Tag: betrayed wife

Showing up

I have spent hours writing here about Handsome’s faults and flaws. I do, however, want to be fair and give credit where it is due. Over the last 6 weeks my husband has shown up for me in a way I haven’t really seen in a long, long time.

When I last wrote we were in the midst of Handsome’s potential dementia/ Alzheimer’s diagnosis. We are still toiling away with that as he has received differing opinions from two cognitive neurologists and also an MRI that purports to rule out both Alzheimer’s and Vascular Dementia. Let’s just say that getting to the bottom of this is a slow work in progress. (I still think there are serious issues. He got in the car two days ago with the TV remote instead of his phone. His ability to keep track of appointments is nil too.)

In the midst of that drama, my 89-year-old mother fell and fractured her hip. She lives with us in an addition we built on our house for her, and I am her only living relative, so coordination of all of her care fell to us. It was a ten-day stay in the hospital followed by a little more than two weeks at a rehabilitation hospital. Then, she was doing great but just wasn’t quite able to come home yet. We moved her to a skilled nursing facility near our home for some additional recovery time and rehab. That seems to be where the wheels fell off the bus.

It’s a highly regarded facility but within a week she tested positive for CDiff (funky bacterial infection that causes seemingly constant diarrhea) and developed a UTI. She is dehydrated and lightheaded and is likely headed back to a hospital to get stabilized.

I try to spend about 2 hours a day with her. And maintain my full time job. And shuttle my kids to their busy Spring schedules. And take care of my mom’s dog. I would tell you that I’m burning the candle at both ends, but there is no candle left. I don’t think that I have been this frazzled, exhausted, and emotionally spent since I brought my eldest home as a newborn.

In the midst of this, Handsome has completely stepped up to the plate. I’ve noted before that he excels at crisis management when the crisis isn’t of his own making, and that’s so true. The man has been a rock star. Our eldest gets on her school bus at 6:20AM (which is both cruel and unusual but that’s a different story). He has gotten her off to school almost every morning just to let me get an extra hour of sleep. He has played shuttle driver and defense coach and grocery shopper all on the same day. He has taken me out to dinner more nights than I can count just so I could get a decent meal and maybe a few moments to relax. He laughs at my bad hospital jokes and walks the dog before bed for me.

When I called him in hysterical tears because I snagged Taylor Swift tickets for our daughter and then had issues checking out, he calmly took over and emerged with the coveted seats. Then he did it again two weeks later when Beyoncé’s tour went on sale and I had a similar issue. (Ticketmaster is literally responsible for the record pace at which my roots are growing out this month. 👵🏻) He’s not a fan of either artist but said it was important that I would have something to look forward to this Summer.

He dishes out random hugs and has watched silly TV shows with me while I try to decompress. He runs interference with our kids so I don’t have to worry about the missing cleat, forgotten homework, or arguments over chores.

Do I wish that he had showed up like this after DDay? Of course. But I’ll take it now. Happily. It’s a much more mature and balanced support than I’ve seen before. There is no hidden resentment, no mumbling under his breath, no sighing loud and useless sighs. He’s just buckling down and helping. I’m incredibly appreciative. This feels like a partnership. As unfortunate as the circumstances are, this still feels good.

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. 💔

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.

“You’re doing so great…”

Someone who regularly reads this blog recently commented to me “it’s great to see that you’re doing so well.” Hmmm. I really appreciate the kind words, but perhaps I need to point out some of my ongoing struggles.

I am doing well. Most days. I am often great or nearly so for extended periods of time. That is true and real, but I don’t want to “image manage” away from reality. I don’t want to give the impression everything is peachy. A few fun facts:

– I haven’t spent more than 10 minutes in our basement in the last 3 years… since finding out that’s where Handsome and Angel Baby shacked up. It’s large, finished, and beautiful and yet I avoid it like the plague. It would be the ideal place for my home office, except I can’t bear the sight of it. A paint job and new furniture would just be putting lipstick on the pig. I just act like it doesn’t exist.

– I haven’t visited Handsome at work since before DDay. I used to occasionally swing by with lunch or take the kids to give him hugs if we were nearby. I’m still too embarrassed to see his coworkers, particularly since I now weigh about 30 lbs more than I did the last time I was there. I can imagine the “Look at her, no wonder he cheated…” comments. (They’re mostly un-evolved dicks.)

– I don’t stalk the social media of the other women (I never really did) but I do run their criminal background checks every few months just to be sure wherever they are spending their time now and getting arrested is nowhere near where we live or where Handsome works. Every single one of them that I know of found time during COVID to get themselves arrested. Every. Single. One.

– I still occasionally rely on anxiety meds. I had no anxiety pre DDay. Give a speech in front of a few hundred people? No problem. Ask for a raise? No sweat. Work the room at a cocktail party? Happily! And yet these days I sometimes feel like there’s a truck parked on my chest over truly stupid stuff. A simple trip to IKEA today was nearly my undoing. And that’s BEFORE I try to build what I bought.

– I have always been sentimental, but I find myself clinging to “stuff” – particularly my kids’ things – from before the betrayal. For example, since they could walk both kids have had really cute rain boots (Wellies) with whales or sharks or frogs or rocket ships or pirates on them with new ones picked out as they changed sizes. Over time, these boots took up residence in a bin in our laundry room. With both kids long grown out of them, Handsome wanted to toss the entire bin. I can’t. I just can’t. Even if the thought of doing so wasn’t causing me to break out into a sweat, it brings on a deep and profound sadness. It’s as if I feel that in tossing the boots I’m tossing my kids’ lives pre-addiction. That probably sounds stupid, but that’s just one example. I know the boots and other items are symbols of the life -and the innocence- I lost. Somewhere in my mind I don’t want to experience that loss again.

So, yes, I am doing great. It just doesn’t mean that I’m back to normal. That still seems a long way off.

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.

Impact.

Impact. And also just a drop in a bucket.

After Handsome’s disclosure, it was my turn to present my impact statement a few weeks later. Fun fact: I started drafting it over two years ago so it was 98% done by the time of the disclosure. I tweaked a few things afterwards, but not much.

Due to COVID, while our disclosure was done in-person in our CSAT’s office, my impact statement was presented to Handsome (read out loud by me) in the front seat of a Ford F-250 Super Duty parked in a local park while our CSAT participated by Zoom. It was far from ideal, but we made it work.

Handsome had been pretty agitated the day or two beforehand. I’m sure it was hard to know he was going to be gutted for an hour. I was reasonably calm, except that I was worried that Handsome might spiral emotionally afterwards. I was concerned that he’d fall into hopelessness. At some point I had a choice to either soften my words to be more palatable, or be honest. I chose honesty. I chose to give my feelings and emotions all the space they needed, especially my anger. I so rarely let my rage out, but I did so in my impact statement. I didn’t do it with yelling or cursing or name calling. I let the YEARS I had to draft it work in my favor.

Our CSAT is usually pretty chill, but she was in tears through much of it. Handsome was in tears multiple times as well. I hit a lot of nerves. Hard. I covered the impacts to me emotionally, physically, socially, financially, and the impacts to my job and to our children.

For a good bit of the last three years, my pain has taken a back seat in therapy. We spent a ton of time focused on Handsome, as we needed to, but that left little time for me. All my feelings that went unsaid, all the things I stuffed down just to be able to function, all the words that had bubbled up only to find they had nowhere to go… they all had a voice in my statement. It was 14 single-spaced pages of gut-wrenching truth. My truth, at least.

I wrote about things we have talked about, like how violated I felt that he brought Angel Baby to our home. I wrote about things that were seemingly off-limits before, such as his blatant disregard for my health and the physical safety of our family. I asked rhetorically how gaslit and abused I had to be to not buy myself a single article of clothing for almost three YEARS because of his raging rants about money. I addressed how foolish I feel now that I know where all of his money was going. I described the hurt of the birthdays and Christmases where I bought my own gifts for the kids to give me because he couldn’t be bothered. I told him I had no intention of dragging him kicking and screaming towards a better marriage.

Perhaps the title of this post should have been “The Unburdening” because that is exactly how I felt. If his disclosure was freeing then presenting my impact statement was like taking flight. I took off my heavy cloak of shame and anger so that I could soar.

In the end, it honestly didn’t matter to me how he took it. It didn’t matter whether he heard all the words or whether he agreed or disagreed. I couldn’t control any of that and didn’t care to do so. I felt better. It helped heal me, and a healthier me is a better mom and daughter and friend, and probably a better wife. That matters to me, and by those measures it was a success.

Onward!

Flooding: Triggered About Consent

I was scrolling through the New York Times on Friday and I came across this article:

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/03/05/opinion/sexual-consent.html

On the surface the article might seem to have little to do with my life. What I learned, however, after reading it and finding myself triggered and flooded with feelings for the better part of 24 hours, is that I have nagging, unresolved issues related to consent and my husband’s betrayals.

The premise of the article is just a few sentences: “Frank and Ellen meet at a night course and end up getting drinks together after class several times. The drinks start to feel like dates, so Ellen asks Frank if he is married, making it clear that adultery is a deal-breaker for her. Frank is married, but he lies and says he is single. The two go to bed. Is Frank guilty of rape? To most people, even those who consider Frank a dishonorable creep, the answer is clearly no. … But why?” The author goes on to compare and contrast procuring a loan through lies – which is fraud, punishable in criminal court – with Frank who duped Ellen into a sexual encounter.

I have to wonder what the author would think of my situation? I married a man who had been a sex addict for nearly two decades before we walked down the aisle. His addiction was completely hidden from me. We had sex because I thought he was only having sex with me. That wasn’t true for 3+ years of our marriage. I didn’t know.

That’s the rub for me. I have yet to resolve my feelings about things happening to me – very directly- that I did not consent to in any way. My then fiancé never said “Hey, before you commit to me for life you should know that I have issues with compulsive masturbation and other forms of sexually acting out.” I was never enlightened that it might be a good idea to use protection during sex because my husband decided to have affairs, visit massage parlors, and hook up with internet randos ten years into our marriage. I did not consent to STDs. I did not consent for pictures of my children to be sent to affair partners or for details of my life to be discussed with them. And yet those things all happened, all without my consent.

I was flooded with sadness that choices I thought I made well and deliberately weren’t based in reality. It eats at me that my husband’s lifestyle of deceit robbed me of an opportunity to consent and make informed choices. I know that my choices now are informed choices. I can and do take comfort in that. Great comfort, in fact. Nonetheless, it doesn’t mitigate my feelings of being duped by my husband for years. Those feelings are going to take some time to process.

My trauma therapist has her work cut out for her this week…

*** A side note- if you have commented and not seen your comment published or acknowledged, bear with me. (Thank you for commenting!) Some glitch is causing my WordPress to not play well in the sandbox. Hope to have it resolved soon.

Aftermath – and some new trees

Handsome has been home from rehab now for over two months. The first month home was every bit as rough as my previous posts would indicate. His second month home also did not start off well.

Handsome had been living in a local AirBnB since his return from ST. I was fine with that. He was not. A few days before his stay there was due to run out (a stay which I fully expected him to extend), my son texted me at work and happily announced that Handsome was moving back into our house. You can imagine my response. He had apparently started unpacking in the master bedroom but he was clued-in enough by the time I got home that he had moved himself to our finished basement instead. We used to have a guest quarters there, but then he brought Angel Baby to our house and bedded her down there, so the bed went out with the trash. He was supposed to replace it. He never did. He was shocked to find that he would have to sleep on the floor. Oh well.

The initial days with him back in the house were like a battle of wills. The more he complained about being “banished” to the basement, the more resolute I was that (i) I was absolutely entitled to enforce my boundaries, and (ii) he’d remain in the basement till I decided otherwise. In those first days he tried everything to weasel his way back upstairs. Nope. Not happening. Apparently Doc2 told him to knock it off, and our CSAT ripped him a new asshole. It was hard for him to fuss at me when his hand-picked professionals were telling him he was in full jerk/ control freak mode.

Our in home separation was working, but strained. Under lock down conditions we were mostly managing to stay apart, but meals just weren’t working. The kids were confused, the pets were confused, and trying to stay separate seemed to cause more stress than it was worth so we resumed deliberate family meals. Smart move, it turns out, as the overall stress level in the house plummeted. The change was immediate. 

Then, very slowly, as all the professionals kept working to bring out the positives from rehab and to set aside the gunk Handsome picked up, and as his meds really started to kick in, I started to see a better version of my husband. He went out and bought an air mattress without complaint. He delved into helping around the house and with the kids. I saw signs of humility. He started coming to the grocery store getting personally invested in our lock-down meal choices. (I know that may not sound like much but pre-rehab he would leave all of the shopping to me and then sigh about what I bought. We’d have a fully stocked pantry and fridge/ freezer overflowing with healthy options and he’d complain that there was nothing to eat. No more.)

He started initiating our “Intimacy of the Day” exchanges and spending time with me, when it worked for me, just hanging out. I was actually enjoying spending time with him because he seemed healthy and “normal” again. We had CSAT sessions where we could report that things were uneventful at worst and actually going pretty well. Holidays have been fraught for us in the past, but we pulled off a lovely Easter.

Handsome also decided that he wants to do an organized full disclosure. He tells me that there is nothing new to disclose. Nonetheless, he’s (still) on Step 4 at SA and he wants to complete that step and move forward. He also knows that I’ve always been ticked that he couldn’t/ wouldn’t get through the disclosure process before. The impromptu staggered disclosures and trickle truth were devastating while they were going on and, frankly, he’s never had to sit with me or anyone else that I know of and tell them ALL of his story in one dump. He eventually seems to disclose everything, but it has been parsed out in chunks to make it…more palatable? Less likely to cause rejection?

Handsome has been working on the disclosure now for several weeks. To me, the effort matters somewhat more than content. I don’t expect that I’ll ever know everything that went on. There are likely several things he intends to take to his grave. (Remember the mysterious tampon in the master bedroom that he claimed the cat put there? Yeah, I know how it got there whether it is ever spoken out loud or not.) I am also certain that there are things he did that he legitimately can’t remember at this point. (He did a LOT of stuff and his meds have obliterated his memory.) I know how hard it will be for him to pull this off to the satisfaction of our CSAT and Doc2 though, so that effort is meaningful to me even if I wish he had been willing and able to do it two years ago before time and mood adjusting meds took their toll.

One day earlier this month, Handsome asked me to go to a local nursery and pick out some trees. (As an agriculture-related business our nurseries remain open even during the lock down.) When he asked me what I wanted last year for Mother’s Day, I requested a few new trees for our yard. Despite repeated promises, I never got them. That added  insult to injury because of his conduct on many Mother’s Days during his acting out. I was surprised when he asked me to go, but out we went and we picked out the cool Dragons eye pine (we call it the Dr. Seuss tree) in the picture above, as well as a flowering plum. To make room for them, Handsome spent hours and hours clearing two large trees in our yard that had succumbed to bore infestations two years ago. He probably could have/ should have hired someone or at least rented a stump grinder, but he put all the labor in himself to remove the old trees and stumps to make room for these new additions. I figured that they were for Mother’s Day this year. They aren’t. Handsome told me that he wants to start making amends to me and that he figured he’d start by making things right for last Mother’s Day. That was unexpected. And appreciated.

Things are getting better, slowly but surely. He is still sleeping in the basement, but the separation isn’t strained and seems to be working well. I’m not counting chickens, but I am enjoying this period of relative peace in the midst of the pandemic.

In the Moment – Part II

I met with Handsome’s new doc for the first time last week. It was not, to be honest, quite the calamity I expected. Handsome was mostly controlled and, for him, almost unusually reserved. I didn’t see any resentment till we were in the car on the way home, and only a very small dose.

I’m a person who never turned down a good visual aid, so I showed up with one. I prepared a “trauma timeline” covering the bigger traumas caused by my husband in the last two years. Think DDays, discoveries (lies uncovered), vacations ruined, waitress-gate, and the like. To each of the 16 traumas on the timeline, I attached a small image: a plain dot for a smaller trauma (but one still big enough to make the list), a small explosion for a slightly bigger trauma, and a red bomb for the biggies. Of note, there were three red bombs on the timeline since June. I asked Doc 2 how I could be expected to heal or stay in the marriage when the traumas are unrelenting. My simple comment was that Handsome needs to stop hurting me.

We talked about Handsome’s struggles with integrity. We talked about his anger. Doc 2 did, at one point, start talking about how wonderful it is that Handsome is throwing himself into this recovery process and how committed he is to his sobriety and… I just kind of sat there. It’s not that I disagree necessarily, but I’m ambivalent at best. Doc 2 seemed befuddled that I didn’t jump for joy so he went on about how Handsome is so forthcoming about what he did and how he is so willing to share all of that with me. Again, he looked to me seemingly for some kind of validation and I said “Well, Handsome has always been willing to tell me things about what he did, it’s just that 90% of the time those things were untrue or grossly minimized. As far as his sobriety, I’m sure that being sober from one’s addictions is very hard. I’m sure it’s a challenge every day. That said, while I appreciate the point you are making about my husband’s sobriety I’m not going to get excited over him not sleeping with other women and having emotional affairs for two years. I never agreed to anything less from him. If all I get out of this is a sexually sober husband, but I still have to put up with all this other BS, that’s not enough for me.”

I realized after I left that the last part is really the essence of my current state of mind. I’m glad he’s sober (beats the alternative) and I’m sure it’s not easy (really, while I can’t say that I understand it I do believe that it must be hard for him), but there simply has to be more for me. More empathy, more kindness, more thoughtfulness, more patience, more honesty, more connection, and more love. That is where I think Handsome has struggled most. It’s as if it takes all he has to stay sober and do his recovery work and so there’s no “more” left for me. (To be fair, he often has little left in the tank for his own needs, which may also be part of the problem.)

Doc 2 intends to increase his sessions with Handsome to twice a week while Handsome is off on medical leave. I think that’s a great idea. He says he has a plan for what he wants to focus on. Fabulous. I’m supposed to go back in 5 weeks to assess any progress from my perspective. Fine. I just hope it all helps.

We did have a lovely road trip. Handsome and my kids had never been to Niagara Falls, so we jumped in the car and did an overnight stay. It was the birthday present I asked for. Grand gestures are not in my husband’s wheelhouse so, although we celebrated his 50th on the Rhine somewhere around Amsterdam, I was unlikely to get anything like that or a theater weekend in New York or a stay in some lovely spa somewhere. I asked for what I thought he could possibly pull off. He had booked a beautiful room overlooking the Falls and bought tickets for different activities and he even helped pack. Aside from some brooding and snark from my soon to be 13-year old daughter (where did my sweet girl go????), it was two great days of fun. We had adventures and some misadventures but I’m glad we did it and I’m glad it was wonderful.

Brooding tween

In the Moment

I don’t normally post here in real time. I generally take a day or two to draft, revise, and re-think. Not today.

I am scheduled to meet Handsome’s new therapist tonight. Unlike Doc #1, this gentleman is a CSAT and specializes in treatment of sex addicts. (He adheres to the trauma model as far as spouses are concerned, not codependency.) I’m anxious for this meeting as I feel as though Handsome spun his wheels with the last doc. I’m not intending to walk in there and dump all over Handsome, but I am intending to be honest. That means some of it is going to be tough for Handsome to hear.

Even though I’ve been looking forward to this opportunity, I’m nervous to have this appointment as well. Scratch that. I’m start-popping-Ativan-level freaked out. Why? In no particular order:

– On some deep, dark level, I want this guy to fix my husband. I know and fully understand that he can’t. (I get it. I really do. It’s just…)

– Talking about Handsome in a frank but honest way can still elicit a good bit of resentment and anger. If there was a fairly immediate follow up appointment between Handsome and the doc to address any of those emotions that arise, I’d feel better. There isn’t. Seems like wildly poor planning to me.

– My family is heading out of town on a road trip Saturday morning. Trips with Handsome have been hit or miss during recovery. I am not excited to get in a car with him for a 4+ hour drive if he’s in an angry or resentful place. Again, the lack of immediate follow up seems like a really bad idea.

– This doc has been listening to Handsome talk about me for 3+ months. I have no idea what he’s expecting. I feel oddly like it’s a major job interview. I don’t need him to like me, but I do feel like I’m in the hot seat. I’m accustomed to pressure, but I’m feeling overwhelmed.

I have tried to talk to Handsome about how I feel. He assures me it will all be fine. I’m less certain, and I really can’t take another iffy trip with Handsome. My thought is to open with my concerns and offer to postpone if the doc cannot follow up with Handsome tomorrow. I’d rather waste an hour in the waiting room and kick the can down the road than have it all blow up on me this weekend. I have enough posts in the can about long- planned get-aways gone awry.

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.

Intent

Image result for intent

Does the intent of our partner matter to the betrayed? To me – others may differ – the answer is “no” with one initial exception.

Handsome and I have been doing a “Transparency of the Day” exercise to improve our communication and, frankly, to get him to exercise his integrity muscles. The idea is for each of us, every day, to very briefly share something that we are feeling or that happened and that may not be obvious or known to the other. At least twice a week Handsome is supposed to share a transparency specifically related to his recovery. Most days the exercise is quite helpful. On a few days the transparency or the resulting discussion has turned into an argument, but I’m seeing that the arguments usually stem not from the transparency shared, but from the editorializing that follows.

Handsome was recently officially diagnosed with ADHD. He is 57, and the understanding that he has lived with this throughout his life – and the impacts it has likely had on everything from his distaste for school to his interpersonal relationships and his addiction – has been somewhat overwhelming for him. In particular, the fact that ADHD is so readily treatable with a variety of meds led him to sadly question whether his self-esteem, judgment, and impulse control would have been any better had he been appropriately diagnosed long ago. He wasn’t throwing out the ADHD diagnosis as an excuse – in fact he noted that it was no excuse at all – but rather he was sharing deep sense of sadness over “what could have been” if he knew and was treated earlier.

Looking back, I’m not quite sure where the word “intent” popped into the discussion, but it did. (Again, the transparency wasn’t the genesis of the debate, the discussion that followed was…) Handsome opined that I should take his intent into account in assessing his actions. I told him that his intent is utterly irrelevant to me except for my initial decision to stay and to try to re-pair with him.

Why did his intent matter then? I had to believe that he did not intend to hurt or to destroy me with his acting out (even though the harm he caused was an obvious and inevitable consequence to anyone with half a brain not mired in disordered thinking). If I believed that my husband meant to hurt me, or that his behavior was vindictive and targeted at me, I would have left. It was clear to me though that wasn’t the case as so much of Handsome’s conduct focused on hiding his secrets and keeping me from finding out the truth about him. He could not have been trying to hurt me because he never wanted me to know.

After that initial threshold decision though? I could care less what his intent is. The analogy that I drew was as follows:

– If you shoot me in the heart on purpose, I’m dead.

– If you shoot me in the heart by accident, I’m still dead.

To me, the injured party, the result is the same either way. Dead is dead. The shooter’s intent is utterly irrelevant to me. It may matter to the shooter, law enforcement, or other people, but I’m still dead no matter what.

The same is true with betrayal trauma and recovery. I really don’t care what Handsome’s intent was in striking up a conversation with the Flame. It doesn’t change the harm to me. I’m not going to try to invent some reasonableness test based on his disordered thinking. I’m not going to waste time trying to justify or figure out the crazy. I can only judge his actions for what they actually are, not what he intended them to be.

The Gum on my Shoe Returns

Yep. She’s baaaaaack! (No thanks to Handsome.)

It seems like ages ago that I last wrote about the Flame and the havoc this woman created in my marriage. Twice. After our DDay #1, when I learned that Handsome had been communicating with her again by text for nearly 3 years, it was crushing. It was actually worse than his physical affair (the one I knew about at the time) because I knew that she actually mattered to him. He had pined away for her for almost 30 years. He admitted that he thought she was “the one who got away” for him and said that a part of him would always love her. I was squarely in my angry stage, so I think I told him to take that part of himself, stick it up his ass, and move to a hotel. That didn’t happen, but he did eventually send her a short and to the point no contact letter – in his own unique handwriting so she would know it came from him. He sent it to her at work. I sent a copy to her husband (sorry, not sorry).

Time flashes forward to the present. Our son, who is outwardly pretty chill, started to develop some odd habits in the late Spring (not wanting to touch door knobs or share certain items, coupled with a big increase in hand washing). We scheduled him with a therapist to evaluate him and see if it’s just a phase or an issue of concern.  The week before Labor Day I was away at my happy place, so Handsome took him. He walked into the waiting room and BOOM, there sits the Flame with her son.

Now, if I had the ability to write the script of how this played out, my sex addict partner would have taken a seat in the furthest corner of the large waiting room, ignored her, read his Kindle and kept his damn mouth shut. Alternately, if overwhelmed, he would have grabbed our son and fled. (I would have gladly paid the therapist’s late cancel/ no show fee.) Or he could have called his sponsor. Or called me. Or something. Just crossing paths with her – although surprising because she lives far from the therapist’s office – isn’t a problem because in his circle plan that’s just unintentional contact with an affair partner. He didn’t do anything to cause that contact.

Handsome, however, didn’t follow my script. For that matter, he didn’t follow the script he previously agreed to numerous times and that we actually role played with our CSAT, knowing that he’d likely encounter some of his APs at work. (If approached he’s supposed to say “I have nothing to say to you. Stay away from me,” and walk away.) Nope. And he ignored his circle plan and shifted the incident from unintentional contact with an affair partner to intentional contact. Handsome admitted that he approached her and asked her to go out in the hall with him AND THEN HE APOLOGIZED TO HER.

Recall that the first time he allegedly cut off contact with her, he called her to apologize for MY behavior for calling her out for her three months of highly inappropriate messages with him. He left that door open to future contact by parting on good-guy terms. He knew full well how incredibly disloyal, disrespectful, and flat-out wrong and hurtful I found that to be then. And I wasn’t wrong. That “I’m so sorry my wife is such a nut” apology set the stage for a 3-year emotional affair. Imagine how I feel about him doing it again?

Did he disclose this to me that day? No. The next day? No. The day after that, during which we had a long conversation about transparency and honesty? Nope. He told me the day after that – four days after the incident. In the first iteration of the story he said he spoke to her because he knew he needed to lay the groundwork for doing his Step 9 amends. When I blew my gasket about that (talking to her for the purpose of continuing to communicate with her??? wtf?) he walked that back and said that no, he was actually trying to do his amends with her right then.

Folks, he’s still on Step 4. He’s nowhere near Step 9, hasn’t discussed Step 9 with his sponsor, and WHY ON EARTH DOES THIS WOMAN GET AN AMENDS???

I think the women my husband cheated with deserve the miserable lives they lead, but I can dig up a sprinkle of empathy for most of them because he lied about everything to them and they bought it. They got suckered. (They suckered him too, but that’s because he was an absolute fool.) This woman, however, knew better. She knew he had a wife and kids who loved him. She knew we weren’t living apart or getting divorced or anything else. She still became his affair partner, cheating on her own husband in the process.

While it is true that there is room in Step 9 for amends to affair partners, the amends are subject to the important exception “when [doing] so would injure them or others.” I am the embodiment of the injured “other.”

I went all kinds of bananas. I moved out of our bedroom and when he asked me after a few days when I was moving back in I calmly replied that I’d move back in once he found a new place to live. He cried. It must have terrified him because he reached out to our CSAT and she saw us for an emergency session on Labor Day.

He has no good explanation for what he did. He claims he panicked and didn’t think though any consequences. His new therapist read him the riot act for that (hurray! the Doc would have spent weeks convincing him he shouldn’t feel bad for making “a stupid mistake”). I think he understands – as much as he is capable of doing so – that he deeply hurt me again.

As a basic condition of him remaining in the house (because in my mind his bags were packed) he has to have daily contact with a recovery resource. So far, he’s been diligent about it, but let’s be honest… that’s no big thing. Our CSAT and the new therapist are putting their heads together which feels much more reasonable to me than the Doc who was so intent on going it alone that he had to be begged to even talk to Dr. Minwalla after Handsome’s intensive with him. I am fine. My head is in a decent place. Our marriage is very strained, but we are talking normally and doing normal things – just with zero romance, affection, or sex – and he’s trying to figure out why his recovery plummeted. (There was no slow descent out of a healthy place. It’s like he fell off a cliff.) I’m dealing with my own betrayal trauma. He can deal with the circus of his recovery. Or not. He didn’t initiate seeing her (the reason our CSAT implored me not to toss him out) but he did initiate the communication with her to try to manage her image of him, yet again, which is frightening to me. It’s imperative to him that she thinks highly of him, even if it destroys me in the process. He denies this, but I think his actions prove otherwise.

If there is a silver lining here, it’s that apparently her home and marriage are in a sorry state. I had to ask the receptionist to move our standing appointment with our son’s therapist to avoid seeing the Flame each week and she let slip that the Flame already switched days to avoid Handsome. She apparently claimed that he “devastated her life” thus necessitating her son’s therapy. (Um, more likely her son needs therapy because he has a traitorous ho for a mom, but… whatever.) If Handsome did destroy her life somehow?  Good. Karma sucks.

Summah (as they say in New England)

Vacation mood.

In July, as of my last post that month, things were crazy at home, but calm and peaceful at my happy place. I had a few weeks of bliss there after I arrived.That stayed true. Mostly.

The packages from the unknown woman came to an end sometime in early August. Handsome handled them and dealt with Amazon while I was gone and whatever he or Amazon did seems to have worked. There were 20+ packages by the time it was all over, but none for the last month.

Since I blocked all mail.com emails, I’m also not directly getting the emails someone sends me with videos and photos of Handsome at work. I checked my junk folder last week and there were several in there, but they seem to have stopped a few weeks ago as well. I didn’t open them so their content remains a mystery, but that’s fine. Those I saw in July before I blocked them showed nothing of note.

Handsome did come up to my happy place for a few weeks of vacation. To be blunt, the first five days were simply hell. He was not in good recovery when he arrived (still sober, but nasty and hostile) and he made everyone miserable. We had an emergency call with our CSAT on the 5th day. During the call, when he saw how distraught I was at his conduct, his tune changed… a little. He was less harsh, but still not quite the guy working hard on his recovery that he was in late Spring. We did have some really good times with our kids though, including a beautiful day on the water for a whale watch.

There was one gigantic triggering event before he left that derailed me for longer than I care to admit. Our daughter was ill, so while she was resting we took our son out for the day. He picked up a stuffed whale toy at the National Park gift shop. He names all of his stuffed friends so, on the way home, he was asking what Handsome and I thought he should name the whale. I’m volunteering silly names like Blubber and Whaley and Shamu, and Handsome picks up the suggestions with “…or Natalie or Sarah or Angel Baby… .” Yep. Let that sit a minute. My husband suggested that our son name the stuffed toy after one of his APs. Mind you, I’ve never heard of Natalie or Sarah, but I can guess who/ what they are and I certainly know who Angel Baby is.  I had a real, immediate, full blown PTSD reaction. I knew Handsome and our son were still talking, but the sound seemed like I was hearing it under water. Everything slowed till I could hear my own heartbeat. My vision became blurry. I thought I was going to vomit in the car. I was trying to remember my grounding techniques but it had been ages since I had to use them. They were just out of my mental grasp.

Fortunately we were less than a mile from the house. Handsome knew he screwed up royally. He apologized and then tried to joke me off the ledge when we were alone (he often thinks if he can make me laugh or smile, we’re all good… not true). It took a few days to try to work through that pain. I’m fine hearing that same name in any other context and from any other person and I’m even fine using her name to discuss her with him. Coming completely out of the blue and out of his mouth (and to our son, nonetheless) it was like a shotgun blast. Do I think he intended to hurt me? No. I just think it was an incredibly thoughtless addict thing to do/ say. We did get back on track, but when his departure day came, I wasn’t at all sad to see him go. It was a relief.

I had a chance to see a few friends while I was away. These are people with whom I’ll always have a connection, even though we mostly keep up to speed via Christmas cards and an occasional email. I’ve known them for 30 years. In talking with them and having them ask me about certain things (like “where’s your camera?” since I was never without one) I realize how I’ve steadily made myself smaller to account for Handsome sucking all the life air out of the room. I resolved to quit doing so. Immediately. About 4 weeks out from that realization, I’m doing pretty well making time for my interests and my needs. I’m also shopping for new cameras.

We had a CSAT appointment just days after I returned home. It wasn’t pretty. I was far more emotional than I normally am, and I didn’t hold back. I left in tears that day, and emotionally exhausted, but I felt good having spoken my mind. It gave me strength which I would very much need just a few days later.

[By the way, my son ended up naming his toy Whaley, thank heavens. Can you even imagine if I had to hear him saying that name constantly??]

 

Strange Things

I’ve relocated to my happy place in Massachusetts for the remainder of the Summer. I’m at peace here. It’s just me, my kids, and my mom for now. Handsome may come up later for some vacation. We’ll see.

Before we left home, a series of strange events started. Some may have nothing to do with Handsome. Or they might have everything to do with him. I’ll likely never know for sure.

About a month ago, an Amazon package arrived at our house. It was addressed to someone by the name of Chelsea R Kelly. I initially thought it was just mis-delivered, but it had our exact address on it. I figured that maybe someone just made a mistake in their ordering so I did the good citizen thing and called Amazon. They told me that Ms. Kelly – whoever she is – deliberately sent the package to our address, but that if I didn’t want the “gift” they would send me a return slip. What was in the package that came via UPS and cost about $8 to ship? A single box of Good n’ Plenty candy. I sent it back. We received about six similar packages, all from Ms. Kelly, in the weeks after. I just started writing “REFUSED” on them and tossing them back in a UPS box. (I would have just trashed them but I didn’t want it to appear that we had accepted any of them.)

Handsome pleads ignorance but has apologized if it has anything to do with someone he was involved with. Amazon wouldn’t tell me where this woman lives, but an internet search seems to show no one in our state by that name, but two women (I’m thinking mother/ daughter based on their ages) in a neighboring state about 45 minutes away. The rando that Handsome met online said she lived in that state. She also told him her name was Katie, but I’m guessing that was BS. Why might this woman have come back out of the woodwork 18 months later? Because bit$@es be crazy. Or he was still in touch with her. I don’t think that’s the case, but again, who knows?

Also, about a week before I left I walked into my office one morning and found an email in my work in-box from an anonymous mail.com account. There was no message. It had 2 pictures attached and one very short video. The photos and video were all grainy and poor quality and pretty clearly taken from multiple home surveillance cameras. The images were Handsome at work, talking to different women. There was nothing blatantly wrong in any image. He appeared to be at least 6-10 feet away from them. There were other law enforcement officers and members of the public around. Clearly the photos were sent to try to hurt him by getting me upset. It worked, but not in an obvious way.

As I was looking closely at the photos, something seemed weird about Handsome’s face. I thought maybe it was photo-shopped and then I realized what I was looking at. Handsome had a gob of chewing tobacco (dip) in his lip. Now, that might seem gross but not a terribly big deal, but to me it was huge. Long before sex addiction and infidelity became a part of my life, dip was something Handsome and I argued about and that he lied to me about. Multiple times. I never knew he used dip until about two months before we got married. I would get upset with him about it, he’d promise me that he quit, and then he’d get caught with a can and we’d start the cycle over again. He would never dare do it in front of me, but he did use it at work. It’s hideous and he actually had to have a biopsy on his lower lip right before DDay. After DDay, it was something he assured me he was giving up for good and that it would never be an issue again. It’s another big betrayal to find out that he was using it again.

Since then, I feel hurt, and yet oddly empowered. I’ve been abundantly clear that I’m not playing Wack-a-Mole with his addictions. It’s simply not happening. Also, quite clearly his integrity disorder is still in full (or at least moderate) swing. He’s been using dip for months and lying about it the entire time. I told him before he went to his therapist that he needed to come home with an actual structured plan for dealing with the lying. Instead, he came home with some wishy-washy “I need to treat it like work and run towards the danger” BS. I’m not hearing that. I told him he needs a structured and cohesive plan to address the integrity disorder or – if his therapist is unwilling – then he needs a new therapist who “gets” his addiction better and understands the role that lying and deceit plays and the harm it causes his family.

If I was home I would have told him to find a wee apartment and go figure out what he wants. My departure was planned for months though, so it just came at an opportune time. We had also planned for him to come up for a few weeks of vacation starting late next week. I have mixed feelings about that now. I’m not worried about him. I’m focusing on me. Will the next weeks be better if he is here, or no? I’m not opposed to telling him to stay home if that seems better for me. I just don’t know yet if it is. Today, I don’t have an answer. Hopefully one will become more clear in the next few days.

One other strange thing happened as well. The very day before I left I received another anonymous email at work. Whoever is sending these to me is clearly trying to hurt Handsome though me. It was an absolutely vile written message, accompanied by a photo that Fire Dude apparently posted of the Whore recently on social media wherein she looks like a complete and total… you guessed it… whore. Again, think skinny, meth head version of Mimi Bobeck from the Drew Carey Show, in a bikini top that she’s pulling down to the tops of her nipples. Blue eyeshadow. Greasy, stringy hair. It’s not hot. It’s literally quite revolting. She looks drugged and dirty, probably because she is both. Yuck.

Fortunately, I seem to have left the drama several states away. The first 2-3 days here I was still in high anxiety mode, but now I’m calm and at peace. I don’t think I’m ever quite mellow, but I’m as close as I can get right now. Last night I went to one of my favorite restaurants here. It’s where Handsome and I had our rehearsal dinner. It’s also someplace he appallingly recommended to the Flame the summer before DDay when she came on vacation here. Last night I didn’t think of that. I just enjoyed some awesome food with a ginger martini, a view of the ocean on a blustery night, and the sound of the waves in the background. No drama or strange things here. I’ve left those at home, for now.

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.

Boundaries? What boundaries?

Many days – most days, in fact – my husband is doing really well in his recovery (18 months of sexual sobriety). Most days he also does well, or at least better, at working on our joint healing. On those days when he screws up, however, it can still be epic.

Yesterday, Handsome and I had a rare opportunity to have a mid-week lunch together. The restaurant we planned to eat at was closed, so we randomly picked a place nearby. We were seated in a big booth. I sat facing the entrance/ exit and Handsome sat facing the majority of the restaurant. We placed our orders and were talking about schedules and upcoming events when I hear a loud, giddy voice over my shoulder say “Oh my god, it’s so great to see you!!!”

Before I could even figure out what the hoopla was, some woman – a 40-something spray tanned waitress – has her arms flung around Handsome giving him a big hug, and then she squeezes herself onto the tiny part of his seat to his left. Her name, as I learned from her name tag – because Handsome made zero attempt to introduce us – is Julie.  As I’m sitting there with my jaw literally hanging open, Julie could have cared less about me. On the other hand, she was absurdly happy to see my husband.

Now, I fully understand that Handsome has no control over what other people do, including other women. He does, however, have control over his response to those people. He could have said “Hey, do you know my wife?” and introduced me. He didn’t. He could have said “Have you met my wife before?” and introduced us. He didn’t. The most I got from either of them is that she grew up in the hell-hole where he works (as if that doesn’t set off alarm bells left and right) and, probably due to fraud, one or both of her kids somehow go to the same elementary school our kids do. While it’s clear she hasn’t seen him in a while, it’s also clear that she feels she knows him well enough to act like this with him in public/ her place of employment regardless of who I am. I’ve never seen or heard of this woman before.

Julie pulls out her cell phone and starts showing him pictures of her boys, occasionally flipping it around so I could see them too. The whole time, she’s practically sitting in his lap. Does my sex addict husband slide down the seat into the 3+ feet of open space to his right to create some distance? Nope. He doesn’t budge.

Next, Julie starts talking about all the problems she’s having with her boys’ dad who is apparently some wanna-be drug dealer. (Of course he is, because Handsome sure knows which broken people to pursue and who better to risk your job and family over than a heap of trashy folk?) Recall that Handsome has a raging white-knight complex. Several of his APs started out as damsels in distress. He has read “Not Just Friends” and he knows he’s supposed to shut that crap off immediately with something like “I’m sorry to hear that and I hope you have someone to talk to about it.” Here is his opportunity to demonstrate for me that he has firm boundaries in place and that he knows how to use them. Does he do that? Nope. He jumps right in with her to discuss her ex-whatever. Unbelievable.

After about 5 minutes of this where I feel like I’m having an out of body experience, she finally gets up and leaves. Do I get any explanation/ apology/ lame excuse from Handsome? Nope. Handsome starts the “Let’s Make Believe That Didn’t Just Happen” game. I give him the benefit of the doubt thinking that maybe he’s just trying to sort through it or figure it out for himself. Here we are though, 24 hours later, and I do not know who this woman is, why she feels close enough to my husband to behave that way with him, or why he ignored all of his boundaries.

In the absence of any word from him, what do I think? I think she’s someone that he got overly friendly with at work while he was acting out. I think he ignored his boundaries yesterday because he didn’t want to seem rude. When push came to shove, he prioritized his image  management  and her feelings over mine.  That seriously sucks.  As I pointed out to him this morning, if he can’t enforce his boundaries when I’m sitting two feet away, why on Earth would I trust that he can enforce them when I’m not with him? He insists that I’m his priority, but words are cheap. I’m at the point where I need to see it to believe it and I didn’t see any success story in his handling of this moment.

He often does great, but he also must do better.

Another Anniversary

Yesterday was our 14th wedding anniversary. Last year, I forbade any mention/ reference to/ acknowledgement of the day from Handsome. It was simply too much to bear. It was too soon.

This year, I thought I was doing okay with the concept of acknowledging the day in some way. Over the weekend my mom wanted to go to this fancy schmantzy jewelry store in the city to have work done on a ring. Handsome and I drove her and while she was handling her business I was checking out the Mikimoto pearls and Handsome was off looking at watches when the sales lady came up behind me and said, “Hey, I hear it’s your wedding anniversary this week. Congratulations! How many years is it?” (thanks mom!) I did the math and answered her and then the walls closed in around my brain. I have zero recollection of how, exactly, I extricated myself from the store. I seem to have “lost” about 15 minutes of time as the next thing I knew I was across the street in a shoe store. I don’t think I fled. I went on autopilot of some sort. My brain just shut down.

Our CSAT helped me drill down on the problem. We’ve been married for 14 years. For at least 5 of those years my husband was actively engaged in acting out behavior related to his sex addiction (initially emotional affairs, masturbation and porn, and escalating after two years of that to physical affairs, massage parlors, escorts, etc.). I am terrible at math, but 5/14 means that more than a third of my marriage was not much of a marriage. I was all-in and thought he was too. He wasn’t.

Her advice? Stop counting years for a while. Ignore the number and simply take a moment to appreciate each other here and now. That 5 year window is just too overwhelming for me at present. It may be for several more years. In the future, hopefully the “dark years” will get swallowed up by good years book-ending them on both sides. It’s good advice.

I don’t want to just erase those years from my memory bank because there are so many awesome memories from that time (our son ages 3-8, our daughter ages 6-11, my last months with my dad…), but it is still painful to know that my reality was being manipulated. I was real though, and so were my kids and friends and other family members. I rely on that to move forward.

I took the CSAT’s advice to heart. It did help. Stepping back and focusing more broadly on the big picture and where we are at right now was absolutely the perfect suggestion. Handsome seems to be in a good place at the moment. I am too (most days). Our kids are happy and healthy. Rather than focusing on the anniversary as a marker of the duration of our relationship, I’m choosing to look at it as honoring the first step in the creation of our family. That is something that I can be proud of and happy about. It’s something I can celebrate.