Survivors' Blog

Prodigals.... In the Bible, one of the most beloved, well known, and controversial stories is one that Jesus told of the Prodigal son. Prodigal actually means "wasteful, reckless, irresponsible and selfish." Sounds a lot like me when I was unfaithful. I didn't want to cheat. I never planned on it. For most of my marriage, I had an inner vow to stay faithful because it was what I had promised to do. I don't think any of us walk down the aisle ever thinking we will become someone who would cheat. Nor do I think anyone on their wedding day can fathom what it must feel like to be betrayed either. I remember acutely, the day it happened. A man who was friendly with me at our local tennis club told me he thought I was beautiful. It caught me off guard. I remember thinking to myself at the time he said it, "surely he didn't just say that to me?" That wasn't something married men were "supposed" to say to married women. It felt personal. It felt like a violation of some code. It felt intimate and wrong. It's hard to describe, but he was also strangely familiar to me. I grew up with so many mixed messages and lack of boundaries, that it also stirred something in me. Looking back now, at the time I had no idea how vulnerable I was. Instead of talking about it with my husband, which is what we would do now, I hid that information. I absorbed what happened that day and coveted the feeling and high it gave me. Just like a secret binge of a bulimic, I swallowed the compliment and rid what happened in my mind. The truth was, I let those words sink in and allowed them to make me feel special. Like a drug, I began to want more. Each week I would run into him, would he say something again? I gave them power and allowed them to fuel a fantasy that took me further and further from my vows, my husband and our marriage. This guy started to drip feed compliments like battery acid into my abyss of unworthiness, and I was hooked. How did someone who had everything end up in a ditch eating with swine? Looking back, I had terrible boundaries. I had heard of people who were married and did things like never riding in a car or having lunch with someone of the opposite sex, but I guess I was too dumb or proud to ever think those rules applied to me. I also still struggle with a deep sense of unworthiness. There are so many reasons for affairs, and I am sure I will never fully understand them all. I know I was painfully unaware of the deception within my own heart. Silence, Secrets and Selfishness are three deadly factors that any wayward spouse uses to feed the affair. And some of the ways out of this mess? Talking, radical honesty, and serving. A sober-ness really. The acceptance that my heart can be a dark and dangerous place if I don't open the shutters and let light in. The road to repentance in my marriage is a joy that will probably take the rest of our lives. Why joy? Because I think serving brings out the best in us. I mess up a lot, but I really want to restore honor to my husband. But do you know what hasn't taken a lifetime to receive? God's forgiveness. It's instant. No matter what we have done, how bad, how far and how ugly....we have a loving Father who hikes his pants up so He can sprint towards us to scoop us up in His arms. He is so happy to have us repent and come back home, that He throws us a party! That is hard for me to wrap my head and heart around. Getting the opportunity to serve and walk alongside others at AR, feels to me like that party sometimes. A party that none of us ever wanted to be invited to. A testament to God's goodness is how many people in the AR community that are waiting to partner with you as you sojourn recovery. Who comes to mind for you? I thank the many women I walk with daily, that I would have never known without repentance, grace and failure. Can you hear it? I hear God's calling for any of us that have returned home. The call to let God have the last word in our sin. To help others. And by all means rid our lives of every last secret we've ever held onto. No matter what side infidelity you find yourself on, please don't believe that you are unworthy because of what you've done or what's been done to you. Take the next step. Join a group. There is a loving Father waiting for you there. And an entire community of fellow prodigals to cheer you on. Elizabeth

Acceptance, The last stage of grief or the beginning of the true journey? I've had the urge to write this blog for some time, but I keep finding myself putting it off. I know it will take some effort and may not flow as easily as some of the earlier ones. This process started for me when I heard a well-known quote from the famous philosopher, Soren Kierkegaard: "Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forward." I have a cousin that is an avid skier and spends half the year living the dream in a resort town in Colorado. We have a lot in common in many good (and some not so good) ways. While she is adventurous and a loving mentor to me, she can also be obsessively driven and hypercompetitive. I love to ski, but seeing as I spend most of my year near sea level, I only get to do it a handful of days in a season. Years ago, she played into our kindred spirit when she confronted me with the declaration she was tired of having to dumb down her skiing when I visited; we were going to the extreme slopes. We have skied together for years, and she knew I could safely handle what she was proposing. I, on the other hand, wasn't so sure and was comfortable in my usual routine. As she forced me towards the lift to "no man's land" she yelled back through a laugh, "Do you really want to go home a wimp?" As I followed her down the run, I quickly learned the skill of finding simpler lines when the conditions started to feel overwhelming. The trick was to focus on the terrain I knew I could handle and block out the hazards that seemed too dangerous. Fear lost its grip and exhilaration took its place. Looking back, I see how that experience changed my perspective on skiing forever. You see those slopes, the ones labeled "out of bounds" or "extreme". . . the ones only accessible by small lifts or Cats, offer views and experiences that feel worlds away from the commercial bustle below. Skiing became a true escape into the wilderness, not just an activity. It was a liberating step, and I needed a push to get there. In many ways my journey through recovery seems to parallel this experience. It has been a long one. I've lost count of the books and hours of counseling. Weekly group calls now seem as natural as showing up at my office each weekday morning. However, it also feels like it has just begun. The process has transformed me individually in ways I longed for far before the discovery of my wife's infidelity. I find myself with a new self-awareness, a better understanding of God's purpose, a greater appreciation for healthy relationships. The taste of authenticity and the calm confidence of true purpose is sweet. For the first time, I find myself truly contemplating with wonder. . . dare I say excitement. . . what could be up ahead? This point feels like a transition. This point feels like. . . acceptance. While I acknowledge that recovery from the dysfunctions, pains, and transgressions of this world is a life long journey, I now realize that grieving my wife's indiscretions is not. At times, I have tried to push to get to this point, only to find it slipping further away. Grieving is an ambiguous process that has to take its own time and form. I see that now. Only when I immersed myself in the process completely, quit trying to control it, and applied the principals learned through all the hours of study and counseling with patience and without expectation, did this clarity emerge. My acceptance is not of what was negatively done to me by another, but the condition and state of my own life. My acceptance is realizing that I am not above having to face this indiscretion, and that I can grow from how I choose to experience it. My acceptance is a new found understanding of my own strengths, and how better to protect them from my own dysfunctions and unhealthy ways. My acceptance is in the fallen world we live in, and understanding my place in it is only temporary. My acceptance is peace. So why the hesitation? I think I have come to realize my acceptance is also a release of the crutch of grief, the role of a victim. By no means am I suggesting anyone rush to get here. It has come in its own due time, but I have been noticing for a while now that allowing myself to wallow in the pain feels more like a tether than a new discovery. There comes a point when hanging on simply keeps me looking towards the past when there is so much of the mountain in front of me that I have yet to experience. God wastes nothing. Do I really want to have gone through all this work. . . to have fully faced arguably the greatest relational pain known to mankind. . . to not fully experience His rewards for enduring it? While I am sure I will have to reread these words for a time to come, I am also sure the need for the reminders will fade as I turn to present day opportunities and experiences with a new-found awareness. . . and peace. This will undoubtedly not be the end to the pain, but an understanding that the tools I've learned will guide me towards a safe line when all seems overwhelming. A choice to allow the wound to begin to scar. . . a scar that will not only remind me of the pain, but also the growth of His will and intentions.

Early on in recovery, I was so angry at my husband for suggesting I have a love addiction. I am so ashamed to think of how prideful I can be. In my mind, a woman with a so-called love addiction had serious issues. I had a stereotype in my head that this would be a woman constantly on dating sites, wearing clothing from Victoria's Secret, or someone completely out of control. This was not me. I was a mom for crying out loud. I drive a minivan. I carpool. I go to church. I was married. I dress conservatively and I have never once been on an internet site that had anything to do with dating or sex. I insistently denied any possibility that this could be me. Insert God, growth, time, and humility into the picture. I think this is me. I have found something in common between me and the other women I have walked with who have had more than one affair; we have a pretty low self-esteem underneath our façade. We can be very warm, energetic even, but also very impulsive. We easily confused care and concern for genuine love or intimacy. The saying "boys use love to get sex and girls use sex to get love" has a grain of truth for us. Stereotypical and generalizing for sure, but let me explain. I know for me, since I was very young, boys offered me something I never learned how to give myself. Attention, approval, and acceptance. If a boy liked me, it must have meant I mattered and I was beautiful. It was exciting to discover this power that seemed to erase my doubt and insecurity. So began the craving. . . And what to do when a boy stopped liking me or I them? Move onto the next one. Keep the excitement going. I lived with a distracted heart that was always searching for the next thing to fill it. If you think you may have a love addiction, don't despair. After all, it is only a term. It is not who God created us to be. Now that you're starting to identify it, be curious and start to look at what it means. I can no longer afford to be disillusioned by my own depravity and choices I've made in the past. I think I have a love addiction. I have a very compulsive and addictive personality. Thank goodness no one ever offered me cocaine. But food? Yep. I battled anorexia and then bulimia for years. Alcohol? Another yes. I was always too prideful to ever consider myself an alcoholic but it definitely was a substance I used in both of my affairs to escape pain and justify my behavior. (The two nights I was physical with my AP's were nights I drank heavily). Rick Reynold's has written several articles if you want to read more about love addiction: www.affairrecovery.com/newsletter/founder/affair-why-did-they-cheat-part-three-do-they-have-an-addiction? Could this be you? If so, I encourage you not to shy away from the diagnosis like I did. (My repulsion to the idea should have been a warning sign to me that it had everything to do with me). I have found individual counseling to be immensely helpful. Seeing the lack of proper attachment growing up in my family has shown me why I have always been on a search for intimacy in all of the wrong places. I know I have a very addictive personality. Instead of denying that part of me, I am coming to terms with it. I once read that an addict needs shame like a thirsty man needs salt water. Looking at the roots of my shame allows me to focus more on the why's behind my tendencies and behaviors. Group work has also been beyond helpful. Hope for Healing women's groups are full of some pretty broken yet amazing women trying to figure this out. When you get to meet other folks who struggle in the same ways, quite a bit of healing can happen through comradery and compassion. If you are the betrayed and you don't even know who your spouse has become, first off, I'm really sorry. This may be their issue. In the scope of God's big story, I see how broken I have been by misusing my sexuality. I have used the divine beauty God gave me as a woman and used that for attention to fill a void by men that only God could fill. It breaks my heart to think of me giving my sexuality away so early in my life. Part of it may have been taken from you too soon as well, and I hope you find the courage to talk about that in a safe place. I didn't, for years. In my silence, shame told me that I was nothing more than damaged goods, so I might as well offer those broken leftovers to whoever wants it. That deeply grieves and saddens me to not see, live or love from a place of being worth so much more.

Have you ever driven in really thick fog? We live near the Mississippi river, where a lot of tributaries feed into the waterway. I didn't grow up in this region (I'm a native Texan), but what I find is that certain mornings of the year, the hills and valleys surrounding our home become blanketed in a thick fog. It becomes so heavy over the roadways that in order to drive, you have to put your headlights on the low beam and drive very slow. You can't see anything. All of the curves and turns seem to sneak up on you. What were once familiar roads become scary and unknown. It can be suffocating because you have no point of reference. I also get very impatient when I drive in fog. I don't like not being able to see so I find myself turning on my high beams, thinking I can see further ahead but instead I am just blinded even more. The early months after disclosure from infidelity are not for the faint of heart, no matter which side of it you find yourself. As the unfaithful party, there were many times I wrestled with the lie that it might just be best for my family if I left. Driving off of a cliff, overdosing, or disappearing seemed like much better options than facing the devastation I created. I had caused enough damage. In my shame and despair, all I could see was that I was someone who could destroy people. My deceit caused mass destruction and my betrayed husband couldn't stand to look at me at times. What does early recovery have to do with fog? Nothing of which I am about to say is profound. In fact, it is so bread and butter basic that it might border on being insulting. I have learned that when you drive in fog, all you can do is stay in your lane, keep your beams on low, and go very, very slow. If you are reading this and find yourself in the first six months following disclosure, buckle up. You may be desperate for any sign of hope. Often, there won't be any. If they are there, you might not be able to see them through the pain and chaos surrounding you. You have no perspective. You will drink coffee out of the same coffee pot as you did before discovery, but everything seems so vastly different and out of place. Your entire life can seem to be a horrible episode of the movie Groundhog day; only difference is there is no rewind button and certainly not a control+alt+delete option. Most of the time all you can do is stay in the mess. Face the mess. Expect to drive in fog for a while. The days will seem to crawl and never end. It will feel oppressive and you will be convinced the sun will never shine again. I know in our story, it would often seem to get more awful as time went on. The deeper we looked behind my behavior, the uglier the story got. The more pain my husband faced, the more he would find ways to protect himself from the pain. But like a deep, ravaging infection, a lot of the toxins must be removed before healing can take place. We would try to go to a movie or dinner to escape the pain only to be knocked back down to a place of hopelessness and despair. I saw a side of my husband I had never seen before. I heard him say things I had no idea he would be capable of saying. I saw a rage and anger (rightfully so…pain will do that to a person) that I had no idea how to respond to. I saw him withdraw from me, the kids, his hobbies and friends. Nothing I said seemed to matter. Everything I did or said seemed like the wrong thing. I often felt like I was damned if I did, and damned if I didn't. I know you might hear things like: your spouse wishes you were dead, they hate you, or that you should just leave. Pain can create a lot of confusion and I couldn't see that at the time. Here's the irony. Just as I did and said things in my affairs that now make me shudder in disbelief, I have to bestow the same grace to my husband. I needed to give him time to sort out what he felt about the bombshells that seemed to be coming at him from every direction. Feelings are a funny thing. They aren't always true. Some feelings are fleeting. Some are deeper. Some are just completely irrational because sometimes our beliefs about ourselves are based on lies. Looking back, I am so grateful we both found a way to simply stay in our lane. To keep driving. To know that the pain is horrible but if you stay the course, it will end. It might not be as quickly as you hope, but will not be as long as you fear. If you are in the early months and any of this rings true, there is a community at AR that can't change the choices that have been made, but we can help you walk through the pain. Until the fog lifts, Elizabeth

Katherine, an inspiring woman and betrayed spouse, shares a life changing moment from her healing journey: January 28, 2013 marked the third anniversary of my mother's death. It also would have been her 80th birthday. My mother loved her children and her grandchildren well. Her love flowed from a deep well of love for Jesus. She was a woman of prayer. When I was a teenager, young women from our church would come over to share a glass of ice tea with her as she shared her love and faith with them. It would be tempting to wax nostalgic, but I will resist. My mother faced many tough choices and I'm not sure all of the choices she made were wise ones. She was very close to her family, but she left them to follow my father as he served in the Marine Corps. Abandonment, abuse, and the trauma of two tours in Vietnam had left their mark on my father, and he in turn left marks of anger and betrayal on our family. On more than one occasion, as a child and as an adult, I begged my mother to leave him, but she always refused. My disapproval of that decision represented the only serious breach in our relationship over the years. While her determination kept her going, I couldn't see through the haze of bitterness. It was late and the hospice center was quiet as I stood by my mother's bed three years ago. My husband had stepped out of the room for a minute and I was alone with her. She was oblivious to my presence, but I sat beside her bed holding her shriveled hand. As I sat there with her that night, my heart was heavy from more than the impending loss of my mother. Just three weeks before the injury that put my mom in that hospice bed, my husband told me about his infidelity. Years of our history together seemed forever altered. How do you stay with someone after years of infidelity? Now, as I faced losing my mother, I was already immersed in the grief of losing the marriage I thought I had. I was trying to decide if I dared risking what seemed like everything trying to rebuild this marriage. Facing infidelity, along with the loss of my mom, was overwhelming. A few nights before visiting my mom in the hospice room, I shared the pain from my husband's infidelity with two of my best friends. I also shared my hope with them - signs that maybe my husband and I were going to be able to work things out, and the possibility that marriage could even be better on the other side of this. My friends quickly dismissed that hope and warned me that it was too risky, that I should give it up and move on as quickly as possible. Their certainty in the midst of my struggle left me feeling exhausted and alone. There was so much about my marriage that they did not understand. How could they know what I needed to do when they knew so little about the life my husband and I shared? Somehow in that hospice room, two griefs collided. What was it that I did not know about my mother and her decisions, just as my closest friends did not know about me? How could I have been so certain about the path that my mother should have taken? I was overwhelmed with regret. I had not given my mother any space for forgiveness or compassion for my father. I even judged her decisions and pleaded for reason. I had done to my mother what my friends had done to me. Faced with the threat of loss without some sort of resolution, I leaned over and whispered to her, "I'm sorry and I just want you to know, it was enough. Whatever pain and disappointment we faced in our home, your love was enough, Mom. . . you loved us all enough." As I declared her love to be enough, my comatose mother opened her eyes and looked right into mine and we saw one another. . . maybe for the first time. It only lasted a moment, but that moment re-oriented the relationship between my mother and me for all eternity. I saw my mother through a new lens and she saw me. In a way only God could, He took all these points of pain and, in a single moment of cognition – both my mother's and mine, He reorganized it all and freed me from emotional baggage that I'd carried for years. In an unforeseen instant, I realized He saw my grief, He anticipated my needs and He provided for my care. It was at this point that I realized, He loved me enough. Although forgiveness for infidelity isn't usually instantaneous, a new perspective can enter in a very unexpected instant. I'm grateful to say this moment paved the way for the developing breakthroughs that would follow. My experience was not only life changing, but began to open the floodgates for new perspective and insight into what could be possible in my marriage and in my life. For me, working through the pain of infidelity proved to be not only possible, but also transformative. It took courage to heal from my husband's infidelity in light of my friends' disapproval. I now realize it took similar courage for my mom to walk the path she chose in light of my disapproval. If you're wondering how to survive infidelity, I suggest finding others who have done so and have found a new and meaningful life in the process. I personally found the support I needed through Harboring Hope and EMS Weekend. At the very least, talk with others who have not only survived, but thrived, and ask them what helped them along their journey. Do you need a community to offer support as you begin your healing journey? Harboring Hope, our course for betrayed spouses, offers a safe place to begin true healing. Registration opens today at 12:00 PM CENTRAL time. Click here to learn more: https://www.affairrecovery.com/product/harboring-hope

Oh the anger . . . The visceral experience of being betrayed has triggered thoughts that consume my mind yet again. I haven't slept more than three hours straight in many months and the Benadryl I regularly take just leaves me feeling groggy. I only have two hours before I have to be in front of the first of many demanding clients today. My efforts to make it through the motions of my morning have been interrupted by my teenage daughter's demands. She desperately wants me to accommodate her schedule in order to have time with friends this afternoon. I tell her it's not going to work today. As the demand relentlessly continues, I blow a gasket . . . An intolerable feeling of pressure rises up in my stomach. Negative emotions of frustration build and finally give way to rage. I try not to speak but I can't help myself . . . so I yell . . . belligerently. I hate myself in this space. Is this what I've become? A hare trigger waiting to be bumped- stimulating fear in those I want close to me? I wallow in pity as I'm consumed with what this affair has done to me. I found myself in these situations over and over after D-day. The smallest thing would set me off and I would spiral into a space of self-loathing. Finally, I decided to face this demon head on. The truth is my anger has been unhealthy for much of my adult life. Infidelity, like it or not, definitely shines a beaming light on any negative traits or coping skills whether you're the betrayed or unfaithful. It took me a while to realize that my wife's infidelity caused me pain, but it did not create dysfunction in me. You see, that was already there. Who knew? Turns out I'm imperfect as well. Anger is an odd emotion in that it's not just a feeling but it creates such a discomfort it motivates action. It can drive me to seek justice and truth, or, in its darkest state, can drive me to destroy. As I've wrestled with this power, I have come to understand it in two parts: the feeling and the reaction. The feeling is intense. It creates anxiety and pressure in my stomach that causes my mind to focus on a hurt or injustice in my life. At its core, it is fed by my fears. It can be intense, frustrating, and deactivate my ability to think rationally at times. This part can come out of nowhere, and without any anticipation or intention by me. This part I cannot control, I can only accept. On the other hand, my reaction is completely within my power to manage. I've discovered that it's not the experience of feeling anger that leads to lingering negative consequences but rather how I choose to respond to the anger. When I acknowledge my circumstances and give myself space to experience the discomfort without verbally or physically responding, my dignity is left intact and my perspective returns without harm to my self-esteem or others. It is only when I try to transfer the pain of the emotion that I am left with regret. This seems elementary to write but I have found simple awareness is extraordinarily powerful in confronting and overcoming dysfunction. Infidelity stimulated anger in an intensity I had never felt before. I suspect I am not alone in that regard. When you feel it rising up, I hope you too can acknowledge it and find your own perspective to help keep your self-esteem in check, as it will pass again . . . it always does.

Today I am journaling about codependency because I truly hate the word. I wish someone decades ago could have come up with a nicer sounding word to fit the definition. When I began some honest soul searching of my character flaws that led me to cheat on my husband, I began to realize that I am a poster child for codependency. Looking back on my life and choices, I have spent years outrunning being identified as “codependent” to any degree. Part of my personality (that I am still coming to terms with) is that I have mostly been the type of person who has to learn through failure and mistakes. So many times I have run so far from something only to find myself smacked in the face into the very thing I was running from to begin with. (Insert eye roll and deep sigh emoji here) It felt like admitting that I was codependent meant I was weak, a doormat, and dependent or needy. And worst of all, because codependents can’t validate their own feelings very well, I had no idea what to do with all of these feelings of insecurity without anyone there to validate them. I never wanted to be codependent. I know now this was how my own mother was labeled. She chose to stay married to my dad for 30 years. He had multiple and chronic addictions and infidelities. He finally chose to leave her after her multiple attempts at healing and reconciliation. Their baggage became my baggage. Because I rarely have known where I end and someone else begins, I became a sponge that just absorbed everything. I absorbed and buried my anger towards both of my parents. That buried anger ultimately came out in my own marriage. I hated my dad for never choosing integrity, yet pretending he did. I really resented my mom for not taking us kids and leaving him the first time. Growing up, there was a lot of Lucy and Charlie Brown going on. Lucy would put the football out there. And like Charlie Brown, we all hoped and swore this time would be different. Only to get up to kick the ball and have it pulled away. I have started to grieve many losses, most of which had to do with understanding and accepting the pain instead of feeling responsible for it. Growing up as the youngest child in a large family, I often joke that all of the roles were taken so I took what was left. (I also joke to hide my pain...which I am learning is...you guessed it....a screaming neon sign that I am codependent). I learned early on to be whatever anyone needed me to be. I internalized every fight, argument and conflict. Sometimes, if I could just be cute or funny enough, I discovered I had the power to distract or bring about peace. What does codependency have to do with infidelity? A lot more than I would have liked. And to be honest, a lot more than I still like to admit. I often wonder how many of us come into marriage with completely unrealistic expectations. I know I did. Because of the unhealed pain in my family of origin, I see how I internally expected my husband to be my savior. I expected him to pick up the pieces, be perfect, and somehow rescue me from all of my pain and emptiness. It didn’t take me long to feel disappointment. I remember a few weeks into our marriage he announced he was leaving for the weekend to go deer hunting and we had a newborn at the time. I was in total disbelief and felt so angry. How could he leave me like this? Looking back I can actually smile on this. One of my husband’s greatest qualities is his strong sense of self and his boundaries. I did not define him and he would not compromise his passion or connection with God through spending time in the woods for anyone. As a codependent, I always confused self-care for selfishness. I was resentful towards my husband for actually being healthy. I have been so selfish to expect him to be anything more than human. As a codependent, I also looked to others for my happiness and sense of belonging. When my husband could not provide that for me, I sought it out wherever I could find it. I was completely unsafe for our marriage and didn’t even realize it. My need for connection was off the charts. Instead of allowing him to not meet all my needs all of the time, I fell for the instant gratification of two separate affairs. I justified each one by telling myself that my husband really didn’t care for me. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Understanding my tendency towards codependent behavior has been one of the biggest areas of focus in my recovery from my infidelity. This has required developing a sense of self. I was so angry at my therapist for telling me I had no sense of self over and over the first few months. This made me feel angry and ashamed. I was so embarrassed to hear that I was a 43 year old woman with no sense of self. I even came home from my therapist’s office one day and googled it. It sounds silly and elementary, but now I view my sense of self as not being afraid to give my opinion. If I like something, I can make my needs be known. If I don’t like something, I can say that too. Laugh if you must, but to those of us on the codependent spectrum, it is a really difficult thing to simply ask for what we need sometimes. My hatred for the word codependency is slowly changing into a mild dislike. It is not something I need to loathe, hate or rid myself of. I am becoming more okay and accepting of it. Kindness is what leads us to repentance. Not self-hatred. I am trying to maintain compassion for my strong desire to fix, manage and control. Mostly because when I want to fix or control, I realize I’m usually just really afraid. Most days I think we all want some kind of sense that it’s going to be okay. While Jesus promises that to us if we choose Him in eternity, He tells me plainly that in this world there is gonna be trouble. I just don’t have to go at it alone. At its core, I think codependency is just a desire to nurture others - which isn’t a bad thing. But like fertilizer in the garden, a little nurturing helps things grow. Too much of it will kill and destroy. Only God can change people. Not me. He is in control. Not me. He defines what is good and bad. Not me. Healing will happen on His time table, not mine. (Spoiler alert, God doesn’t seem to do anything quickly.) He’s gonna do all of the healing in our hearts. Again... not me. His love is the only thing big enough to do that. If you are a Bible reader, the book of Exodus tells a great story where God clearly defines to Moses who He was. God seems pretty big on the simple words “I am”. When I am acting codependently, I am ultimately trying to be God. And that is not who I want to be. One of my favorite Anne Lamont quotes is “the biggest difference between us and God is that He doesn’t pretend to be us”. Whether unfaithful or betrayed, codependency creeps into all of our relationships. Mine has crippled ours. This is a subject that is difficult and confusing and downright messy. My hope is that we continue to wrestle as a community with what it means to love well and help one another in this area. As always, thank you for reading. If you want to dive deeper into the subject of codependency, Hope for Healing and Harboring Hope are two classes with much content in this area. If you haven’t taken one of them, it could be the very best step in your healing journey.

What follows is the personal story of a betrayed spouse. We hope that her story provides hope and insight to your own personal journey, regardless if you share the same worldview and faith. As my husband walked through the door, I immediately knew something was wrong. He was supposed to be on a plane to speak at a conference, but instead was home, looking at me when he said, "We need to talk." I had never seen that look in his eye, and I knew something was wrong. As we stood looking at each other uncomfortably, I heard the Lord say to me, "You love this man and you will forgive him." What did that mean?? What was going on?? What was I going to have to forgive? I felt like my heart and mind froze in that moment. You may not be a Christian or even believe in God, but for me, this moment was both comforting and paralyzing all at the same time. For years, I had prayed desperately and agonized for our situation to change. My husband was never home. He was constantly traveling and serving the pastor's family and the church, all while we were growing more and more distant. I knew something was wrong, both with our marriage and with the amount of time he was spending away from home. The more he did for the "ministry" the louder he was applauded. His ego was no longer just inflated -- it was completely out of control. When I brought up grievances or suspicions, he and church leadership led me to believe I was the crazy one. I eventually began to believe that I was the problem; the never happy, overbearing and controlling wife. I even received counseling for my controlling tendencies and I was told to be submissive, supportive and to have more sex. I got tired of being the black sheep, so I figured if I kept my mouth shut and died a slow death inside, life would flow smoothly. It did, but I was a shell of a person and very bitter inside. So, on that fateful day, my husband sat me down in our living room and proceeded to tell me that he had been in a two year affair with his assistant. I KNEW IT!!! I was RIGHT!!!! All of my suspicions were true; the lies, the deception, the cover up. His audacity to continue this affair for two whole years, right under my nose is beyond me. The realization that I was not crazy, but had actually been picking up on the truth was a relief that is hard to convey in words. It's hard to explain because it was relief coupled with the most excruciating pain and shock I have ever felt. I could hardly breathe, swallow or think. He offered to tell me anything I wanted to know. But I wasn't sure I wanted to know. I began to ask him questions and details until I couldn't handle it anymore. He apologized in tears, confessed his love, and said he would do whatever it took to make it right. It didn't matter. It was already done. He had an affair and had betrayed, hurt, and humiliated me. I didn't want him to say he loved me or to make things right. I hated him and wanted him away from me. The only reason he told me the truth was because other staff members were coming to my house the next day to verify he told me everything. He was finally caught. The lies now had to stop. As the truth of the situation slowly began to penetrate, I found myself overwhelmed with emotions I had never felt so strongly: shock, disbelief, horror, despair, anger, pain, and sadness. With a newborn and two small children, I didn't know how I was going to make it. I switched to autopilot in order to provide the essentials for my children. I sifted through the options on an hourly basis: separate, divorce, or stay? All the while, the theater in my mind continued to play the details of the infidelity over and over again. I didn't sleep, barely ate, and cried constantly. Every time I looked at my husband, hate would well up in my heart, and I couldn't stand to be around him. The man I once loved and cherished now became the object of hate, disappointment and overwhelming grief. I got on a plane with all three children and fled to a friend's house. The stress and emotional chaos were overwhelming. My now 6 week old would not nurse and cried constantly, almost refusing to sleep. My other two children sensed the weight of the situation and cried for their daddy continuously. While at my friend's house, I continued to weigh the options: separation, divorce, or restoration? I tried desperately to hear God's voice, as even my friends (who hadn't been through infidelity before) were encouraging me to divorce. I just wanted to figure out the right thing to do. I was so confused. I felt like every negative emotion known to man ran through me on a daily basis. Because my husband was extremely broken, repentant and began pursuing recovery work, I had a glimmer of hope. However, I didn't know if I could ever forgive and move on with someone who had completely betrayed me, lied to me on a daily basis, and offered himself to another woman for over two years. It felt like I didn't even know who this man was. However, I was often reminded me of the words God first spoke to me that day, "You love this man and you will forgive him." I eventually realized I was mad at God because he had allowed this to happen and now, He expected me to forgive this man. I investigated and researched all my options and decided to just wait a while to make a final decision. When I returned home, I allowed him to stay in the house, but I distanced myself from him emotionally. In the days that followed, I lost my job, my financial security, my friends, my church, and any security I had in my relationship with my husband. Believe it or not, my church family was "advised" to leave me alone. To ‘give me space' so I could heal. We couldn't tell our family members. I only had two friends who lived in different states that were there to support me. I felt totally alone and isolated. Because we had been so visible in our community and our situation was so public, I decided we needed to leave the situation by moving out of state to be with one of my friends. It was a tough move because it meant leaving my family and my husband's family behind. However, I saw no choice. During this time, I was trying to find all the help I could: reading books, calling counselors, and researching online. One day I would be OK and could function reasonably well and the next was a roller coaster of emotional outbursts. I physically attacked my husband. I took an ax and destroyed a playhouse in the backyard. I "let myself" into the AP's home while she was gone and destroyed her belongings. I spray painted "whore" on her bed, stole her journal and took back all my family pictures on her walls! I threw things. I broke things. I slammed and broke doors. I wasn't sleeping and constantly got sick. I knew we both needed help to get through this but I had no idea where to turn. Once we settled into our new home, we saw several different counselors which provided little relief and only more confusion and frustration. We finally ended up at Affair Recovery roughly six months after D-day. This is where, almost unbelievably, the tide began to turn. When we started counseling, I still was not 100% convinced that we could restore our marriage. I still had a back door open. But slowly, as we proceeded through the EMS Online course, that back door started to quietly close. As we worked through some gut wrenching and painful exercises, I began to feel that my husband was "getting it." He was finally, finally beginning to understand how much he had hurt me. This was a big part in my healing. Once I felt that he "got it," I was slowly able to own up to the issues that I had and how I had contributed to the downward spiral of our marriage. Through the marriage course I was able to forgive the infidelity, express my pain, hurt, and anger in a healthy way, and focus on building a new foundation for our marriage. My husband changed dramatically as well, and was able to deal with things that had been issues for years. After the 13 week program, we continued with counseling and sought other resources. Today, we are a little over 10 years out from discovery. I am so, so, so, so glad I decided to stay married. We have an incredible, loving, intimate marriage that is better than it ever has been. I see how close we came to losing that, and I am so grateful for all that we have today. Of course, it did not come easy. Recovery is a PROCESS and it can be a LONG process; it is not instantaneous. The road can be long and hard, but it is so worth it. I wanted to communicate some of the details of my story, not for sympathy or pity, but to prove that even in dire circumstances there is still hope for restoration. Even when you're presumably forsaken by almost everyone close to you, you're not forsaken by God. God always has a way out and through. Throughout the past ten years there have been endless miracles and bright spots straight from heaven that have brought me hope and confidence. I am eternally thankful to Rick Reynolds and his team at Affair Recovery for saving our marriage. They are INCREDIBLE at what they do! They have helped to restore multitudes of marriages after infidelity. I am so happy and grateful that such an excellent resource exists for couples that unfortunately find themselves facing this crisis. If you are stuck and don't know where to turn, please don't stay there. Get help. EMS Online was incredible for my marriage. I highly recommend at least giving your marriage a chance before you make a decision. Learn more about EMS Online here.

During college, I had five very close friends. After graduating, we all moved off to separate parts of the country and began to conquer our small piece of the world. As time went on, somehow, we all wound up marrying women that got along with one another. A few summers later, we all rented a beach house together for a week just to reunite. The trip was such a success it turned into an annual ritual. One we have all kept sacred for over a decade. The first night of our yearly reunions we would gather on the beach to catch up on the prior year. Conversation would go late into the night and often into early morning. The drinks flowed freely, and the time was redeeming. Over time, the houses grew grander and, as the dragons we slay in our professional lives became more significant, the experience became more polished. The cheap whiskey turned to fine bourbons and scotch. Life was good and these friends were a true blessing. Our lives were ones to admire. These guys truly knew who I was. They had my back. Six years ago this all changed. We all arrived to spend the first night consoling my friend John. He had discovered his wife was having an affair. We couldn't believe she'd do such a thing. They were trying to work it out, but she seemed so wild, self-consumed, and out of hand. John spent two years trying counseling and working desperately to find a way to save his marriage. His wife continued the patterns of lies and deceit. She'd declare her commitment to her family, only to be unfaithful again. Finally, he felt things had stabilized-- perhaps counseling was working. He invested a large part of an inheritance in what she described as her dream house. Unfortunately, not too long after John found a secret phone and once again faced the discovery of another betrayal. My heart truly hurt for John, but man I was glad I had a wife that would never do that to me. . . I wanted to be a good friend to him as best I knew how. Even though I lived states away, I'd talk frequently with him as he went through a highly contested divorce. I continued years of regular conversation with him as issues of custody of his three children and support were litigated. . . then re-litigated. I always admired how John handled himself. He sought counseling for himself and his children as he was able, despite constantly facing irrational and hostile responses from the woman that previously had befriended us all. It was truly baffling. Over time he seemed to rise up, his character grew, and the strength in his sense of self became truly inspiring. Looking back now, through the lens of my own experience being betrayed, I see clearly that I had no idea of the intensity of what John was experiencing. I am thankful I had the empathy to know to be consistent and supportive, but my comprehension of his pain was just not possible. I remember thinking if only he could just meet a nice woman, all would be well. . . Years later I found myself in a similar boat with the discovery of all that my marriage had in common with John's former one. My law practice had grown into a fairly public profession in our small rural part of the world. I was devastated by the betrayal of my wife yet consumed with trying to keep a lid on it, making sure no exterior cracks showed in my façade. I was more isolated than I ever knew possible yet constantly surrounded by friends and colleagues that had otherwise known me for years. I was convinced no one could know - they just wouldn't understand and I'd be ruined. One of the few fortunate parts of the intensity of the pain was its overwhelming and debilitating ability to humble me into realizing I couldn't do this alone. I found my way to competent professional help within a couple months, but still did not share this with any of my friends. Overtime, I began to see the truth through the lies the negative voices in my head had been spewing. Lies that had somehow convinced me I was defined by my wife's destructive behaviors. I developed a few new meaningful relationships with people walking a similar path through recovery. However, I still longed to be known by those that had always known me best. Finally, after a year into my recovery journey I saw John for the gift he was, and told him my story. He was floored, just as I was when he first told me of his wife's infidelity years earlier. He shared with me more details of his struggle, and I explained the resources I had found. Now he is the one calling me daily, even when I can't bring myself to return his calls. You see, I saw myself as helping him all those years earlier, but in hindsight, he was actually preparing me for an upcoming battle. I had seen him face the demons and now be able to stand as a healthy father. Although his marriage went down in flames and his former wife still does not take responsibility for the destruction caused by her transgressions, John has refused to become bitter. He has grown extremely involved with his children, and now serves as the common source of updates among the original beach crew from years earlier. At John's insistence, my family and his returned to the beach this past summer where he made sure my wife knew things would not be awkward between them. He was a living example that I could survive. He will no doubt laugh out loud when he reads this particular sentence, but this perspective made me realize God uses imperfect people in perfect ways. . . John is a true living angel to me. As I grow, and acceptance and authenticity lend me their strength, it comforts me to see just how readily God can use such dark experience. Clearly, God was using John's walk as a testimony for me before my friend even knew what was going to become of him. We simply have no idea how or when He may already be using our struggles for good, even when all hope seems gone. When darkness seems to be all there is or will ever be, who knows. . . maybe God is already casting light from your experience. Just maybe, you too are a living angel.

Is Infidelity Hereditary? I ask myself this question a lot. I guess it's more of a fear of mine than a question. In a rational state of mind I can answer this easily: of course not. Infidelity is a choice. No one put a gun to my head and made me cross the line. No one forced me to be unfaithful. And like the source for eye color or skin tone, I don't think there is a "ruin your spouse's life by having an affair" gene. If you've done much reading or work in the Affair Recovery courses, you have likely heard us wayward spouses refer to being in states of limerence – something similar to being in a fog. "We were out of our minds during our affairs", we say. And while all of that may be true, I greatly fear someday that my own children could be unfaithful because I was. I realize this might sound ridiculous to some and maybe it is. But maybe it's not such a crazy thought. When I was a little girl, I envisioned that my parents would be together forever. In my idealized world, they were supposed to grow old together. I was supposed to be able to go to my childhood home and take my spouse there one day. We were supposed to have holidays together and my parents were supposed to sit hand in hand at my wedding someday. I found out about my dad's first affair when I was in middle school. I remember hiding behind their bathroom door while my parents were yelling. I heard my mom go crazy. I heard my dad tell her he no longer loved her and he was moving out. My dad ended up staying five more years after that night, but he eventually left my mom for a different woman. He continually married or was engaged to several more women throughout his lifetime and was unable to be faithful to any of them until he died. How did that affect me? I swore I would never be unfaithful. Ever. I even promised my husband that I knew the pain infidelity caused, so I would be safe. I could never imagine hurting anyone in that way or breaking up a family. I witnessed the shame, pain and rage that his actions caused firsthand. I saw my mom break into a billion pieces. I wondered why she never left him. For years I hated my dad for his selfishness. I hated the other women. I knew my mom wasn't perfect and was pretty codependent, but no one deserved to be abandoned and cheated on like that. So why do I tell you this? Because I became the woman I hated. I became what I swore I would never be. All of my pride, my anger, and my insistence that I was better than that got me nowhere. Eleven years into my own marriage, I got entangled in an emotional affair. Three years after that I had another physical affair. Both, ironically, were with men old enough to be my father. Quite possibly the single greatest lesson I have and continue to learn in my own recovery as an unfaithful wife is humility. How arrogant I was to judge, pretend and never allow my own pain to be transformed. I thought I was safe. I thought I didn't have to do the work to put boundaries in place with other men. I chose to not fully forgive my dad and sadly, he is now gone from this earth. And by choosing to have two affairs of my own, I transferred every ounce of that shameful legacy onto my husband. Is infidelity passed down from generations? Has there been divorce and infidelity in your family tree? I don't know the answer to this. But I know without a shadow of a doubt that nothing can make me safe except radical humility, ruthless honesty, and a ton of hard work. There are some days I don't like accepting the reality that I am a lot like my dad. But then I allow Jesus into the picture. I am reminded that my dad was a broken man, and I too, am extremely broken and need saving. My pride and sufficiency will get me nowhere. I really hope the legacy of unfaithfulness ends with me. I have come to accept that there are no shortcuts to healing. I am accepting that I will fight this battle the rest of my life. Complacency and "never again" aren't good enough. I choose to believe that while each of us is unable to change our family trees, we can change our story. To taking the next step, Elizabeth

"Should I stay or should I go? If I go, there will be trouble. If I stay, it will be double . . ." ~The Clash I am a child of schoolhouse rock, a product of the age in which skate parks were invented, parachute pants were high fashion, and most of the girls I wanted to date had big hair and blue eye shadow. Lucky for me I made one of those beauties my wife. Rebellion for her in our southern catholic high school (yes, I see the irony . . . especially considering we were both protestant) was wearing too many rings which violated dress code. Wow - how did things escalate so wildly into the destructive behaviors of late? With a wife willing to try to save the marriage, the biggest question post d-day quickly became: should I stay, or should I go? I'm thankful that early in my journey I was told I was not healthy enough to make such a life altering decision. My mind was telling me to forgive and forget, find a way to put this behind me quickly, and just get out of the pain. However, the true healing journey wasn't going to be that simple. After enduring six months of trickle truths, continued lies and cover-ups, and ultimately a polygraph, I finally arrived at ground zero. At that point, I began to comprehend the enormity of what I was truly dealing with but still tried to balance the investment of 22 years of marriage. Fortunately, I decided not to decide for at least another year. I have taken the last 18 months day by day and now believe there just might be a glimmer of light up ahead. My emotional life is stabilizing and my personal journey is showing significant signs of peace and growth. I accept that my old marriage is dead. In fact, thanks to all the work I have done in recovery I now see it for what it was. Frankly there is not much left about it to desire. My prior understanding was simply an inflated illusion and I find much more comfort in my new walk of authenticity. My wife has transformed in ways I never thought possible. The empathy and love she shows me now is a consistent flow of compassion. Her own self-awareness and desire to find out who God made her to be is nothing short of inspiring. Her talents as a teacher have transpired into an effective and empathetic guide for wayward women through regular leadership in Hope for Healing course work. I still love her no doubt. In fact, my choice to love her now is made when there is every reasonable excuse not to. Yet, I still hesitate when I contemplate if I should stay married. Why is that? My individual journey has been one of education and awareness on my own codependent dysfunction. I needed validation from my marriage that caused me to rely on it in unhealthy ways. As I begin to see this personal weakness clearly, it leaves me feeling like I'm sitting on the edge of a huge cliff looking down at the abyss I just climbed out of. While I feel accomplished at the mountain I have climbed, I also feel tired which causes me to wonder if I'm willing to risk having to climb it all over again. I have learned that recovery can be fickle. And I reserve the right to dispute even my own blog in the future as my mind often changes as my perspective grows. But in this moment, I think my question is: can she really change that drastically on a permanent basis? I have never been one to shy away from a challenge. At times this has resulted in remarkable achievement. I was the first in my family to complete college, and this translated into an academic scholarship to law school where I graduated with honors. In my 30s I needed to lose some weight; five years later I ran a full Ironman Triathlon after completing my 4th marathon. The list of large and small personal accomplishments was long, but I continued to find myself empty and feeling unworthy. Only now am I able to see that the flaw in all this was the constant search for something worldly to define me -- the greatest of which was my marriage. By giving my marriage this power, I gave my wife the power to destroy me. So how do I accept that I can only control myself? That I only have the power to implement healthy boundaries when I lean back into a relationship that caused me so much pain and destruction? I am still looking for an answer that satisfies me. But maybe I have some unconquered fear clouding the fact that this question is more about self-reflection. Perhaps the question of whether she can change is hindered by my personal doubt of wondering if anyone can change so drastically. Without accepting the idea that someone is possible of change, how can I believe it is possible in me? It seems that in losing the trust I had in her, I let go of the trust I had in my own instincts and my own ability to risk . . . to love. Regardless of what path I follow in my marriage, trouble is sure to come around again. No doubt, pain will rear its ugly head in some form; this I know is certain. But what has this recovery process transformed me into? When another loss or transgression comes around will I be in a higher place of comprehension and self-awareness? Will she? And will we be stronger facing it together? Stay tuned . . .

Today my words come from a very insecure and needy place. Insecure because I'm trying hard to use words instead of behaviors to show how I feel and what I need. This "voice" seems childlike and continues to grow because it is still somewhat unfamiliar to me. My words might sound crazy but I promise I'm not a lunatic! My psychologist refers to me in "parts" like this, so I am going to do the same here today. The needy part of this voice is the one I am most uncomfortable with. I have always hated and detested the needy part of me so I constantly reduced its expression. One of the silver linings of coming out of infidelity is that you literally, and I mean literally, have nothing to lose. I have hit rock bottom. I have done what I said I would never do. I have shamed my family, destroyed my vows, and been absolutely and completely selfish. One of the saving graces in this experience is that I can start to freely accept and admit that I don't know anything and instead have a lot to learn. So let's go back to the needy part. I have always felt that needing stuff from people was a weakness. I'm a pay up front kind of girl. Better go over and above to make sure I didn't owe anybody anything. Neediness seemed synonymous with foolish, out of control and weak. On harsher days I felt it was closer to desperate or pathetic. (I think I may have a few shame and pride issues to work out...) I would pay bills ahead of time. I made sure I was never the friend who owed anyone money or child care. Self-sufficiency and independence were badges I wore with honor, straight into my decimation. In our marriage, I was even worse. I couldn't simply ask for what I needed. I would over do, out-perform, and run circles around anyone. My husband never got to be the "hero" because I never let myself need a thing from him. I basically became a martyr in my own prideful shell. Through meeting with my therapist, I have come to understand that this "needy" part of me is actually healthy. WHAT?!? Throughout this counseling journey I have become quite good at expressing this voice of need. My therapist encourages me to "simply ask for what you need" and so I do. Our marriage remains a difficult area for me to need. Why is that? Is it just a woman thing? Is it an unfaithful thing? Why is it so difficult to ask for what we need? And why is it such a scary place to be? One of the problems we have encountered in recovery is recognizing that each of us have limited capacity. My husband is battling his own demons, shame, and fight for recovery. Sometimes we have needs but we don't have the ability to meet them. Early on it seemed as though both of us were lying in the ICU, strapped to a gurney bleeding to death but asking each other for a cup of water. We have become stronger and pulled ourselves off those gurneys. We are learning to put a voice to our needs. Thankfully our capacity to see and hear each other is continually increasing. Below is a journal entry of mine from a few months ago where I expressed one of my needs: Dear Luke (my husband), I need you to learn to share your pain in a way that doesn't demonize or make me feel less than human. I know what I did to you makes you feel discarded, inadequate, and unimportant. It has never helped me to hear the phrases, "I would never" or "how could you?" I live with my sin and the regret of my infidelity and see daily how much it has hurt you. Trust me when I say that I celebrate your strength and convictions. Selfishly, I do wish I could be more like you and I admire your innocence, your ability to stand firm on that promise and I envy your integrity. It is beautiful. But when you look or speak to me with an attitude that I am less than because of the hurt I created, I only feel shame. Instead of feeling closeness, I feel cut off from you because of the self-righteous attitude. Again, I trust and want very much to learn from you and appreciate the precious ways you have kept your vows and promises to me. Please realize that it is hard for me to ask for this because of an underlying message that tells me I don't deserve to ask for anything in light of the pain I have caused. But I know this is a lie. God forgives, cleanses, renews and restores. While I was a sinner, He died for me. I don't deserve anything and never will. But the only path to intimacy is to need and be needed. I will be bold and stop pretending I can be self-reliant. In the midst of feeling pain and remorse, I still have needs. I need you to be honest about your own short-comings and failures and the ugliness in your own heart. I know, in light of my infidelity, your sin likely pales in comparison. It is grossly unfair and the consequences of your actions will never hurt or betray me in the same way mine have you. But it is important for me to know and hear these things from you. I know I don't deserve this but it really does help me. It makes me to want to share my failures with you and to be radically honest about my faults. I desire to hear that you're proud of me. I fear you may never feel that way again. Even though I am working really hard at recovery, I know those words don't come easily. At any time I could betray again. Our eyes are now wide open to the possibilities of what one person can do to another. But just know, deep in my heart, I am working to one day maybe hear that from you again. Where ever you find yourself in recovery, I hope you will take steps to be a person who needs. Take a class at Affair Recovery. Hope for Healing was full of people just like me who were trying to figure this out.