betrayed spouse – 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.

Memories (or lack thereof)

I’ve been pretty silent here as of late. It’s been a bit of mayhem but not, thankfully, anything having to do with Handsome’s SA. Nope. Just regular life nuttiness.

Our daughter fractured her spine at a school event in May. It was a terrible injury, but she is wrapping up PT next month and is healed enough to go back to sports. We are very, very lucky.

Despite being fully vaxxed, my mom and I both had bouts of Covid. Mine was quite bad. Paxlovid helped, but I was utterly exhausted for close to half of the summer. (Brother-in-law’s new GF did not appear on my vacation, so that was good.)

Then we had bats in our house. INSIDE the house in the living space. My son and I ended up going through the full protocol of rabies shots. He needed them because a bat was in his room while he was asleep. I got them because I didn’t want him to go through it alone. (I admit that I’m feeling like a shoe-in for mom of the year for that one.)

And here we are with the holidays. Time flies. I turned 53 a few weeks ago. I have a very good memory. Handsome used to as well, but not any longer. He turns 60 in a few weeks and is vibrant and healthy.

The kids and I have noticed though that his memory seems to be failing. I’m not talking about misplacing keys or a wallet. Yesterday, he couldn’t remember that I had Covid. Or that we traveled to Washington DC once I was out of quarantine. Readers, those things happened in June.

He has had disassociative periods in the past and I wondered if that was going on, but I don’t think so. This seems… more alarming (scary? serious? real?). It’s so strange. He functions just fine 98% of the time, but then something comes up and he absolutely cannot remember it. Even when prompted he only occasionally manages any recall. More often he tries to laugh off the fact that he can’t remember. I’m not laughing. I’m terrified.

He has an appointment with a cognitive neurologist in early January. Getting that appointment was quite difficult and he made the appointment himself. He doesn’t remember that.

Could this be caused by any one or more of the numerous meds that he takes every day? Yes. Could it be related to his shift work and the related sleep disruptions? Absolutely. Those two things are both fixable, but I am gravely concerned that these are early warning signs for some form of dementia.

I know it’s “fortune telling” -and uncharitable- but I’m also angry. Fear may be the underlying emotion, but I am angry too. Why? I’m angry that so many of what should have been great years were affected by Handsome’s SA and other issues. And we may now lose out on the retirement I had held out in front of me like a carrot for the last few years. I’ve watched loved ones suffer from dementia. Life becomes very small, not to mention exhausting.

We’ve had such a good year together. This just feels unfair. 💔

Safe Places

While I cannot believe that it’s July already, I am excited that means that my family’s annual summer sojourn to New England is just around the corner.

Handsome has a younger brother who, throughout the entire 20+ years I’ve known him, was in a long term relationship with a lovely woman my kids have known as “Aunt _____.” They never married but they were together as a couple during that entire time. In January, Aunt ____ was summarily replaced with a 23 year-old new girlfriend. (Handsome’s brother is 57.) It is reasonably clear that this relationship started as an affair. They were living together within days of the breakup with Aunt _____.

I’ve met the new GF. She’s what you’d expect from a young woman willing to date a recovering alcoholic who is older than her parents and whose last long term partner still had clothes in the closet when she moved in.

Handsome asked if I “minded” if his brother and the GF would stay with us on vacation. 🤔

Yes. Yes, I do mind. Very much so.

I worked incredibly hard to reclaim my happy place there from any acting out Handsome engaged in while in that house. While she isn’t an OW of mine, the GF is an OW of someone I still think of as family. I don’t need that gigantic trigger around me on my vacation. I also don’t want to normalize any of that for my kids.

I note that Handsome did not ask whether they could vacation in the same place at the same time. Evidently, they are planning to be there. (To be fair, I’m confident Handsome didn’t invite them or suggest that. I believe they planned their own trip.) The only question is whether they stay at our house so I’m compelled to see them 24/7. I think not.

Thoughts? Am I being unreasonable? Should I just suck it up and not make waves? Old me would have done that, to be honest. I’d have chewed on that poop sandwich throughout the main vacation I look forward to all year just to avoid rocking the boat. New me would prefer to burn it all down and have a bourbon while watching the flames.

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.

Amends: Better Late than Never

If you’re keeping track, my DDay #1 was in December of 2017. After multiple fits and starts Handsome did a full, therapeutic disclosure this past January, a hair over 3 years later. My presentation of my impact statement took place just a few weeks afterwards. (I had written it ages ago but it just sat in a file on my computer till he finally reached the point where he could hear, absorb, and appropriately respond to it.) The next, and last, “step” on the path towards healing that our CSAT uses calls for an emotional restitution letter to be prepared by the betraying partner in response to the impact statement. It’s an attempt at an emotional, empathetic amends.

I have a feeling that for many SAs, the exercise is painful but doable. It probably flows fairly naturally as a response to the impact statement. “I heard clearly how I hurt you and I take full responsibility and I’ll do whatever it takes to help you -and us/ heal.” Handsome isn’t typical though. I knew this would be a challenge for him.

First, my impact statement was long (16 single-spaced pages… I had a lot to say) and doing a deep dive would have him sitting in discomfort for quite a while. Handsome is better with discomfort now than he used to be, by far, but it’s still challenging for him.

Second, it would require him to take responsibility in a way he has struggled with in the past. Yes, ever since he did his intensive with Dr. Minwalla he has been clear that everything he did was about him and not me and he has been out of his addict-y deflection mode for a long time. There is, however, a difference between the type of responsibility one takes in doing a disclosure (“I brought Angel Baby to our house for two nights when you and the kids were out of town.”) and the way that gets addressed in the emotional restitution phase. In the latter, it’s more like: “I know that by having AB in our home I destroyed your sense of safety there and that no amount of paint or redecorating will undo that damage. I see how physically uncomfortable and triggering it is for you to be in our basement and I’m so sorry that I caused that…” etc. It’s the same deed addressed two very different ways.

If I’m really honest, I thought the concept of the letter would die on the vine. I didn’t expect Handsome to go through with it. Months passed. Our CSAT would occasionally bring it up, but I didn’t say peep about it. A few weeks ago I was told it was done and ready to be presented to me. We’ve been doing tele-health sessions since the pandemic started, but we did this one in person. I won’t tell you that it was brilliant, but he put more effort in than I thought he would. More importantly, it was very heartfelt and sincere. I have no doubt that he meant every word. I could not only feel that, but I could see it on his face and hear it in his voice. I haven’t felt that way about anything coming out of his mouth for a long, long time.

So, are we all good? We are still a work in progress, but actual progress has been made. Handsome still has a lot of work to do. I have more healing to do as well. I had an EMDR session last week to help me address a particular memory. I know it doesn’t work for everyone but I’ve found it works well to diminish my trauma response to certain things. (And I have some absolutely wild dreams for about a week afterwards.) As we move into this season which is generally fraught with triggers for me, I’m feeling good. While that feeling has been a long time coming, like the amends, it’s better late than never.

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.

My Person

I married a man who had become my one of my best friends over the course of our four year courtship. I have two “ride or die” friends from childhood, but Handsome was a different kind of friend. He was my partner in life. By the time we walked down the aisle I felt that he was as much a part of me as anyone could be. To pull out an old-timey Grey’s Anatomy reference, he was my person.

I was all-in with Handsome. I told him everything. Always. I was an open book. As we now know, he was not the same with me. He kept a lot of very damaging secrets. The way that betrayal trauma screws with your attachment to your betrayer is nothing short of a mind f**k. When your person rips apart your soul, it changes things.

Our CSAT is looking at utilizing a new assessment tool in her practice. Having worked with us for a pretty long time, she asked us if we would take the assessments so she could get a feel for its validity and usefulness. We agreed. On my assessment, for the betrayed spouse, one component was the “Multidimensional Scale of Perceived Social Support.” That’s a high falutin’ name for 12 questions that triggered the heck out of me.

The Multidimensional Scale of Perceived Social Support (Zimet et al., 1988) is a 12-item measure of perceived adequacy of social support from three sources: family, friends, & significant other; using a 5- or 7-point Likert scale (0 = strongly disagree, 5/7= strongly agree). Here is what it often looks like:

Answering this threw me off my game for hours. In particular, these statements geared towards your relationship with a “significant other”:

– There is a special person who is around when I am in need.

– There is a special person with whom I can share my joys and sorrows.

– I have a special person who is a real source of comfort to me.

and the kicker…. – There is a special person in my life who cares about my feelings.

Ugh. Pre- DDay every single one of these would be “Very Strongly Agree.” Today though, I struggle with reconciling that my person very nearly destroyed me. Literally. Today, on a good day, I would probably check “neutral” or “mildly agree” with each statement… at best. I don’t yet know how I can get back to “strongly agree” when my “special person” is the sole source of trauma in my life.

Handsome clearly wasn’t around when I needed him when he was checked out in his addiction, and for a long time after discovery I couldn’t open up about my pain because he couldn’t handle the shame it caused. That occasionally still happens. He’s fabulous if a crisis has nothing to do with him, but if my pain is at all related to his acting out he sometimes still fails to show up for me.

As far as being a source of comfort…? Again, if my pain is unrelated to him he does fine. I’d actually say he’s awesome in those instances. More often than not though I need to be comforted as a result of something he did, and seeking comfort from him then is often futile. He still struggles with how to show up for me. So, does he care about my feelings? Yes, but…

He would say that of course he cares deeply about my feelings. I would say he occasionally cares only to the extent that my feelings don’t interfere with the prioritization of his feelings. If he can console me without feeling bad about himself, fine. If he can meet an emotional need of mine without cost to himself, fine. Anything else is something of a crapshoot. I have seen where I stand. I know from experience that if he perceives something as a choice between my interests or his, he will almost always pick his. There is not a self-sacrificing bone in his body.

Just to be clear, I’m not talking about practical things. He’ll take his day off and get up early to run errands or shuttle kids or handle any of the home drudgery at any time. But I could hire someone to do those things. It’s when I’m sad or lonely or hurt or whatever and I need my life partner’s support that I want him to be there for me. That’s when -even if it’s hard or uncomfortable for him- I need my person.

Maybe I’m the weird one for being willing to give anything or do anything for my partner. Maybe I give more than is normal. I don’t know. Even if I do though, it’s not a crime.

What I Know Now

I am 3 years and almost 5 months to the day after my DDay. In the scheme of life, that’s really nothing. A blip. In my heart and soul, however, it feels like decades. I feel as though I have endured a lifetime of pain. In many respects I can’t believe that it has been “only” that amount of time. I have certainly aged more in 3 years than I did the previous 10.

A newer member of this very unfortunate club emailed and asked me what the present me would say to the version of myself that existed on 12/9/17. I’d say a few things, as it turns out. Here are my top 10 in no particular order. Feel free to add any of your own advice to your DDay self in the comments.

1. I know it hurts. It’s like being fully cognizant of your own murder. Days will come when you no longer feel that way. It will take time and hard work but you’ll get there.

2. As hard as it is, don’t waste a minute on the other women. It’s easy to focus on them, but they really aren’t the issue.

3. Each bad day will pass. Relish a good day when you have one. (Good days can be fleeting too, but notice and make the most of them when they appear.)

4. Progress is NOT linear. Whether you stay or leave there will be steps forward and back.

5. The best people to have around you are those who listen well and simply offer nonjudgmental support. It’s okay for someone to say “This happened to me and here is how I handled it and how it played out.” It is less helpful to have people around you who pepper their stories with “you should” or “you must.” Be very picky about who you surround yourself with and who you trust with your story.

6. You’re going to hear a lot about self-care. Just do the best you can. Don’t feel shame if you can’t make time for a walk or yoga or meditation. Some days self-care can be as simple as showering or ordering take out. Some days it can also be crying your eyes out if you’ve been holding it in. What works for someone else might not work for you.

7. Prioritize your physical and mental health needs. It’s very tempting to pour all of your attention into your spouse and focus on getting them help to “fix” them. I won’t tell you not to work to get help for your partner, but make sure that you have good therapeutic support too. And do see your doctor. The physical impacts of betrayal trauma manifest themselves in many ways, from PTSD to Kawasaki syndrome to a laundry list of auto-immune disorders.

8. Gaslighting and lies don’t suddenly end on your first DDay. Trickle truth is real. You can be as understanding and nonjudgmental as can be and your addict may still feel compelled to lie to you. Expect it, and know that your hyper-vigilance is not codependency but a common trauma symptom.

9. This experience will change you. I’m honestly not yet comfortable with the new me, but I have a feeling she’s going to change a bit more before all is said and done. I still mourn the loss of who I was, and working through that grief is both necessary and okay.

10. If you stay with your partner and they do the work you can rebuild trust and mend your relationship. I’ll never, ever forget about what my husband did, but it appears now as an occasional dull ache and not a daily stabbing, blinding pain.

You’ll notice that there is no advice here on whether to stay or leave. I could only tell my DDay self not to make a hasty decision either way. Traumatized brains don’t function really well. I needed space, time, and some therapeutic input to be able to think clearly.

In looking over the list I think I’d like to squeak in a #11: Don’t make your needs small and certainly don’t let anyone else make your needs small. Scream from the rooftops what you need. Those around you will either rise to the occasion or fall by the wayside. Either outcome is fine. Those who wither or fail to show up aren’t worth your time, and those who support you and meet you where you are at are irreplaceable.

Fear & the Future

My recent emotions about Handsome are no doubt heightened by two other issues in my life. After 4 months of mammograms, ultrasounds, ductograms (yep, it’s a thing), MRIs and the like, I was told that I have a small mass in one breast that requires some attention. I’m seeing a wonderful surgeon. We did an MRI-guided biopsy and, blessedly, it’s not cancer. Surgery may not be necessary unless my genetic testing reveals that I carry either of the BRCA genes, but she is still withholding judgment on a definitive plan of action.

My thoughts on this? A part of me is scared, for sure, but I keep telling myself that it’s no big deal until the doctor tells me otherwise. It does, however, feel like just one more sucky thing to have dumped on my plate.

I have updated my advance directive to make my 86-year old mother my representative. I know she has my back, has fine judgment, and that she would carry out what I want. Could Handsome do the same? Today, probably, but I’m not putting those eggs in the Handsome basket right now. His judgement until recently has been alarmingly off, to say the least, so I’m better off to rely on my mom. It makes me sad to say that, but it is what it is. (For the record, it’s not that I think he’d have an itchy trigger finger on pulling the proverbial plug. Quite the opposite, in fact. I fear he wouldn’t pull it if it needed to be done.)

To be fair, Handsome has stepped up in the way that I deserve and need from him. He attended all of my appointments, even taking off work to do so. He sat with me and held my hand while the IV team turned me into a human pin cushion last week. He has been gentle and thoughtful and caring.

It could be worse. We’re catching whatever this is early. I’m in a city with fabulous health care options. I do have great insurance and a supportive – if often dimwitted – husband. I don’t want to board the “Why me?” train, but c’mon… sex addict husband, HPV, and now this? My gypsy great grandmother believed that bad things happen in threes, so maybe this is the end of the bad luck? Maybe I’m due for whatever good luck is out in the ether? I hope so because if that whole “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle” thing is true then I’m afraid someone upstairs has grossly misjudged my capacity to cope.

I’m also turning 50 tomorrow. It’s fine. I’m not exactly bummed about it (cake!), but I’ve been more reflective than usual. Half my life is in the can. I think I’m a kind and decent human. I’m happy with my achievements and accomplishments. I enjoy my job and find it rewarding. I have two healthy and great kids. My mom is still here and reasonably healthy. I have everything material that I need and a whole bunch of stuff I simply wanted. Our cat doesn’t hate me. The only thing I long for is a mentally healthy and stable partner. Handsome is coming up on two years of sexual sobriety so there is a part of me that feels like a jerk for complaining, but I’ve seen firsthand that sobriety isn’t the whole enchilada. It’s the baseline essential item,but I need more from him.

Handsome knows this. He just had a surgery that will keep him home and off work for 3-4 months. He is pouring himself into his recovery work. Some things are going better than others (Anger management work = good, Step work = not so much), but he’s dedicating serious time to it each day. He’s going to try ADHD meds and see if they make any difference. He’s getting to more meetings and making calls. I am starting to see him shift back to a healthy place. He had the epiphany a few days ago that it’s not my job to ensure he doesn’t get “hangry”. Seems like a no brainer to me, but you’d have thought he invented the wheel. He realized that for all of his adult life he has abdicated responsibility for his own needs and unilaterally delegated that responsibility to others – some who were incapable of meeting those needs and others who simply aren’t responsible for them. He was really sad and frankly embarrassed as he realized he’s been acting like a demanding toddler for years. It’s hard to see him realize what a mess he’s been (and for how long) but if this leads to some lasting growth and improvement it will be the best birthday gift he could give me.

Debunking the concept that OW owe the spouse nothing

“A Harlot’s Progress” by William Holworth

At our CSAT appointment this week, in the wake of Handsome’s boundary debacle, we spent a bit of time addressing the woman’s lack of boundaries with Handsome. (I think her lack of boundaries is beside the point, but I was willing to humor the CSAT.) The CSAT commented that if Julie realized that I was Handsome’s wife she probably wouldn’t have behaved the way she did. I’m 1000% certain that is untrue. I’m sure that Julie realized that I was Handsome’s wife, if not when she wrapped her arms around him, then certainly as the conversation progressed. She just didn’t care. In fact, it probably made it all the more exciting for her.

You see, Julie is probably one of those women who firmly believes that other women/ affair partners owe the spouse nothing. To me, that theory reeks of the same individualistic entitlement as the anti-vaxxer movement. [*note: I’m not drawing this comparison to start a debate about vaccinations. If the comparison stokes your ire and that’s what you’d choose to comment on, please save it.] You get vaccinated because, as a member of the herd, you have moral obligations to do no harm to other members of the herd. Disregarding those obligations is selfish and unconscionable, not because of the harm to the anti-vaxxer (enjoy your measles!!), but because by spreading disease you undermine the health of countless others and put the herd at risk. Similarly, as members of society, common morals dictate that we should not seek to undermine or destroy other relationships or families for our own personal pleasure. We are not entitled to chase our pleasure or our passion no matter the cost to others. “Win at any cost” is neither healthy nor productive and ultimately undermines the fabric that holds society together. Do people become affair partners all the time? Of course. Does it somehow make it right? No way. Suggesting that the affair partners are entitled to do what they do because they don’t owe anyone anything? That’s BS.

I am completely certain that Julie doesn’t get that. She never got the memo. Unfortunately for all spouses, there are an awful lot of people like Julie out there either waiting for or actively seeking out opportunities to destroy relationships for their own gain. My recovering sex addict husband doesn’t yet seem wise to their game. Fortunately, I know that and I’ve learned to look out for myself.

Derby Week 2019

Here in the US we are about to start the biggest week in horse racing in the lead up days to the Kentucky Derby. The Derby itself is called the most thrilling two minutes in sports for a reason, and the event is pure spectacle.

I have loved thoroughbred horse racing since I was a little girl, often watching the races on TV with my dad. We would place imaginary bets and cheer on our favorites. I don’t have a clear memory of Affirmed winning the Triple Crown in 1978 – but in 1979, Spectacular Bid was the first of many horses I’d watch capture the Derby and Preakness, only to fall short of the Triple Crown at Belmont. Attending the Derby was on my bucket list for a long, long time.

Back in late 2011 things were going well for our family. We had moved into our new home. I had switched firms earlier in the year and, in doing so, I managed to nearly double my salary and exponentially increase my daily flexibility. Life was so good that it felt almost surreal. As a bit of a splurge, I bought a box of seats for the 2012 Kentucky Oaks (the Friday before the Derby when the fillies race) and the Derby itself. I found a hotel room reasonably near Churchill Downs, and got our nanny to agree to watch the kids for a few days. The race itself was about 8 months away, but I was incredibly excited.

Of course, if I was going, I was going all-in. Dresses, hats, boxed lunches… you name it. I spent months getting my sartorial game on, and Handsome did too. We found him the most beautiful Ralph Lauren spearmint colored sport coat (classy and a bit over the top… perfect) for Derby day and got him a new classic navy blue sport coat, dashing pink shirt, and a beautiful pair of linen pants for the Oaks.

We secured great dinner reservations in Louisville and made arrangements to connect with friends. We turned the two days of racing into a long weekend get-away and spent countless hours preparing and looking forward to the first weekend in May.

That weekend was not without rain, but it was spectacular nonetheless. I hit the trifecta on the Oaks and the exacta on the Derby. We laughed and enjoyed each other’s company. When I think back on that trip, the first image that comes to mind is Handsome in that green jacket, and the resulting smile that brings me reminds me how much I was in love with him then. I felt like that whole period was the beginning of the wonderful rest of our lives, with stability, happiness, and financial security.

We shared our box with some young newlyweds and the wife told me repeatedly how she thought we were amazing as a couple. I thought so too.

I now know that Handsome was a few months into his first emotional affair with the Flame at that point. He was apparently texting or emailing her throughout the weekend, including when he went to the betting windows to place our bets between races. I would later learn that every sartorial choice I thought we enjoyed making together had also been run by the Flame for her approval. (Since her social media highlights photos of her full-figured frame in threadbare leggings decorated with pumpkins I’m not certain what expertise she has, but evidently he felt it was greater than mine.) Our travel arrangements were apparently also fodder for discussion with her. I had no idea.

I was so incredibly happy to be there WITH HIM, but apparently being there with me wasn’t enough to keep him from feeling a need for her. That’s an ongoing theme with Handsome: actually being loved by me or our kids has not been enough to make him feel loved. He looks elsewhere for validation and affirmation of his self-worth. I wrote down a quote once that seems to capture this phenomenon: “The world is full of people looking for spectacular happiness while they snub contentment.” That was (is?) Handsome. That particular Derby weekend he seemed to have everything a man could want, a truly enviable life, and yet he still had a void inside him that led him to look for “more” elsewhere. Handsome is working on that, but I wish he realized back then what already had before he went and ruined it.

I’ll watch the Oaks and the Derby this year from home. I’ll hit the OTB parlor ahead of time and I’ll bet on my picks and cheer them on with my kids. I’ll sing along to “My Old Kentucky Home” when it’s played before the Derby. At the same time, in the pit of my gut I’ll be trying to fend off a mass of melancholy feelings as I’m reminded of that very first Derby trip. Maybe Handsome feels the same?

One Step at a Time… Literally

Shortly after our DDay #2 – about a year ago – I was communicating online with another partner of a sex addict and she related that her husband had been active in SA for several years but had only completed Step 1 and Step 2 of the program. I was kind of baffled and couldn’t help wonder if she was being played or strung along. Why would it take him so long to work through the Steps? Why not make progress if he could?

Fast forward: As of April 9th, Handsome has 18 months of sobriety. He has attended SA for 13 months. The number of Steps he completed? Zero.

I was feeling like a hypocrite. (I know, I know… his recovery is his recovery, not mine… I do get it. And I know that 12 Step isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but if you pick that as your path to recovery shouldn’t you actually make the effort to work the Steps?) I stewed in silence wondering whether Handsome really had any interest in recovery. I pondered whether I was being played and strung along. I mostly kept these thoughts to myself, but every now and again I’d ask him whether he thought I was giving him 12 years to complete the 12 Steps. He always assured me that he was working on it.

This morning, Handsome completed Step 1 with his sponsor. I don’t really think there was ever any sincere doubt that he is powerless over his sexual compulsion and that his life had become unmanageable, but it took as long as it took for him to make the effort to complete the Step. Handsome reports that he feels tremendous relief to have completed Step 1. I can’t really relate, but I’m glad he feels good about it. He has planned with his sponsor to meet a few times over the coming weeks and complete Step 2 by the end of next month.

This has been a good couple of weeks for us. Not perfect, but peaceful and mostly happy. We are connecting pretty well and he’s making a lot of effort, both with me and with his recovery. That’s good. I know it can be fleeting at this stage, but I’ll gladly bask in it for as long as it lasts.

A Change of Heart?

Just when I thought I had a few things figured out, my husband went and surprised me. I was prepared to write a post about how nothing particularly positive was going on for us. I was prepared to tell you about the lack of progress we are making on addressing the subjective things on my list of needs, because we weren’t making any such progress. And then… like pulling a rabbit from a hat… my husband surprised me.

About a year ago I told Handsome that I wanted a post-nup with an infidelity clause. My feeling was/ is that I’m bearing all the risk in staying with him and that he needed to share some of that risk too. (You may disagree, but that’s how I feel.) He always said that he understood why I wanted the post-nup and that he didn’t think it was unreasonable, and then he’d kick the can down the road a few more months. That cycle continued over the last year. When we worked on our CSAT’s assignment of developing the list of my needs, it was on my list. Handsome had it on his list of my needs too and I was happy to see it there. When push came to shove though he said that even though he understood why I needed it and that it wasn’t unreasonable and would help our healing, he couldn’t ever see himself signing it. For me it has always been a deal breaker. It was devastating to hear him admit – after an entire year – that he’d never sign it. Add my recent HPV test result to that mix and I was living in angry, sad, confused misery. I started to secretly take some very small steps towards separation.

I understood fully that I was watching Handsome’s oppositional defiant disorder traits rear their ugly heads. I wanted him to do x, therefore he would do y and take pictures… even if it meant burning his life to the ground. He acknowledged that to be true in what had to be a very painful session for him with our CSAT. He admitted that he feared that signing it was “giving up too much control.” (Control of what? He couldn’t say. Most likely he actually meant protection from consequences.) He told her that he really wanted to sign the post-nup because he knew how important it was to me, but he was sure if he did it would eat him alive with resentment later. She booted him to his own therapist to work through that resentment. We stopped talking about the post-nup, or any of my needs really, in our sessions.

Life continued as normal – kids, date nights, appointments, and arranging schedules. To me, it all felt a little hollow. I am trying to plan a family trip for my 50th birthday later this year and it was hard to get enthusiastic about it because in my mind I was wondering whether our family would be intact. (Am I booking a trip for 5 or just 4?)

And then… something shifted. I don’t know what. Handsome called me out of the blue and (i) gave me the most sincere sounding apology I have heard from him in a very long time and (ii) told me that he was ready to sign the post-nup. He thanked me for “giving him the space he needed” the last few weeks to get to that decision, and told me that even though he has done a crappy job of showing it, he wants to prove to me that he’s 100% committed to me and our family and our healing.

To put this into perspective, last Spring I also told Handsome that I wanted him to have a vasectomy so that I did not have to worry about my children having some skank’s kids as their half siblings. (Actually, I was probably even more blunt than that.) With 15-20 other sexual partners during our marriage, that possibility was not out of the realm of reason. As alarmed (terrified? mortified?) as he was at the prospect of having work done on “the boys” he jumped right on that (comparatively) and had the surgery months ago. Signing this document though? Nope. No way, no how. His agreement to finally do this is HUGE.

It wasn’t 100% unicorns and rainbows between agreeing to sign and signing. To complete the document I needed some financial information from him that I didn’t have readily available. When I asked him for it his reaction seemed to indicate that there is simmering resentment present even now. It was hurtful in that moment, but I told him so and I explained why. And yet I also understand that his willingness to do something for me that makes him uncomfortable (and/ or a bit salty and resentful) evidences a different outlook than he had for years. He is putting someone else – in this case, me – above himself. In this instance he put my comfort ahead of his own.

For me, this is a sign that he’s finally willing to put something on the line as it relates to his future sobriety. It’s not a guarantee that he’ll stay sober. There is no such thing. It also doesn’t mean that we’re suddenly “all good.” It is, however, an assurance for me that he is going to bear some of that risk right alongside me. It means that he isn’t prioritizing his feelings over mine. I no longer feel as though I’m over rough seas, walking the plank on my own.

Beware the Ides of March (Part I)

For all the decades I have gone to the gynecologist and dutifully gotten my PAP and HPV tests, everything has always been negative. Last year, after our first DDay, I promptly scheduled an appointment with my doctor for every STD/ STI test imaginable. All were negative. She performed my annual PAP test but said that she wanted to wait until this year to do an HPV test as my last negative HPV test had been within the last 5 years. At the time, of course, we did not know that Handsome had more than just one affair partner, and that he had acted out in massage parlors and with prostitutes, as well as with a laundry list of other skanks and randos. We did not know how high my risk actually was.

I returned for my annual exam two weeks ago. This year, my PAP was negative, but my HPV test came back positive. More specifically, I tested positive for HPV-16, one of the more virulent strains associated with the development of various forms of cancer. My doctor is lovely and kind and gave me every shred of information she could impart (how my body may clear the virus on its own – although the likelihood of that apparently decreases with age; how we can test aggressively to stay on top of any changes; and how it’s a good thing that we are flagging the issue early; etc.). The logical side of my brain is good. I have a nasty but not unexpected problem, and there is a proactive plan of action in place with a caring and trusted medical professional. The emotional side of my brain, however, is a complete and utter mess.

If I can just vent for a moment… how is it remotely fair that Handsome had really expensive orgasms, and I get an aggressive virus? How did he seriously not know that condoms aren’t magic shields? Did he not read any of the literature when he took our daughter for her HPV vaccination a few years ago? He had to sign a consent form. Did he seriously have her vaccinated for something he knew nothing about? In what way was this outcome unlikely or unpredictable based on his behavior? I am really f’ing hurt, sad, crushed, dismayed, and enraged that he put me in this position. (Insert deep, cleansing breaths here…)

But that’s not the half of it. When I tearfully shared the news with Handsome, he looked stunned and crushed (as he should). And then he opened his mouth. What came out? Not “oh, God, what can I do?” or “you must be so upset, and I am so sorry.” Nope. He turned around and walked away from me and said under his breath to himself “I can’t take any more of this.” Seriously.

He did, shortly thereafter, come back to me and hug me and very briefly say he was sorry. And then…? Nothing. I have been living with him in complete shut down mode for the last two weeks. He is sulking and pouting and barely able to hold a conversation with me. He has stopped making his SA calls. I haven’t seen him journal. He has been to one and only one SA meeting.

At the same time this is going on, I have been dealing with very bad news about my elderly mom’s health. She has a pituitary brain tumor for which the course of action is to ensure it doesn’t grow or bleed. That has been going fine except that she just recently developed atrial fibrillation, the treatment for which includes blood thinning agents to prevent clotting. That treatment is completely counter to the treatment for her tumor. She is receiving the best medical care available, but hers is a difficult situation and there are no good or easy choices. Virtually any treatment option she chooses comes with high risk for one condition or the other. I feel as though I am watching her rapidly decline on a daily basis.

So, when I absolutely need my husband to show up and be there for me, he’s off in some bizarre woe-is-me Victimville, moping about and avoiding all of his recovery resources. If I put on my empathy hat, I can imagine that me testing positive for HPV is hugely painful for Handsome. I can guess that he sees it as a reminder of how dirty his actions were and how careless and irresponsible he was and – perhaps most troubling for him – as evidence of how he not only failed to protect me, but he actually exposed me to harm. That all has to be terrible for him. Fine.

I can put myself in his shoes, but he still needs to dig out his big boy pants and spend a day on my side of the equation. I am stuck living with the consequences of his actions. Those consequences may have been unintended, but they were far from unpredictable.

More to follow…

Follow up to “Help Wanted, please!”

Late last month I wrote about how our CSAT tasked me to come up with a list of my needs. I drafted a list and asked for your input and suggestions, to add to my own,to take that to our next session.

Before doing so, however, I took A Reformed Cad up on his suggestion and asked Handsome to write a list of what he thinks my needs are at this time in our recovery. I can’t say that Handsome was excited about it, but after asking two questions about the list that I came up with (“how many things are on yours?” and “are they all emotional things or actions or both?” – the answers being 25 and both) he set to work.

Due to some scheduling snafus we ended up having to review the lists by phone, but I think it was a good exercise for both of us. There were 14 things that were on both lists from the start. I took that as a really good sign. It was also a good sign that Handsome said that he agreed with the 11 things I had on my list that weren’t on his list. Those items included things like healthy selflessness, patience, humility, contrition as well as other objective tasks like a post-nup and annual STD testing.

I was also heartened to learn that I didn’t disagree with any of the items on his list that weren’t on mine, such as:
– show initiative in healing
– friendship
– recognition and appreciation
– be kind/ random acts of kindness
– romance
– pride and support
– control anger/ no rage
– be Handsome 2.0
– keep making daily calls to SA and intensive contacts

Some of these things weren’t on my list simply because I didn’t think of them, and other things were left off the list because – while they would be lovely – they seemed to set the bar really high. Perhaps too high. For example, romance has never been Handsome’s strong suit. He proposed to me in our living room while we were eating pizza and watching TV. (Some of my more cynical self-talk suggests that this disappointment should have been a warning sign of things to come.) Grand gestures are completely foreign to him. I’m not even sure how he would define romance, but I thought it was sweet that it at least made his list.

I feel a bit the same about the inclusion of friendship on his list. Yes, I have dear childhood besties, but Handsome was clearly my best friend and confidant. I have said, not entirely joking, that I could never have had an affair because the first thing I’d want to do is tell Handsome. For the better part of the last 20 years he was always my person… my go-to. I do not believe that I was ever his best friend prior to DDay #1. In fact, I’m not actually sure that he ever viewed me as a friend. Being his girlfriend, then fiance, then wife seemed to have me in my own relational silo in his mind. I have often thought that if he actually viewed me as a friend he never would have done some of the acting out that he did. He is a pretty faithful and steadfast friend. I asked him point-blank once who his best friend was and he named a former colleague. (This was very early on post DDay #1, and of course I started to cry and he tried to back pedal on his answer.) I think he was completely truthful in that moment. All that said, I do think there has been a noticeable shift since his addiction was outed. As he has worked to heal himself and as he has focused on addressing his (emotional) intimacy issues in our marriage, I believe he has come to view me as more of a friend than he ever did before, yet he still often deals with me as though I’m out to hurt him, rather than as the faithful wife who loves and supports him in spite of his unquantifiable betrayal. It raised my eyebrow to see friendship on his list.

One other thing on his list – pride and support – made me tear up because it is yet another thing that I always assumed I had from him, not knowing what was going on behind my back. To my face he was always praising me and playing the dutiful, supportive spouse and yet I know now he disparaged me and tore me down to all of his acting out partners to justify his behavior. I understand why he did that (to keep the hits of their attention coming) but I am still sickened that it happened.

So, Handsome is now in possession of a roadmap of sorts to my needs in our marriage. The big question is what will he do with it? If it was me, I’d try to knock things off of that list with a vengeance to right the foundering ship. Handsome is not me, however. He gave some indications in our CSAT session this week that indicate that he’s not as “all in” as he claims, so we will have to wait and see. Only time will tell.

Vacation Mulligan

I went quiet earlier in the month for a bit because we packed up the kiddos and my 86-year-old mom and flew to Florida to visit a very famous mouse. You may recall that when Handsome and I tried this as a grown up get-away weekend last September, it all went to hell in a hand basket. This time went much better, even with Valentine’s Day tossed into the mix just to amp up the stress.

The first two days of the 11-day trip were not great. (I think I told Handsome that they sucked ass, to be blunt.) Handsome was tired and irritable and I started to worry that I was going to have a repeat of September on my hands in front of my mom and kids. And then, somehow, things turned a corner and got better. Very much better, in fact. There were a few stressors (my daughter is a challenging tween, my mom is a challenging senior, and my son’s relationship with Handsome is still strained… and then there’s me with all my betrayal trauma baggage), but we had fun and packed as much as we could into each day and night.

Last year I had forbidden any celebration of Valentine’s Day except with regard to our kids. This year, I leaned into it a bit. Finding a suitable card was tough, but I found a good one for Handsome and he picked a lovely one for me. He also gifted me a cute bracelet that pays homage to my favorite Magic Kingdom ride – the Haunted Mansion (everyone in my family hates that ride and I have loved it forever). We had lunch with the princesses in Cinderella’s Castle and then dinner in the California Grille on top of our resort overlooking the Magic Kingdom. It was a pretty perfect day.

We rounded out the trip with a few sunny days of rest and relaxation in Vero Beach and, thanks both to the willingness of our kids to eat pizza and watch movies and the unfortunate flu that wiped out my mom for a few days, we were able to have dinner together, alone, twice. That was a nice treat. My husband was his non-addict self and I was reminded why I fell in love with him in the first place.

I got really sad about two days before we flew home because much of the trip seemed like the best parts of my pre-DDay life. (Because, let’s be honest, ignorance can indeed be blissful.) Knowing that I was coming home to meetings and CSAT visits and unresolved disclosures and other dilemmas (our nanny of 5 years tendered her notice, and hiring a new one is a daunting experience when your husband is a sex addict), all just made me unbelievably sad. It sharply marked the difference between life “before” versus life “after” disclosure.

We were sitting at the beautiful pool, on a gorgeous day, our kids were being kids and having a blast, and Handsome asked why I looked sad. I debated my answer. I could lie or downplay what I was thinking. That seemed counter-productive. So I told him the truth: “Because this moment right now is incredibly awesome and yet it highlights for me how much I hate my new life at home.” He didn’t ask me why. (I’m sure he thinks he knows.) He did tell me that he was sorry and express some empathy. That, I suppose, is progress in and of itself.

Handsome has slept poorly every night since we got home. At our CSAT appointment yesterday, he blamed it on my statement about hating my life. He said that makes him think there is no hope and it makes him think of running away. Handsome starts researching houses to buy when he gets in these woe-is-me moods, seemingly forgetting that we’d need to divorce before he could buy a house and that he’ll not be able to afford to maintain his current lifestyle if that happens so he’s looking waaaay over his actual budget. That “poor discouraged me” victimization crap drives me insane. CrazyKat wrote eloquently about it this week on her blog. It is indeed destructive and cowardly. It also highlights the difference in thought processes between my brain and his.

Let’s switch scenarios. Assume for a moment that I ran him over with my car. There he is, the person I say I love most in life, bleeding out in need of aid. Personally, I would be elbows deep in the gore trying to save him, ease his pain, and comfort him. After he received treatment, I would be fully dedicated to assisting him with rehabilitation or taking him to appointments, or doing whatever else is necessary for him to heal. I wouldn’t have to be asked (much less begged or cajoled). I would just do it because I love him and it is the right and decent thing to do, to try to make things right when you cause harm. I cannot even imagine running from the scene, but that is exactly what Handsome’s house hunting mode equates to. One response is pure childish selfishness, and the other is not.

I shouldn’t have to tell him that a thoughtful response to my truth would be to reflect on his efforts to heal the marriage to date and consider how he might more actively support our healing as a couple. It shouldn’t have to be spelled out for him that maybe whatever efforts he was making on the vacation – which had been truly terrific aside from the initial bumps – need to continue at home. I would think those things are obvious. Apparently not. I did ask him to read Kat’s blog post. The irony of the timing of her post, coupled with the similarity of our experiences, was not lost on him. That too is probably a bit of progress, but I’m not sure it balances out the BS that Kat describes so well. Nonetheless, I’m chalking up the vacation as a success, even if it shed light on some serious work to be done in the coming cold winter days at home.

Dopamine Strikes Again

I have suspected over the last 14 months that terrible news is having more of an impact on me than I’d care to admit. I hear it and it mostly just washes over me, and yet I seem to live in a perpetual state of just waiting for the other shoe to drop. I sense that I have grown more fearful and apprehensive generally. I was not, I don’t believe, a fearful or apprehensive person prior to DDay #1. Quite the opposite, in fact. I spent months traveling alone in a third world country as a young single woman without much of a care. A few weeks ago I had to pop an Ativan just to board a plane to attend a work meeting an hour-long flight away. I believed this unfortunate development was just the residue of trauma, but based on an article I read, it seems there may be something more to the story.

“When you experience stressful events, whether personal (waiting for a medical diagnosis) or public (political turmoil), a physiological change is triggered that can cause you to take in any sort of warning and become fixated on what might go wrong.”

Yep, that’s me in a nutshell. And what triggers this reaction, you ask? Dopamine. After living with an addict and now reading this article I’m beginning to think of dopamine as the root of all evil. Dopamine is a neurotransmitter in the brain that affects many things; most significantly, pleasure. When our brain is working normally, we receive a positive reward in the form of pleasure from dopamine induced by things like normal eating, drinking, and sex. Of course, humans like these dopamine bursts so if we find ways to increase our happiness and pleasure – like more eating, drinking, and sex – and some of us go to extremes to keep the hits coming. Just as dopamine feeds our pleasure response, apparently it also feeds fear and dread. So that very thing which fueled my husband’s addiction also makes me fearful. Awesome. Betrayal and infidelity are truly the gifts that keep on giving.

The article makes complete sense to me. Hyper-vigilance isn’t just obsessively checking up on your spouse or cyber-stalking. It can also be the plain act of sensing danger where you wouldn’t have considered it before.

After Handsome returned from his intensive I learned that he gave his phone number to many people he met there, including one woman. She was one of about 8 people he ate meals with each day. To say that was an error on his part is an understatement. It should never have happened. When she asked for his number he should have politely wished her well but declined. Nonetheless, I’m mindful that Handsome has long had female friends and colleagues who appear to have been legitimately “just friends.” That never troubled me before. In fact, I thought it was healthy. Now, where women and my husband are concerned I sense overwhelming danger.

You might say “well, yes, but that’s based on your betrayal experience” and that is completely true. It is also true, however, that for all I know this woman was 70 years old and covered with warts. He never said. I didn’t ask because it doesn’t matter. If she’s female, she goes into the “threat” category. I am, indeed, fixated on everything that might go wrong. I dread the other shoe dropping.

I’m glad this “neural engineering” as the article calls it, helped our ancestors to survive. Perhaps it is even helping me to survive the onslaught of other women and my husband’s addiction. I only know for sure that it is exhausting to anticipate danger everywhere. While I am glad that I am no longer living in ignorance, I have to admit that I do miss the bliss.

One Year After DDay #1

Yesterday was precisely 365 days after my husband blew our lives apart last December. It was the day everything that seemed reliable and good in my life felt like it was instantaneously sucked into a black hole, never to be seen again.

The intervening year has, I think, largely been devoted to triage. Yes, there have been signs of progress, but there have also been set backs, even recently. The wounds are still potentially fatal, and they are still bleeding.

In the “good” or positive column I would list that Handsome goes to SA, he goes to his individual therapy, he joins me and participates with our CSAT, he is not drinking, he has been sexually sober for a year, he has made additional disclosures when he didn’t have to, he journals daily, and he says he wants to get better.

I have made progress too. I’m more willing than ever to speak up for myself, I’ve developed a reasonably good sense of objectivity about this mess that is my life. I call Handsome out when the need arises. I’ve taken steps to protect my health and financial well-being apart from Handsome. I no longer cry every day (although I did have a good cry today so I feel like a fraud writing that, but it’s been a few days since the last one so it’s not a lie). I could become a private eye if my regular day job doesn’t work out since I’ve had so much training this past year.

There is a flip side though, and it isn’t as small as I’d like. Handsome still struggles to tell the truth. He remains terrible at availing himself of the resources available to him. He acts out in non-sexual ways (anger). He broke his vow to not drink for a year. After 9 months in SA he has yet to complete Step 1. He continues to struggle with self-awareness and empathy. I believe there are likely additional disclosures to come.

I haven’t been a picnic either. I yell more than I used to or I get exasperated and sigh (which is just a crappy, sad response to anything from an adult). I have said unkind things to Handsome… and often meant every word of them. Some days I still resent him for breathing. I hate that his recovery is a drain on our time and money. I struggle with knowing how broken and damaged he really is. I am devastated that he cared more about self-soothing and filling the void within himself than he did about the consequences to his family. I still ask myself more often than I think I should be at this point whether I should stay or go.

I figured that Handsome would forget the significance of the day. He didn’t. Most likely he remembered because it coincides with his sobriety date, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt and assume that he’d have remembered anyway.

If I take a moment to reflect, his life is likely better than it was a year ago. He’s sober and is getting help for his various issues. Is my life better? If I’m really honest, I don’t think so. That’s hard to admit, but I think it’s true. The lies and secrets were still going strong as recently as two weeks ago. The only obvious improvement is that my husband isn’t actively cheating on me. No small thing, for sure, but that seems like a really low threshold. Yes, Handsome often tells me that he loves me and I believe he means it. But he did that before DDay too. Yes, he surprises me with the occasional sweet, loving gesture, but he did that before DDay as well. He is endeavoring to be more kind and patient with me and with the kids. What I think I still lack are the basic building blocks for a marriage: trust, respect, loyalty, honesty, integrity, empathy. Those are fundamentals that are still works in progress.

As I told Handsome yesterday, “The next 12 months cannot be like the last 12 months or I will not be here 365 days from now. To be clear, I can’t endure 1 more month of it let alone 12, and I shouldn’t have to. … My “reward” for staying – for continuing to be a part of the shit show – is supposed to be a better marriage and all of the honesty, respect, loyalty, and other good things that go along with it. When is that going to start, because I’m tired of waiting?”

Did our CSAT just pull one over on me?

Looking back at my session last week with our CSAT, it was pretty hard-core. We talked about Handsome’s lack of real progress in his recovery, how a physical separation might be necessary, how long I was willing to be patient for that recovery that may never come, how a separation might trigger a relapse, etc. etc. It was fairly doom and gloom. She met with Handsome yesterday, individually, for what I surmised would be something of a “Come to Jesus” meeting. She flat-out told me that if Handsome couldn’t find that turning point/ change of heart that he needs to move into real recovery, there would be little she could truly do for us as a couple other than helping to moderate the temperature of the relationship.

Imagine my surprise when Handsome returned from the session yesterday and reported that it went “great.” Did they talk about his lack of progress? Not in so many words. She recommended an intensive program in January for him. Did she raise the possibility of a physical separation? Nope. She told him that I’m at the end of my rope, but that’s no surprise to him. I’ve told him that point-blank at home and in our sessions. She had asked me in some detail about how long my patience would last and when a separation might make sense. She also told me she would need to share that with him. Did she? Nope. WTAF???? I lose sleep for a week and virtually none of what we discussed is actually raised with him?

I like and respect our CSAT, but I was ticked. I felt let down that she soft-sold her points, to the extent she made them at all. I felt like that played into his “you blow things out of proportion” victim mode (he did not say that, but he did question why I was so highly agitated after last week since there was “nothing really wrong”). I felt more than a bit misled. One of three things seemed to have happened:

Handsome was minimizing and downplaying the session; or
She had her own change of heart on how to deal with him in the last week; or
For some reason she felt the need to scare the crap out of me last week.

I’m no shrinking violet, so I went to our couples session today fully prepared to ask what, exactly, happened either over the course of the previous seven days or what I was completely missing. I warned Handsome in advance that I was ticked because I wanted him to understand that I wasn’t mad at him. He knows me well enough to know that I would be frank in conveying my surprise at what I perceived as a turn of events.

So, today, I put my fancy suit for an after work cocktail party and as I’m driving to the CSAT’s office I’m rehearsing what I’m going to say (both because I’m a dork and I get unusually rattled in there). I decided to go with “I was kind of surprised yesterday when Handsome came home from your session and said that it went great. It doesn’t sound like many of the issues you and I discussed last week were covered…” and leave it open-ended. I couldn’t tell if she was surprised that Handsome shared his session with me or that I shared our doom and gloom session with him yesterday (See, we do communicate!! lol), but I think she was a bit unprepared for that. Handsome sat there during the start of the session like:

I jumped right in. I was calm, but collected. It turns out that what transpired was a mix of #1 and #2 and general soft peddling on her part. Handsome did, to some extent, minimize parts of their conversation. That said, she reconsidered some of her statements to me in the intervening days, so he didn’t exactly get the full impression of her concern. And she admittedly walked back her comments about essentially firing us if Handsome doesn’t make progress. I walked her through those again, in front of Handsome, so he could hear her concern – as it was told to me – from her. I think that was helpful because it showed him that I had not blown the comments out of proportion and that yes, she is looking for him to have a sincere and meaningful change of heart, and that we cannot heal without it.

Building off of that, I added that even though I love Handsome with all my heart, this faux recovery (love that term, Maggie) or dry drunk state, just isn’t good enough for me and that I believe the next step may very well be a separation so that Handsome can focus on his recovery. I needed Handsome to hear that from me, and I wanted the CSAT to hear me say it too, in no uncertain terms. Interestingly, after that, today was the first time that I saw what I think was real, honest vulnerability from Handsome in months.

It seems that there is something to this detachment thing after all.

The Confession – DDay #3

Patience may be a virtue, but I don’t have any to speak of, at least not when it comes to Handsome’s lies and secret keeping. I received a very insightful comment from Joshua Shea to my last post. To paraphrase him, his question was “So your husband is still withholding. What are you gonna do about it?” Fair point.

For the reasons I explained in reply, my hands were a bit tied, but I told Handsome that he needed to make calls to his sponsor and SA contacts every day before our Thanksgiving vacation, and attend three meetings this week and one meeting next week before we hit the road. That is way more than he normally does, and I knew the calls would take him far outside his comfort zone. He agreed.

Nonetheless, the very fact that he was still keeping secrets (even if they would be included in the big therapeutic disclosure planned for early January), burned – and burdened – me deeply. As I asked him: “How am I supposed to tolerate hugging you or being physically or emotionally intimate with you when the knife is still sticking out of my back and you are twisting it every day?” He was frustrated. He thought we had both freely agreed to hold everything until January. Indeed, I had agreed, but (1) I had been blindsided at the CSAT’s office by the development that what remained secret was “big” and (2) I didn’t feel as though I had the agency in that moment to insist that I hear it then. After pondering it endlessly I decided to go back to my long-held position that whatever Handsome has disclosed to someone else he sure as hell had better disclose to me. Why was I agreeing to have that anvil hanging over my head until January… or later? No thanks.

For the record, I don’t believe that our CSAT intended to put this stress upon me. I think that her suggestion of the therapeutic disclosure at this time of year was well intentioned but missed the mark, and that Handsome should have been encouraged to disclose what he had to disclose to me, and it could then be rolled together with his prior disclosures and addressed again in some organized and orderly fashion in January. I also think that she believes that I am stronger than I really am. I put on a good public show, but inside? Some days it’s like a cyclone inside my head.

So, what was all the hoopla about? He was withholding one additional physical affair (if you can call it an affair… he claims to not know her last name and claims he only knew her by “Katie”), and the use of escorts and a local massage parlor. All of this allegedly occurred from 2015 forward -the same period as all the other mayhem.

How do I feel? Some combination of hurt beyond belief and numb. There are so many things about this that I only believe with difficulty. I am dismayed that he so compromised his morals and values that he committed illegal acts. I am dismayed that he is an embarrassment to his job and that he is no better or different from the people he arrests. I am dismayed that he would ever EVER scream at me about money when this is how he saw fit to spend it. I am dismayed that he put my health at risk without a care. (He is in dire need of a very basic 6th grade lesson on how HPV and other diseases are spread and how a condom isn’t a magical shield.)

The flip side, of course, is that as disgusting and repulsive as I find this behavior, the escorts and massage parlors were business transactions. Nothing more. It’s not as if these women liked him. Based on the hooker/ prostitute/ escort blogs I’ve read they were likely (1) high, (2) revolted by him, (3) completely faking it, and (4) terrified. I find it pathetic that he’d be turned on by that, but at least he wasn’t talking with and texting them daily. There were no real relationships. He claims to not even know the physical affair partner’s last name – despite texting with her for the better part of 3 years and screwing her at least twice. It was just cock + scabby cum dumpster = release. The very reasons that made it so difficult for him to admit these things are, ironically, the very things that make them somewhat manageable to my brain.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that if he only had sex with pros that this would all be a cake walk. Far from it. I’m simply saying that in the scheme of what my husband did, this is not the most damaging disclosure to me. His emotional affair with the Flame (and the related lies and secrets) is far more painful to me… less disgusting and vile, for sure, but much more painful.

At the end of the day, my husband has to live with what he did. I have lived through our marriage with honesty and integrity. Handsome is my last first-kiss. I am likely not even in the 5 most recent first-kisses for him. I’m probably not in the 20 most recent first-fucks. That’s on him. I do not need to worry that anything that I have done may harm his health or well-being. He has to wonder what might pop up on his STD tests or mine in the future (since HPV can go latent). At least since 2015 he has not been the person I thought I married, for sure, but I loved him with every fiber of my being and I was present and committed. I did not waste time or opportunities. He has to account for his years in his addict bubble. It has taken months (and months) but I’m good with me. I honored my marriage vows and my husband. I will not bear his shame.

Do I think I finally know everything? Nah. I’ve been around this block before. There are a few details I could still call bullshit on, but we’ll see how it all parses out in the therapeutic disclosure he’s working on. My gut tells me that he’s nearing the end of what he’s keeping inside, but maybe I’m just sensing that he’s as exhausted with this process as I am.