Survivors' Blog

I recently made this family favorite. The first two batches came out perfectly. On the third and final batch, the kitchen timer did not go off. I use this timer for all sorts of cooking and baking projects. It is the type where you rotate the dial past the time you want and turn back to the exact number of minutes desired. It ticks like a time bomb and rings as a school bell at day's end. My internal timer went off before I smelled burning, but the cookies were definitely a few moments past the point of no return. What's this metaphor got to do with life and infidelity recovery? Just this: even when we, the betrayed, have used our best ingredients from the supermarket, when we have followed—carefully and with lots of love—the recipe for cookies (or life), sometimes the timer doesn't work, and the cookies don't turn out. There is joy in the doing because we know we will enjoy the cookies, and so will our family. We set the trusty timer, put the cookies in preheated oven and continue to go about our life at earshot of the timer's brrrriiiiiinnnnngggg. But it never comes. And we're left with burnt cookies. Was it a mistake to count on the timer's reliability when it had not been unreliable in the past? Perhaps the most doubtful baker would keep an eye on her wristwatch to be sure that the timer goes off. Or maybe those of us who have had timers fail us in the past would be more likely to use the backup plan. Regardless, our cookies have been burnt. Our marriage as we knew it is over. It will never be the same. Even if we are fortunate enough to have a spouse who eventually takes full responsibility, makes amends on an ongoing basis, and becomes the person we thought we married (or better!), we might never trust completely, tenderly, innocently again. We will never have a marriage untainted by betrayal. We have been changed down to a cellular level.1 It's an end, a loss, and it's sad—like saying goodbye to our kindergartner on his first day is difficult and heartrending, like tossing the final rose on the coffin of a parent or beloved friend is unimaginably painful. Endings can be anything from bittersweet to just plain awful. Grief. Sucks. Sure, there are those first two batches of sweet, delightful memories. But this dark, bitter batch leaves an aftertaste in our mouth, even if it is still edible. We never want to go there again. We have been burned—badly. About as deeply and painfully as any experience in life. Infidelity changes you. The next time I make peanut butter cookies, even if my timer has resumed its apparent reliability, I will be more careful, more watchful, use a backup plan. Even if I was to throw out the old timer and get a new one, I would be reminded to be careful. I would not trust completely, perhaps for a long time—maybe forever—that the timer wouldn't fail me. I am more clear-eyed, more realistic, more mature. We will surely and truly never be the same. We will be wiser, more careful, less trusting. We will also be more appreciative of all the batches of cookies that are to come. We are grateful for the timer and even more grateful for the sweet results. We have been forewarned. No timer, no man, no woman is failsafe. We can do everything right but still have those we rely on fail us. It is part of life: Disappointment. Death. Birth. Growth after betrayal. Growth after the longest winter of discontent. There is hope. As we grieve the losses, as our formerly unfaithful repairs, as we invest in listening, empathy and compassion, we can once again grow as individuals and as a couple. We can also choose to use this as an opportunity to grow, regardless of the outcome of our marriage, to be even better, stronger, wiser. Would I ever consider quitting my love of baking because I had a bad batch or even a season of oven failures? No. Love and cookies are too important, too vitally special to me and my life. Even if our post-pandemic world looks different, even if we are fundamentally changed by disappointments and losses, we can grow into more loving and compassionate human beings. We can choose gratitude for all the blessing of this life. We can savor the fruits, the cookies, of our labors again if we let ourselves risk failure. We all risk when we love. We all risk every day when we get out of bed in the morning. Life is inherently risky, especially if we have the courage to reach for our dreams, if we choose to love. We all risk for what is good. We all hurt when what was good disappoints us. Especially when we did everything we could to make it right. But peanut butter cookies—and love—are worth it. See The Body Keeps Score by Bessel van der Kolk for more information

What do the words 'I'm sorry' really mean? They are used so frequently that they don't seem to carry much weight. If you are like me, however, they are the first thing we mutter when we realize we have made a mistake or done something wrong. When it comes to the pain of infidelity, the words 'I'm sorry' have to feel downright insulting to a betrayed spouse. As they should, because it isn't enough. The truth of the matter is, it will never be enough to undo the damage that is caused by breaking marital vows and by the deception that comes with being unfaithful. 'I'm sorry' is something we say when we bump into someone accidently or something we offer when we are running late. Most of the time, just uttering 'I'm sorry' comes across as selfish, because it has more to do with ourselves than what we did to the other person. This brings us to amends. What is an amend? For starters, amends are much different than saying 'I'm sorry.' Amends cannot solve the problem of infidelity, but they differ from an apology in that they are a stepping stone on a different path. Amends are the ways we, as unfaithful spouses, start the process of understanding what we have done and beginning to change course. Here are some additional thoughts on what an amend is and what it is not. Making amends is a lifestyle, not a one-time choice. It is about the beginning of becoming a new person. This will require that we not just hit repeat on the amend we are trying to make on any given day but, instead, commit to a process of letting our hearts be turned inside out and seeing our spouse with new eyes. Amends require discipline and consistency. My favorite definition of discipline is deciding what you want most instead of what you want right now. I sometimes struggle with a "right now" mentality. I confess that I still get caught up in what will make me feel better instead of what will help me to be better. Making amends must be done with a long-term vision, not for short-term satisfaction. Seeking short-term satisfaction is what got us into trouble in the first place. An amend is not a confession. While confessing what we have done is important, it is not the same as making amends. Confession is still about us, the pain we caused, and the details of our brokenness and sin. If we are standing on opposite sides of a river, confession is on one side, where we are. The hurt party is on the other side. To make an amend is to take the first step across the bridge in order to see and reach out to the person we have hurt by our choices. Here are some ways that I have tried to avoid making amends. Perhaps they will resonate with you as well: In the midst of a painful conversation, I will shut down and cry. My tears will tell me that I am hurt and being vulnerable, but I often need to give more. As a woman, I find it difficult in these moments to rise up and be strong. Instead of saying what needs to be said, I let my tears speak, and they confuse my spouse even further. I cannot confuse my shedding of tears with making amends. While my tears demonstrate the attitude and posture of my softening heart, they don't take the place of real words, which my husband needs. He is not a mind reader, and my tears, while important, can never take the place of saying what I need to say. I confess that I have used sex in ways that aren't helpful in our marriage. I need to look at this area more closely, even as I type it, but it is a starting point and a confession that I have not always gotten this area right. I have had the tendency to over-apologize and take too much responsibility, instead of carefully looking at what shortcomings I actually need to own. This is a blanket attempt to not do the careful moral inventory that is necessary for recovery. I think it far better that I sometimes say nothing instead of filling the space with half-hearted attempts at over-apologizing. Keep growing. To Healing, Elizabeth

My husband and I have two teenagers in our house, and we are trying our best to raise them into responsible and caring adults. For those of you that have already been there and done that, I'm hoping you can look back on that time with a smile. You survived it. Teenagers, after all, can be quite fun, and they can add a lot of energy to the house. For those of you that haven't or might not ever get a chance to raise these strange little people that look like adults and make you think they are adults (when in fact they are not), it really hasn't been as bad as some people will tell you. The hardest part, I have found, is that teenagers are brutally honest when it comes to their ideas about you as parents. You rarely can "fake" it with them. They will sniff out insincerity and hypocrisy like nobody's business. And they are like little mirrors reflecting back to you the areas in our lives where we still need to do our own "work". The challenge that we keep running into is that we really don't know what we are doing most of the time--especially with our oldest. We have never done this before so we often have no frame of reference. And winging it doesn't exactly feel like good parenting. What has been heart-wrenching for us at times is just how much dealing with teenagers has been like trying to deal with the aftermath of infidelity. Not long ago, our teenage daughter went over to a friend's house on a Saturday night. The ever-evolving tandem of growing responsibility and trust has made its bumps in our family before, but this night the wheels definitely fell off the bus. All seemed to go according to her plan, and she came home at midnight when she was supposed to. However, the following morning, when we went to use the same car that she had driven the night before, there was mud all over the rearview mirror and on the tires. That was really strange, because the friend she went to visit does not live on a dirt road. When we asked her about it, she told the partial truth. Insert trigger number one: lying to my husband. After what I have put him through with my affairs, the man truly needs a lifetime of truth and nothing but the absolute truth. He handled the situation with grace, but lying is definitely a trigger for us. Not the kind that keeps us stuck like they used to, but the pin-prick "ouch" feeling is still there. Trigger number two would be my shame. It is interesting raising these teenagers, because while I am not proud of it, I completely understand their tendency to only share what they want us to see and know. Share the good; hide the bad. I did that most of my life. While I chose not to let shame take over, it does rear its ugly head in situations like this, and that feeling of wanting to run and bury my face in a rock started to rise up in my chest. Before you think the obvious, let me say it: I am an adult now. I need and want to act like one. I am not a teenager, and while a lot of my development got arrested there, I am eternally grateful for the gift of being able to choose a better, more mature and lasting perspective on love and relationships. As the story unfolded with our daughter, we finally got to the bottom of what happened. This took several hours, and we ran the gamut of emotions: anger, frustration, silence, tears, repeat. She ended up going to a place where she had no business going so late on a Saturday night. She and her friends got stuck on a dirt road because they got lost. In order to hide the mud, they went to the carwash at 11:00 pm. However, they left mud under the car and on the mirrors, because, I'm guessing, it is pretty difficult to wash a car in the dark. Seems like a whole lot of effort to cover their mistakes when the truth is so much easier. This is where it hit home. I cried as I saw my daughter start to confess. I know that had to be very difficult for her, because the shame was written all over her face. I cried even more when my husband gently told her that there would be a punishment but that we love her and she is allowed a do-over. He reminded her that we only care so much because she is so valuable to us and that we want her safe. He also told her that next time she finds herself stuck on a dirt road in the mud with her friends, we would come and get her instead of her panicking and fearing the loss of love from us. We forgave her. I hate to think of my daughter alone in a carwash in the middle of the winter late at night. She forgot how much she was loved and how much she mattered. Today, I hope that despite whatever you face, you can choose to know you matter. You can choose to remember you are loved. You can stop running and hiding and covering up. Or you can choose to let go and start to forgive. This won't necessarily mean you will get what you want or that you can change or control the outcome, but you can start to choose differently. To Healing, Elizabeth

Sometimes, my thoughts are punishing, my brain on fire. Have you experienced this? I am someone who deserves to be understood and cherished rather than criticized and improved. It is time to arrest the process of depletion caused by the trauma I have suffered. It's time to stop ignoring my body's signals and instead allow them the authority to teach me about myself, time to keep my life as simple and quiet as possible, to allow myself comforts of the senses and small pleasures: Home cooking of familiar foods reminiscent of my childhood. Enjoying a steaming cup of my favorite tea. The sound of moving water, taking in the look of it, the soft caress it provides in a hot shower. Walking alongside it, whether a lake or the sea, as I marvel at its many moods. Laughter is as much a part of my healing as weeping. Revisiting favorite films from my past or watching a new series on Netflix helps to mend that sore ache in my heart that has been my constant companion. It is time to reset my internal clock to the rhythms of nature: Watch the sun rise and set. Gaze up at the constellations. Observe the cycle and changing shape of the moon. Connect to a simpler, slower time. Sometimes life offers a respite, something or, in my case, someone new. My first grandchild was born two years after D-day, and although she lives on the other side of the country, our precious few visits have allowed me to revisit the long hours of my own young motherhood spent watching the magical process of infanthood unfolding. What a treasure to look into the innocent eyes of the future and see in them the simplicity of life as it used to be. Even in a time of great suffering, there can be connection to our depth of character and memory: Memories of a season of life when I was under the protective loving care of my parents, living under their roof, eating my mom's simple, filling meals, lying next to my basset hound 'sister' while synchronizing my breathing with her soft snore. Even if life were no less dangerous and dark then, the darkness was hidden from my awareness as I was cushioned within the walls of my family home and the unconditional love I found there. In this time of recovery, I look for a way to transform all this misery into wisdom and compassion, just as the most revered men and women of history have done, just as every strong-souled person has found reincarnation as a more resilient, empathetic self. Although I allow myself to speak of my sorrow and loss, I will not let it define me. I've found a wonderful group through Al-Anon. The meeting I go to is composed mostly of senior women who have been molded by their grief. They remind me that I have choices, and it is okay to say no. After taking good care of my body and soul for as long as it takes, it will begin to, once again, take care of me. Slowly, I allow myself to enjoy the return of more positive emotions. Contentment sneaks back in with the balm of intentional calmness. A new spark of curiosity, a bit more energy punctuates what have been the darkest days of my life. I can, once again, feel the great tenderness I have held for the important people in my life, both living and dead. Little by little, I no longer feel quite so broken, so alone. It is akin to surviving a near-death experience, filling me with gratitude for the tulip bulbs that are pushing their way through the warming earth and listening to every Michael Bublé song that comes on the radio. It seems I can never plan a day as good as the one that unfurls if I just leave lots of white space in my schedule. Slow down, and let the day unfold. Maybe, just maybe, a day I thought would be dismal will become a bright memory. We all have seasons of suffering if we are fortunate to live long enough. In this season, if I allow myself to explore my self and my relationship to the world, my heart and body and mind will strengthen, grow, heal. Step out of the shadow-life great grief brings. I believe most of us are equipped to heal from trauma. We can choose to dig deep into the entrenched strengths of our identity. The cure is growth. When we expand our point of view, our life, so too, will follow.

Unfaithful Spouses, You have been working really hard. Since discovery, you have received a chance at a new life, and you are determined to change your behavior. You want to see crumbs of hope in your marital relationship, but all you see is pain. What is likely underneath that pain is a violation so deep that you might not even be able to comprehend it for the first year. Maybe you feel shut out as your betrayed spouse acts in ways you don't think are beneficial. Perhaps you don't understand why your betrayed spouse keeps information from you--even something as innocent as them meeting with a close friend for lunch and not telling you about it. Maybe it is more serious than that, and you see them becoming careless with their own behavior. Maybe they start drinking too much or not telling you when they will be home. Or maybe you even see them falling into the same temptations you have had, and they are seeking out any kind of solace or comfort from another in the form of flirtation or a revenge affair. While it is easy to only see or judge the behavior, I think it is more important to look for the pain underneath it. We, after all, are asking for that same grace in light of our own journeys. Until a betrayed spouse feels some kind of assurance and small guarantee of safety (this will usually happen only after months and months of consistency, no new information, and evidence that we are working diligently to become a new person), they will likely continue to shut down. The likely motive? Self-protection. In my own marriage, it was incredibly difficult for me to understand why my husband no longer shared some information with me after disclosure. I was working SO hard. I was taking the Affair Recovery classes; I was going to counseling; I had stopped all contact with the affair partner. In a nutshell, I was desperate, afraid, and doing everything possible to turn our relationship around. Yet, my husband continued to withdraw from me. It might have been as simple as him having lunch with his brother or a meeting with his boss that he would not talk about. I no longer had access to even the most innocuous parts of his day. During that first year, I would always be so hurt by this. When I took it too personally, I would write stories in my head that told me he was trying to pay me back for what I did to him. (As is the case with so many situations in my life, I have discovered…I was wrong). Other times were much more serious. My husband is a by-the-book, straight-laced guy who oozes integrity. It was confusing and terrifying to all of the sudden find texts to other women that were so inconsistent with the man I knew him to be. I remember feeling saddened by my husband's behavior, all the while knowing I had done the same kinds of things to him. Fortunately, this was during the season of my life when I was going to counseling twice a week. With God's grace and the help of my therapist, I was able to speak to my husband with kindness, grace, and a boatload of humility. Because of my own infidelity, I very much knew the distraction from pain that even flirtation can provide. I remember approaching him with so much fear and a heavy heart. I questioned at first whether I had the right to even speak into situations like this in light of what I had done the year before. After all, didn't I deserve this? Fortunately, I did speak into it. Although I can't remember my exact words, I know I spoke directly and kindly. I was direct in that I called out the behavior, talked about how much it hurt, and asked him to stop. I was kind in that I remember saying I understood how easy it was for him to be in this place, as I had been there many times before. I didn't judge him as much as I begged him not to make the same mistakes I had made. That conversation stands out in my memory as one of the most painful and honest talks of our entire recovery. Time is a gift that allows the lens in which we view our situations to change. Time is funny like that. Because of the gift of time, I see the wounded spouse's journey through their pain much differently than I did before. Now I can see, with a wider lens, the path of my own destruction, and I am much less focused on what my husband did or didn't do. Please realize that I am not addressing a relationship in which there is physical harm or abuse. If that is the case, or you fear that it is, please seek wisdom. Run, don't walk, to a trusted friend, pastor, or counselor. Get help and outside influence. If that is not the case and you are simply frustrated, try to continue to see things from another perspective than your own. Try to keep one nostril keenly attuned to our own inner cesspool, as C.S. Lewis so eloquently reminds us. Chances are, if you are being left out, it is probably more about your spouse trying to protect themselves from further pain than about them trying to hurt you. When a betrayed spouse is hurting, they might do or say things that make it difficult to love. Pain can do that to people-- eliciting a primal response that is not pretty. I know words were said to me that didn't come from my husband's heart but from his pain. It is wise to know the difference. To healing, Elizabeth