My life changed forever almost eight years ago when I decided to jump out of a perfectly good airplane. Now, before you think I'm about to tell you some crazy cool skydiving story, it's not about that. It's about what happened when I arrived back home.

It was D-Day and I didn't know it. My wife disclosed to me that she had been unfaithful.

I was sitting on our white IKEA couch when my world flipped upside down. We had dated for six years and were just a couple of years into our marriage. I believed we were deeply enjoying life together. I didn't even have a category for the words my wife spoke that day. What made it worse was that the betrayal was with a friend of mine, adding layers of hurt and complexity to the already painful situation.

As I began to process, instances from the past month that seemed slightly abnormal started to replay in my mind through a different lens. It was as if someone had lifted a pair of ignorantly blissful, foggy glasses from my face, and I saw the moments I thought were shared memories for both of us but actually just mine since her mind and heart were elsewhere.

In the immediate aftermath, I retreated and went quiet. On the outside, I went through the motions, but inside, I crumbled, desperately trying to logically make sense of what had happened.

I was confused. I knew nothing then about betrayal trauma or attachment wounds that could explain the overwhelming pain I was feeling.

Deep shame and embarrassment consumed me. I felt like an idiot for not seeing what was right in front of me. I also judged my quiet reaction as weak, wondering if I wasn't "man enough" for her, leading to her interest in someone else. I felt devalued, as if I wasn't valuable enough to merit a better decision from her.

This shame morphed into anger—at her and at the other person. My marriage had been my stable anchor amidst other life rollercoasters, and now it, too, was up in the air, fueling a quiet but seething rage.

As a person of faith, I was also angry at God, feeling I had tried my best to be a husband who honored Him, and yet, I wondered where He was in all of this.

I look back on those initial moments post-discovery and remember feeling completely lost. I had NO idea what to do.

If you find yourself in that spot today, know that this does not have to be the end. There is a way out of the suffering, a way to start to heal and propel yourself forward. As crazy as it seems, what feels like the end can truly be the beginning of something new, different—and far better.

Liminal Space

In those initial months after discovery, I encountered the psychological concept of liminal space—a transitional state in life between where you are and where you are going. It's like being in a hallway: you've stepped in, can't go back through the door behind you, but haven't yet reached the other end, and you might not even know what that other end of the hallway looks like.

Recovering from an affair inevitably requires facing a season of liminal space. The choice to have an affair or the experience of discovering one has happened (or is happening) throws you into a space like this. You cannot rewind time. No one can! You cannot go back to what was—that door has closed. The season of life that existed prior to the affair is over, and that's really hard to accept.

In those first few months, a quote resonated deeply with what liminal space feels like: "It's hell in the hallway," said Samuel Chand in his book, Leadership Pain. You know this feeling if you're in the thick of it—days and weeks on end can feel like pure hell.

If you find yourself in this "hallway," the terrifying question I faced, and the one I pose to you to help you start to heal, is: What are you going to do?

This isn't about what your spouse did or continues to do. As excruciating and unfair as it all feels, this is about your response. Because of the debilitating pain we've experienced (or caused,) our natural inclination is to stay in a look-what-happened-to-me posture. This is understandable; who wants to walk towards immense pain? We blame, numb, run, avoid, or scroll, hoping the pain will go away. But when we do these things, we don't realize that we are still making "a choice." We are either choosing to take action or we are choosing inaction—and both have major implications for your life!

Action or Inaction

Think about it this way: Let's say I invite you on a trip I'm planning with friends that is a month away. You tell me you're not sure if you can go, but you'll let me know in a few weeks. I check in again about two weeks later, and you're still unable to decide if you're going to go or not. Then, I check with you one week before the trip, and you're still trying to figure out the details of being able to join us. Eventually, it's departure day. I show up on your doorstep to pick you up on the way out of town. You admit you are still undecided, and by the fact that the trip is about to begin, your inaction is indeed a choice to not go.

Sitting down in the "hellish hallway" and letting the experience destroy you, while perhaps would be both understandable and justified, is a choice that will ultimately rob you of living a full life. Despite the discomfort of taking a step forward, your life is absolutely worth fighting for! Like me at that time in my life, you are walking wounded and emotionally gutted right now, but healing is possible—your heart doesn't have to stay this way.

As Proverbs 4:23 says, "Guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it."

Whether you are religious or not, this verse speaks a timeless truth. Your heart has been shattered, and your heart is the central point from which everything else in your life flows—your work, friendships, parenting, and more. No matter how much you may feel the tendency to blame, numb, run, avoid, or scroll in order to avoid your broken heart, your life will continue to happen with or without you. So...what are you going to do?

When I was in that liminal space, that hallway so to speak, I realized I didn't want to stay there forever. I needed to do something, not just for my marriage, but for my own pain and brokenness, because regardless of my marriage's outcome, I knew the pain would not just go away. I made the brave choice to move forward—to understand and deal with my pain for myself, and to fight for my marriage--for US.

If you are a betrayed spouse, quite frankly, it sucks. You didn't choose this; it's a mess. But, right or wrong, it has left you with a choice. Do you choose to work on healing for your heart (and for your marriage if that is possible in your situation) or do you choose to not work on healing. Remember, that second choice is literally inaction. Inaction is choosing to not heal.

Three Principles for Moving Forward

So, what was it that helped me actually do something to move forward in my pain? What helped me face the fear and make the choice to fight? There were three principles, more like practical steps, that guided me.

1. Focus on what healing looks like for YOU.

Initially, I was stuck because of a mindset that compared my situation to others.

I'd think:
At least it isn't like THAT story.
Should I be THIS upset, or am I blowing this out of proportion?
I just need to man up and get over this.

These thoughts left me spinning in circles until a friend shared a liberating truth: "The pain of betrayal is not proportional to the act committed."

Whether it was a one-night stand, an emotional affair, a physical affair, a porn addiction, or something else—a betrayal is a betrayal, and broken trust is broken trust. This is called an attachment rupture. Our brains are wired to create attachments, and when these break, the pain is immense, regardless of the cause. While some trauma may be greater and require more work or time to heal, your pain should never be minimized or judged just because it's different from someone else's experience with pain. This realization freed me to take another step across the hallway, stop judging myself, and simply be in the pain and hurt I was feeling.

2. Get in "your bunker."

This phrase, given to us by a friend, meant to intentionally create the time and space within your life to do the necessary work to heal. One of the things my wife and I did was to move. Our new, small apartment became our "bunker." It was small in size, tucked away, and surrounded by trees, a space where we felt safe to heal.

We also gave ourselves grace to quit certain commitments that didn't make sense for us in that hard season. We did this because those commitments were forcing us to pretend things were normal, which wasn't helpful to our restoration process. By stepping back, not completely disconnecting but stepping back just enough, we created the time needed to engage in programs like the EMS Online course. This gave us the margin to look inward and do the difficult, healing work. For me, that bunker-like space became a space where I truly pursued and met with God. I had the stillness and quietness in my life to go to Him in a new, vulnerable way—to be angry, to grieve, to be open and honest—all of it. In doing so, I experienced God's love, compassion, and presence in moments that were deeply healing.

Where is your bunker? Do you have intentional time and space in your life to heal? If not, this lack of choice will lead to stagnation, because healing doesn't happen accidentally. It requires work, and that work requires space in your life to do it. Maybe it won't work for you to move to a different place, but consider where on your calendar you need to block off time to consume content, read, journal, process, or engage in courses that provide a pathway for healing, for you and for both of you together. Identify places where you can go—a trail, a coffee shop, a space in your home, or even a solo or shared vacation—to get away from the demands of normal life and focus on your healing.

3. No one heals alone.

A second D-Day, with even more shattering details than the first, left me genuinely unsure of what the future held. I called a friend whose marriage had recovered from an affair. He met me at a coffee shop, and we, two grown men, just sat there and cried together. I honestly don't remember anything he said that day; all I remember is him crying with me.

This was me experiencing what is now known as Emotional Baseline Theory (or Social Baseline Theory). The idea is that humans are wired to connect, to live better in proximity to one another, and to face adversity together. We all carry burdens—responsibilities, pressures, decisions, hopes—some chosen, others imposed by others' actions.

Carrying the pain of infidelity completely by yourself will most likely cause you to be stuck in the hallway forever. You weren't meant to carry this pain alone, because no one heals alone. When my friend sat and cried with me, and in the many moments afterward, he carried this weight with me. He stepped into the hallway with me, and helped me know that I was not alone.

This is why our courses exist. We want to provide you with a group of people to carry your burden with you. Information is helpful, yes, but it isn't enough to get through the pain. You need others to journey with you, people who truly understand and empathize with the pain you're facing. This friendship and the relationships I formed through EMS Online were the single greatest factors in my individual healing and, thanks to God, in the recovery of my marriage.

A New Beginning

Fast forward eight years to today. My wife and I are nearing our tenth anniversary. We have three incredible boys and a deep, meaningful friendship I wouldn't trade for anything in the world. I can look back and say with confidence that while our circumstances weren't good in any way, God did something very good through it. There is a level to which I now enjoy my marriage, my children, and my life I would not have otherwise.

I wouldn't wish the pain of an affair on anyone, and I wouldn't choose it either, but as insane as it sounds, I can also say I'm grateful. It has made me who I am today. I share this because I believe this can happen for you as well, if you are willing to START.

The question remains: What are you going to do?