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.
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.
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??]
I haven’t written here in almost two months. That’s probably not a good thing as blogging here is a part of my own self-care. It’s also not because there was nothing going on. Summer was a bit of a roller coaster. I’ll write more on that later, but just know that at this moment, in this instance of time, things with Handsome are okay. Often, they are quite good. He’s actively working his recovery (meetings, outreach to SA contacts, therapy) and he finally – FINALLY – switched from the Doc to a psychologist who is a highly experienced CSAT.
That last bit simply had to happen. I think the Doc had a lot of insight into Handsome and he certainly helped him through a lot of things, but my sense was always that he was ill equipped to address Handsome’s sex addiction. Could they devote weeks to delving into Handsome’s family of origin and early upbringing? Sure. Was it helpful? No doubt it was in certain respects. Did it help with Handsome’s integrity disorder? No. Did it help with his resentment towards me? No. Did it help him transition from dry drunk to a place of good recovery? Not that either. Handsome just needed something more… and thankfully he agreed to try this other, well regarded psychologist to see if he might be able to bring whatever was missing to the table. He came to the conclusion on his own that he needed to make the switch, so it’s a resentment-free transition. We’re only a few weeks in, but I’ve seen enough differences and improvements to make me hopeful.
If you’ve been reading my blog for a while, you might wonder why I’d ever have hope about my husband. I had dinner last week with a fellow blogger and this question came up in discussion. While my husband’s addiction was apparently always a part of our relationship (unbeknownst to me), 2012 is my defining line for my husband “before” and “after.” If there was no “before” version of Handsome, I would have walked 20 months ago (or, frankly, earlier). During the roughly 11 years we were together before 2012, not everything was perfect, but I didn’t suspect his addiction and enough was spectacular that it all balanced out to what I thought was a really good marriage and partnership. Handsome was present and an active and enthusiastic parent and partner. By way of example, our son contracted bacterial meningitis during delivery and was hospitalized for 46 of his first 48 days of life. After he was allowed to come home, 18 months of weekly in-home occupational therapy followed to ensure he stayed on track developmentally. Do you know how many of those 78 in-home sessions I attended? Exactly one. Handsome swooped in and made it his mission to ensure that our son got the services he needed and that I had one less thing on my plate. Not only did he schedule and attend every session, but he did all of the work with our son in between the visits. Spending copious amounts of time with an infant is taxing on anyone, but add in our son’s needs at the time and what Handsome undertook (and accomplished – our son is now a healthy 4th grader who counts swimming, lacrosse, flag football, and Tae Kwon Do among his loves) and it was noteworthy. He did all of that while also staying present and involved with me and our then-toddler daughter. Life didn’t revolve around him. It revolved around our family. I’m happy to add that’s just one example of the awesome, loving, giving, supportive things he did before his addiction knocked the wheels off our bus.
I have hope because that’s the guy I married. That’s the guy that I know – because I saw through proven behavior over time – my husband can be. Our Summer had some great times, but it also had some very raw, rough spots. Recovery isn’t linear. As I write about the incredibly crappy times we just went through, understand that my hope for the future is based on a very real and long term past. Just bear that in mind as I bring everything up to speed in my next few posts.
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.
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.
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.
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.
I wrote a whole post yesterday about how Handsome is really turning the corner. I clicked “post” and the WordPress gremlins chewed it up and banished it to the ether. It simply vanished. Sigh.
It was a long, stressful day at work yesterday and all of my plans to simplify things for myself over the next week seem to have been thwarted one by one. I was frazzled and in a crap mood when I got home. Handsome was at work, but he left me this lovely note on top of the book I’m reading on my nightstand (the perfect place for me to find it). It turned my mood around completely.
I am happy that he loves me too.
It’s a long holiday weekend here in the US and I hope that everyone has a chance to relax for a day or two.
I work in an office with about 100 other people. It’s large enough to give most folks the ability to vanish into their offices and tune out, and yet small enough that on the lower staff rungs there is a fair bit of gossip and schadenfreude going on.
My legal assistant, Sunny, is young, both in terms of her age (23 – very, very young for her position at my firm) and her outlook on life. The effect of this on others is likely compounded by the fact that she is 5’3″ and looks about 6 or 7 years younger than she actually is. She will be the woman getting legitimately carded well into her 30’s or 40’s. She is bright, fit, and simply gorgeous, with the kind of symmetrical features and sharp cheekbones that are usually purely aspirational absent the assistance of a good plastic surgeon. She had a somewhat disadvantaged upbringing, but she has her act together. She has a great job, she owns a car, and she’s in the process of buying her first house. (Did I mention she’s only 23??) She is kind and funny and is a really hard worker.
One day last week, Sunny went home early from work because she developed a severe migraine. She walked in on her live-in boyfriend (of 4+ years) in bed – their bed – with another woman. There was the predictable “It’s nothing,” and “You mean everything to me,” and all of the other things we’ve all heard. She was utterly crushed. Gutted. I don’t exactly know how she made it through the days at the end of the week, but she showed up and did her job and went off to cry when necessary, trying to avoid the stares and comments of her coworkers. The rumor mill got cranking, but the truth of what happened to her is actually worse than what they ginned up about it.
Over the weekend this young woman who has an entire lifetime in front of her and who is wonderful and fierce and and kind and who has the world at her feet… she tried to end her own life with a bottle of pills. Why? Not because of him exactly. Even in her pain she knows he isn’t worth exiting this life and hurting her family over. No… instead it was because in that one instant her entire self-worth was stolen from her. Vanished. Gone.
I talked with her briefly yesterday. Her words were incredibly triggering, but I get where she’s coming from. “I thought I mattered to him and that the future we were building was real. If nothing else, I always felt certain that he was my friend, but even just true friends don’t destroy each other like this.” And also, “Nothing I thought was real is true.” Sunny is young, but her pain is raw and real and not very different from a lot of betrayed partners here in the blogosphere.
Sunny did not ask my advice and I didn’t give her any. I did assure her that she could always talk to me. (I’m pretty sure she has heard me weeping in my office on many an occasion, and I know she knows why.) She has ended the relationship. (“If he can’t keep from cheating before we get married what’s to stop him from cheating after we get married?”) Her family will pack and move her out of their shared apartment this weekend. She found and started seeing a good therapist. Sunny has reached out to her lender and has removed her boyfriend from her mortgage application. She’ll buy the house on her own. She’ll be fine one day. It just won’t be tomorrow or the day after that or maybe the month after that. Sunny will get there, but right now she is suffering. I am just hoping that she will see that speck of light at the end of the tunnel and keep reaching for it, however long it takes.
“Who are you and what have you done with my husband?”
I’ve been thinking this often lately. I’m going to poke fate right in the eyeball here. I almost hate to write this post because memorializing the happy occurrence of something I’ve been hoping for these last 17 months seems to be not just tempting but actually taunting fate. That’s all thanks to the effects of my betrayal trauma and PTSD. Nonetheless, I suppose that if I’m being duped or suckered or made a fool of, this blogging community and all of my supports will again lift me back on my feet. For now, please do a small, conservative but jubilant, happy dance with me.
Handsome 1.0 appears to have been replaced with Handsome 2.0. He FINALLY seems to have had the necessary shift within his heart for his recovery – and our healing together – to really take off. That place where I really hoped he’d be a year ago? Where he assured me he was a year (and longer) ago? Yeah… just getting there now. Better late than never.
How did this come to light? First, he hasn’t really felt any of the resentment he so feared after signing our post-nup. That surprised him (and me). In doing some self-examination and trying to figure out why that’s the case, he concluded that if I ever actually need to use and enforce that document that (1) he probably deserves whatever befalls him and, more importantly (2) that I would be deserving of and entitled to anything I would receive as a result and he would want me to have it. Those are two things he has not been capable of recognizing until now because he had struggled to truly believe that the issue isn’t my response to his behavior, but his behavior itself. He has, since seeing Dr. M, been able to talk a good game in this regard, but his actions indicated he never really believed it in his gut before. For example, he often viewed my boundaries as punishment rather than as a means to establish safety. That appears to be changing.
Second, I have written here of Handsome’s fraught relationship with alcohol. To be clear, he was never drunk in front of our kids or drinking at work or anything like that, but he would have at least three or four beers at some point every single day. Every. Single. Day. I learned after DDay that what I thought were 3 or maybe 4 beers a day bloomed to 8-10 beers a day during his peak acting out. He would drink, alone in our basement, while he watched tv or porn or sexted his harem. At a minimum, he and I agree that he has abused alcohol during our marriage. (He disputes that he is an alcoholic and I’m tired of arguing over the label as long as he agrees he abused it.) We also agree that his excessive drinking impacted his acting out and his anger management issues. After two failed attempts at maintaining a year of sobriety from alcohol, he is now 5 months into that renewed commitment. My issue is that he fully intends to drink again once that year is up. He has made no secret of that. I have made no secret of my fear should that actually come to pass. And it is, very literally, fear. I’ve realized that a tremendous amount of my PTSD is rooted in his beer-fueled angry outbursts. As recently as two months ago, discussion on the topic would result in him being furious and me in tears. Handsome is a foreign and craft beer fanatic. (In Prague? It must be Pilsner Urquell time. In Lancaster PA? Let’s try something from Lancaster Dispensing Company!) I believe he viewed my insistence on his sobriety from alcohol, not as a protective measure for me and our kids, but rather as an effort to control him by taking away something he loves.
Now? In planning my 50th birthday trip later in the year, Handsome disclosed that he was nervous about doing a few things on my agenda (Warsaw, Vienna, Bratislava, and Budapest) knowing that he couldn’t have a beer. In past years he loved walking around the European Christmas markets with a beer in one hand and a pretzel or sausage in the other. We had actually had that discussion months ago and at that time Handsome wanted/ expected me to say “hey, it’s okay if you have a beer here and there.” I didn’t say that. I don’t feel that way. This time, because I want a trip completely unmarred by his drama, I sighed and suggested that I would look for a different destination for the trip. Handsome 2.0 insisted that I didn’t need to because it is more important to him that I have the birthday trip I want than that he be able to have a beer.
My reaction? I initially thought, quite frankly, that he was blowing smoke up my tush and that he’ll get there and expect to drink. So, I pressed the envelope. I told him that I fear that he believes that he can resume drinking the day after his year is up and that my opinion is that there is a lot of prior consideration involved, including consultation with his shrink, his SA sponsor, our CSAT… and me.. before he should touch a drop of alcohol. I told him that even if everyone is on board with him “trying” to drink in some form of moderation, his drinking may look different from what it did before. Maybe it doesn’t occur in front of our kids. Maybe there is no beer kept in our home. Maybe it only occurs on date nights or on days that don’t end in “y.” You get the picture. He paused and thoughtfully said that he hopes that I can get to the point where I give him a chance to prove to me that he can manage a beer or two a month but, at the end of the day, I’m more important than a drink. If it’s me or the beer he just won’t drink any more. I started to cry. I told him that I wasn’t trying to control him, but that the thought of him drinking literally terrifies me because of how it impacted me and the kids before. He said that he knows that I’m not trying to control him and, for the first time, he actually meant it. He told me later how great it felt to say that and to know it was true.
This is going to sound ridiculous, but up to this conversation I questioned whether my husband really loved our kids and me more than beer. Seriously. He was always so unwilling to even consider limiting or eliminating drinking, regardless of the impact on me or the kids. Being able to believe that he prioritizes us over his ability to enjoy a drink is a big thing for me. (I think that one day Handsome will be appalled that I ever had that doubt, or that he ever could have led me to that doubt. But for today? This is huge.)
Handsome seems to have finally realized that my boundaries and concerns about certain things (future use of alcohol, what kinds of interactions he can have with women, etc) are not an effort to control him, but rather a real, legitimate means to protect me and our kids and to keep our family together. I think Handsome 2.0 is deeply ashamed and sad to know that I feel we need that protection, but he gets it now. He is hurt but recognizes that it is his own behavior that causes us to need protection in the first instance.
There are other great signs too. He is throwing himself into working through his SA steps. He is making calls to his list of supports. He is being more present for me. He is still working on expressing empathy like an adult, but he’s much better at it than even a few months ago. I shared with him my trigger about the Kentucky Derby and he responded with much more empathy than I expected. His response seemed a little canned, maybe a little too SA “when they complain about x, you say y” ish, but I could tell that he tried. He told our CSAT that it’s really hard for him, in the moment, to think through the steps of what he’s supposed to say and that trying to personalize it to the specific issue is harder still. Yes, my 56-year-old husband is having to learn a step by step process for making a sincere apology. But he’s trying. Handsome 2.0 has realized that “I’m sorry” is meaningless to me. He is making effort to do better.
Mind you, there is still work to be done. Lots and lots of work. But the possibility of successfully crawling out of the pit we fell into 17 months ago seems a little more realistic today than it did before. That calls for a little happy dance.
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?
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.
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.
To the extent my last post made it seem like I’m handling things with aplomb, I am not. In addition to being sullen and petulant, for the past two weeks Handsome has also been extraordinarily contrary. I am seemingly incapable of providing a correct answer or opinion to save my life. Everything I have done for the last two weeks has been wrong, apparently. This, combined with the HPV and my mom’s health issues, has taken a toll on me.
One week ago, Handsome and I had the worst fight we have ever had, hands down. I had taken my mom to the doctor that morning and it was a miserably unfortunate appointment. There was not an ounce of good news to be had. I drove her home and stopped to check in with Handsome. He saw me walk in the door and immediately returned to fixing his lunch without a single word to me. I asked if he wanted to talk (no kids around) and he basically said that he didn’t think there was anything to discuss. In hindsight, I should have seen the futility of continuing and I should have walked away.
I didn’t do that, of course, so we ended up in one of those fights where I ask repeatedly why he’s giving up and throwing our family away and he says that he doesn’t know what I want from him. It was ugly. Again, I should have walked away. I didn’t. I was convinced that if I just found the right mix of words and said them in the right order that he would “get it” and … well, you can imagine the foolishness and futility of that endeavor.
And then the argument shifted… almost imperceptibly at first. Rather than the vacant stare and shrugged shoulders and “whatevers” I started to hear statements filled with deep resentment. Things about how I’m trying to change him as a person and he doesn’t like who I’m trying to turn him into. (Um, yeah, you’ve been a selfish liar and a philandering addict and I’d very much like you to have integrity and empathy… my bad, as I thought that’s what you wanted too.) Statements about how not everything that happens to me is his fault (well, the HPV certainly is, asshole). Rants about how there is no point in him calling any of his SA or intensive support people because no one is going to tell him how to feel.
I asked him if he was more interested in protecting himself and his pride than he is in preserving his family. He looked at me with the dead-eyes stare that I’m sure you’ve all seen, gave a little, insolent shrug of his shoulders, and said “I guess so, maybe.”
I am utterly humiliated to say it, but I completely snapped. I lost it on him. If I could put my hand on it, I threw it at him… medicine bottles, a tape measure, the tv remote, his Kindle and phone. He made the mistake of passing by our son’s lacrosse stick, so I grabbed that and nailed him on the arm and shoulder with it before I fell into a sobbing, snotty heap in our foyer.
I cried because he’s biting off his nose to spite his face. I cried because he’s going to hurt our kids and he doesn’t seem bothered. I cried because they are truly innocent victims in all of this. I cried because everyone loves him but he doesn’t love himself. I cried because everything has gone to hell since I shared my HPV result with him. (why?) I cried because he has acted like the HPV is some burden I’m unjustly inflicting on him. I cried because he has broken me.
I never throw things. I think it’s ridiculously childish. I don’t tolerate my kids throwing things. I don’t hit people. Ever. I don’t recall ever hitting another human being in my life. (I don’t even like to point at people for goodness sakes.) And yet I hit him, beating on his arm with my fists. Did he intentionally provoke me? I don’t know. I don’t think so. I think it’s more likely that he just grossly overestimated my ability to hold my crap together in the face of all of his insolence, and the other stress and drama.
I left the house to create some space and returned later and I apologized profusely for my behavior. I owned what I did completely. I did not blame him for causing me to snap. He said he deserved it and probably more. (Far be it for me to suggest that, but since he mentioned it… ) And in the days since then? More of the same detached, disinterested, woe-is-me behavior. He did call his sponsor that day. It didn’t seem to help. He had a chance to go to his preferred SA meeting on the weekend. He chose not to go. No journaling. No phone calls to his SA buddies.
Five days later, at our CSAT session yesterday, late into the hour, he referred to me as an abuser. Technically I did abuse him that day, even if it lasted for mere seconds. (If the shoe was on the other foot there would no doubt be comments suggesting that I get a protection from abuse order or get him into anger management counseling and the like.) He told the CSAT that I injured him. I don’t actually believe that to be true – he has absolutely no bruising or other visible signs of injury on his arms or shoulder (the only places struck by me or anything I threw at him that found its mark). He said that I didn’t apologize “enough.” He may indeed feel that way, but I did apologize profusely and sincerely and with great remorse. I gave him the kind of apology that I always hoped to receive from him. Unfortunately, he didn’t choose to hear it. As I have long suspected, he is not willing to show me the kind of grace that I have been showing him for the last 15 months.
I believe that an apology has three important parts: acknowledge what happened, express sincere empathy and remorse, and make some kind of reparation or atonement. With his own apologies, Handsome struggles with the second step and never manages to get to the third step. Ever. I am trying to make my way through those steps, not solely for him, but because they are important to me. They are important to my own integrity. That behavior is not who I am. (Or is it now? Have I really been damaged and changed that much? My god that’s sad if it’s true.) It is certainly not who I want to be. As easy as it would be to blame him, the years of Handsome’s acting out and deceit and manipulation don’t justify what I did. Explain it, perhaps, but not justify it.
Last evening was blessedly better as he seemed to be trying to get himself back on track. I noticed that he had taken his journals to work (where he normally writes in them) and he had called someone from SA. In a quiet moment I apologized to him, again. He cried and told me how sorry he is that I have to deal with whatever the HPV is going to throw my way. He assured me that we would deal with it together. I hope that is true. He made it to a meeting and came home visibly more grounded.
Was this a “rock bottom” event for us as a couple? I think so. I certainly cannot see myself – cannot allow myself – to sink any further. I cannot wallow in a miserable place. I need to rise, to be the person I was/ am/ want to be so that I can be the mom/ daughter/ friend … and wife… that I know I can be.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Our CSAT has given me some homework for next week, and I would like to request your help. We had a good and very productive – but highly emotional – session with her yesterday. In advance of our next session, I am supposed to create a list of needs that I consider to be baseline needs from Handsome in order for me to stay in our marriage.
Here is what I have so far, ranging from the subjective to the more quantifiable/ provable:
truth (Stop lying!)
fidelity/ loyalty
respect
integrity
empathy/ compassion
exclusive love
intimacy (emotional and physical)
healthy selflessness (demonstrate that you can be self-sacrificing – not a martyr – for the benefit of others without the expectation of something in return)
give me your first and your best
sobriety (sexual/ alcohol)
full disclosure
financial and other transparency
complete and abide by an updated circle chart
post-nuptial agreement
annual STD testing
ongoing weekly attendance at individual therapy
ongoing weekly attendance at SA meetings
participation in group therapy if available
ongoing weekly CSAT appointments
stop engaging in other behavior that’s harmful to the marriage (e.g. deflection, minimizing, workaholism)
dedicated time to talk about the marriage/ check-in
dedicated quality time (i) as a couple and (ii) with family
This is where you come in, dear readers. I’ve pondered this list till I’m bleary-eyed. What am I missing? No matter where you are on your journey, and no matter whether your spouse cheated once or is an addict, please let me know in the comments what you think I’m missing – even if it might be aspirational. What would you ask for? Similarly, if there is something on the list you think shouldn’t be there, let me know that as well.
I should note that Handsome is doing a lot of this already. The list of what he isn’t doing is fairly small. There are, however, significant things on that list.
As always, I look forward to and appreciate your thoughts.
