how. To help me navigate this uncharted territory, I started thinking about whether my husband would approve of my actions - all of them. Even ones that seemed insignificant - like how I talked to the Starbucks girl if she got my order wrong. I couldn't use my fluctuating emotions as a guide. I could always excuse my own behavior and soften the effects of it with a lie. Doing this exercise helped, but I realized that I also needed someone whose character I trusted and whose integrity I respected to help lead me to new, transparent behavior. Someone to be my guide. My husband served as this guide, and I used his ability to live in the truth as a template to rebuild my dishonest character. He gave me this wonderful visual that really changed my perspective and helped me to integrate honesty more readily into my life. He helped me view the truth as something that exists outside of me. Truth is its own entity that just "is" - whether I like it or am comfortable with it; whether I regret it or am ashamed of it. It is there waiting for me to accept it and take it in my hands for what it means in reality. He suggested picturing it in my mind, looking like a "thought bubble" above my head. When my husband (or anyone) wants to know the truth so that he can better understand me and my actions, it is my duty as a wife, as a friend, as a fellow human being, to present it to him without expectations or strings attached. To present it without ego. I give him the whole "truth thought bubble package" in its entirety, because he can't get to it any other way. When I hand it to him, I must accept that once it is in his hands, he does with it as he sees fit. It is no longer solely in my keeping. If I tried to alter it or place requirements on it, the process just takes longer and hurts more. The truth doesn't need instructions. In his hands, the truth will find its own way to make sense to him. I can't possibly know how truth communicates itself to my husband in a way he can understand, but it does. It takes time, but truth finds a way to make all who want to hear it, understand what it is saying. All I can do is slow the process with distortions, or prevent the process by keeping it inside. It's really that easy, and that hard. Simply give my husband the truth and it will do all the work necessary for him to eventually understand, if he does the work to hear it. My job is to nurture and support him during this process. The thought bubble seems cartoonish, but it works for me amazingly well. When I think of telling the truth in this way, the abject fear of the repercussions - the pain caused by hurting my husband's feelings, ruining a date, making me look bad, or not pleasing and meeting expectations - is muted and more tolerable. I can do the right thing more often, which builds much-needed trust with my husband. I am far from being rigorously honest. I still struggle with deceptive thought patterns and wanting to please and not cause friction. But I have learned that if I want to be true to myself, I must start by telling the truth to my husband. It is so basic, and something I should have taken seriously starting in elementary school. I can't avoid the truth and be in a healthy relationship, and I can't be dishonest and be the woman of integrity that I strive to be. I am now learning that to believe, and live otherwise, is what is truly terrifying.

Strong winds are blowing outside and the cold is hard to deny. We're in the cusp of springtime, and just a few days ago it was nice and in the 70s. A familiar heaviness burdens me, and it's hard to shake off. I pray and am tired. I know I want to get up and go and do things. I have things to do, but I refuse to write this off as lazy. It's my day off; however, I just seem a little weak or unmotivated, which is frustrating because I like to do things on my days off. I went to do my favorite exercises, but was not confident there. I have not been my usual ball of excitement, but if I think about it, it's been maybe a week or more now. It saddens me. I know this month is D-day month. I loathe that it would get to me. The month came to a slow crawl as it neared, and I cringed even as I tried to dismiss it or ignore its arrival. So much damage was compounded that very day. I can't even recall the exact day, but what good would it do if I did? Nightmare upon nightmare, that day took so much energy and life from me. This wasn't even the first D-day. But this D-day was the first to create a ripple effect that significantly changed our lives. Today compared to last year, I can say it looks different. The trauma did a number. I say trauma carefully, as it took me some time to "hear" that word. To this day, it's still hard for me to accept it as trauma or PTSD. But it is severe enough that I still get triggered and I am still affected tremendously. I have a lot of pride in the way, and I'll admit it makes things difficult for myself. I am very blessed though, with the grace of God and wonderful people in my corner. A kind friend told me once that I should try and see D-day as a victorious day. I was shocked at that; even more shocked at the revelation of how she explained it. She said that it was the day God said "ENOUGH" and that I was able to trust my now-husband to Him. It was my opportunity to let go and let God, and not have to be in control and take everything upon myself any longer. It's always been so hard for me to NOT be in control. This betrayal, the revealing of infidelity and his addiction was not in my control. I had no control or choice in this matter, which for me personally was beyond any destruction I could imagine. The carnage was unimaginable. I've survived many crises and abuse and tragedies, but this was something I was not built or prepared for, I hate to admit. I've always prided myself in being tough, independent, adaptable, able to endure and persevere. This was a monster I thought I could avoid or believed I wouldn't allow to happen to me. Pride and ignorance are costly. I love my family. I love my kids. I love my husband. He and I have been together about 8 years now and our first D-day was when we found out I was pregnant. We stuck it out in the worst kind of way, destroyed each other, and affected our kids. But this time, this damage, upon hitting rock bottom, there was no way left to go but up. I'm glad it was God Who was the Rock at the bottom. It's all work, but there's a lot of play too. I still have my days of triggers, but my husband and I talk more now. We pray and put God in the center and we include the kiddos. When we argue and the kids see, we make sure they see that we make up - we forgive; we grow stronger. Today, the wind is blowing hard and it's tumultuous, but if I think about it, it doesn't last long and it has its benefits, and there's beauty in it too. I think and thank God for being the artist that He is. In our mess, He makes a masterpiece. I still cry and feel the yuck, but that's ok. Our counselor shared that the more I allow myself to feel the "feels", the more desensitized I can become to them. I probably won't forget things, but I certainly can grow from them. And if I can be honest with myself, I can smile at where I am today, versus where I was last year when I didn't even notice how hard the wind was blowing or if there was rain or if my kids needed me or when I just couldn't get out of bed or why God let this happen. I feel blessed. From the hurt, hardship, pain and despair, I found God. I actually ran to Him and have never been closer. So, this upcoming D-day... I can just shrug at it, turn to my husband, meet his kiss with mine, hug my kids close and we all praise God.

Forgiveness - Burden or Gift Part I: What is Forgiveness Anyway? Part II: The Journey of a Lifetime Last time we talked about the reality of forgiveness - what it is and what it isn't - and how forgiveness plays a vital role in recovery and potential reconciliation. So why don't people forgive? Lots of reasons. Fear, pride, anger, resentment, bitterness and a lack of understanding of forgiveness are some of them. While I would never wish to relive this season of my life, it has offered me a great deal of self-examination. To begin to consider life after betrayal, I had to take a hard look at myself. Was I prideful? Yes, probably. Considering forgiveness of this deeply personal and intimate offense made me feel humiliated, stupid, and foolish. Who lets someone treat them in the worst possible way a human being can be treated and then forgive that, and reconcile? Well, it turns out forgiving people do. Lots of them. And they are not stupid or foolish - they are actually some of the strongest, most courageous people out there. What about righteousness? That gets in the way for a lot of people. We can "compare" our sins to those of the unfaithful spouse and declare ourselves to be superior, and therefore can be unwilling to forgive such egregious acts from those clearly so far "beneath" us. Except that we are all sinners. As Rick Reynolds explained at EMS, we have to stay mindful of our own inner cesspool. None of us is perfect. I remind myself that I did not deserve forgiveness from God for my sins either, but He forgave me anyway. As we celebrate Easter and are reminded of Christ's ultimate sacrifice for our sins, I think it offers objectivity regarding our universally flawed human state, regardless of which side of the infidelity equation we find ourselves, and the need for forgiveness in our own lives. "Forgiveness requires the ability to forgive yourself for the failure of your own false expectations." Kenneth Cloke Humility is a gift I have received in this season of forgiveness, and I am not afraid to look at my own shortcomings. After committing to forgiveness for my husband, I began to examine my role in our marriage and the times I had hurt him, even unintentionally. I asked him for forgiveness, and he offered it. Don't misunderstand, I am not taking responsibility for his affair. That was his decision alone, but that doesn't mean I was a perfect wife. The more I could really get vulnerable to examine that, the more compassion I had for him. None of it is easy or intuitive. It is deliberate and intentional work, and very hard. Rick and Stephanie Reynolds offer some practical tips toward forgiveness in this article. I am content with where I am in my forgiveness of my husband's infidelity. It is a lifelong journey. I wish it was a one and done decision, but even with the best of intentions and a heartfelt declaration, those triggers and resentments spring up to remind me that I have to forgive again. And again. And again. When I see a "special" photo that now just feels fake and hollow. When I battle painful intrusive thoughts and images in what should feel like an exclusively intimate moment with my husband. When I randomly recall a time I raised suspicions and they were dismissed and called "silly." When another loss becomes apparent to me and I feel resentment for having to give up even more that I never agreed to, I have to forgive again. Don't get too discouraged, though, because it truly does get easier as time goes on, and with practice. I remind myself I have already forgiven for this or that, and have to do a bit of a reset. It's still hard at times, but is less difficult than it once was. "Forgiveness is not an occasional act. It is a permanent attitude." Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. I think the hardest concept for me to initially understand is that I couldn't just wait until I felt like forgiving. That was extremely unlikely to happen. Ever. It is more of an intentional action based on decision, not feelings. The feelings come later, after the path has been worn down a bit. Forgiveness felt impossible in the beginning, but the forgiveness in my heart for my husband is much more authentic now. I am certainly not "done" and I still have angry and resentful moments, but the "feelings" of forgiveness are much more genuine, not forced anymore, just not fully complete. I am satisfied with that, as I think it's huge progress, and I know if I stay the course it will just continue to improve, so it's not something I worry about anymore. I know I could not have achieved this without God's work in me. If you're not ready to forgive right now, that's ok. There is no timeline. You can't force it. Mona Shriver says, "It's a common prescription to betrayed spouses to ‘just forgive and you won't be angry anymore.' I'm sorry, but that's just not usually true. A betrayed spouse who is dealing with severe anger will need to actually grieve first, then slowly and steadily move towards forgiveness." I suggest looking back at this in a month or two and try again. And again a few months after that. It is a deeply personal and unique choice for each of us, and we are all different. There is so much to face with marital betrayal, we simply can't face it all at once. Be patient with yourself, take your time. Forgiveness is a strength, not a weakness. It takes tremendous strength to forgive something as deeply wounding as infidelity. You never really know how strong you are until you come face to face with something that seems so impossible. It can feel overwhelming, but as with the rest of recovery, take it one step at a time. This truly is the journey of a lifetime. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you. Eph 4:32

Forgiveness - Burden or Gift Part I: What is Forgiveness Anyway? Part II: The Journey of a Lifetime When discussing forgiveness of marital betrayal, other words that often spring to mind include impossible, unfair, and undeserved. Some of you may have even cringed at the mention of forgiveness. I definitely understand that. I think this topic is so hard to wrap our heads around when we are reeling from the pain and upheaval caused by infidelity, and it can seem out of the realm of possibility to even care about forgiveness. Every situation is different, so I can only tell you about mine. When my husband first confessed his affair, I was numb. In my situation, I had waited a very long time for the truth and had basically given up believing it would ever happen. Over the years that I waited, I had continually tried to convince myself there was nothing to know, which he reinforced with layers of lies and denial. So, when it finally came out and I was faced with the exact truth I had worked so hard to dismiss, I was unprepared. Even though your situation was probably different from mine, I'll bet you were unprepared too. My husband spilled the ugly truth all over me and tearfully asked for my forgiveness. In a daze, I offered it to him. Looking back, I truly meant it in that moment, but I had absolutely no idea what I was saying. I hadn't even begun to understand what I had lost, what he had actually willingly destroyed in our marriage, and as the reality set in over the next difficult season, forgiveness seemed like the least of my problems. However, as a Christian I knew I was commanded to forgive, and as a wife I wanted to be able to forgive, but I had no idea how I was ever going to get there. Forgiveness felt like it was designed for things that were accidental. Unintentional. Mistakes. Like, “Oh, gosh, I just spilled wine on your shirt; please forgive me.” This was not like that at all. This was a series of repeated choices over a long period of time, done with full awareness of wrongness, layered with deliberate and intentional deception and secrecy to ensure its continuation, uninterrupted and without consequence. This is not to say the hurt caused by those actions was deliberate or even considered, but the choices made were neither an accident nor a mistake. I struggled with this. It seemed so intentional. I felt caught between my obedience to God and my human nature. My human heart said forgiveness would be saying that what he did was ok, or that it didn't hurt me. It felt like forgiveness would somehow minimize the significance and impact of his betrayal. Or even that I conceded that what he did wasn't actually that bad. None of that was true. How could I forgive something that had cost me so much? Forgiving something of this magnitude just seemed unfair. Hadn't I lost enough already? But I do love my husband, and following disclosure he was deeply remorseful, truthful, empathetic, and motivated to heal our marriage. So, initially, I willed myself to forgive, through gritted teeth and angry prayers. I definitely did not feel anything resembling forgiveness. I was too busy being angry, even rageful at times, like nothing I have ever experienced before. As the months ticked by I knew I had to figure out a way to forgive him, both for his sake and my own. But how? I prayed about this frequently, but it was a mixture of obligation and desperation. In my heart I did want to forgive my husband. I just didn't know if I could. I really didn't know if I was a good enough person for that. I mostly assumed I wasn't. Forgiveness for monumental things like infidelity was what really good people do - like, super sweet, Godly, loving people who still smile when they're upset and say things like "Goodness gracious". Not angry, resentful, sarcastic people who spew four letter words like me. I continued to pray and ask God to show me how to forgive and to make me capable of forgiveness. I asked Him to pour His forgiveness through me for my husband. As time went on, I settled into this frequent prayer, and at some point I realized I had committed to forgiveness. That didn't mean I felt any forgiveness yet, but I had made a decision that I would forgive, and was committed to doing so, however long it took to get there. After a little while, that thought was comfortable. I no longer felt as much of a "forgiveness failure", and felt patience in knowing I had made the commitment, so the timeframe wasn't important. I continued to pray about it, but my prayer changed a little. Now I asked God to soften my heart and fill me with compassion for my husband so I could see him as God did, and to fill me with His forgiveness toward him. I wish I could say suddenly something was magically transformed in me after that, but that was not my experience. Could God do that? Absolutely. But I think He would rather we arrive there through our own struggle. More time passed and I continued to pray that prayer, along with a lot of other stuff about healing. Slowly my anger began to subside. Perusing the Affair Recovery forums and reading extensively on the topic over the years, I have noticed some recurring misconceptions of forgiveness. Forgiveness does not require justice. Sometimes people can get caught up in wanting justice or restitution before considering forgiveness. If you are looking for justice in the aftermath of infidelity - spoiler alert - there isn't any. You will never find it because it doesn't exist. The same goes for restitution. I personally cringe when I hear people talk about restitution in this circumstance, as though the losses can be replaced. They can't. However, that being said, with enough perspective and forgiveness, the need for justice becomes irrelevant. What matters more is redemption, along with finding meaning and purpose. Redemption for myself and my life, as well as having a role in my husband's redemption. That is deeply meaningful to me. Does it take away the sting of betrayal or make forgiveness easy? No. But it exists alongside all of that, and is equally important. Forgiveness isn't saying that the betrayal was okay. It actually says the opposite. It implies that what happened was so significant that there's nothing that can make up for it, and that is why forgiveness is needed. It comes at a cost to the person doing the forgiving. It can never be made right by human means. That's the message of the gospel. God did not forgive our sins because they were trivial. Our sins were monumental and we could never do enough to make up for them. Forgiveness is supernatural, and I believe as flawed humans, we are unable to do it on our own. Forgiving is not forgetting. If we could just forget, there would be no need for forgiveness. The principle of forgiveness is that, in spite of the fact that you will always remember, you give up your right to punish, and you come to accept the consequences of another person's actions. That is really hard. I didn't take these actions and I don't want these consequences. So please don't think I'm glossing over it all and saying it's easy, as it definitely is not. Not at all. For me, part of the process of forgiveness is my growing acceptance of these costs. The more time has passed, the more I have accepted that there are many things that might just always be painful and disappointing. It is not the shock that it once was, and my expectations have changed to accommodate reality. I would love to say that forgiveness will result in the resolution of pain but I don't see that happening. Maybe for some people it does, I don't know. For me, it is more about making peace with having to live with the pain indefinitely. Forgiveness does not equal trust. Trust is completely separate from forgiveness, and may or may not be restored in a relationship where infidelity has occurred. Trust is built by believable behavior over time, not by forgiveness. Forgiveness is often confused with reconciliation. They are definitely not the same thing. You can have one without the other. You can have both. But they are separate. Forgiveness is a critical component for successful reconciliation, but even if reconciliation is not possible or advisable, forgiveness is still important - even if it's just for the freedom and peace of the betrayed partner. Not every relationship can be reconciled, but forgiveness can still take place regardless. Rick Reynolds explains the paradox of social shame that can take place with a decision to forgive and reconcile, but he also highlights the ultimate benefit for those who make it. Forgiveness will not remove the negative feelings about the betrayal. Nope. I wish that was true but it isn't. Mona Shriver describes this well and offers validation about feeling conflicted that we still feel angry and hurt, even though we are forgiving the person who hurt us so deeply. After the dust settles and the real work of recovery begins, forgiveness is something each of us has to face. Not everyone will choose this path, and we have the free will to decide for ourselves. Some people will flat out refuse to forgive, while others feel an inability to do so. Then the rest will try to figure it out to release the burden they are carrying. I'm sure you have heard the adage about the person who released the prisoner through forgiveness and then realized he himself had been the prisoner. I want the peace in my heart of forgiving my husband, and yes, even his affair partner. Initially I had zero capacity, or even desire, to forgive her. There is a lot to forgive. She feigned friendliness toward me and my children throughout the affair while enjoying a secret relationship with my husband. That continues to feel so calculated, humiliating, and without remorse, like I was just a pawn in a twisted game they were playing. After the initial shock of it all, I asked God to help me even want to forgive her, and then to help me do it. To see her as He sees her. Am I there yet? Not completely, but closer than I thought I would be. God tells us to bless those who persecute you. That is a very tall order, and one that I cannot do alone without the help of God. Come back next week for Part 2 of Forgiveness - Burden or Gift?