Survivors' Blog

I drive a relatively new truck so I found it especially frustrating to pull out of the dealership repair shop only to find my "check engine" light was on. Again. This was the 4th time in a month I had gone back to the same dealership for the same repair. My witty and wise 14-year-old daughter was enjoying my frustration when she asked, "Why do you keep going back to the bad haircut place?" "What?" I replied confused and irritated. In her light but direct way she explained, "You have been back to this dealership again and again, but each time you leave with the same result. If you get a bad haircut, why would you go back to the same place next time expecting a good one?" My original D-day was 8:00 p.m. Thursday, May 4, 2017. It's a night I will always vividly remember. By that point in life my faith had been tested a few times, but never like this. I remember doing what I thought was praying . . . demanding that God do something... immediately. Anything . . . scorched earth, revenge, judgment day on earth, a Zen like peace to wash over me, even death . . . ANYTHING . . . just to get me out of it. In a desperate attempt to regain control of myself I told my wife, "I forgive you" two days after discovery. At the time my rationale was something like: "Okay God, I did the Christian thing and forgave; now You do Your part and relieve me of all this pain." When this didn't work, I responded in anger and frustration and dismissed my faith. I lashed out at others, tried to ignore my circumstances, sought comfort from fine bourbon but nothing worked. Each time I was left empty, I'd circle back to declare my forgiveness yet again and expect the pain to disappear. This became my "bad haircut place." I can now see that the problem wasn't that my efforts were towards the wrong goal, but in the expectation that my declaration of forgiveness should be the end act, and not the beginning of the journey. After all the return trips to the "bad haircut place," I think I'm finally starting to see some clarity. Forgiveness has crystalized as an alternative lens through which to see my day; another option to the inevitable daily darkness of the pain of being betrayed. Therein lies its power. Practically, I needed a long time (about 9 months to be exact) to work through material and counseling in order to gain an understanding of what forgiveness for a transgression as large as infidelity even looked like. Only after gaining this understanding could I really commit myself to the process. For me, this commitment involved writing a letter where I listed every specific loss I had experienced. This letter is over 7 pages and took several months to write. It includes not only obvious losses like the comfort of a faithful wife and the joy of uninhibited sex, but also residual losses like the ability to be known by my closest friends who are not aware of the betrayal. This letter has served as a reference point when the pain resurfaces. Each time I begin to feel pain, I evaluate if I'm going back to a transgression I have already dealt with (a loss on my list) or if it's something new. If it is new then I ask myself a few questions: Has she owned it? Is it something that needs to be discussed? Do I have a role in it that needs to be owned? Depending on the answers, I add it to the list. I've come to realize that forgiveness is simply a commitment to evaluate what I'm doing and whether it's consistent with God's purpose for my life. Though I have forgiven my wife for betraying me, I have to consistently remind myself. The intense pain still surfaces. But for me, forgiveness is not undermined by this fact; rather, it is proven by my response to it. As I read, receive professional help, take classes, continue to understand how I got here, and begin to seriously contemplate a future relationship with my wife, I now crosscheck my actions to see if it they are consistent with my path to be free from being defined by the sins of another.

We are more than a year out from discovery. Some of the days have been very slow making me wonder if progress has been made. And although we now have more good days than bad, a small internal voice still occasionally asks, am I really changing? While you, the betrayed, are trying to heal from what we, the unfaithful, have done to you, I also know you are ultimately waiting for redemption. There are days my husband's anxiety seems to come out of nowhere. Of course I understand the root of the anxiety; it is a fear that I will betray again. But from my perspective, the unpredictability of this anxiety is hard to wrap my head around. I know I don't handle his anxiety well when I spiral out of control and go on the defensive. It is an ugly place where I doubt my own decisions and capacity to change and wind up questioning everything. This causes my anxiety to triple in an instant. There are other times when I think we do get it right; when I simply hear him out rather than defaulting to shame which makes it all about me. I've found that most of the time he just needs comfort and reassurance of my commitment to change. I can give him handles on my thoughts, actions and behaviors - anchors, so to speak. These anchors are practical things he can grab and hold onto to remind him of what was then and what is now. Then: I was deceptive, delusional and in my affair. Now: I am trying my hardest to be honest and humble about my past and present. Sometimes simply pointing out the differences between then and now help get us back on track. If you are struggling or questioning your unfaithful spouse's intent and motivation for change, here are some tangible anchors we've used in our recovery: Then: I was crazy secretive about my phone. I would rarely leave it sitting out in the open. I knew if I changed my password it might raise a flag, so I never did that. But my anxiety was always sky high concerning my phone. If my kids wanted to play with it, I would get protective and defensive of it. I was careful to have my phone with me at all times because I never knew if or when a text might come in from my AP. And even more dishonest was how accustomed I became at deleting texts which was something I never did before the infidelity. Now: I couldn't care less about my phone. I leave it where ever and whenever. It can run out of battery and not faze me in the slightest. It is open to anyone in my family and my husband can have access to it at any time. We used the Life 360 app as well as Safe Kids app for him in case he gets triggered. He admitted the other day he rarely uses that anymore. Then: I isolated myself from most of my really amazing, long-time, faithful girlfriends. I did not engage in phone calls, lunch dates or intimate gatherings with them. Not only did I not make time for them (the immaturity affairs bring out in us is quite shameful, selfish and reckless) but I didn't want anyone who really "knew" me to be around me. I avoided them because it was difficult to be intimate and honest when I was lying and being deceitful. Life was indeed lonely and shallow. Now: My girlfriends have all graciously re-entered my life and I spend ample amounts of time with them. The restoration and joy of reengaging in life with them has been rich and full. It has taken some time but I find some of my deepest connections with GIRL friends. I still talk to the ladies in my Hope for Healing small group daily! If you haven't taken it, I'm gonna put in a shameless plug that it could be the single best thing you do as an unfaithful spouse! Nothing that comes with or from an affair compares to the empathy, kindness and connections of girlfriends. Then: I tried to hide from God. If the radio station played a Christian song, I would change it immediately. Christian books (if you don't know where to start I recommend Ragamuffin Gospel by Brennan Manning) were something I did not want to read. I did not want any reminders as to what God would want to say about my behavior. I knew what I was doing was wrong. I knew He would want me to stop. I was too cowardly and selfish to get out of the immoral entanglement on my own, yet I refused to be open and honest with God to help me out of it because I was terrified that people would find out. It was easier to pretend that God was someone "I could deal with later". Now: Christ's love anchors my days. Messages, teachings, books, music and hymns are often all that get me through. I'm not naive about my ability to hide and deny, but I want His truth and His ways -- not my own way. If I pull away from God I am doomed. If my husband sees me pulling away from God he has right to be concerned. My iPod, radio station, bedside table reading, and audible are full of continual messages and reminders of who God is and His unfathomable love for us. Then: Ugh. Typing this one feels excruciatingly shallow and painful but here goes. In my affair, I was obsessed with my appearance. I wanted to look presentable at all times. I was restless, anxious and rarely present. I watched my weight meticulously. I worked out more than any sane person should. I was consumed with me, me, me. I was ridiculous with my need to look better, fitter, younger and prettier. I am so sad to reflect on how little I thought of my true self then. I was always on the go, always chasing something. I drank to calm my anxiety. I rarely made eye contact. Now: I feel comfortable in my own skin. I like to exercise still, but naps on the couch are sometimes just as rewarding. I can go out in public without doing my makeup or brushing my hair. Now when I get dressed up it is for my husband. I have started to find my voice and ask my husband for affirmation when I need it. Guys, women like compliments and long to know you find us beautiful. We could hear that you find us beautiful as many times a week as you need sex. I'm thankful I can now have fat days, ugly days, lazy days, and sweatshirt days. Rest assured, there is a lot more quiet and a lot more peace. This is by no means an exhaustive list. But I hope it's a tangible reminder of how to realistically look at your unfaithful spouse to see how hard they are trying to change to be a person worthy of your trust and a second chance.

Around age 10 or 11 they finally allowed us to steal bases in little league. This change transitioned the position of catcher from a simple filler spot that shagged stray pitches into an athletic position that saw action every play. I remember being pulled from the field and given the mitt. Game time came. A few pitches went by and a batter was on first. I found myself constantly distracted by the runner. As I anticipated his steal, the pitch would get by me. After multiple times I could hear the crowd's mumbled voices full of advice. I desperately began trying to apply everything I was hearing. Still, more pitches went by and more runners advanced. My coach finally stepped in and called a timeout. The critical voices in me rose up . . . "You're in over your head" . . . "You can't do this" . . . "You're not good enough". Head hung low, I made my way out to the mound. Believing this was the end of my career as a catcher I tried to take my helmet and pads off. The coach put his hand on my helmet making it impossible to remove while he finished some instruction to the pitcher that I couldn't comprehend. I started mumbling excuses and shuffling the dirt. Finally, he turned to me and said, "Look at me." I couldn't. "Look at me!" His abruptness startled and quieted me. He firmly took my helmet in his hands and forced me to look into his eyes for what felt like an eternity. Once my breathing calmed he simply said, "You got this." We had a great season that year. I worked hard on the position and by late summer found the processes instinctual and natural. Without a second thought I could anticipate the runner's intentions to break for it, the pitch coming at me, and the motion of throwing off my helmet to fire the ball at the baseman's glove to tag the incoming runner. I couldn't hear the crowd, but I could acutely hear my coach's whispers from the dugout. This was the first experience I can recall of truly being "in the zone" and it felt free and effortless. There was no denying I was intoxicated with the experience. It was primal in the way it moved me. After finishing Harboring Hope, I followed the curriculum's suggestion for men to read John Eldridge's book Wild at Heart. I was growing weary of the dozens of infidelity and therapy books I had read and invited the chance to have something else circulate between my ears. Eldridge speaks of how God created every man with an unanswered core question in him, "Do I have what it takes?" This book brought me back to that day on the mound. My coach was speaking to my core when he held my head in his hands and calmed my fears with his firm words. I had what it took. Eldridge explained that God put that question in me so that I would seek Him to answer it. The problem is we obviously live in a fallen world and we are often tempted to seek the answer to our core question through worldly things. For me that fruitless chase exhibited itself through my income, my lifestyle, and even my wife. Somewhere along the way I had gone astray and took my core question to my wife. My wife proved to be an imperfect human, and by allowing her a power over my life that only God should be trusted with, her infidelity wounded me squarely in the center of my soul. Right after D-Day I was overwhelmed with a sense of emasculation. I could hear voices saying: I was not enough; I was unlovable; I was small; I didn't have what it took. I should have been more attentive to her needs. Maybe there was there a retreat I could buy. Maybe an extravagant vacation would show her what a great catch I am! These voices became the large and noisy, an overwhelming crowd in the stands. I see now God was on the sidelines coaching me the whole time. He was coming at me through various resources, one of which being Affair Recovery, but the pain and trauma became loud static, preventing me from hearing His words. Finally in the pages of that book, He grabbed my helmet just before I was able to take it off and firmly said, "Look at me. Look at me." For the first time in my 47-year life, I understood that core question was designed by Him to draw me into His will, into an intimate relationship with Him, and for no other reason. I am told the "therapeutic" word for this struggle is "codependence." This is a core explanation of why we cannot look to others, even our spouse, to define who we are. These worldly sources will always fail us and leave us empty. We cannot act in order to get a response and expect it to feel real. The truth is prayer often leads me to day dreaming. I babble some portion of the Lord's prayer . . . forgive me . . . bless me . . . save the world . . . but it all feels so insincere. I need tangible instruction. But when I simply shut up, clear my mind and allow myself to stare back into His eyes, I am clearly reminded of the simplicity of many scriptural instructions. God is Love (1 John 4:8). We are imperfect and fallen but we were each made in God's image (Genesis 1:27). Therefore, that image must be one of love. He has a plan for me, and it is good . . . it is even described as prosperous . . . (Jeremiah 29:11). I can't say for sure what His plan is, but I know I am not "in the zone" when I am enraged, transmitting pain, full of fear, or when I let my wife's sins speak to who I am. As for baseball, it turns out the majors did just fine without me. My baseball career ended abruptly when I was cut in 10th grade. That wasn't where my true talents were found. However, I feel certain God's path included me playing that year of little league, if for no other reason than to have these lessons to fall back on 37 years later. Life is funny that way.

Today I was reminded of a story by Portia Nelson I heard long ago: Autobiography in Five Chapters by Portia Nelson Chapter One: I walk down the street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk I fall in. I am lost... I am hopeless. It isn't my fault. It takes forever to find a way out. Chapter Two: I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I pretend I don't see it. I fall in again. I can't believe I'm in the same place. But it isn't my fault. It still takes a long time to get out. Chapter Three: I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I see it is there. I still fall in... it's a habit My eyes are open; I know where I am; It is my fault. I get out immediately. Chapter Four: I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I walk around it. Chapter Five: I walk down another street. I still have so far to go but I am desperately searching for the different street. And while I'm not suggesting this is the "end all be all" of how change occurs, it reminds me of how difficult and painstakingly slow change can be. I'd like to thank my husband and every betrayed spouse who is graciously giving us time to sort through the personal pain we have transmitted onto you. Thank you for giving us the time to "get it". I will probably never fully grasp the grace you bestow on us this side of heaven. I don't know where you find yourself in this journey of recovery but my desire is that this provides hope today to continue forward. Thankfully, Affair Recovery is full of options to help us navigate our way to a new street without holes.

Our community is used to the threat of tropical weather. Usually, the early notices start with escalated threats that ultimately result in a windy rain storm passing over our area causing very little damage. In the hours leading up to the arrival of Hurricane Michael it became obvious this storm was going to be different. At 100 miles inland, we were too far north to be part of the normal evacuation plan. Meteorologists began forecasting that the storm would still be holding hurricane strength by the time it reached us. Our home was well within the forecasted cone of the most intense blows. We hunkered down watching the news and tracking the storm through every available medium. Then, just as the storm made landfall on the coast, all power, internet, and cell service was lost. So, we sat . . . and waited . . . not knowing what was coming. As the hours passed, it was impossible to know if what we were experiencing was the worst or just the beginning. My D-day was May 4, 2017 at 8:00 P.M. I always thought the initial discovery was similar to that feeling you get immediately after hitting your thumb with a hammer. While you can't feel it yet, you know it's about to hurt like hell. As we sat and waited during the storm I realized D-day was also similar to the feeling of waiting on a hurricane. A destructive force beyond my control was on its way, and I had no idea what my world was going to look like in the morning. As I sat in reflection I began contemplating what the "present me" would say to the "18 months ago me" on the initial night of discovery. No doubt, I have changed in many ways since the night this recovery journey began. I think my insight would've sounded something like this: You have just experienced major trauma, and this is going to take a lot longer to make sense of than you can comprehend right now. While some of the unexplainable problems in your marriage just became crystal clear, others will not be evident for some time. You only knew parts of your wife. There is a darkness in her that was fostered at a young age by years of abuse and dysfunction that developed her into a woman who was capable of using sex as a coping skill. In her current state, she is unconscionably self-absorbed, allowing herself to be destructively consumed with satisfying an unquenchable need to be validated and praised. You did not create this, you could not have known it was coming, and you cannot fix her. Therefore, we are not going to focus on her. Our energy is needed elsewhere - we have work to do to save you. There is great opportunity in what lies ahead. Whether you accept it or not, it is about to become painfully obvious how little control you have over anyone around you; especially your wife. For a while, you will have great trouble controlling your own mind and emotions. Dark emotions will consume you and visions of deviant and disgusting betrayals by your wife will haunt your thoughts. You will not be able to eat or sleep and you will feel more alone than you ever knew was possible. For the first time in your life, death will seem like a viable solution to your problems. At times, you are going to want desperately to sweep the betrayals away and move on quickly. Fight this urge, it will not work. Walk through where you are now and remember that this pain is really just a feeling. It is small and you are greater than it is. I will have to remind you of this fact often as we walk ahead. The only way to the other side, with you intact, is to fully immerse yourself in grieving all you have lost. The process will have many similarities to the one you experienced when you lost your father too early, but the pain will be greater, and the isolation will be new. Practically speaking, you are going to need some professional help… as soon as you can get it. Unfortunately, it may not be easy to find. Infidelity as a trauma is relatively new science, and it is lagging in its development, especially for betrayed men. Family, friends, your church, even many therapists who mean well and truly care for you, simply do not know how to help. Know that competent resources are out there, but be patient in locating the right source. This is a marathon, not a sprint, and we need to start with the right help. Friendships are going to shift. Some old friends will grow distant while new friends will emerge. Relationships that were safe places to share the struggles of life with yesterday may not be today. Just let this be. Your instincts to be cautious in who you talk to about this are healthy. We are going to lean on God like you never have before; He has you. He will provide help. We just have to humble ourselves to accept it, even when it comes in unexpected forms. For years you have given sound judgment to clients in your law practice advising them not to make decisions quickly or based on emotions. As you say, "If it is a good idea today, then it will be a good idea tomorrow." Now it's time for you to follow your own advice. Do not make any major decisions about anything you do not have to until you know you are ready. This may take a long time. Do you remember that guy in high school? The Ferris Bueller type who seemed to be as comfortable with the nerds as he was the jocks? You remember how people followed you in college, how you could bridge a room divided in opinions and personalities? While you are grown up now and know well how to navigate black tie evenings and complex negotiations, perhaps it's time to admit you are still more comfortable at the kids' table come Thanksgiving. Somewhere along the way we let pieces of you get overrun with ambition and achievement. Let's take the time needed to go find those lost traits again, they are valuable. It is time to remember where you came from, the integrity of your parents and grandfather, the values they modeled for you. Oh . . . and that faith of yours that you've become so casual with… why is that? Time will tell what becomes of her. You allowed yourself to be defined by your marriage and in doing so you created an idol of it. God only wants relationships that grow His will for you, and His will is never to harm you. Yes . . . that means you are greater than your marriage. You are not defined by her selfish and humiliating acts. Patience and grace on yourself my friend. We will rise.

Shame. I hate the word. I hate the feeling. I am guessing for most of you reading this, you have more than a vague idea of what this word does to a human being and how it can be one of the most destructive forces on the planet. I am so tired of shame. Sure, I can sit here and look back on my life and the things that happened before I had a choice in the matter. Reflect on the things that helped shape my heart into a giant bucket of shame. But the reality is I took shame, let it have authority over me, and ran with it most of my life. Shame can have many definitions and I'm certain it can have different faces for different people. For me, it has mostly felt like a pit in the deepest parts of my heart (and more tangibly my stomach and my throat) that something is very wrong with me and I am deeply inadequate. As early as I can remember, I have had this feeling. To compensate for shame, I would try harder. I would find a way to outperform it, outrun it, or at least cover it up so no one would see it. In an attempt to outrun shame I became the smartest, nicest, most entertaining, funniest, best, most outgoing, and winningest shell of a person that ever existed. I was determined to be successful at everything. I would become everyone's friend. I would never disappoint anyone if I could help it. I would seek approval everywhere. Just take a look at my high school year book. It screams of a girl who sought affirmation everywhere. Unfortunately my mentality also impacted my spouse. My husband could never be enough. I mirrored in him my unattainable quest for perfection. I had no idea what intimacy was and destroyed our marriage by not only making it all about me, but seeking all the wrong things in all the wrong places. A truth that continues to open my eyes is how self-absorbing shame can be. Rick teaches how shame and pride are both a far cry from the place of humility and confidence that God longs for us to find. Shame is always there, always waiting to devour and pounce. Just today, as I looked on the Affair Recovery website for encouragement, shame crept in. It whispered rather loudly, "You are an unfaithful woman. You are the minority. Stay silent. Don't speak out or say anything. It won't be enough and you won't be understood. Stay in the shadows because nothing you say will be believed. You have no right to say anything because of what you've done." I remember reading a study on how authorities recognize counterfeit dollar bills. It does not happen by studying all of the counterfeits. Instead, they study the real thing. Day after day, they continue to study an authentic dollar bill. They become so familiar with the real thing, it helps them recognize when it's fake. The same applies to shame. Focusing on the truth helps counteract shame. I am not smart enough to find truth on my own, which is why I find God's word and truth so helpful. I have found it to be the best place to start unraveling the many lies shame speaks. And by studying the real thing, I am slowly learning to see what counterfeits sound and look like. If you are struggling with shame today, please know you aren't alone. In the darkest days of recovery, I desperately wanted to curl up in a ball and cry out that I deserve nothing more than a life of misery and self-hatred from the choices I made. Not only does that not offer help to anyone but just hear the overwhelming selfishness of that statement! Only when I can look up, reach out, and come outside of that dark place can I begin to see my husband. Consider his feelings. Be curious about what this has been like for him. Possibly offer him some much needed hope or encouragement, even if it is as small as: "I see you." "I am not giving up." "I am sorry that my own shame has caused such abandonment for you." I am fighting shame. One of the best ways I have found to combat shame is to enter into one of the Affair Recovery online small groups. For me, it was Hope for Healing. I discovered I wasn't alone in any of these feelings but I desperately need help learning how to fight them and not act out of destructive feelings. And tangibly, when others can know every dark and ugly thing about me and still find me worthy, I strangely start to see myself differently. Furthermore, they help provide accountability for helping identify when I want to spiral into shame and negativity. I hate shame. And rightfully so. God hates it too.

A good friend of mine, and fellow betrayed husband (yes, we met at an EMS weekend), coined it best when he said, "This isn't highs and lows; it's chutes and ladders." All of us on this journey have experienced the hope generated by progress. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, the bottom falls out and in the moment all hope seems lost. Which way is up? I am now 16 months out from my first D-Day, 9 months from my last, and if there is one word that can describe the spot I seem to circle when the chutes open underneath me, it's "disorienting". I understand what happened. My wife is doing the hard work of self-discovery: linking childhood abuses to her adulterous behavior, showing empathy and remorse, leading classes, and attending volumes of counseling. I have grown from someone who was convinced that I had never met a shrink who didn't need one, to the guy craving his next individual session. However, even amongst all this work and progress, I often circle back to an empty feeling. How could I have been so wrong about who she was? The day before my first D-day I would've sworn there was absolutely no way on earth she would have ever been unfaithful at any time in our 23+year relationship. But she was deep in her 4th affair . . . Despite having committed myself to my own healing journey, there have been many personal slips along the way. I have turned to old habits of rage, excessive slips with alcohol, intentionally isolating myself, and trying to ignore my reality. In each case, the emptiness just lingers. When I'm in the hole of darkness, it is hard to remember what it felt like not to be, even if that was only a few hours ago. Funny thing is, when I'm not in it, I often do not stop to enjoy the peace of contentment. The more I grow in my own journey of self-discovery, the more I begin to see my situation from a higher level - the forest for the trees. I have learned that when I can only see the trunks of the trees and only focus on an unanswerable question or two, then I am in a space that is simply irrational. I am only passing through this space and, in time, it will end as it always has. As elementary as the words are, it has taken me this long to truly comprehend that every feeling has a beginning, middle, and end. If the feeling is dark, then I have hope that the end of the darkness draws closer with each second. If it is good, then an awareness that I should enjoy and experience it helps extend the peace. I am told the pros call this "mindfulness". In layman's verbage, I'd say it's simply getting my head out of my rear. Regardless of how sophisticated you would like to be in your interpretation, I think we can all benefit by regular reminders to have a little grace on yourself and do what you can to stay in this moment and out of the past. For me, these efforts at self-care have reignited an old passion with bird hunting and all things hunting dogs. Dare I say I have even discovered that some simple childhood pleasures like peanut butter and junk food shouldn't be ignored. Yes, even at 47 years old, puppies and ice cream can work wonders. Find your way out of the hole, make the effort to realize what works for you, and make it routine. Although the specific resource may be personal, the need for it is universal in this journey we have been thrown into. My hope is that each time I climb out of the hole, a little dirt falls back in it, and next time it will not be as deep. Each time I climb out I am reminded again that God's grace in my life is overwhelming. Even this dark betrayal didn't destroy my thriving law practice, beautiful children, and a wife willing to face her demons. I am still uncertain how this will end for me, but perhaps that is the greatest lesson I can take from all this: the ability to accept I do not have to know tomorrow, as He's got me today.

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Today in counseling I was stunned by a concept I’ve heard most my life. Similar to the old quilt that covers our bed, I became so familiar with it I no longer saw the depth of beauty in it. My counselor asked me how I felt I was doing at “feeling my husband’s pain”. He has a way of asking a simple question and patiently waits for me to take as long as I need to respond. Having been a counselor for over 40 years, he sees right through me and my crap most days. How am I doing with handling my husband’s pain? You mean the pain I created with MY infidelity? In the silence of that moment I found myself wanting. I wanted to say that I’ve tried to feel it. I wanted to justify all of the ways I’ve tried to be sensitive and aware of him. I wanted to defend the times I’ve spent the past year trying to be safe for him in his pain. But none of those words came out. Instead I sat and squirmed. More silence. An awkward, heavy, deep-in-my-chest feeling came over me. The former me would have avoided the question all together and hung my head in shame. But as I sat there, the most honest answer I could muster was “probably not well at all.” The reality in that overwhelming and empty moment was a painful and sad truth; I had not felt my husband’s pain at all. I mean how could I really know my husband’s pain? Although I try to imagine what it would be like to be him, to realize the person you were married to was nothing more than a stranger who kept secrets, I still can’t truly understand. I can try to feel it. I can practice listening really well. I can reflect back to him when he shares. I can be safe. I can give him passwords and whereabouts. On our better days I can even offer some perspective and insight. But the reality is I will never feel the depth of how much I hurt him. As my therapist and I sat in uncomfortable, tender silence, he graciously allowed me to feel the unfairness of my infidelity. Have you heard Jesus’ parable of the talents? If you’re familiar with this story, I think you’d agree that it is one of gross unfairness. This parable is about one guy who works really hard to earn his day’s wage. He works ALL day, outside in a vineyard. Then for the last hour of the day some lazy, irresponsible loser comes in and puts the finishing touches on the work. At the end of the day, the owner pays both of them the exact same amount. Huh? How is it that God can offer both of us the same grace, the same forgiveness and the same chance at life when I was the one who chose to break our vows? Why is it that my husband has to bear so much of the pain when he didn’t do anything to deserve it? Today was a difficult day. I think I finally realized how deep our need for grace really is. And while I certainly hope my husband can heal from all of the pain I caused him, I cannot earn his mercy. If there was a way I could earn grace or mercy, I would. I think any repentant unfaithful spouse would tell you it would almost be easier if there was a way we could earn, work, buy or barter some kind of mercy. But there’s not. We have to live in the great but painful space of humility. Not much farther, the Bible tells us what deeply moves Jesus: people who want to see. Jesus doesn’t need anything from me. He just loves me. He always has. He always will – even when I am unlovable. He just wants me to be willing. My hope is that we all become willing to find something more. That we never be unwilling to learn nor be afraid of humility the way I was and sometimes still am. If you haven’t been to an EMS weekend, go! Or if you haven’t taken one of the Affair Recovery online classes, believe me when I say they are life changing. Start for free with the 7 Day Bootcamp. At the very least, get your butt into counseling. While it can’t change the unfairness of the past or the pain, it may be able to help your spouse heal.