Will June 1st ever be just another day?

Tonight marks the 4th anniversary of the discovery that instantly and dramatically shifted my understanding of the world.

After 4 years of therapy, reading and recovery groups, I’m a very different person and I have a dramatically different understanding and experience of myself.

I’m aware of the need for boundaries. I understand how to validate myself instead of seeking validation from others. I have and nurture an empowering relationship with myself, in which it’s possible for me to acknowledge my strengths, talents and abilities, as well as my weaknesses, flaws and vulnerabilities. I’ve learned how to be responsible for myself (the topic of my SANON meeting last night) – emotionally, psychologically, financially, physically. I can stand my ground in the grip of fear and uncertainty. I had so much growing I didn’t know I needed to do, and I’ve done a lot.

That’s the upside.

I still have a lot of work to do. First and foremost in my mind is the need for me to find a way to express the anger and resentment I still have about what Husband did. I moved very quickly, probably too quickly, to being reasonable and understanding, to working toward a level-headed resolution. (A winning formula that often works in my favor, but has worked to my detriment in this case.) Most of the time I don’t suffer, but sometimes I’m plagued by thoughts I can’t escape. These thoughts are obstacles to happiness. They are often a bucket of cold water on our sex life. Together with the sudden and bitter rage I sometimes feel, they form the thin but impenetrable barrier I have with Husband.

I’m still afraid of him. He hurt and betrayed me so badly. Sometimes I think I’ll never be able to forgive him – as much as I want to. We have both worked so hard. But though I’m working against this tendency, I’m an absolutist, and I grieve the unblemished trust I had with Husband before I found out about all of his lies. And my most vulnerable part holds itself away from him like tender flesh flinching away from a hot stove. How can I not?

He’s the cobra that lays in wait for me. His presence helps me understand who I can be in the face of fear. It helps me access a strength that I never knew I had. But part of my ability to be with the cobra is the vigilance in my animal brain. That part of me is ready to fly at any moment, ready to say, “I knew it,” ready to sever the knot that joins us and sail for open water without a backward glance. How can we have the depth of intimacy and trust we had before when that part of me stands ready to defend me against undiscovered, unimagined parts of him?

I grieve.

I grieve loss of trust, loss of innocence, loss of respect, loss of passion, loss of lust, loss of a friend, loss of a husband, loss of a confidant, loss of safety and security, loss of bliss, loss of a past, loss of so much I thought I had.

As I write I know the answer lies in letting go somehow. And letting go again, and again, and again until there is nothing left to let go of but one last breath of air.

Letting go of how I want things to be, feel, look, and instead being with what is so, and shaping my life in that context. What kind of life can I make for myself in a world where people you love and trust the most can hurt and betray you so deeply that you feel like you’re walking through fire with all your skin scraped off? That’s a question I need to consider.

Because that’s true.

Little children who’ve been abused and abandoned can attest to a confusing and unpredictable world. Sometimes people who love you hurt you more than your enemies ever could. It happens.

Letting go of the idea that I can create safety. The right person, right job, right situation, right word, right moment…if only I can find The Right SOMETHING I’ll know I’m safe. What kind of life can I make for myself in a world where the only thing I can count on is that everything is temporary, everything changes? That’s a question I need to consider.

Because that’s true.

We can plan, anticipate, and be vigilant, and yet a loving parent can get cancer, an innocent child can be killed in a car crash, and a trusted husband can have a secret life. It happens.

Letting go of judgments of my circumstances as good or bad, right or wrong, fair or unfair, black or white, and just experiencing each moment as nothing more or less than a moment on my path, every challenge as an opportunity to grow or turn away from growth.

Because that’s true, too.

But some judgments and wishes I find hard to let go of.

I am sad, so sad, about the good things I feel I’ve lost: The ability to trust Husband completely, the certainty that Husband would always be a warm, safe port in any storm, the indescribable, unmatchable bond I felt when I looked at him, and the history of being true to and for each other that we shared.

I agree it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. But what do you do when you’ve loved and lost and you still choose to lead a life together? How do I stop wishing for a past I thought I had with his presence as a constant reminder of what never was and will now never be?

In this world as it really is, what kind of life am I willing to create? What am I willing to risk? What am I willing to demand?

Even after 4 years, I don’t have answers for many of my questions. I don’t know if June 1st will ever be just another day. Perhaps after 4 or 8 or 16 more years I will tire of this bit of suffering and finally let go of questions.

Maybe I’ll do that that tomorrow. The timeline for all of this is another thing for which I have no answer.

Maybe freedom lies in letting go of the assumption that there are answers.

Surrendering purpose to moments that I can fill with love, without attachment to a result.

Love Husband and be loved by him without attachment to the result?

My grasp of all that is fleeting, like a little ghost girl playing hide and seek with me.

The best I can do now is hold tight to the reins of the beastly fears I sometimes ride, whisper my now-favorite mantra, “…every challenge as an opportunity to grow or turn away from growth,” try to let go of those wishes, detach from the outcome, and breathe deeply into the gritty intensity of reality as it really is.

I read an article today about a miracle pill that can erase painful memories and wondered to myself if I would take that pill. The pain is what sharpens all the details of life – the good as well as the bad. If I dull that pain, mute it so that it is only a vague notion, instead of facing it head on like a warrior, would I sacrifice all that I’ve gained? Since I’ve been through so much and reaped the benefits of those battles, I’m not willing to give up that hard won ground. I’m not here to live in a blissful haze. Maybe that’s what I was doing before all this. But I feel like Neo in the Matrix, and now there’s no going back.

Eleven years today

Husband and I got married on November 1, 1997.

We don't have any special celebration planned this year. Last year we celebrated with a honeymoon on Maui, about 4 months after the truth had come out. It was an intense, emotional time.

This year I feel different. Less emotional, more guarded, yet willing to leave the past in the past, live in the present moment and give what I have today a chance.

I'm tired of my bouts of fear and anxiety, yet I still can't seem to shake them entirely. Husband is struggling with his food addiction a little right now, and I get really nervous about the possibility of things getting out of control. I know he can't be perfect, but I've been through the food struggles before with him and now I have an idea of what he's really struggling with, and where that can lead. I don't think he'll go so far as to go back to porn, massage parlors and prostitutes, but I still fear it. This indicates to me that I have more spiritual work in front of me, more surrender to impermanence and unknowability. And more work around control issues and my ability to feel safe in an uncontrollable world.

I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, afraid to jump back into living 100 percent. It feels easier just to be afraid. But I know that if I jump I might find out I can fly. The fear is still there, though. But it's not insurmountable.

And maybe I'll find that I need to choose again whether or not to jump every single day from here on out.

And I can only begin to imagine where that kind of life will take me, jumping and jumping and jumping again.

One Year Later

The beginning of the most deeply painful experience I've ever had was a year ago today. It was the day I discovered that my lover, partner, and best friend of 20 years had been lying to me and seeking out sexual activity with other women outside our relationship since before our marriage.

"I hope you enjoyed your time with Angie." I'll never forget the words I read in that email from the escort service that began to unravel the horrible truth over the course of that Friday evening after which my life would be profoundly and irrevocably changed.

A year ago I had no idea what today would bring. I remember thinking about my wedding vows, about what it meant to have made the decision to publicly declare my commitment to spending the rest of my life with Husband. To me that meant that when the going got rough I was going to give it my best to work things out. With that in mind, I decided the next day, or maybe even that night, I really don't remember, that the result I wanted was to try to stay together, mostly for the sake of my son. So I made decisions based on what would cause that outcome. I didn’t leave. I didn’t kick him out. I didn’t tell the world about his lies, the sex with prostitutes, the tens of thousands of dollars he’d spent, the anguish I was experiencing at this profound betrayal.

After a solitary drive that ended up at the beach, I came home and took my son to his martial arts class on Saturday morning. As usual my mom came with us. I couldn't say anything to her because I knew she'd never be able to forgive Husband, and would forever be trying to use this against him. My close girlfriend was there with her son, and she could tell something was not right with me. She put her arms around me and hugged me tightly. "I really needed that," I said. She'd recommended a therapist for me before, and I got the information again from her that day and immediately made an appointment.

Monday morning I was in my therapist's office. She introduced me to the concept of sex addiction, and gave me a list of suggestions for Husband. I met him for lunch later that day and passed on the information. "You can do whatever you want." I told him. I wasn't going to lay down any rules or ultimatums. I was not going to step into the role of parent and tell him what he had to do to make up for what he'd done. I wanted to see what he would do, and then make my choices accordingly. He said he'd start going to SAA meetings and see a therapist, but that he didn't think he needed inpatient treatment she’d suggested.

I didn't know it at the time, but his addict was sill very much in the driver's seat, despite being found out. I don't think he had any more sex with prostitutes after that, but he's since told me he really didn't think he had a problem that day. He was still very much in denial, and it would take months of SAA meetings and therapy with his wonderful therapist and our amazing couples therapist before he could begin to understand how lost he was that day.

There was a lot I didn't know either. What I didn't know about Husband was only part of the problem. What I didn't know about myself was equally significant.

Through individual therapy, couples therapy, SAnon meetings and spiritual reading and practice, I've been able to begin the journey of my own recovery. After the first several months of dealing with the shock and the raw, agonizing pain of having my deepest core beliefs about my life, my husband and the world as I believed it to be ripped away, I have been able to explore how I got to where I was in my life and my relationship with Husband that June 1st.

I’ve learned that I’m an absolutist who sees things at their extremes, with little ability to tolerate the grey, murky, messiness of real life. I've realized that I didn't listen and/or didn't provide Husband the experience of being heard about important things in our relationship. I idealized him so completely that I wasn't able to see the depth of his unhappiness, and couldn't see that he felt he had no space to express his fears, upsets and imperfections. I've seen how neither of us had the tools to deal with conflict and did everything we could to avoid it, once again leaving no space for either of us to express upsets or deal with problems. And I've a tremendous spiritual growth. I've learned the practice of leaning into the fear and pain of life rather than turning or running away from it. I've learned how to express myself more in spite of fears and doubts. I’ve learned that I don’t have to be afraid of other people, that I can be an adult who doesn’t worry about getting in trouble or disappointing or angering others. I've learned how much I depended on Husband for my sense of self, and how much I've let other people's responses define me throughout my entire life. I've learned what boundaries are, why they are necessary, and how to define and express them. I've learned the power of reaching out for support. I've begun to accept that I can't handle everything all by myself, and that a higher power doesn't have to be a crutch, but can be a source of compassion and an opportunity for surrender. I've learned that life will continue to present me with the same lessons over and over again until I stop turning away from them. I've come to believe that there is little we can really know about life outside of our own selves, and that any thought that we can control people, situations or outcomes is an illusion. I've started to explore Buddhism, and this has been an incredible source of strength and peace for me. I would never choose to experience the pain I've felt over the last year, but at the same time the opportunities for growth and learning this pain has presented have been profoundly life changing in a positive way, and I'm grateful for that.

Despite the growth and my gratitude, things aren’t resolved. I still feel pain; I still have unwelcome thoughts and images passing through my mind. I still feel incredibly alone at times, and deeply miss the trust that I had in my relationship with Husband prior to all of this. That took years to develop, and may take years to restore, if it’s even possible. I’m still having trouble with surrendering to what is so. Husband is someone who’s hurt me more than anyone else in my life, he’s given me reason to profoundly distrust him, and yet if I want a relationship with him these are the things that I need to surrender to. For example, the knowledge that he could hurt me the way he did, and that there is no way for me to prevent that from happening again.

Just yesterday I realized in therapy how much I idealized Husband. Before all of this, when I expressed unhappiness with my job Husband’s response was something along the lines of “I’m sorry you’re unhappy, but if that’s the case why don’t you do something about it?” In other words, he didn’t provide the support I could have used. He didn’t acknowledge and have compassion for my fears and my sadness. But I couldn’t conceive that he had anything other than my best interest at heart and therefore took his words to mean that there was a problem with me that I had to fix. It never crossed my mind that a narcissistic addict full of anger and resentment was speaking to me. It never occurred to me to believe that I was okay, and that he was being a jerk who was lacking compassion for my feelings. He was wonderful, loving and brilliant, so there must be something wrong with me. I didn’t think about it exactly like that. I didn’t say those words, or even think them. But that’s how I processed it internally. I never questioned his response, only my thoughts, feelings and self-expression. I defined myself, my validity, according to his response to me. And this is something I just realized yesterday. With that realization came a deeper understanding of how much farther I have to go in healing my own self, developing my own core of strength, a strong sense of and belief in who I am no matter what anyone else says, thinks or does. The path may be long, but at least I’m on it now. A year ago today this path wasn’t even on my map.

With this great pain has come great opportunity and growth. I can’t say how things will turn out. Perhaps that’s partly because I think now that things will always be evolving. I’ve come to believe that I will never arrive, but that I’ll be walking a path into the unknown for the rest of my life, one day at a time. I do believe I can find peace with that. It may be something I have to do over and over again, but I know from experience that peace is possible.

And as I continue to face fear, to be present to non-duality, to accept the inseparable nature of joy and pain, to honor myself and all others as expressions of the divine, to have compassion for myself and others, and to practice loving kindness, I believe I will experience joy in a deeper way. I believe I will be able to love and trust Husband as he is, and to accept his love. I believe I’m developing a core of strength that I never even knew I was missing, and that I’ll experience with increasing frequency the depth of peace and serenity that comes with love and compassion for self and others.

The pain, fear and despair I’ve felt over this year have been unprecedented in my life; yet in spite of that, the resulting spiritual growth I’ve had leaves me with the experience that profound peace, joy and serenity are possible ways I never imagined before.