Survivors' Blog

A winning hand of victim cards would include a royal flush of blame, powerlessness, self-deception, self-pity, and fear. Hanging onto these victim cards has been a key reason that my husband and I have struggled during recovery. In fact, an Affair Recovery video I listened to recently said that the unfaithful playing the victim is the single most intolerable thing we can do in the healing process. But being a victim is an easy way for me to avoid responsibility for my actions. Being accountable is hard, uncomfortable and requires courage and vulnerability. Since I have shame and a false image to uphold, the choice is clear. When I am faced with the backlash of my actions, my go-to moves are to deny, blame, justify, minimize, and protect, protect, protect my fragile sense of self. To take accountability is terrifying, and I would rather not go there. While this way of thinking may seem like a safe win for me, it is actually a destructive, losing hand for my marriage. I played my hand one evening about 15 months into recovery. My husband and I were having a fun conversation, laughing and reminiscing, when my husband asked a seemingly innocuous question regarding what sex is like for a woman versus a man. Thinking nothing of it, I answered candidly. My answer, however, filled in a missing piece of information my husband had been seeking regarding my affair and triggered him. One moment we were happy, and then suddenly, his emotions were spiraling down. I felt instantly exposed and guilty from my accidental slip of the truth and our loss of connection. I panicked. I backpedaled (you misunderstood), I apologized for saying it wrong (so it wasn't my fault), I managed his emotions (so now you can't be upset). . . I fought the reality of the situation and ended up making it so much worse. I could have accepted that something I said hurt him, that it was no one's fault, and then tended to him in an understanding and caring way. Instead, I felt victimized by his flood of emotions and the fact that my truthful statement could have such dire and unexpected consequences. I railed at the unfairness of it all. I became indignant that he would treat me this way, that he didn't care how I felt. He was victimizing me and he ruined our good evening. What was really happening though, was that he was reliving how I had victimized him with my infidelity, and I missed this opportunity to show him empathy and help him feel safe when he was at the mercy of this unwanted pain. Find freedom and understanding with Hope for Healing for unfaithful spouses. Learn More Later, while still feeling sorry for myself, I posted on my Hope for Healing class wall. I retold the story with an added flourish of how wronged I was for speaking the truth - how being honest did not pay off like everyone says. I wanted sympathy. To cement my role as a victim even further, I continued with the "poor me" act during our next couples' counseling session. It was an award-winning victim portrayal, and our counselor suggested that my husband soften his response and change how he was expressing his pain to make it easier for ME. I really didn't do anything that bad to warrant the emotional distress that I was clearly in. Great advice I thought, but my husband didn't take it, and was even indignant and angry. "What about my feelings?" he said, "I am the wronged party here." He started to pull away in self-protection, and the new safety he had felt up to that point was severely damaged. Afterwards, because I did not take responsibility for how I acted, I was not able to reconcile with him on this topic. I did not realize that the horrible consequences from that conversation were not because I was at the mercy of honesty, but because I did not accept the reality of what was going on, leading me to fail at making it right. It was a selfish attempt to lessen my pain at his expense - a hard lesson in self deception versus the truth. As an unfaithful spouse, I am no victim. And I am never a victim of the truth. My journey through recovery has opened my eyes to how holding onto the victim cards has made my marriage go bust. I have started to realize how my victim thinking infiltrates many areas of my marriage and how it holds me back as an effective person. I now know that I have to first accept who I am to be able to take full responsibility for my actions. There can be no disconnect between me and my actions. My intentions are not actions. My accumulated actions are my being. I have also learned that for my husband to feel safe and even consider getting and staying close to me, I have to let him see me for who I am - the good and the bad - and then I have to let it go. Let go of my fear that the truth will send him running away. Let go of my perceived right to have my feelings dictate how he should feel and behave. Let go that no matter the intentions, the truth is in the actions. Maybe I couldn't have learned this any earlier in my journey, but I sure wish that I had. I have caused my husband more undue pain and have damaged the progress we have made in recovery by holding onto my victim cards. A victim can't be a healer, and I want to be a healer for my husband and be accountable for myself. I owe him that. For the first time in my life, I, as a victim, will fold. EMS Online Registration Opens Soon! Our Emergency Marital Seminar Online, better known as EMSO, isn’t a one-size-fits-all program for couples. Over decades of experience exclusively in the field of infidelity, our methodology has been honed to better serve couples as they address the betrayal, reconnect as partners and restore their lives. "Affair Recovery's EMS Online course literally saved our marriage from divorce. We had tried other professionals, which only led us to more pain in our marriage. It was a relief to find someone who understood our pain. It was comforting to know that others were feeling and thinking the same thoughts as us. We were not alone on this journey. Our marriage has been enriched by the valuable lessons we have learned through EMS Online." — K., Alabama. Click the button below and be reminded before registration opens. Subscribe to Registration Notifications!

For most of us, whether we are betrayed or unfaithful, thinking back to D-day conjures vivid images of shock and horror, feelings of shame and disbelief, and a period of suspended animation. We recall falling off the edge of the world as we knew it and into a pit of numbness and despair. I remember too. It took the breath right out of me. As painful as that experience was, looking back I have a different perspective on D-day. I see it as the day my husband finally let me in. Despite shattering my world, he finally gave us a chance to truly know each other and the potential to experience unconditional love. Prior to D-day that was not possible. He had been hiding from me, wearing a mask, keeping his secret and shutting me out. I was married to someone I did not really know. That was not fair to either of us, and would never have allowed us to be real in our marriage and realize our true potential. My D-day was probably like yours in many ways. In the morning life was normal and safe, and then we had the conversation that changed everything. Nothing was safe after that, and "normal" was a distant memory. It was just the beginning of a long and painful journey that I would never want to relive and wouldn't wish on anyone. The first anniversary of D-day was hard. All the experts agree it can be triggering and temporarily intensify feelings that make it feel like you are going backwards and are starting all over again. That is common. My goal was just to survive the day and I did, just barely, watching the clock and feeling relieved when it was over. On our 2 year D-day anniversary I wanted to feel differently. I mentally could rationalize how I wanted it to be different, and how getting the truth on D-day really was a breakthrough, but emotionally, I did not feel it at all. I forced myself to act differently in the hopes my feelings would follow, so I took a different approach and made dinner reservations. It was a genuine gesture on my part and I wanted to feel peace, but I didn’t. I was proud of myself for making the effort, and my husband was appreciative. But I really felt awful and was so disappointed that it didn’t magically change anything. Now, we are at the 3 year anniversary of D-day, and by the time you read this it will have just passed. I experienced a great deal of trauma as a result of the infidelity and the decade-long cover up that followed. I had proficiently stuffed down my fears and grief about it for a very long time prior to D-day, when my suspicions were finally validated. Once I got the truth, unraveling those years of my own repression was very difficult. I did not effectively address my trauma for most of the first 2 years following D-day, but this process takes however long it takes and I am figuring it out now. So here I am. Again I plan to make dinner reservations, and this time I actually feel it. I want to do it and am looking forward to it, not forcing it. I see it as a new lease on our lives together. This doesn’t mean everything is wonderful and there will be a musical score playing as we enter the restaurant, with flowers and small woodland creatures running about. I am still hurt and disappointed, still cry over this pretty often and deeply wish this was not my reality, but it is. This anniversary is about being real and recognizing our hard work and progress, and seeing the trail of blood, sweat, and tears (buckets of tears) leading us to this point. In my mind, this day is now a celebration of the day we became 'us'. We are no longer alone like we had been for so long, two people in a marriage but living lives in parallel, floating in and out of intimacy. Sometimes getting close, but not too close, to protect the secret. Only close enough to perceive the gap between us and then feel disappointment again that "this" was all there is. For too many years we each kept up our respective walls. His walls were to keep his secret hidden, mine to protect me from the unknown. I knew I never wanted to be fully known by him. I already felt a sense of rejection when I was only revealing part of me, so if he knew all of me he certainly would not really love me. Right? It turns out he felt much the same, certain that if I knew the entirety of what he had done, who he really was, that I would not love him and that I would probably leave. We lost many years to this. He could have lived his whole life and then died without me ever knowing the truth. We have talked about how I would have been left hanging without ever having known how much he loved me and how much he regretted his betrayal. We missed the opportunity to have this level of emotional intimacy for more than half our marriage, due to the duration of the affair and all the years that followed in which he refused to let me into his world. D-day was the day he finally decided to be brave and let me behind the curtain, despite what it could cost him. He wanted to be fully known, to see into my heart and to let me see into his. He wanted to honor me with truth, even in the face of uncertainty, shame, and fear. D-day is the day he finally showed me I mattered. Amidst the devastation and fear, we were both shocked at what we found behind that curtain. Neither of us had any idea of the deep love the other felt. Now we know. I still struggle with all that happened and fight against the sadness. Some days I win and others I lose. But I am still here, pressing on. We are planning to renew our vows someday when I am ready. I think we might use the D-day anniversary for the special date as that is the day we became real and he let me in. Despite the pain, that is more valuable and meaningful to me than any other day on the calendar. Harboring Hope registration opens soon! Subscribe to be notified. 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Despair, Self-harm, and Hopelessness in the Pit of Betrayal Trauma Part 1: The Darkness that Nearly Swallowed Me Up Part 2: Finding My Way Out Of The Dark Warning - this post is about self-harm and suicidal thoughts and may be intense or triggering. If you need help, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, available 24 hours, at 800-273-8255 or https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/. If you are reading this, you fully understand there is nothing quite like the feeling of unravelling after D-day. I felt that too. After the numbness and disorientation subsided, the searing pain was constant. There was no reprieve. Day and night, this obliterating pain and confusion was derailing every thought, making the simplest of tasks feel like walking through wet cement. Even the small amounts of sleep I actually managed were haunted; there was no relief. My mind was uncooperative, only allowing me to see the betrayal, and nothing else. I saw betrayal everywhere and in everything: brushing my teeth, washing dishes, taking a shower, and driving to work. There was nothing in my life left unscathed from this bomb so carelessly dropped in my lap. Over the months to follow, the hopelessness set in to the point that I just didn't want to be me anymore. I would have traded places with just about anyone to be someone else who was not so damaged, someone who had been "enough." I could no longer see any value in being me or in living my life. I even fantasized about getting cancer, as that would provide a relief from the life I had. It became clearer that this situation was irrevocable, and I believed there was no point in living. I could not see even a sliver of light at the end of the tunnel and I didn't have the energy to care anymore. I started to believe that my kids and family would be better off without me, and could readily find someone to take my place who would be "more" than I had been. If my husband could replace me that easily, my kids could too. Clearly, the problem was me. The self-loathing was constant and intense. My negative self-talk told me I was worthless and ugly, and no wonder he didn't want me. I constantly compared myself to "her," and always lost. The urges began to increase and became harder to ignore. I wanted to - no, needed to - punish myself for being such a loser, and I hated myself for not being good enough. My body had failed me in this competition with the affair partner, so I took out my rage on it. In a variety of ways that surprised me in my creativity, I harmed my own body, again and again. I felt the compulsion to do this, and then the act of self-harm would provide some initial measure of relief, taking the edge off the pent-up pressure, soon to be followed by guilt and shame, then confusion and disgust for being so weak, and such a pathetic loser. I could not inflict this violence and rage on my husband or the affair partner, so I took it all out on myself. It was a vicious cycle and my husband was terrified. I did not want to live, and I thought about it constantly. I obsessed about it. I mentally crafted detailed plans which would ensure a lethal outcome. I thought about one plan in particular so often, I was secretly worried I would compulsively carry it out before I could even finish the thought, but I was conflicted. I did not tell anyone about the specific plans I made, and felt like I was looking in from the outside, and losing my mind. I began to make plans to ensure things were organized for my family in the event of my death, and wondered how my kids would feel. My reality was so distorted that I was really not sure it would impact anyone all that much. After all, since my husband chose someone else I must not have ever mattered, so would anyone really miss me? Wasn't I easily replaceable? I could not think clearly, but was also aware of that fact, which scared me and increased the self-loathing toward myself and my weakness. I prayed and prayed, and felt totally abandoned. I stopped caring if it would ever get better. I just accepted that this darkness was the sum total of my life. I gave up and no longer hoped for anything more. One day at work, my desire to die was so intense, I did not know if I could get home safely without carrying out my plan. While googling lethal doses of over the counter medications I had at home, the information for the suicide hotline came up on my phone. I called, alone in my office, sobbing on my desk. I hung up. I really didn't know what to do and did not want to talk to anyone. I did not see how they could help me. The following day, after a tumultuous series of events, I was taken from my office to the hospital in the back of a police car under a mandatory mental health arrest. It was humiliating, frightening, and a total loss of control. I had a very real fear that my husband would not come to pick me up, as this was his opportunity to finally dispense with me and move on from his crazy, broken wife and all the stress and drama we had endured since D-day a year earlier. He did come, however, and tearfully struggled to decide whether he could keep me safe enough to be discharged. It was a series of events I will never forget, and I now have a deeper understanding and appreciation for people in any situation who are so incredibly lost that they feel there is no hope. I know now that God was with me. He kept me safe. I did not feel Him but I know He was there, weeping alongside me. 4th Annual Hope Rising Conference Watch On Demand! All Hope Rising Conferences On Demand Today, I don't feel all of those things. In fact, I was pondering my progress recently, and it struck me that I have not felt those urges in a while. That is not to say life is now all butterflies and rainbows, but I no longer want to die. I no longer want to take out my aggression, anxiety, and desperation on my body through self-harm. That may not sound significant to people who have not walked in my shoes, but to those who have, I want to encourage you that it does get better. These intense feelings do diminish. I am still battling trauma and depression, but the feelings are calmer and more manageable. I can think clearly now. I thank God every day that I am still alive to love those around me, and that I have another day to try again to move toward healing and wholeness. The physical scars from my self-harm have faded. I shudder to think of a different outcome in which my family potentially wondered why they weren't enough for me, and the damage it would have caused to all the people I love. I came closer to ending my life than I would like to admit. I will never forget this season, and the extremes to which the pain from infidelity has taken me. Now I have empathy for those who walk this way. I know they are not weak. I know the strength it takes to keep going. I know how out of control it feels and how the light is totally eclipsed when you are in the darkness, and you no longer even believe light ever existed. I understand that now. I hope I can use this to reach out a hand to someone still in the blackness, and gently encourage you to hold on just a little longer. Just wait. It will get better, but you have to be patient, take courage, and look for the light. Let people help you. You DO matter and people DO care about you. No matter what your spouse did, or what he or she is doing now, you still matter. You always mattered. Your spouse can't take that away from you, and if you hold on long enough, you will be here with me to reach out your hand to someone else who just can't see any light yet either. Luke 12:7 Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows. EMS Online Registration Opens Wednesday at Noon Central! Our Emergency Marital Seminar Online, better known as EMSO, isn't a one-size-fits-all program for couples. Over decades of experience exclusively in the field of infidelity, our methodology has been honed to better serve couples as they address the betrayal, reconnect as partners and restore their lives. "Affair Recovery's EMS Online course literally saved our marriage from divorce. We had tried other professionals, which only led us to more pain in our marriage. It was a relief to find someone who understood our pain. It was comforting to know that others were feeling and thinking the same thoughts as us. We were not alone on this journey. Our marriage has been enriched by the valuable lessons we have learned through EMS Online." — K., Alabama. Spots fill up quickly, so don't wait to register! Learn more and register for EMSO using the button below. Register For EMS Online!

Despair, Self-harm, and Hopelessness in the Pit of Betrayal Trauma Part 1: The Darkness that Nearly Swallowed Me Up Part 2: Finding My Way Out Of The Dark Warning - this post is about self-harm and suicidal thoughts and may be intense or triggering. If you need help, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, available 24 hours, at 800-273-8255 or https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/. Psalm 139:14 I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Marvelous are Your works, And that my soul knows very well. I have always considered myself a fairly even-keeled person. I am normally logical and practical. My kids (all boys) commented over the years that they thought it was weird to see other moms cry, since they never saw that in me. I really didn’t get it either. I just wasn’t wired to be so emotional. I am not a mental health professional, but I work peripherally with youth in crisis. I often read cases in which teenagers are cutting themselves, having violent episodes, or expressing suicidal thoughts. I always felt great sympathy, but couldn't relate to them. I never understood it on a deep level other than what needed to be done to mitigate the situation: therapy, medication, support, or hospital admission. Self-harm and suicidal thoughts made no sense to me - I can recall saying to my kids that suicide was a permanent solution to a temporary situation. It seemed so clear and so obvious. I felt sorry for people who did not see this and I am ashamed to admit, I felt they must have a weakness of character or significant mental illness. I honestly felt irritation toward a person who would be so selfish to leave their loved ones to deal with the confusion and aftermath of suicide. In my personal life, my husband expressed anger in unhealthy ways for most of our marriage. I always hated it. No amount of conversation, reflection, or requests made any difference. I learned to stay quiet and stuff down my feelings in these moments to maintain stability. That required me to stay quiet and in control as much as I could, regardless of my actual feelings. This was a very unhealthy pattern to which I contributed, but I became proficient. I should have done many things differently, but each time I did what I thought was best, buried my head, and hoped it was the last time. The point of describing this is that I got really good at burying my emotions. In fact, sometimes I would not even acknowledge to myself that I even had any emotions. Over time, I built up intense resentment, but tried to ignore that too. Enter infidelity. I strongly suspected my husband was cheating and directly asked him. He denied. Over and over. For a very, very, very long time - over a decade, in fact. So, what did I do? Stuffed it down, of course - again. I couldn’t get any answers, so I felt like I was blindfolded and gagged while my world was collapsing, and I did not know what to do with the fear, the pain, the anxiety, and the utter powerlessness. I told no one of my suspicions, and since my husband wouldn’t admit it, I was alone with my feelings. That was not going to work for me, so I just wouldn’t accept having any feelings at all. They had to go. I tried not to think about it and just moved on. I lived “pretend normal” as it is called. It kept creeping back in, but he kept denying, so I kept shoving it back in the box deep within myself and pretending it wasn’t there. Then, after waaaayyyyy too many years, D-day happened. Suddenly, this normally even-keeled, rather stoic person (as I have been called) fell off a cliff, and I haven’t seen her since. (That isn’t completely a bad thing - but we’ll talk about that some other time). I turned into someone I did not know and there were too many feelings to manage: old pent-up feelings mixed with fresh and unfamiliar ones. It was terrifying and surreal and I truly and intensely wanted to die. Suicidal thoughts and feelings of self-harm are not uncommon following the revelation of intimate betrayal. In fact, some sources cite that roughly 30% of those suffering from betrayal trauma report having considered hurting themselves. This podcast by Dr. Kevin Skinner was interesting and helped make me feel more “normal” for feeling this way. If this even remotely describes you, I would encourage you to tell someone how you are feeling. You need support and understanding. You deserve it. If you don’t have anyone you can trust, then find a group online, talk to a professional, or call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. You must expose this darkness to light to be able to see your path forward. If you can’t see the light, let someone else hold the flashlight for a while, but regardless of your situation, you deserve to be understood, supported, and sustained until you can walk on your own. It will get better, even if you don’t know how yet. But it is a very rough road and it is not one you should walk alone. More to come on this topic next time. Until then, please know that you are valuable and you are not alone. It can be hard to see clearly through the pain and confusion of betrayal trauma, but please trust me, and others who have been there, and are still here to talk about it. Don’t give up. You will see things differently as time goes on, and you are worth every effort to keep going. You just have to hang in there a while longer. Psalms 27:14 Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord. Harboring Hope Registration Opens Wednesday at Noon Central! The wait is over at last. This online course for the betrayed spouse is the healing protocol you've been looking for. Please note: groups can sell out in 1-2 hours. "I just completed the Harboring Hope program. My husband was unfaithful to me emotionally, physically and sexually with a co-worker. What I wished I would've known is that forgiveness and reconciliation are two different things. People who refuse to forgive can never live their own lives, they are too busy obsessing about the life of the one who hurt them. They are stuck. They are unable to enjoy friends, family or even their children. They imprison themselves in a bondage of their own making. I definitely recommend the Harboring Hope program as a support for healing. To be in a safe community with other women who know what you're going through and how you're feeling is comforting. Whether you're able to reconcile or not, there is hope." — M., Michigan | HH Participant, April 2021. Space is limited! Use the button below to learn more about Harboring Hope and enroll in this restorative course. Register For Harboring Hope!

The Insidiousness of Shame Shame: A Pervasive Cancer of the Soul Shame: Beginning to Break Free Facing my shame that has plagued me my whole life has been eye-opening for me. I am learning that past trauma that I had left unattended to created a place in my psyche for the pervasive destruction of shame to take hold, wreaking havoc on me and my marriage. I understand now that avoiding and ignoring my strong negative feelings did not make me strong or brave. My husband, like me, had no idea that my shame was the culprit for much of our disconnection through the years. I always felt guarded and unable to access a true sense of connection with my husband. I didn't let him truly see me, and kept secrets from him for years. Shame did not make me betray him, but it festered in me unattended, where I stuffed it down with my secrets. I erected a wall of falseness between us, a wall of pride, so that he would never know how truly bad I was. My unwillingness to be authentic kept us from true intimacy, leaving us both feeling like something was missing from our lives together. Controlling shame has been a process for me - I had to first find the source of the shame and start to deal with it; I had to tear down my false image and learn who I truly was; I had to forgive myself and start to believe that I have worth. I educated myself on what shame truly is and how it affects me personally and in my relationships. A quick Google search defines shame as: "painful feelings or the emotional distress that is caused by the consciousness of wrong behavior, shortcomings, disgrace or disrepute." But what this general definition does not include is how these feelings and distress are processed and ingrained into our thought patterns and behaviors. To learn this, I read books on shame (many recommended by Affair Recovery). A common theme running through the literature that I picked up was the difference between guilt (I did something bad) and shame (I am bad). Also, guilt can be healthy in reformation and restitution, but there is never any good or constructive shame. EMS Online Registration Opens Soon! Click below to be notified in advance. Subscribe Now! Learn More I started to discuss my feelings of shame with my therapist. I had been seeing my therapist for 10 years for anxiety and depression, but I never told her about the trauma from my youth, my betrayal of my husband or of other secrets that I was holding onto. My shame was so strong around these topics that I was going to take them to my grave and let therapy try and mend a much-guarded and groomed false self. Living within my false image had been harming my mental health, my husband, and my marriage. I was not being authentic or taking responsibility for who I truly was, or the real consequences of my actions. I was living superficially. I was allowing myself to engage in behaviors that weren't reflective of the good, principle-driven person I so longed to be. I was missing out on having true intimacy and a close connection with my husband, and I was depriving him of something that he had been wanting most desperately - the real me. Why was I fighting so hard to protect this shame-fueled persona? Was the false image I so relentlessly clung to really the person I wanted to be? What was I gaining by exhausting myself trying to defend my behavior? When I took an honest look inside, all my lies, defenses, justifications, minimizations, and denials started to sour in my mouth and burn my own ears as I said them aloud. I no longer wanted to let shame dictate who I was or how I acted. I no longer wanted shame to negatively affect my husband and my marriage. I wanted to finally take responsibility for myself and the effects of my actions. What eventually helped me the most was acknowledging and truly accepting that I am hurt and broken and in need of change. Once I did, I could hear my husband's feelings without falling into a spiral of self-hate. I could take responsibility for his anger and pain, because I caused it. He did not choose to have his world turned inside out. He did not choose to lose his belief in himself. He did not choose to lose his trust in me. I could stay in a place of empathy because I did this to him. I could put his best interest over my own - the opposite of when I put my interests and desires over his and betrayed him. The opposite of when he was calling out in despair for me in the ICU, and all I could hear was my own shameful self-loathing. I am still on my journey, and though I don't have any easy answers, I do know that I must fight shame at every turn - it is so ingrained in me. Staring it down, not hiding from it, and taking control of my inner narrative helps. So does having someone around me who knows my true value. Recognizing shame and getting on top of it has been one of the hardest things that I have ever had to do - I still struggle with shameful feelings, and find it difficult to forgive myself for the destruction I have caused. I hurt that it has taken me so long to face my shame, and that it took the betrayal of my husband to bring it to light. However, my husband's inexhaustible support, love, and empathy, and his decision to stay in our marriage have shown me that despite my horrible wrongs, I am a worthwhile human being with much to give. I have learned to trust and believe in his opinion of me, which has never been as harsh and critical as my own. He reflects to me the truth - that though I have done some very bad acts, I am worthy and have the power to make amends and to change these flaws within myself. I don't have to hide from them or pretend they don't exist, because they do not define me. Having humility over who I am and what I have done, but also extending myself compassion, will be my way out of shame. I am confident that, one day, I will finally be able to step into self-truth and eventual redemption. Continue Your Healing With EMS Online!. Registration Opens Soon. Our Emergency Marital Seminar Online, better known as EMSO, isn’t a one-size-fits-all program for couples. Over decades of experience exclusively in the field of infidelity, our methodology has been honed to better serve couples as they address the betrayal, reconnect as partners and restore their lives. "I would like to say thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for your ministry and the materials you have provided as part of EMSO and Married for Life. We, all five couples that started EMSO, have just completed the Married for Life 52-week course. We are now deciding what to study next as a group, as we so value the relationship we have together as couples. With God, with your materials and with each other, we have saved our marriages." — B. Minnesota | EMSO participant, March 2021. Spots fill up quickly, so you won't want to wait to register for EMSO! To learn when registration opens back up, click the button below. Subscribe to Registration Notifications!

The Insidiousness of Shame Shame: A Pervasive Cancer of the Soul Part 2: Coming Soon, October 15! This past March, about 13 months after our D-Day, my husband suffered a ruptured brain aneurysm that landed him in the ER for emergency surgery. After his surgery, he spent 14 days in the ICU fighting for his life. Brain aneurysms usually have no symptoms until they rupture, and when they do, the survival rate is less than 50%. Needless to say, those 14 days were a very scary time for him and for me. While he was in the ICU, my husband was struggling with immense physical pain, fear of his own mortality, uncertainty about any permanent damage, and protecting his family while feeling helpless. Worst of all, was the isolation of the COVID restrictions, which only allowed one visitor per day. During this time, he needed me to be there for him more than any other time in his life - to reassure him, to help him feel safe, to show him care and love. After a particularly scary setback a few days into his recovery, he was struggling and called me for reassurance and support. He told me that he was in a dark and scary place, and that he needed me to help with his feeling of isolation. Instead of responding to him and pulling him out of his despair, I took his request as an indictment that I was not being a good wife. His pleas for help hit me like a punch to the gut and I closed off, shut down and was completely useless to my husband. I couldn’t offer him anything but defensiveness and blame. Defensiveness by telling him that I was doing everything I could - which I wasn’t. Blame by telling him his requests were unfair to me and that he had unrealistic expectations- which he didn’t. As a result, we didn’t speak much for the last week of his hospital stay. He completed his stay in the ICU without the support he deserved. When we did speak on the phone, our conversations were cold and fraught with tension. When he finally overcame the immediate danger and returned home, there was a terrible distance between us. How could this happen? How could I not be there for my husband when he needed me the most? What blocked the good inside of me? How could I abandon him in his darkest hour? The answer to these questions lies in one word - SHAME. By spiraling into shame, I chose my feelings over the needs of my husband. I took his request for support as a judgement that I had not been doing enough. I therefore missed an incredible opportunity to show him who I could truly be, which would have strengthened his trust in me and forged closeness between us. Instead, I let my husband feel as if no one truly cared about him when he was most vulnerable. I let shame take the focus off him and put it on me. Shame is a pervasive cancer of the soul. When we experience shame, we store it as a trauma that changes the way we think about ourselves, and it permeates every corner of our lives. For me, I get stuck in the emotions that tell me that I am unredeemable, unworthy, not good enough. I am then unable to show empathy to others, because feeling shame keeps it all about me. I retreat into myself, abandoning the ones I love because of how their feelings make me feel. I become self-centered and am unable to experience true intimacy. How can I let someone get close to me when they will see how horrible I truly am? They will never truly accept me or love me. Intimacy is taken as a threat to my emotional safety, and results in a fight or flight type response that is not rational or relational. My shame is rooted in trauma from my youth that was never addressed. The emotional pain I experienced wasn't processed correctly, which allowed shame to take hold of my soul and fester. As I aged, it permeated through my whole personality kept alive by a constant barrage of negative self-talk and self-loathing. Instead of understanding that I felt bad because I was traumatized, I believed I was traumatized because I was bad. To lessen the pain, I created a false image where I could hide my stained soul from others. This false image felt safe, because I could be someone different, and I could control the narrative of who I wanted to present to others. I could keep secrets, justify my behaviors, deny and alter my reality. I could ignore my feelings and tell myself that I wasn't as bad as my shame told me I was. And anytime my image was threatened, I would defend it vehemently like it was life or death. Maintaining this false image all the time came at a great emotional cost. It was a full-time job. For me, the constant upkeep ultimately led to anxiety and depression. For my husband, it led to isolation, loneliness, and the feeling that he really didn't know who I was. After D-Day, my shame was particularly insidious. During conversations when my husband shared hurt and anger, I would defend and justify my behaviors in an attempt to keep up my image. When I became exhausted from maintaining my image, I would just shut down. I could not truly hear him or show him empathy because I would get overwhelmed with my own feelings of self-loathing. These shame-based behavior patterns were the reasons why I caused more damage to my husband during our infidelity conversations, why I abandoned him in the ICU, and why our recovery became stagnant. I was not taking responsibility for my actions because they did not fit the image that I had created to hide my shame. I was being selfish and making it about me, and I was hurting the man I loved. It became clear that we were never going to heal and move forward unless I could break free from my shame, destroy my false image and start living in the truth. For the first time in my life, I decided to face my shame head on. I resolved to work through my past trauma and finally shine a light on the dark abyss it had created in me. This first step on my journey through shame proved to be a turning point in my personal recovery, and would become the foundation that was essential for the beginning of our new marriage. Please visit us again on Friday, Oct. 15th for The Insidiousness of Shame Part 2: Beginning to Break Free! The easiest–and cheapest–way to start on this journey is to take our free First Steps Bootcamp. It's an online guide with 100+ pages of content and a full-length video of a mentor couple who was in as big of a mess as it can get. You'll take a big sigh of relief when you have a clear plan and learn that you're neither crazy nor alone in this journey, whichever side of the infidelity you find yourself on. Start the Free First Steps Bootcamp Now!

There are so many painful words that flood our minds following betrayal: Hurt. Stupid. Angry. Deceived. Heartbroken. Lost. Humiliated. Duped. Blindsided. Gullible. Used. Tricked. Embarrassed. Shattered. Disgraced. Ashamed. Crushed. Afraid. Numb. All of those words are so painful, but there are two words that cut me to the core - not enough. People compare themselves to others for a variety of reasons across many areas of life. The reasons for comparison may sound different on the surface, but mostly they are all pointing toward determining how much we feel we are worth. Less than this person? More than that one? Whether it is not getting the promotion, being picked last in gym class, or just your standard "keeping up with the Joneses", we are constantly measuring our worth, our okayness, using the yardstick of those around us. As humans, we also like to categorize. Our brains want straight lines and to create neat little packages from complicated things, because it is more comfortable and familiar, even if it generates more pain. Uncertainty and grey areas are just naturally uncomfortable places for our minds to hang out, and sometimes we will draw conclusions just to close that mental loop, even if it is not the right answer. In the case of infidelity, my faint recollection of middle school logic problems tells me the situation was simple. If my husband wanted someone else, then I was not enough. Period. This simple statement is very easy to understand, but understandably, very painful to internalize. Ironically, my husband tells me this is completely untrue and my logic is faulty (so much for my middle school math). He tells me I was always "enough" and that his affair had nothing to do with that at all. Maybe your spouse has told you that too. The experts across the board attest that infidelity is not about the betrayed spouse "not being enough" or lacking in some way. This doesn't mean we don't have room for improvement; we all do. But if we are to believe the experts, then your spouse's infidelity had nothing to do with you not being enough, because you have always been enough. So have I. Even hearing that though, it is so much easier for me to blame myself, since that is more comfortable in my mind, and something I readily understand. After struggling with betrayal trauma for a long time, self-blame is a well-worn path. I have traveled that path so many times that I know all the stops along the way. Humans want to define and understand. We don't like ambiguity and we want to close the case, even if we are wrong. It is easier to conclude that all of my failures as a wife led to the infidelity, and therefore it made sense. There is no grey area there; there is no wrestling with competing realities, so that is the path I instinctively take - even though it is the most hurtful, and even though my husband tells me it isn't true. Easy can sometimes outweigh "real" or "truth," when "real" can be ambiguous, and "truth" can be messy and too hard to reconcile in our minds. I tried in so many ways to feel "enough" after D-day. I lost a lot of weight, which was pretty easy since I couldn't eat anyway. I wore makeup every day, even on weekends while cleaning and doing laundry. I bought all new underwear - the pretty kind that matches. I bought new clothes, since my old ones didn't fit anymore anyway. I still hid my body much of the time so he would not have to see all my flaws. I took up running to work off some of the anxiety and rage, and in the process I became probably in better physical shape than I had been in my younger years. But, all of these things were external. None of them addressed the emptiness of not enough. On the outside, I did some of the things that I thought would make me feel confident and "enough." But on the inside, I was still the same insecure person, looking at some threshold set in my mind by the affair partner that I would never achieve, so "not enough" continued to be the chorus in my head, set on repeat. There are many different reasons people are unfaithful. Almost none of them have anything to do with their partner not being enough, but that doesn't make it any easier to understand on the receiving end of the betrayal. Part of the healing process is being open to things we don't understand...a willingness to consider that things that don't make any sense might actually be the answer. This feels unnatural and after having been deceived, it feels much safer to dismiss anything we can't easily understand or verify. The straightest path is not always the right one, but leaning into seemingly illogical and unfamiliar thoughts is hard and unnatural. For some people, this season of "not enough" may be easier to navigate through than others. For some of us, like me, I have come to realize that I have always felt this to some degree, and my husband's infidelity put an exclamation point on it. Therefore, it is a bigger part of my journey than it might be for others. But I do think all of us feel it at least for a while, and it is so unfair, adding insult to injury of the betrayal. Most betrayers don't think about the consequences before they decide to be unfaithful, but if they ever did, they would still fail to anticipate the depth of the losses. They would never imagine how infidelity permeates every aspect of a betrayed partner. The obvious losses of monogamy and trust are deeply painful and create long lasting fear and uncertainty, but other losses that seem less obvious are the ones that can keep us really stuck. The loss of reality and time - knowing what was real and what wasn't - the loss of confidence, security, belonging, self-esteem, our perception of the world around us and the people in it. The loss of hope. The loss of interest in friends, family, and things we used to enjoy. The loss of perspective of who we are and how we fit into anything anymore. But for me, and maybe for you, the loss of feeling enough is soul-crushing and extends to every aspect of life: marriage, parenting, work, extended family, and friendships. If we weren't enough for our spouse, then we can't possibly be enough for anything or anyone else. This new identity of "not enough" is like ink spilled on a page, staining everything. As a person of faith, I lean on God to tell me who I am, but it is still very hard and it can be difficult to hear His voice above the whispers of not enough. For those of you who don't come from faith, you may want to ask a trusted friend or significant person in your life to help you see yourself through their eyes, to combat the feelings of "not-enoughness." This is the battleground. This is the place where we have to make a stand in our own minds to stop letting someone else's choices define us. I am in this trench too, and as I climb out, I will bring you with me on my journey. One step at a time. We are enough. "We don't judge other people nearly as much as we judge ourselves measured against them." ~ Kelly Flanagan

The affair happens. Maybe the betrayed spouse knows something about it, maybe they don't. In my case, I was very much aware. I asked him about it. Pointedly. Directly. Repeatedly. He lied. He told me I was "crazy," "paranoid," being "ridiculous." He would not tell me the truth. I knew it. He knew it. He knew that I knew it. But, no truth was to be had and we were at an impasse. Maybe you can relate. Time passed. After an excruciating season, the affair eventually ended. Life went on. We both pretended all was 'normal,' but the secret remained between us, a wall that could not be penetrated and would never fall on its own. We had some good times and some bad times. Life seemed normal. I slowly started to let down my guard. I started to soften toward him, and I wanted to get closer. It felt like we were starting to reconnect and I became hopeful. Then "it" would hit me again, and in my mix of fear and hope I would reach out to him, trying to cross the great divide, to scale the wall. I wanted to be close, to know him, to be known, to be "one" with each other again. But he would not take down the wall, or even acknowledge there was a wall. Then we each retreated to our corners; the music box was rewound to the beginning, and the dance would start all over again, all that ground lost with each decision to deceive. My thoughts: I want to be close. I want to know him, and learn the truth about him, about me, about our life. I love him, and all I want is to know and love the real him. I feel hopeful. Maybe we really can have more, maybe we can be more. So I ask him again, "Tell me the truth, what really happened with her?" He denies, deflects, and pretends he is confused. "Nothing. What are you talking about?" and all the other tired and worn out lies and diversions. His thoughts: I can never tell her. She wouldn't love me if she really knew me. She might leave me. I have to keep this secret at all costs. She will never know, so it can't hurt her. I have to deny it. I am so ashamed at what I have done. I wish it had never happened. I love her and I don't want to lose her. I feel so alone. My thoughts: He is still lying. I was a fool to try to get closer. He doesn't really love me. He still wants to keep their secret. She will always be more important to him than me. He just settled for me. I cannot show him my hurt; I have to hide my heart and protect myself. I have no hope. I feel so alone. Lather, rinse, repeat. In my case, this spin cycle lasted for a decade. The damage done by this perpetual dance only reinforced my own inner dialogue that he did not really love me, and that I was never going to be worth enough to him to actually tell me the truth. His inner dialogue told him there was no way I could ever love him - the real him - if he admitted the truth. Ironically, we both felt unloved and alone, neither aware of the other's inner thoughts and fears. We were side by side in isolation, but only one of us had the power to shift the trajectory, and until he decided to do something different, there could be no movement toward "us." In an unexpected chain of events many years later, he was faced with his hypocrisy. He is certain that God intervened that day, but long story short, I asked him again and this time, he finally told me the truth. All of the truth. In one long, painful, gut wrenching, nauseating, horrible monologue he told me a story I never wanted to hear, that my brain struggled to process as the words tumbled out, full of information and graphic images I couldn't handle. After so many years of denial, his words were too much to be absorbed by my panicked brain; it felt like water rising all around me, soon to sweep away my life as I knew it and drown me in a sea of pain and despair. I heard my own voice screaming in my head NO! NO! NO! NO! as he quietly relayed this horrific tale with his head in my lap, while I sat in silence. And then the wall had finally fallen. The bricks lay strewn about in piles of rubble, and years of painful digging lay ahead of us, using raw and bloodied hands to clean up the mess. But the wall was gone, and we could see each other at last. Through every step, all those years, he knew the truth, the whole picture. The puzzle in his head was complete. So much of my life was spent trying to figure out what he was hiding, trying to understand what was wrong with me, why I wasn't enough, why he didn't love me. . . then so much time wrestling against those same thoughts, trying convince myself he was telling the truth like he promised me he was, that despite my uneasiness there was nothing more to know, and so much time beating myself up for being mistrustful. I am sad for us. I am sad for the years we lost not knowing each other. I am sad to think of the man I love believing he was unlovable and unforgivable, and sad for me feeling rejected and alone, when neither was true. We both suffered so much more than was necessary. It didn't have to be this way. If you are an unfaithful spouse and you have not yet disclosed the truth to your partner, you are denying both of you the intimacy of being fully known and fully loved. Yes, there is risk in being fully known, but hiding behind the wall of deception is not really living or loving, so what is the point? You may think you are protecting them, but leaving your partner in the dark is like sentencing them to prison, with no hope of escape because you are hiding the only key. You may still be expecting them to find their way out somehow, but it won't matter how much they try; they will be forever trapped by the deception. Without disclosure your spouse is trapped in the unknown, and you are trapped as well, in a relationship that can never be real. None of us envisioned living in this prison built on secrets when we said "I do," and it doesn't have to be that way. When you disclose, there will be pain, there will most likely be anger and things are probably going to be rough - very rough. But real intimacy requires transparency - the good, the bad, and the ugly. Betrayal is definitely ugly. Ultimately we were all created to be fully known so that we can be loved for who we really are, not just the image we portray or the masks we wear. You might be surprised to see how much you are truly loved by your spouse - despite your betrayal. You owe it to your spouse, and yourself, to break down the prison wall and see each other clearly - maybe for the first time. Registration for Harboring Hope Opens Soon! You don't have to do this alone! Join other betrayed mates on the path to healing with our life-changing Harboring Hope online course. With Harboring Hope, learn how to weather the pitfalls and hardships following infidelity and start a better, brighter chapter. “I just completed the Harboring Hope program. My husband was unfaithful to me emotionally, physically and sexually with a co-worker. What I wished I would’ve known is that forgiveness and reconciliation are two different things. People who refuse to forgive can never live their own lives, they are too busy obsessing about the life of the one who hurt them. They are stuck. They are unable to enjoy friends, family or even their children. They imprison themselves in a bondage of their own making. I definitely recommend the Harboring Hope program as a support for healing. To be in a safe community with other women who know what you’re going through and how you’re feeling is comforting. Whether you’re able to reconcile or not, there is hope.” — M., Michigan | HH Participant, April 2021. Space is limited! Use the button below to subscribe and be notified ahead of future registration openings. Subscribe to Registration Notifications! Hope for Healing Registration Soon! Space Is Limited! Designed specifically for wayward spouses, Hope for Healing is a supportive, nonjudgmental environment for you to heal and develop empathy. Over the years, this 17-week, small group course has helped thousands of people find hope, set healthy boundaries and move toward extraordinary lives. "I just finished Hope for Healing and am proud of the changes that I already feel in myself and my marriage. I found Affair Recovery when I was at the darkest point in my life, and this course has helped me to get myself on a true path to recovery." — S., Alabama | November 2020 Hope for Healing participant. Spaces fill up quickly for this course. To learn when registration opens back up, click the button below. Subscribe to Registration Notifications!