sex addiction – Betrayedwife.net

Catching Up

I’ve been gone for a minute. I needed Summer to regroup and repair my soul a bit. I thought I was coping well enough with my mom’s passing and with the car accident my daughter had that seriously injured my husband. In retrospect that might have been a little wishful thinking. It was a lot, all in a very short time span. I probably didn’t process either of those events very well at the time.

I miss my mom. Holy heck do I miss her. We often battled and she was a tough cookie, but I know she loved me fiercely and always had my best interests in mind, even when we disagreed over what those best interests actually were.

I have been at my (usually) happy place since mid July. In my entire life I have probably never been here for more than a week or two without one or both of my parents. Their absence has left me reeling. I have such amazing memories here with them. I’m trying to rely on those to carry me through. It helps, certainly, but the grief still comes in hard, powerful waves at unexpected times. Even the smell of the beach can bring me to tears if I don’t brace myself. I really feel a bit adrift without both of them. Not lost, just… unmoored. Like I’m trying to find where I belong now that I’m untethered from them. I’m a 53 year old orphan. That’s tough to get my head around.

I’ve had another major life change too. Handsome had to retire from his job due to his injuries from the car accident with my daughter. (I am so lucky and grateful that no one was killed. It was that bad, and easily could have been much worse.) His retirement has me losing sleep for multiple reasons. First, losing an entire salary two years before our eldest heads off to college wasn’t in the fiscal game plan. Not even close. Second, although he has been really wonderful for multiple years at this point, I do worry about him getting bored and spiraling.

Let me explain. I have a dear friend married to a lovely man. He has multiple degrees from Ivy League schools and, before he met my friend, he had an amazing work history. He gave up his last (to die for) job to move to a small Midwest city to be with my friend and he simply fell out of the job market. He went on dozens and dozens of interviews and nothing materialized. (He was often told that he was over-qualified and/or that they couldn’t pay him what he was worth – even when he was ready to take any offer.) After literally years of rejection, they decided he would stay home and she would work outside the home. Cool. I have no issue with that. But if you spend a few hours with this couple you see the mental and verbal gymnastics my friend does to make her husband feel valued and important. We all like to feel valued and important but I don’t have the bandwidth to pump someone’s ego up every day. I can’t fake not knowing how to do something so he can jump in and save the day. I need to be able to make decisions for certain things on my own without prior consultation. (Not big things, but small stuff… what doormat to buy or what flowers to plant, etc.) Most importantly, he can’t wield a credit card like a light saber when I’m the one actually paying the bill. I’ll be certifiably miserable if I have to deal with this with Handsome. I recognize that may be uncharitable and bitchy but I know myself. Valuing his contributions to the household and showing legitimate appreciation is one thing, but having I would seriously resent having to coddle him.

Fortunately, Handsome has been running his tush off shuttling children, running errands, and overseeing major construction on our home (that we contracted and paid for before the accident). He literally hasn’t had time to be bored or feel unimportant. I’m not sure how long that will continue. He has been sober since DDay, and has given me no reason (in several years) to be wary. But recovering addicts are still addicts. It would be cocky to think otherwise. I don’t know if he can find fulfillment in being a stay-at-home dad or if the absence of adrenaline rushes from work will take a toll. (His therapist jokingly told him to teach kids to drive if he’s desperate for a rush.)

These are both “new normals” that are going to take some adjustment. I’m game, but I’m also exhausted from the weight of these things on my shoulders. I know I’m still grieving. And I’ve always been okay being the primary breadwinner but being the sole breadwinner is a unique kind of pressure. It’s no one’s fault. My mom fought valiantly to stay alive and Handsome didn’t cause the car accident and had no intention of giving up his career. Things just happen. Life happens and it isn’t always filled with sunshine. I get it, but I’m already wishing 2023 out the door and hoping 2024 will bring more peace and perhaps some joy.

Unexpected Consequences

On my DDay, almost four and a half years ago, my children were 8 and 11. After assessing who knew of Handsome’s behavior and what the possibilities were of the kids learning anything, I made the decision not to tell them about their dad’s infidelity and sex addiction. There was simply no reason for them to know.

Handsome was drinking often before DDay. While they never saw him drunk, they did see him drink daily. We did have some discussions with the kids when he stopped drinking about why he made that decision. We also talked to them about why he went to Sierra Tucson for 6 weeks for mood disorder treatment and what he hoped to accomplish after his inpatient stay.

Here we are these few years later and, while I still believe that not telling them about his infidelity/SA was what was right for them (given our particular circumstances) I now see some unintended consequences of that decision. Namely, all of Handsome’s prior bad behavior witnessed by the kids has a reason attached to it in their minds. Dad drank too much so of course he was miserable. Dad yelled a lot because he couldn’t regulate his emotions. Dad didn’t have the meds or the skills he needed to control his moods.

Those reasons are true. But…

The cherry-picking of what my kids know vs what they don’t know means that they have some context for his behavior whereas I now see that they have zero context for mine. During an argument, my now 15 year old daughter said “It’s like you woke up one day a few years ago and just decided to be mean.” 💔 I just wanted to hold her close and say “no, darling… one day your father tore my heart apart and irreparably changed me. He took my peace, my patience, my sense of humor, and my sense of self-worth. I’m still working on getting those things back and it’s hard and sometimes I still struggle. Sometimes I fail.”

That lack of context occasionally means that I get blamed for the consequences of my husband’s actions. One child expressed frustration recently that we don’t stay home for Thanksgiving (which would be a trigger for me). I was seen as the one making that decision and thus got the blame. Handsome had to step into that discussion to say “I ruined Thanksgiving at home for mom, so blame me and not her.” They assumed he meant that he ruined it with his drinking, so the explanation was accepted. That doesn’t work so well though for things like “why is mom so quick to anger” or “why does mom startle so easily?” How do we explain my CPTSD when they only know half the story?

Telling them now is unacceptable for the same reasons that were valid 4 years ago. I’m not going that route. They just don’t need to know. It is frustrating though that in my efforts to preserve their relationship with Handsome I seem to have unintentionally harmed my relationship with them in the process. Could we just blame everything on his drinking and call it a day? Sure. It just doesn’t explain everything.

Perhaps the problem is that I’m not the right person to address the issue. Maybe Handsome needs to step up more, like he did when the matter of Thanksgiving came up. That was incredibly helpful. I don’t mind being the “heavy” with my kids when it’s needed and appropriate, but I didn’t anticipate catching flak for things I can’t really control.

On being small

I recently had an experience with my 89 year old mother that opened my eyes to a lingering side effect of my husband’s infidelity and related nonsense. Namely, I am accustomed to making myself small.

I am not small in stature or in voice. Despite that, I realized that my goal since DDay, has been to blend in with the wallpaper. The seeds were certainly sowed before then, during the period of my marriage where I was slowly manipulated into making my needs nonexistent. I was astonished though to see how it still impacts me, even when I least expect it.

Picture a stereotypical New England clam shack at a beach. Great lobster rolls and seating at picnic tables with paper towels for napkins. It’s me, Handsome, and my mom. We have a terrific meal. As we go to leave, my mom gets her legs kind of caught up on the picnic table bench. At her age, her skin is incredibly thin. She immediately has blood pouring from both shins.

To be clear, I’m not talking about a normal person slow trickle from a scrape. By your standards or mine, these were small contusions. Nonetheless, I’m talking about a blood thinner- induced river of red that was running down her shins, pooling in her shoes, and soaking the ground around her feet. We were totally silent, but yet the mere fact of the situation made every movement seem loud.

I’m somewhat accustomed to this. It happens any time my mom gets cut and the slightest bruise makes her look like she has been battered. But there we sit, in the midst of this outdoor dining area, and I found myself resenting my mom for drawing attention to us. For inconveniencing the other diners. For ensuring we were sticking out like sore thumbs. For taking up too much “space” in that moment. WTF??

Of course, like a diligent and loving daughter I was on my hands and knees in the sand trying to stop the bleeding, fielding offers of assistance, and trying to get my mom situated to get her to our car. And I was so incredibly, terribly uncomfortable. Just to pile on, I recognized the absurdity of the discomfort in the moment and it made me angry at myself. Have I really allowed myself to be shoved into such a tiny box that a minor accident makes me feel bad for inconveniencing (at worst) a bunch of strangers??

Having had some time to sit with this I can look back and note times where, during Handsome’s acting out, my whole being revolved exclusively around him and our kids. Therereally was no me. Yes, I worked, but I never really got to enjoy the fruits of that labor other than on a vacation or two. Forget self-care. I recall enduring incredible inconvenience and sacrifice to accommodate him and his needs. I recall not asking for anything, ever, because I knew my request would be discounted or ignored. I’ve written elsewhere here about the one Christmas where I got absolutely nothing from him, and the birthdays and Mother’s Days where I bought gifts for our kids to give me because he couldn’t be bothered and had probably spent all his money on skanks and sex.

When you grow accustomed to that smallness, of course you start to believe that your very existence is likely a nuisance to those who don’t even know you. Fast forward to a sunny day at a clam shack and I was turned right back into that gaslit, manipulated woman, undeserving of space to exist. And I deflected that right onto my mom. How dare she have needs, in public.

I swear, trauma is a bugger. Every time I start to feel like I’m making some progress, something like this kicks me in the butt.

I often de-escalate myself in these situations by telling myself “that was then, this is now.” I need to deliberately remind myself “this is reasonable” to counter all the residual effects of the gaslighting telling me that my needs or wants are unreasonable.

In this instance, Handsome was there, working with me to help my mom and offering reassurances to us both that it would be fine. He wasn’t focused on himself. He was present, both literally and mentally. He was trying to be helpful.

He knew I was suffering, but not why. I wouldn’t know how to explain it. I’m not sure I could make it sound logical. And yet clearly this compulsion to not take up space, not make waves or rock the boat, is still deep inside me. I want it to be gone.

The Elephant in the Room

My husband has had a lot of therapy the last three years. We occasionally joke that he has ALL the therapists. He did an intensive with Dr. Minwalla. He did OnSite’s Living Centered Program. He did a 6+ week inpatient stint at Sierra Tucson. Since 2018 he has often had two or three therapy sessions a week of some mix between his Psychiatrist, a Somatic Experiencing therapist, and/or our CSAT.

I could never put a finger on it but I always felt as though all the professionals were missing something. He had received multiple diagnoses from different professionals – no doubt some of them were right – but I felt like we were playing wack-a-mole with pharmaceuticals (“He’s depressed? Here’s a pill. He’s got ADHD? Here’s a pill. Anxiety? Take 3 of these, etc. etc.”) Yes, between the drugs and all the therapy, he improved. Nonetheless, something was still… off. He was either happy or miserable with no in-between. His responses to daily events often seemed grossly out of proportion to whatever had occurred. He was better, but he still wasn’t “well.”

Apparently I wasn’t the only one seeing this. His psychiatrist ran him through a variety of structured and semi structured interviews, the Mood Disorder Questionnaire, and other assessment tools. His conclusion: Borderline Personality Disorder.

Cue the violins and rending of garments here. I knew that “BPD” is a highly stigmatized diagnosis. I knew that it was deemed untreatable till a few decades ago. I knew it was a serious enough diagnosis that it can trigger eligibility for SSDI benefits. I knew it presents in a very, very small proportion of the general population (<1%). In short, I knew enough to be scared. I really didn’t know much else. At the time, I didn’t realize how the diagnosis was truly the missing piece of the puzzle.

So what is BPD? Per the DSM-IV, BPD is a pervasive pattern of instability in interpersonal relationships, self-image, and affects [emotion], marked impulsivity beginning by early adulthood and present in a variety of contexts, as indicated by five (or more) of the following:

Chronic feelings of emptiness
Emotional instability in reaction to day-to-day events (e.g., intense episodic sadness, irritability, or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days)
Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment
Identity disturbance with markedly or persistently unstable self-image or sense of self
Impulsive behavior in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (e.g., spending, sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating)
Inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger (e.g., frequent displays of temper, constant anger, recurrent physical fights)
Pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by extremes between idealization and devaluation (also known as “splitting”)
Recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, or threats, or self- harming behavior
Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms.

Of those 9 criteria, Handsome ticks 7 of the 9 boxes. He is not and has never been suicidal, nor has he had paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms. Everything else is squarely him. It’s so on point that I can’t believe no one saw it earlier.

What, if anything, does this change? For me the diagnosis legitimizes my experience. It gives me an explanation for some of what I’ve been dealing with. I’m not crazy or overly sensitive or any other negative description of a partner. For Handsome, once you are armed with a diagnosis you can pursue treatment. If we thought options for sex addiction treatment in our area were bad, the options might actually be worse here for BPD. (And we live in a city with multiple highly regarded teaching hospitals, including a psychiatric hospital. It’s sad.) Yes, his psychiatrist can help but dialectical behavioral therapy (DBT) seems to be the preferred method of treatment. While many therapists claim that expertise, few do it in the type of intensive outpatient program thought to be most impactful on BPD patients. The one lone program that seemed to operate locally had been shuttered due to COVID. Handsome was game to try though, even if the therapy had to look different than usual.

Slowly the various professionals started working elements of DBT into their sessions with him. Equally slowly – very slowly – it has started to help. It is an ongoing and likely long term effort. He still misreads the temperature of my emotions and those of our kids and occasionally responds … unhelpfully. At least I know where it’s coming from.

“Stop Walking on Eggshells” is a well known book for people who have someone with BPD in their life. The title is really on the nose. Living with someone with untreated BPD is like walking on eggshells or making your way through an unmarked minefield. Every day. It’s exhausting. (Probably true for the BPD sufferer as well.) I am glad to be getting off the eggshells. Glad that my footing is more secure and that my days are uneventful. I do not miss the drama and I’ll be delighted if it never returns. I realized today that it has been months (maybe 4??) since I heard my husband yell. If your spouse isn’t a screamer that might sound like no big deal, but in our house Handsome’s angry outbursts were a daily thing during his acting out. Sometimes more than once a day. I certainly don’t miss them. If naming the elephant in the room has enabled Handsome to laser focus on important issues and get some really targeted help, I’m all for it.

It hasn’t been a smooth path to this point (more to follow on that), but we are at a great place now. I love a day that is simply uneventful. Nothing remarkable happens. There is no drama. No eggshells were crushed resulting in a tirade or tears. Again, it sounds small or like it should be a given, but for a period of years that wasn’t the case in our house. I’m delighted that this is our new normal.

Part 2: They tried to make me go to rehab, but I said, “No, no, no”

(Missed Part 1 of this series? You can find it here.) I was told Handsome would be able to call to say he arrived safely at Sierra Tucson, but that was not the case. His phone, along with all of his luggage, was taken immediately upon meeting the ST representative at the airport. He wouldn’t see any of his belongings again till very late the following day, and he wouldn’t see his cell phone again for over a week.

Handsome was in lock-down for the better part of two days after his arrival. It’s mandatory and involved blood testing and urine samples and the like, as well as getting a grip on the medications he came in with and making an initial determination about what might be working and what might need adjustment. For those with substance addictions I’m sure this serves as a detox period, but for Handsome it was fairly torturous. No tv, no internet, no games, no books, and yet exposure to people coming off their drug of choice and being extremely dis-regulated emotionally. I think he looked at it as something to be endured, and so he did.

This was where Handsome was first exposed to some of the… quirky… rules at ST. For example, Handsome took bandanas to wear on his head during yoga and hikes. They took those from him (presumably to prevent self- harm) yet he was allowed to keep his shoelaces and he actually had extra bed sheets in his room. Another example… if you brought your own dental floss from home a nurse kept it and would dole it out back to you in roughly 2 foot increments, but they sold dental floss in regular packs in the on-site store at ST. Go figure.

After the lock down, Handsome was moved to his lodge. He describes it as a timbered Motel 6. (His accommodations and food service at OnSite in Tennessee last year were considerably more upscale by comparison.) ST had three lodges: all women, all men, and co-ed. As I wrote in a previous post, however, they moved the women who caused too much trouble in the women’s or co-ed lodges into the men’s lodge. Weeks later, I still find that disturbing and baffling. As you might expect, my sex addict spouse had some issues with that.

Once settled in his lodge, Handsome seemed to fall pretty easily into the routine of the facility. The days were incredibly long (6:30 AM to roughly 9 PM with minimal down-time), but Handsome dove in without much complaint. To the extent he complained at all it was mostly about the lack of Coke or Pepsi when coffee and tea was permitted and abundant.

When I say that the days had little down time I want to be clear that Handsome’s day was scheduled thoroughly through that time. He was expected to attend everything he was scheduled for. Failure to appear for a session meant that a team of security folks went looking for you (tracking patients by Fit-Bit-like devices). That said, the common work-around at ST was for folks to go to a session, stay 5-10 minutes, long enough to ensure that they were logged in, and then leave and blow off the remainder of the session. Handsome reports that was pretty typical for about a quarter of the patients there. Usually, but not always, the younger patients who were there on mom and dad’s dime.

From a partner’s point of view, my perception is that the treatment at ST was incredibly holistic. In addition to what you might expect at a rehab, they arranged physical rehab sessions for both an injury he had operated on a few months ago and to address the more recent injury he suffered just after Christmas. They paid close attention to a heart issue he has and would have taken him to be treated by a nearby cardiologist if he hadn’t already been under the care of a cardiologist at home. When he developed a sudden and severe tooth ache, they got him to a local dentist.

Moreover, while the offering of a veterans and first responder’s program was of little consequence to me (Handsome’s trauma is rooted in his family of origin, not his job, although that certainly added to the complex nature of his PTSD), being a participant in the program meant that Handsome could avail himself of treatments that were add-ons or “extras” for everyone else. He could do acupuncture, EMDR, somatic experiencing, equine therapy, and quite a few other things at no additional cost. While he did not find benefit in all of those things, he was at least encouraged to try them to see what might click for him. Some really clicked, and others had no impact at all.

Initially, Handsome was calling home every day, but that was just mentally exhausting for me. I wrote a bit about that here. He frequently wrote to our kids, but not to me. I got one letter the first week and after that, nothing. When we did speak by phone, it was often a disaster. The first two and a half weeks, he sounded like a zombie. I still don’t know if his meds were altered or what the issue was, but he sounded very flat and, frankly, un-empathetic and distant. I cut the calls down to once a week. In week 3, things shifted and he just started sounding like an arrogant douche.

During the calls he never asked me questions about my health or well-being or what was going on at home. He talked a lot about himself and about the “amazing” and “tremendous” people in his group. That was when I learned that his process group was Handsome and one other guy and 6 women. I started to pick up on comments about how I “just wouldn’t understand” something or how his trauma and mine are “a lot alike.” During a session with our CSAT that week, I asked her to call Handsome’s therapist at ST and find out what the heck was going on. I had previously spoken to Handsome’s assigned therapist at ST. I liked her. I thought she was quite insightful about Handsome’s issues, so when it was relayed back to me that she hadn’t considered the possible correlation between the validation Handsome was getting out of his mostly female therapy group and his sex addiction, I was floored. The more he got comfortable and buddy-buddy with his group, the worse our calls went.

This phenomenon wasn’t unique to me. I don’t complain to our kids about Handsome and I try my hardest for them to see us as a united front. To the extent they have opinions about their dad, those opinions are based on their own experiences with him. Starting in week 2, my 13 year old, who I would generally describe as daddy’s girl, respectfully declined to get on the phone with her dad. She asked me if she had to talk to him. I asked her to please try to talk to him 2x a week and she was reluctant to do even that. She said he was completely uninterested in her, didn’t ask her anything about her, and that the sound of his voice made her sad. I didn’t tell her, but that was my experience on the calls too. Most of them ended with me in tears. It was brutal.

I had an incredible bond with my dad. I think Handsome believes he has a similar relationship with our daughter, but he overestimated it. He glosses over the yelling and the tension in the house while he was fully engaged in his addiction. Both kids noticed how peaceful and calm it was when he was gone. When our daughter basically cut off her calls with Handsome it was a bit of a wake-up he needed. My guess is that somewhere in his mind he believed that even if our marriage ended his kids would never find fault with him. He saw how untrue that assumption was. Our daughter was holding him accountable in her own way and while he was hurt by it, on some level he recognized that he caused it. At the tail end of week 3, there was a huge and noticeable shift.

Handsome started to sound more positive and upbeat. He started making plans for home. He started making a transition plan that would hopefully help him integrate some of his practices from ST into life at home. I heard reports back that he was making significant therapeutic progress and that he was exercising good boundaries. He won an award for his participation in sessions and overall dedication to his recovery at the end of the 4th week.

In spite of the sudden burst of progress, it wasn’t lost on anyone that the three weeks prior were rough. He had to work through a lot of anger and resentment to start actually internalizing the messaging he was receiving. For that reason, and because he had the time off from work and insurance to cover the costs, ST had him stay for an additional week. From a partner perspective, that’s when things started to get a bit dodgy again. …

On being betrayed

I was poking around the depths of the internet recently and I found an old, but still relevant, article on betrayal in the NY Times: https://nyti.ms/2k8oupp . As much as I dislike the level of discourse in most comment sections, the NY Times moderates and curates theirs pretty carefully. Two comments to the article hit really close to home:

From stuenan in Kansas:

Liars are also thieves. They steal time and possibilities. What life might you have led if you hadn’t believed all their lies? What opportunities did you miss out on because you made choices based on the lies you were told? What did you give up and sacrifice for someone you loved, believed in and trusted?

It’s hard not to feel that you have been preyed on in the worst way and that your life has been wasted.

and

From Amy in Chicago:

Discovering betrayal is like taking a hit from a baseball bat to the knees. It takes a lifetime to learn to walk upright again and look the world in the eye.

To me, both comments ring true in a very personal way. Yes, Handsome is a sex addict, but his addiction involved multiple forms of cheating and betrayal. I’m no different from any other betrayed spouse except my cheater now goes to 12-step meetings. Any infidelity is sufficient to cause these feelings, whether the betrayal is emotional, physical, or otherwise. Perhaps I’m wrong, but I don’t even think it matters much if your spouse cheated five times or five hundred, or over the course of one week or one decade. While some may find consolation that what their spouse did wasn’t “as bad” as what another spouse did (or, conversely, believe that their misery is greater because of a longer duration or greater number of misdeeds) it’s a distinction without a difference.

If you are betrayed, you suffer. You hurt. You cry, rage, scream, and lash out. You question. You doubt. And then you suffer some more, usually for a very long time.

What life might I have led if I hadn’t believed all of Handsome’s lies? On my good days I think that if I had pressed harder in 2012 (after the Flame reared her ugly head the first time) maybe we wouldn’t be where we are today. Perhaps I should have believed less or doubted more. On my not so charitable days, I feel as though I was sold a bill of goods about Handsome from the very beginning and that had I been shown a truthful picture of him from the start, I’d be blissfully living a trigger-free life with someone else. I can’t imagine being with anyone else and the very thought of it makes me sad, but still…

What opportunities did I miss out on because I made choices based on the lies I was told? What did I give up and sacrifice for Handsome? I left an amazing job with fantastic benefits, dear friends, and a full, independent life in a big city to move back to where he and I met, because he said he’d love and honor me forever. And here we are, facing the fallout of that unfulfilled promise. I seem to have also sacrificed healthy portions of my self-esteem, dignity, and confidence to his lies as well.

Most days, I get by okay. Some days now, I actually do well. My mind only reels for portions of the day, not all of it. Nonetheless, Handsome’s betrayal has maimed me and inflicted a trauma of the type I’ve never had to deal with before: a Tonya Harding-esque bat to the knees for sure. So, when Handsome exited his therapy session with the Doc yesterday and started talking about forgiving himself? Well, forgive me, but my initial reaction was along the lines of “Now? So soon? That’s it? You’re told to magically let this years-long shit storm you created go after 6 months, but I get the joy of dealing with it, and you, forever?” Uh, no.

I should have seen this coming though. As the article says: “…it is often the person who lied or cheated who has the easier time. People who transgressed might feel self-loathing, regret or shame. But they have the possibility of change going forward, and their sense of their own narrative, problematic though it may be, is intact.” Yes, Handsome certainly knows his own story, while I grasp at straws to figure it out. He knew the life he was living, even if it was compartmentalized. My narrative, on the other hand? My life hasn’t been what I thought it was for a very long time.

I’m all in favor of Handsome not carrying shame with him every day for the rest of his life. Shame was a driver for his acting out. And yes, at an appropriate point he should forgive himself. To me, however, that point comes after he has (i) made a full accounting of his behavior and the harm he has caused, (ii) endeavored to make amends for that harm, and (iii) evidenced the commitment to never betray his family again by living a life of integrity day in and day out for longer than a red-hot minute. Once he does these things I will be prepared to forgive him as well. But he’s nowhere near that point, and neither am I. I’m still struggling to walk upright again and look the world in the eye.

Reclaiming Mother’s Day (Part 2)

Just a quick update. In short, Handsome did go away to visit his dad and I had a pretty terrific weekend with the kids. The flowers? My 8-year-old son came shopping and helped me pick them out and we made arrangements for me and for my mom.

On Sunday I had a hearty breakfast of berries and cookies in bed (better than it sounds because there was no syrup to clean off the cat… or the steps… or the carpet…). In the evening we went to a great new steakhouse downtown for dinner. I love seeing my kids dressed up. I love seeing them in anything really, but when they’re all shiny and clean it just rocks.

Handsome wasn’t great about observing the boundaries of the day, but I had my phone off so it didn’t matter. He called twice and texted me once and then tried to text the kids (“Tell Mom I said… .”). Whatever. I had the wonderful day I wanted and he was utterly uninvolved.

Back to reality today as Handsome returns home and there are a few things we need to deal with from last week. I’ll write about those later. But for now I’m still basking in the glow of a terrific weekend. Thanks to everyone for the kind words of encouragement. I needed that support and I needed this weekend to myself.

Reclaiming Mother’s Day

I’ve sent Handsome away. Not permanently, mind you, but for a long weekend this weekend. “But it’s Mother’s Day,” you say? Yep. Exactly.

Last year over this weekend, Handsome was at our summer home, ostensibly for the purpose of getting it ready for the season for our family, but rampantly texting three other women the entire time. He was sexting one of those women – the Whore – as well, taking dick pics throughout the house and exchanging them with her for pictures of her dirty vajeen. There were videos too, if I recall correctly. (sigh…)

In the text messages on Mother’s Day specifically, he flattered each of the women, praising them as exemplary parents and shining examples of motherhood. That includes the Whore who, you may recall, was arrested and jailed for punching her young son in the face with a closed fist. Handsome knew that, but he fawned over her the same as the others. Angel Baby doesn’t have custody of her first illegitimate child, but she was praised as well.

What did I get last Mother’s Day? A five-minute phone call from him completely devoid of any praise or affection. And the gifts and cards from my awesome kiddos… that I had bought and paid for myself.

“But he’s so busy getting the house ready! You can’t expect him to chat forever.”

“He’s a little strapped for cash, but if you buy your own gifts at least you’ll get what you want.”

“You’re not his mom.”

Those were the things I told myself. And then I sucked up the hurt and enjoyed myself with my kids.

I have the specifics about last year because I was able to see the text messages. I have to assume that the prior two Mother’s Days during his acting out were more of the same. I have no reason to believe otherwise.

So, even though Handsome took this weekend off, I’m not inclined to celebrate with him. I don’t even want to see him, frankly. I’ll buy my own flowers, enjoy a great meal somewhere with my mom and kids, and try to demonstrate to myself that he is utterly unnecessary in order for me to enjoy this holiday. The whores will not ruin it for me and neither will he.

He is traveling to visit his father who lives several hundred miles away. (I didn’t want him here, but I did want someone keeping an eye on him.) I’m sure that on Sunday he will miss his own mother who passed away in 2012. Hopefully, when Handsome and his dad go out to eat on Sunday and he sees all the families celebrating together he’ll take a moment to process why he is excluded this year and why his wife can’t bear to look at him on that day. I’m sure it would be a comfort to him to be with me and the kids instead, but this weekend my self-care means having him be far, far away.

She’s like gum on my shoe

The Flame. Recently my world seems to revolve around the Flame. (read about her here: https://betrayedwife.net/2018/02/05/dday-deceit-as-a-lifestyle-choice/ ) I thought that I was done with her in 2012, only to find out that after Handsome bought his burner phone – allegedly in the Spring of 2015 – he immediately looked her up and reconnected with her. Again. They talked “often,” texted, met in person for lunch and, based on 2012, likely commiserated with one another about their spouses. Handsome admitted this during DDay #2. Like gum on my shoe, she just keeps sticking around. A problematic annoyance and disrupter in our marriage.

Handsome acted out with (at least) three other women since 2015, but each of those individuals was/ is deeply broken and unsavory. They are the dregs of society. They are not women he normally would give the time of day to, and he cast them off without a second thought once his actions and deceit were brought to light.

The Flame, however, is a different story. Knowing what I know now, I believe that Handsome was about a decade into his addiction at the time he met her in roughly 1988. He was a 27 year old divorcee, she was a 17 year old high school student. Evidently neither of them had any guidance from a responsible adult, and there was no one to put a foot down and say “no” to such an inappropriate relationship. I am sure that she was the very embodiment of an addictive hit for him. Young, tall, not entirely unattractive, and – most importantly – willing and available. He loved her. She may have loved him as well, but ultimately she dumped him.

Fast forward to 2012. Handsome reaches out to her and rekindles their contact. It starts platonically enough, until it turned flirty and I called them out on it. Contact ceases, but not before Handsome calls her to apologize for my behavior (for “over-reacting” to the emotional affair); a fact that eats at me for years.

When he disclosed that she was back, yet again and this time in touch with him for years in total secrecy, the pain was searing. Unlike the other three acting out partners, this one is different. She matters to him. I’m well aware that affair recovery cannot occur if the affair continues (even if it is just emotional). I cannot move on with the marriage, and Handsome cannot address his addiction, if this woman is waiting in the wings to reappear in a later act. No way. I told him very plainly that one of the things I need him to do to advance our recovery is to decisively and unequivocally end things with the Flame. Seeing her in person or speaking to her by phone are not viable options. I asked that he write her a letter, which I will mail, ending it once and for all. He agreed.

Today is his regular therapy day which is always fraught with anxiety for me. Having lied to his therapist for months, and disclosing things to the therapist long before he told me, I’m gun shy. I want therapy to work, but I’m not convinced that Handsome isn’t aping what an obedient addict would tell his doctor. He occasionally asks me what I think they should talk about in the session. Today I asked him how the letter was coming and suggested that perhaps the therapist could offer some guidance with that. Handsome proceeded to tell me that he hadn’t worked through the “amends” portion of the letter yet. Wait, what???? My reaction -after an initial in-person blow up – was captured in a text message later in the morning:

The lame apology to me, and my angry but honest response.

Let me add, if the intent of the apology was to say something like “I am sorry that I misused my authority as an adult all those years ago to take advantage of you when you were just 17,” or some such thing, that would be understandable. But no, that wasn’t it. He was going to apologize to her for their mutual, multiple year affair. What is it about this woman? He didn’t say anything about apologizing to her husband or to her kids, the innocent bystanders and collateral damage to the affairs. Why is she somehow blameless and deserving of an apology for carrying on a lengthy emotional affair with him?

Perhaps I am wrong to think this way, but I do believe that she is different than the other three women. The others were sold a story of an unhappy marriage and an unloving wife and, as wrong as they were to do so, I’m sure they justified their actions on the basis of the lies they were told. This woman, however, knew differently. She knew he had a loving wife and a great family and a full and rich life, and she knew – because I told her so myself – that she jeopardized all of that for him before. She didn’t care. What about that is worthy of an apology?

And how did the task – to write her a letter breaking it off and ending all contact – shift to an apology in the first place? How are the two remotely related? He just started SA two weeks ago. He isn’t on Step 9… he hasn’t even found a sponsor yet. He’s barely on Step 1!

Trying to explain my anger and frustration to Handsome was akin to explaining it to a toddler. He wasn’t getting it. I drew upon an imperfect analogy: I asked him if she shot me with a gun to get me out of the picture, would he still apologize to her for the affair? His response was an immediate and adamant “No, of course not.” But, I explained, she knowingly and actively participated in the reduction of my marriage to ruins and emotionally destroyed me. She harmed me knowing full well what she was doing and what the result would be. A small, night-light-sized light bulb went off in Handsome’s selfish head. “Oh. I didn’t think of it that way. I didn’t think of your side of it.”

Therein lies the problem. All too often he still doesn’t think of me at all.