Driving in Fog 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
