SA – Betrayedwife.net

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.

A Different Kind of Trigger

My relationship with my in-laws is complicated. For the most part they welcomed me and have been kind. We’ve had some moments, but mostly with my FIL and mostly once my MIL passed and he lost his filter and I started to see the veneer peeling back on the family picture. I harbor resentment though at the trauma their alcoholism inflicted on my husband and their abject denial of same to the present. They image-managed the heck out of their lives before I married their son. That’s a little like spitting in my scrambled eggs and trying to sell it to me as a soufflé.

I’ve written before about Handsome’s Complex PTSD. While a good bit of the genesis of his CPTSD stems from his job, an equal if not greater part stems from growing up with two functionally alcoholic parents.

My MIL was already quite ill with emphysema when I met her, but she was still mobile and somewhat self-sufficient. I saw her drink, but only at dinner and usually just one cocktail. My FIL has been sober for years and, if anything, is probably now only addicted to AA. And cigarettes. And being a controlling ass. I have often thanked heaven for the 10 hours of distance between our homes.

I was at their house one day and looking for a sheet pan in the kitchen. I opened a cabinet and out spilled several fifths of vodka. My MIL wasn’t driving at the time so that means my FIL was facilitating whatever drinking she was doing. On another occasion I picked up her 24oz water bottle to wash it. To my dismay, it was filled with vodka, not water. That was about 6 months before she died.

My MIL’s death unmoored my husband. I’ve written before about how he disassociated during her funeral to the point that he convinced himself that I wasn’t there. Then he used the resentment from me not being there to “justify” his acting out. (“My wife doesn’t love me. She couldn’t even be bothered to come to my mother’s funeral.”) The fact that I moved heaven and earth to be present and that I was there, standing beside him and holding his hand, was just lost in the recesses of his mind and replaced with resentment. All of his major acting out rolled forward from there.

Now, as I write this, my FIL is in failing health. It seems unlikely that he’ll see Christmas this year, and next to impossible to believe he’ll last a year. I can already see the toll this is taking on my husband and it’s nerve wracking.

I don’t want to make this all about me. It’s not. But my experience tells me that when the time comes and my FIL passes, my husband is going to be adrift. There will be no more parental affection to chase. No one to try endlessly to impress (to no avail). No one to be a theoretical safety net.

Handsome is not the same person he was when his mom died 8 years ago. He has experience and resources and tools to bring to bear, but the loss of a parent is no small thing. That’s particularly true when you’ve spent your life trying to connect with that parent and chasing the unconditional affection you could never exactly muster from them.

A part of me wishes that Handsome would be more angry at his dad. If not for himself, then maybe for our kids who are mostly ignored by the man. He either forgets their birthdays entirely or he remembers one child and not the other. Handsome acts as though he could care less. Maybe that’s true, but I doubt it. This is the dad whose behavior – no matter how deplorable – he excuses. The dad who told Handsome he was fat (he wasn’t) which prompted Handsome to pursue months of dieting. (FIL told my size 0 daughter the same thing during a visit. Not “wow, I’ve missed you” or “I’m so happy to see you,” but “you’ve put on a lot of weight.” Jerk.) It’s the same dad who never attended a single school event or sporting event for Handsome – even though they lived only 3 blocks from the school.

Handsome enlisted in the Marines and went into law enforcement because his dad did those things. He’s been chasing attention and approval and love from his father for decades. Getting those things from his dad has always been just out of reach. Just beyond his grasp. It’s not that Handsome hasn’t earned or deserved them. His father just has no idea how to give them freely. Once it is literally impossible to get those things from his dad, I have to wonder if the longing will stop. I suspect that it won’t.

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.

Things I wish I knew before my husband went to rehab

I intend to write in detail about my perspective of Handsome’s inpatient experience after he returns home, but in the interim I thought it might be useful to someone to put some of this down in my blog right now. I should clarify up front that although Handsome is a sex addict, he went to inpatient care for his mood disorders, trauma, and to endeavor to manage his medications including new medication for ADHD.

In no particular order, here are things I wish I knew beforehand:

1. I did not know that he would have extensive contact with women. While he is not in an SA program, the fact that he’s a SA is woven throughout the intake materials. The facility did put him in the housing unit for men, but that is also where they put all the women who create too much trouble in the women’s housing unit or the co-ed housing unit. (That fact continues to blow my mind.) His daily group meeting was also 6 women, plus Handsome and one other guy. Handsome is over two years sober, and by the account of his therapist he maintained good boundaries, but I’m told it’s not unusual for these process group folks to keep in contact after they leave. That’s awkward since one of our boundaries involves Handsome not texting, emailing, or calling women outside of work, childcare, or relatives.

2. I did not know how little time he would have to communicate with anyone. I knew he’d be on literal lock down when he checked in, but I figured things would loosen up afterwards. Not really. In the 3rd week he earned the ability to use his cell phone 2x day for about 20 minutes. Given that one of those sessions is when I’m at work and the kids are at school, that leaves 20 min or less a day to read some news, take care of “life stuff”, work, and family. And that’s only if the class he has before his media time ends on time.

3. I did not realize how iffy a discharge date can be. We were under the impression that Handsome was pre-approved for 30 days. Nonetheless, on day 25 the insurer did a review and could have cut off his coverage that day. They didn’t – and in fact they authorized an additional week of treatment – but Handsome watched others in his unit get sent packing early because their insurance ended coverage earlier than expected. (People were pulled out of meals and classes and told “Hey, your insurer cut you off so you can switch to self-pay or you will be discharged right now.” Like pack-your-bag-and-don’t-say-good-bye-to-anyone kind of right now.) My advice? Don’t buy a return ticket that isn’t easily refundable or changeable.

4. I did not know how hard the limited communication he could have with us would be on me (and at least one of my kids). I’m not sure what I expected, but the first two weeks he sounded miserable. Angry. Withdrawn. He actually sounded worse than before he left. I hadn’t expected that, and it was awful and disheartening. I cut our calls down to once a week (just me, he could still call the kids). It didn’t help. I’m not sure if I was expecting to hear something that I didn’t hear or if he was just drugged (they were certainly adjusting his meds regularly) but I ended up being a ball of anxiety after each call. My daughter held out a bit longer and then asked me if she had to do the calls. I asked her to try once a week. Handsome was devastated, but it might have been the wake up he needed because things seemed to turn a corner after that.

5. I did not know what an IOP is. If you’re like me, an IOP is an intensive outpatient program. After an inpatient program, they like to discharge patients to the care of an IOP as a step-down process. Broadly speaking, most are about 3 hours a day, 4 to 5 days a week. It sounds like it would be helpful BUT the burden of finding such a program seemingly falls to the family at home and, to a lesser extent, on the patient’s home therapists. Through my involvement in that research I learned a lesson about the single biggest issue with IOPs. If your loved one is coming out of an inpatient program, especially a good one with highly trained staff, they are likely to be (at best) gravely disappointed and (at worst) possibly set back by the way many IOPs are run. Very often there is no discernment between substance and process addictions so the treatment isn’t individualized. Also, it seems to be the case that much of the care is provided by interns working towards their degrees. After investigating every option within a 50-mile radius of our home, Handsome’s therapists opted to develop a Plan B – a custom plan that they would coordinate among themselves that would involve individual, group, and marriage counseling as well as EMDR. I am honestly not sure how well this will work, but time will tell.

More to follow…

The Backslide – Anger

Handsome is off at an inpatient rehab. More on that to follow in a week or three.

I’m putting pen to paper because suddenly, I am experiencing my own two-steps-back in my recovery. Even though Handsome did not relapse and he went mostly willingly to rehab, I am angry at him. Like really, really mad as hell. I thought that I had worked through and processed my anger after all of the DDays. I thought that I had worked through and dealt with my anger at all of the screw up and bombs in between. Yes, there were occasional flares of what seemed mostly like exasperation and frustration, but not like this. Yet, this is where I find myself recently.

I’ve noodled it for a few days. Why now? Why is the anger back with such force? I have come up with a few theories:

1. Yes, he’s in a locked down medical facility, but he’s also playing with horses and going on hikes and singing songs around a campfire while I am breadwinner, chef, taxi driver, washer woman, dog walker and homework helper. There’s some resentment there. While I know it isn’t helpful it also isn’t unjustified. He’s the addict and yet the burden of this treatment falls squarely on me and my kids. That sucks.

2. I’ve never really had the luxury of letting my anger come out before. Yes, I cursed at him under my breath and out of earshot of our kids for weeks after DDay 1, but after that life simply had to go on. Our kids needed me to not be a banshee in front of them. My anger took a back seat to preserving our family. Once it became clear he was a sex addict, my anger seemed somewhat inappropriate (you wouldn’t scream at a schizophrenic for their disorder, so how do you scream at a SA, I thought). I’m sure I was angry – I was devastated, so it was surely in that mix – but I shifted to trying to get him appropriate help and giving him space to work his recovery. I marched on and plastered a smile on my face. Life went on. Without him around every day though, it’s like a pressure valve has been released. It’s all coming out. I tried to change our cat litter last week (a task that I’d never done before in my life) and managed to overturn the garbage can and dump dirty litter all over our laundry room. An hour of clean up, bleaching, and repeated carpet shampooing later and I’m pretty sure that I wished him death in a fire-filled pit of kitty poop hell. I was alone, so the anger poured out without consequence. So did the tears.

3. He simply isn’t here. While it’s clear something is missing, it’s not all bad. Far from it, in fact. Our kids are helping out and literally getting along better than I’ve ever seen them. I’ve rolled up my sleeves and found time to clean and to clear clutter that hadn’t been touched in years. I’ve made such a dent that one thing became evident – Handsome did nothing around our house other than laundry. Before he fell back into his addiction he would dust and vacuum, polish woodwork, mop and things like that. It’s clear to me that hasn’t happened in forever. Given what I’ve been able to accomplish in a few weekends on my own even with working full time + and all my other inherited tasks, any reason he has for not helping is pure BS. I always gave him the benefit of the doubt about being busy (among other things) but the reality is that it’s just another example of how I made my needs small to cater to him. I am dedicated to ensuring that doesn’t happen again.

That is what I think leads to the main root of my anger. I am living a nice, normal, hectic but happy life right now. With Handsome temporarily out of the picture I see clearly how devastating his behavior was both during the throes of his addiction and at the lowest points during his recovery. I am happier and less lonely than I was for the last six months, and yet HE IS NOT HERE. I miss him, but not the “him” I’ve seen since last May, and certainly not the “him” I saw during his acting out.

What I thought was tolerable when I was in the fish bowl with him is clearly intolerable from outside. Addicts can suck all of the oxygen out of a room and, in our case, I see how much he sucked out of this family. I’m really angry at him for that, but I am almost equally mad at myself that I couldn’t see that in real time and that I allowed it to happen.

Before Handsome left for rehab I made it clear that upon discharge he wouldn’t be coming straight home. He can spend a week or three in a tiny AirBnB or economy hotel while he reintegrates into his job and our family. He needs to meld to our new normal. Not the other way around. One good thing to come from this anger is a hard commitment by me to ensuring that things don’t go back to the way they were before.

Inpatient Rehab for Sex Addiction – Suggestions Needed

No, Handsome hasn’t relapsed. Yes, he is still sober (2 years next week) but he is … stuck. He goes to his meetings and he makes all of his appointments. Intellectually he knows what he needs to work on and how to go about working on it. He just can’t seem to bring himself to actually DO much. His emotional regulation is still crap. He has a decent pool of resources to rely on, but when his ship is sinking he is unable (unwilling?) to reach out to anyone or to do much of anything about it. He simply can’t bring himself to call on anyone for help when he needs it and yet he remains utterly unable to right his own ship.

Both our CSAT and Doc 2 have strongly suggested that he attend a 30+ day inpatient rehab where he can focus on family of origin issues, traumas, and other things and where he could hopefully develop the emotional regulation skills he so desperately needs. I believe that for proximity issues alone, they’re pointing him towards KeyStone Center outside of Philadelphia. I hear that Russell Brand did a stint there. He writes fondly of his recovery but less so of the facility. Also, rather than staff physicians and counselors they use an “independent contractor” model which seems a bit sketchy to me.

Handsome can go anywhere in the country. He isn’t stuck on the East coast. If you or your partner have insight on any inpatient rehab programs, whether positive or negative, please share them. We originally connected with Dr. Minwalla through relationships built here in the blogosphere (and he was an absolutely fabulous asset early on in Handsome’s recovery), so I value and appreciate any recommendations or criticisms you may have for any facility. Information would be particularly helpful on the program broadly (particularly substance versus fluff), duration, family involvement (if any), and insight on whether sex addiction is truly a specialty or area of expertise. It seems that there are a number of facilities that profess expertise in sex addition when they actually have little training or meaningful experience in that area.

It’s not a sure thing that Handsome will be going, but I’m type A enough to try to get some ducks in a row just in case it actually happens. As always, I thank you all for any assistance you can provide.

One Step at a Time… Literally

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

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

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

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

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

Beware the Ides of March (Part I)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More to follow…

One Year After DDay #1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stuck on the path out of sex addiction

Seo, Young-Deok Anguish #25, Stainless chain, 120 x 80 x 40cm, 2015

Our CSAT threw a monkey wrench at me yesterday. Handsome was working, so I saw her alone. We were supposed to be touching base on the therapeutic disclosure.

After our last joint session, Handsome had made two comments to me that I just couldn’t really seem to process well. I didn’t know what to make of them, so I wrote them down to discuss with her. That led the session in an unexpected direction.

The comments? I had told Handsome that I thought I was doing pretty well prior to the most recent disclosure, but that his new revelation (after he had months of opportunity to disclose it and instead continued his denials), really set me back. Yes, I expected it to a degree, but it was nonetheless devastating. I had a guess about the prostitutes and massage parlors, but the additional long-term whatever (anonymous physical affair? relationship? sext buddy?) caught me off guard. Handsome’s reply was “I don’t think you were doing well before this. I think it was a facade.”

The CSAT nailed her dissection of that comment. It’s a sneaky combination of gas lighting and defensiveness all rolled together. He didn’t hurt me anew because I was already miserable. Uh, wrong, ass hat.

His second comment? Remember that this was made one day after DDay #3… “Because of my integrity disorder you are always going to believe there are things I am lying about.” Well, for the time being at least, yes, yes I am because to date I have been absolutely correct to doubt his veracity. As the CSAT pointed out, it begs the question of what he’s willing to do to address that issue. Pointing out the problem (a fully justified problem that he created) does nothing. It’s a pointless comment that frames him as a victim of my supposedly unjustified disbelief. What’s he going to do about it?

Then, the bombshell: given Handsome’s two intensives and his nearly one year of sobriety and his individual therapy and 9 months in SA, she would expect him to be further along than where he is now. She feels like he’s “stuck” and still too defensive to move forward. She equated him to a dry drunk which, when I think about it, is likely not too far off the mark. He’s sober from his acting out, but I’m seeing a lot of the pre-DDay bad behaviors that accompanied his acting out (like being unkind and picking random, pointless fights with me) because he hasn’t yet developed the coping skills to prevent those things from occurring. His brain doesn’t even usually register that he’s doing them.

She’s planning to meet with him individually next week to talk through this with him, and tell him flat-out what she thinks of his progress, and then we meet with her together the following day. She told me to be prepared to answer the question of what I intend to do if he won’t/ can’t move ahead? What if he is sober, but not really recovering? What if he hasn’t actually hit rock bottom yet? What then?

Yeah, what then? And why on Earth is this the second holiday season in a row that I have to make weighty, significant decisions to deal with his addiction and the related fall out?

Therapeutic disclosure (DDay #3??)

Been gone for a bit. We just wrapped up the second of two long family weekends away. We had a decent time in NYC (Handsome was highly agitated all weekend, but the kids and my mom were good fun), and we just got back from the Breeder’s Cup in Louisville. That was an awesome trip. Beautiful horses, great racing, fancy hats, Derby pie, and bourbon. Lots of bourbon. What could be better?

Before we left for NYC, our CSAT said that she thought a formal therapeutic disclosure would be a good idea for us. She has been able to see what Handsome has voluntarily disclosed versus that which I’ve had to investigate on my own. She has observed his responses to various questions about his acting out and, in particular, how certain answers just don’t make sense or seem a bit lacking. She also sees the frustration this causes me.

If you’ve been on this roller coaster with me for a while, you recall that our first DDay was December 9th last year. At that time Handsome disclosed parts of his affair with the Whore. He minimized the heck out of it, but most of the truth trickled out about their involvement once I got a chance to go through her burner phone. On February 26th, we spent hours doing what was supposed to be a full disclosure on our own. Within days it became apparent that 90% of what I had been told was absolute BS. March 3rd became our DDay #2 when I learned about his numerous other affairs and acting out behaviors. It’s also when it became obvious that Handsome has serious issues with compulsive sexual behavior. I knew then, even before he was formally diagnosed, that Handsome is a sex addict. Since that day there have been smaller disclosures, most of which I would consider to be “filler” around the broader stories of his acting out. Many of those little disclosures have been during our weekly check-ins in response to the question in his check-in format from Dr. M regarding a lie or secret he is keeping. I do believe that he has told me the majority of what he did. I also believe, however, that there are certain things that he has decided he should keep secret. Some of those things have become obvious in our therapy. I, on the other hand, believe that the absolute least he can do for me is tell me the full truth. I have always said that I don’t need the color of someone’s lingerie or who was on top, but I do need to know the totality of what I am supposed to be forgiving him for.

The CSAT sent us a template for the format of the disclosure and, frankly, I find all of the limitations “for the protection of the betrayed spouse” to be utter BS. To me, if it is supposed to be a disclosure it had better be exhaustive and thorough. A therapist or his SA folks should not know things that I do not. If he knows something and fails to disclose it to me, it’s a secret and that’s a problem for me. I really wish that everyone else, including Handsome, would accept the fact that I’m an adult and quit perpetuating secrets under the guise of “protecting” me. I find it insulting, patriarchal, offensive, and unnecessary.

I raised that point with the CSAT and also said that if all Handsome intended to do was to waltz in and tell me only what he has told me thus far, we should just skip it. I’m not going to put myself through torture so he can check off a box to say he accomplished something. If I’m going to go through this, it had better have a point. She informed me today after meeting with him privately that “there is new information that will be coming forward.” Lovely. So much for telling me 300+ times that he has told me everything. It’s a good thing I never bought that completely. (Does anyone wonder why we betrayed spouses develop trust issues that we never had before after all of this??)

Despite this development, I know that I’ve made personal progress over the last 11 months because I’m not in tears or a basket case over whatever might be forthcoming. I have assumed that he slept with everyone he says he didn’t, and then some. I have assumed that he engaged in other acting out behaviors that have yet to be disclosed. In short, I’ve already steeled myself against the worst of the possibilities. That’s not to say that the new disclosures won’t hurt me. They just won’t destroy me. He did that already, but I feel as though I’m doing a commendable job rebuilding myself in this new epoch.

Our CSAT wanted to get the disclosure scheduled and completed in December, but the holidays are upon us and I refuse to destroy another Christmas and New Year’s with new disclosures of Handsome’s acting out. I would love to start 2019 fresh, but I’m not willing to sabotage my 2018 holidays to do so. He can toil away at his part in this disclosure till the new year rolls around. Let it weigh on him for the next few weeks, not me.

Maybe it’s time for separate vacations?

This picture is the view from my hotel room on Sunday night. Unfortunately, it was not the room that I had booked months ago with Handsome. It was a room that I had booked less than an hour earlier after Handsome left me sitting on a bench, by myself, at our resort. One Uber ride and a couple hundred bucks later, I at least had a safe place to lay my head.

I should stop being amazed at how quickly things in my life can go from “great” to “hell in a hand basket” territory. You would think I would have learned by now, but no. As I sat in my unexpected home for the night I could not grasp that my husband was sleeping somewhere else. I could not fathom that he hadn’t called to see whether I was safe or to ask where I was. I couldn’t believe that our vacation devolved into disaster.

About 96 hours earlier we had been sitting in our CSAT’s office talking about how I was struggling with the triggers surrounding the trip and what I perceived as Handsome’s lack of empathy and deflection relating to those triggers. When we left there, I thought we had worked through a lot of the issues and I was (cautiously) optimistic about the weekend.

A day later we had happily packed for our trip, driven to the airport, and found ourselves at the first of two hotels we planned to stay at over the weekend. Twenty minutes after arriving we were at an outside bar/ restaurant waiting for our room to be available and Handsome started to get highly agitated and to complain about everything (the heat, the bugs, why isn’t the room ready, etc.). I said something like, “we just got here. Are you going to be upset about the heat the whole time, because we knew it was going to be hot, right?” He looked me square in the eyes and responded flatly, “It’s not like I wanted to come in the first place.”

He should have just slapped me. It would have hurt less. Knowing how completely insecure I was about the trip after last year, it was a brutal thing to say. Either it’s true and we shouldn’t have bothered to take the trip, or it was a lie but targeted to inflict pain. So, twenty minutes into the vacation and I’m already having a good cry. In public.

We managed to salvage the rest of that day, but the following day he went through a bout of acting like a turd because he forgot to bring a backpack to carry all of his stuff. Evidently that was my fault or at least enough of my fault to elicit swearing and fit-pitching like a toddler. Cue more waterworks from me (who pre-DDays normally didn’t cry). I kept thinking that what was happening was exactly why I was worried about traveling with him. He apologized, but “I’m sorry” doesn’t just wipe away a bunch of hurtful words. I sucked it up though, pushed the feelings down deep inside, and we ended up having a fine day.

Saturday, it was my turn to get snappy. It was incredibly hot and humid and we went into a building to sit down and, although there was plenty of room, Handsome sat so close to me that his shorts literally lapped over on top of my thighs. He could not have gotten any closer to me without actually sitting on my lap. I was sticky and sweaty and grumpy and I think I gave him an eye roll and said something about him not leaving me any room. Apparently, although he can get ticked off whenever/ wherever, I am not permitted to display any negative emotion without it becoming a national calamity. He sulked, he pouted, he didn’t speak to me for over an hour. It was utterly absurd. (Right now I am sure you are thinking “my goodness BW, what an entitled asshat he is” and on this trip you would be completely correct. This is acting out era Handsome, not Handsome 2.0. Post DDay I would see flashes of this behavior, but it has been relatively infrequent. He must have stored it up just for this trip.) We pretty much recovered and ended up having a good later afternoon/ evening, but I was exhausted feeling like I was on an emotional roller coaster.

The next day, the wheels just fell off our bus. They say that timing is everything and, in this case it surely was. We had a lazy morning in bed and Handsome was talking about how he wanted to go visit his hometown sometime soon. We talked about when that might happen and what we might do there. All good. Then Handsome told me how he really wants to visit the place where he went on summer vacations as a kid. Sounds fine, except that place had been the subject of a blow-out argument we had about two or three months ago wherein I flat out told him that I would never ever go there. I did not tell him that he couldn’t go or that he couldn’t take our kids, but I was abundantly clear that I would not go. (To make a long story somewhat short, my refusal to go stems from his repeated acting out in our summer home and how he tainted my “happy place” with impunity. As of right now I won’t go and celebrate his happy place when he shat all over mine.) I might have been less reactive to him bringing it up if the circumstances were different (like we weren’t in bed together) or if he appeared to give a crap at all if bringing it up might be triggering for me, but that didn’t happen. And the day fell apart from there. After completely ghosting on me for about 5 hours, by around dinner time he was so mouthy and defensive and blaming everything on me that I just couldn’t take another moment of it. I packed my bag, dropped it with the bellman, and went off to find dinner. I didn’t hear from him.

I reached out to our CSAT and basically asked what I should do. Leaving my SA husband alone seemed like a bad idea, but I also didn’t think I needed to stay and have the weight of the world dumped on me. She suggested that I try to talk to him, so I texted him and asked him to meet me. He came but was just angry and hostile. He admitted that he spent the previous few hours sitting in the hotel bar, drinking (there goes 6 months of sobriety from alcohol). I tried a dozen ways to get him talking and to try to reach past that impervious armor of callousness, but I was getting nowhere. I finally realized it was almost 10PM and I didn’t think he had eaten, so I mentioned it to him because I was concerned that the restaurants would close and he’d be starving. He just got up off the bench we had been sitting on and walked away from me off into the night.

I managed to collect myself enough to get the bellman to find my bag and to get into an Uber. Unbeknownst to me, Handsome apparently watched me leave. I didn’t see him off in the shadows. He said nothing. He never asked where I was going. I simply got a text from him at 1 in the morning telling me that he was sorry that he squandered the opportunity to talk to me. The next day – the last of our vacation – he asked me to please come back to the hotel to meet him. When I got there he hugged me and started crying and apologized profusely for the night before. Nonetheless, it wasn’t until about 5PM that he even asked where I had spent the previous night.

We made it through the remainder of the day (we actually had some fun) and flew home together. He apologized again this morning for “ruining the vacation.” For my part, I’m just very sad. I’m sad he threw 6 months of sobriety from alcohol out the window at the drop of a hat. I’m sad he didn’t/ wouldn’t call his SA sponsor. I’m sad he didn’t/ wouldn’t try to participate in a phone meeting or an online meeting. I’m sad that he didn’t try to call me, even though he was mad at me, to try to talk through things. I’m sad that he did not use a single tool at his disposal to help him deal with whatever was going on inside his head. I’m sad that the high I normally get from travel is just stunningly absent this time around. I can’t shake the feeling that I wasted three vacation days and that if this is what vacationing with my recovering SA husband means, I’d rather go alone.

Never Have I Ever…

Over time, I’ve come to realize that a good number of my conversations with my husband regarding his years of acting out have seemed an awful lot like a sadistic round of the “Never have I ever…” game.

Absent a betrayer who vomits forth disclosures, we partners are left to ask question after question, trying to get answers. We have a million questions, and we also ask the same questions multiple times. Nonetheless, we only know to ask certain questions based on the limited sphere of information we have at hand. I, for one, cannot ask what I cannot even fathom I should ask. I’m left with seemingly random guesses or barely educated stabs in the dark. “Have you ever…?” or “Did you ever…?”

As an example, Handsome did not volunteer that he was pic collecting from the “massage services” section of Craigslist (which should really more appropriately be called the “prostitution services” section) from places clear across the country. In talking about Craigslist he happened to mention the word “massage” by accident, I think, and that led to me asking if he pic collected from massage services postings. Until that point he had always insisted that he only perused the Woman Seeking Men section of our local Craigslist ads because he was “looking for criminal activity” where he worked. (He had admitted that he would save some of the pictures). When I asked, he admitted utilizing the massage services ads as well. Then I remarked “Really? It seems unusual to me that you would limit yourself to those postings in _________ [where we live], because there aren’t that many of them and I understand that many pic collectors search postings from all over the country.” He then answered casually, “Oh well, yes, I did that too… from basically everywhere Craigslist has a presence.” This statement was an admission that his pic collecting was a much more pervasive part of his acting out than I had previously imagined in that it included both the massage services and the dating/ hook -up sections of Craigslist (and probably Backpage), and he was in touch with women all over the country. It totally undermined his whole “I was mostly on Craigslist for work” BS – not that I ever bought that for a second.

Does he get a thumbs up for finally being honest? Sure. He could have lied and claimed he never did any of that. I’m mindful though that had I not done any reading or research on pic collecting, I never would have known to ask the question that I did. It might squeeze its way into the definition of an admission, but it sure doesn’t seem like rigorous honesty to me. I shouldn’t have to guess at what he’s done. Otherwise, maybe I’ve got the wrong game in mind. Perhaps this disclosure process is more like Battleship, where I just randomly toss out the most hideous things I can think of that he might have done and see if any hit their mark.

Updates & Tying Up Loose Ends 1.0

I enjoy shows like 20/20 or Dateline that cover true crime cases, but I’m always a bit sad if there is no conclusion or a “since this story was filmed” postscript. Thus, please accept these updates (in no particular order) to some issues raised in my previous posts:

Fire Dude & the Whore: Having the Whore’s burner phone in my possession was like keeping a flaming coal in my pocket. It’s mere existence hurt me, and as long as I had it, I had an unsettling link to Fire Dude. He would text me at all hours of the day and night and send me pictures of people he thought looked like Handsome driving by their house. I finally managed to have the burner phone copied and I returned it to him in June. I haven’t heard from him since. He and the Whore welcomed a baby girl to the world on August 4th. That child would have been conceived during the Whore’s affair with Handsome, although he swears that he hasn’t had sex with her since 2015.

Vasectomy: Handsome had his initial consultation with the urologist and scheduled the surgery for mid-October. Given the amount of time he will need to be off – about 2 weeks since he doesn’t have a desk job – it may be delayed due to his work schedule, but he did follow through and make the appointment.

Post-nuptial agreement: This is a work in progress. Handsome tells me that he’s open to it and willing to discuss it, and then it never happens. He avoids it like the plague. When we do manage to talk about it he says that he feels as if I’m discounting his contributions to our family and that he fears that I’m asking for the agreement only to hurt him. Those are fairly big accusations. I can understand why he might perceive those things to be true. Neither is true. This is solely about sharing the risk of staying in the marriage and protecting me and our kids in the event he is unfaithful again and the marriage ends in divorce. This is a major item on my “I need this to stay” list, so I’m not giving up and I’ll raise it in front of our CSAT if he continues to dodge the issue.

Beyond Affairs: We just wrapped up the last of the post-intensive calls following our participation in their Healing From Affairs weekend. In retrospect, altogether it was a very worthwhile experience for us. We are (generally) communicating much better than we did before and I think we have a better understanding of how we have each viewed certain things that occurred in our marriage. We have identified our vulnerabilities in tremendous detail and talked through them in a way that most couples never do. While Handsome’s SA puts a slightly different spin on certain things, he still cheated and I’m still a betrayed spouse. There was enough relevant material in the weekend and in the after-care that we both agree it was worth the time and expense. I note for anyone considering their intensive that there are six big follow-up group calls after the intensive. Those are spaced out and are just for the participants of the particular recently concluded intensive. They also have calls every other Wednesday night throughout the year that are essentially open in perpetuity to the people who participate in any of their programs (there is a call for women and a separate call for men). The men’s calls seem to always be pretty secular (as was the intensive itself), but the women’s calls shift through both secular phases and bible-study related phases.

The Flame: Perhaps the gum is wearing off my shoe. Handsome realizes (now, finally, duh!) that The Flame isn’t all sunshine and light. He recognizes that just as he was having an emotional affair with her, she was also equally cheating on her husband. He seems to have gained some insight into why she was such a willing participant with him and what that says about her. The Flame has gone underground on social media. I had heard that her husband was filing for divorce, but I’m not checking. She seems to have lost one of her two jobs in the last few months. One way or the other she will get what she has coming. (Karma!)

The Unicorn: Believe it or not, but things appear to be working out for Handsome with his unicorn of an SA sponsor. I’d even go so far as to say that perhaps The Unicorn is an ideal match for Handsome. They resolved their initial communication issues and now talk fairly regularly. He has given Handsome space and time to do recovery work outside of SA, like our affair recovery work from the intensive, and because his schedule is crazy he is forgiving of Handsome’s crazy schedule as well. In short, things seem to be just fine with the two of them.

Today Handsome hits 9 months of sexual sobriety. On Sunday we will be 9 months out from our first DDay. I would say that it seems like a lifetime ago, except the pain is still so very fresh and close to the surface. We are hanging in there together though. I am trying to stay strong, one breath at a time and one hour at a time and one day at a time. Some days I do a better job than others, but writing here helps me through good and bad patches. I didn’t start blogging because I thought anyone would ever see it. I just needed to shout on paper (or a screen, to be more precise). The fact that I have received so much terrific advice, commentary, and support here from men and women that I’ve never met – even when we agree to disagree – has been both a wonderful surprise and a tremendous blessing. I don’t really have the words to express how much you have all helped me in my healing, but I want to say that I appreciate each of you. Thank you all. ❤️

Financial Infidelity – Show Me the Money

This is a tough post for me to write, and I apologize in advance for the length. My reasonably blue-collared upbringing impressed upon me the decidedly blue-blooded notion that you don’t discuss money with people outside your household. Ever. Nonetheless, it plays a big role in my story with Handsome and I’m guessing that I’m not the only betrayed spouse who feels this way.

Before the Spring of 2012 (when Handsome’s acting out really commenced) Handsome and I would bicker, but rarely fight over anything other than politics. Maybe we’d feud over a scheduling/ child care issue, but these were fleeting matters, and quickly smoothed over. Starting in 2012, however, Handsome suddenly started to pick fights about our finances.

A touch of background: Handsome and I work full time (plus) and our jobs permit us a comfortable, culturally rich life. We have a lovely home and a summer home and retirement savings and we take nice vacations. We carefully pick and choose what we spend our money on and we are generally in agreement. We aren’t buying the $14 organic peanut butter at the grocery store, but we have taken our kids to Europe and South America. Our kids are a big source of spending (activities, camps, babysitter, etc.). Collectively, I don’t think that we live beyond our means, but we don’t live below them either. There is no great big pot of money left at month end, and a major unexpected expense (like a big home or car repair, for example) can still sting.

I’ve written here before about how Handsome and I divide our finances. I bear the vast majority of our expenses, but my income is significantly higher. The idea has always been that we each bear our proportionate share of expenses and neither of us should be penniless throughout the month. Imagine my surprise when I would be having a discussion with Handsome about paying for something relatively minor and he would suddenly start SCREAMING at me about how he has “no money” and “can’t live like this anymore.” When these outbursts started in 2012, I just started bearing a greater portion of the financial obligations, both to try to help him out (was the division unfair or overly burdensome to him? I didn’t know…) and to avoid the conflict. The outbursts continued, and they got more frequent.

By our first DDay, I had been subjected to these screaming tirades about money every few months for the better part of five years. Tirades from a man who, when he needed to replace a Ford Escape that was aging into a money pit in 2015, called me one day out of the blue because he found a new Land Rover he wanted to buy that very day. He wanted to get me to agree – sight unseen – to the purchase of a car that didn’t meet our needs (we had discussed getting something with a third row) and which I sincerely doubted he could afford to maintain. That proved to be true. He couldn’t afford the dealer maintenance. (I now know he bought the car when his physical affair with the Whore was at its pinnacle, in an apparent pathetic attempt to impress a woman who has neither a car nor a driver’s license and spends the vast majority of every single day on her cat pee- stained couch.)

In the back of my mind I always kind of wondered – why is he always broke? If anything his monthly expenses decreased while his income increased, so what’s the issue? He was so very highly agitated about it though, that I figured it wasn’t worth the battle to get into it with him. For the past few years I mostly bought my own Mother’s Day and birthday gifts for our kids to give me so that they could feel like they were actually participating in the celebration. I almost solely and exclusively bought our kids’ birthday and Christmas gifts because he plead poverty.

In the wake of both of my DDays I’ve come to learn where his money was going. Several hundred dollars a month went to buy beer. Then there was the porn he purchased, the expense of his burner phone, the fancy meals he squired the skanks to, the hotel room for the Whore, and all of the cash he showered on them. Hundreds of dollars out the door each month. By my general estimation, he blew at least $16,000 on his acting out from 2012 through 2017. All the while he would stand in our house and scream at me till he was red in the face about not having money.

For Christmas in 2016, Handsome told me that he was “short on cash” so he couldn’t buy any of our kids’ gifts. He seemed sincerely remorseful about it and I just did what I always do and handled everything. Our kids had an awesome holiday. He has since admitted that he found Angel Baby “outside on the street at work, crying in the rain” (note: that bitch needs to get an umbrella because in his tales of woe she’s always outside in a downpour) and that he gave her “a couple hundred dollars” to buy Christmas gifts for her kids. There are no words that I can think of to adequately articulate my white-hot rage at that scenario… her brood and her opening gifts purchased through my husband’s largesse when he didn’t spend a dime on his own kids.

I know that Handsome’s screaming fits are what Dr. M considers “intimate partner abuse.” They were uncalled for, offensive, and yes, abusive. I am still terribly scarred by them. Handsome complaining about money is an extreme trigger for me. To put it into perspective, as of today I have as great a physiological response to his financial infidelity as I do to his physical infidelity. Any hint of a complaint from him about money is enough to send me spiraling into nausea and misery.

This past weekend – over the holiday – our hot water tank decided to die a quick and untimely death. You say “no big deal BW, they’re cheap.” Well, not ours. We apparently have the Ferrari of hot water heaters and replacing it is a several thousand dollar expense. We replaced the condenser for our AC just a few weeks ago for another few grand. This, of course, led to a dreaded discussion about where all of this cash was to come from and Handsome said “well, I’ve been saying for years that we really need a slush fund for these kinds of things.” Yes, Handsome, you asshole, you have been saying that and we certainly do. All or any fraction of the $16,000 you spent on your acting out would have made a lovely pot of cash to rely on for these things. Or the tens of thousands of dollars we’ve spent just this year on your SA recovery or our betrayal recovery. Yes indeed. That would be quite helpful now, wouldn’t it?

I went there. The place I normally bite my tongue and avoid like the plague. I pointed these facts out to him. His initial response? Deflect with anger. Blame me for bringing it up. Act as though the problem isn’t that these things occurred, but that I dare mention them. Shortly thereafter, the shame appeared, but I fear that this too is an addict’s manipulative tool. Pout and sulk enough that I feel badly for raising the issue. Make me never want to raise it again. Here’s the new thing though… it doesn’t work on me any more. If he apologizes to me sincerely for creating this predicament and stops acting like he had nothing to do with the situation, I’ll show empathy. We’ll figure it out together. Otherwise? I love a hot shower as much as the next girl, but I’ll freeze my tushie off on principle. The burden to fix what he broke cannot fall on me alone. I didn’t put us in this position and I’m tired of coming to the rescue.

The CSAT Returns

I’m not certain that I have ever looked so forward to seeing another woman as I did to seeing our Certified Sex Addiction Therapist (CSAT) yesterday upon her return from maternity leave. We were able to meet with her only once prior to her leave, and I was confident I could get by till she returned, but it was tougher than I thought.

It has been three and a half months since we last met with her. In normal people years that isn’t a very long time, but when you’re well within your first year post DDay, it seems like a lifetime. There were new disclosures to face, accountability and boundary issues to navigate, and although progress was definitely made there remains a lot of individual and couples work to be done. In short, we need her. I need her.

As torture goes, it was a good session.

She asked me how Handsome’s sexual acting out and the partners he chose made me feel, and asked me to tell Handsome. My main answer? Diminished. I feel like everything about me and my life is “less than” because of what he did. I am looked at with pity by those who know what he did whereas I used to be viewed as a person of strength. Dealing with the betrayal trauma has negatively impacted me as a mother and as a daughter. It has impacted my work. I have withdrawn socially. At least for the last 5 years I did not have the marriage I thought I had. I could go on.

I’m accustomed now to thinking through these thoughts and to writing about them here, but this was the first time that I actually got to express them to Handsome where he was a captive audience.

We talked briefly about Angel Baby and the CSAT asked Handsome about his relationship with her and whether it was sexual. He said it wasn’t. Since I’m sitting RIGHT THERE though, I was able to turn to him and say “… but you’ve admitted you wanted to have sex with her. You actually slept with her in a bed in our house and supposedly had an erection…?” He then fessed up and acknowledged that yes, in the end, it got sexual even if (he maintains) they never had sex.

This is going to be a different therapy experience for him. He doesn’t just get to tell his version of events without challenge. He can still minimize and deflect the way sex addicts love to do on things I don’t know about, but on anything else he cannot hide. I think I’m going to find this to be very refreshing.

Nothingness

Handsome and I are going through a good phase at the moment. Life is hopeful. We are getting along well and he continues to work hard on his recovery. I refer to this as a phase though because I know that the winds of change can come swiftly in this stage of our collective addiction/ betrayal recovery.

I try very hard to stay on an even keel. I avoid obsessing. I’m not really actively checking up on Handsome. I’m done looking into his APs other than to check their criminal records to see if they’ve been arrested recently where he works or where we live and to Google certain pertinent info just to make sure that the supposedly parallel lines aren’t crossing. I know I can’t undo the horrors already done. That said, my spider senses are on high alert. Always. I’m hyper-vigilant, but I prefer to say that I’m just more attuned to my surroundings, to be diplomatic.

So, when Handsome and I have an incredible evening together and all of a sudden he becomes quiet and sullen and wipes a tear from his normally dry eyes, I naturally feel a question coming on.

“What’s up?” (I try to keep it light…)

“Nothing.”

With that one word, I feel like I’m set back a dozen steps. I go from rational to nut job in a nanosecond. Outwardly, you might notice no change save, perhaps, for the tick I’ve developed in my left hand since DDay. Inside my head, however, I’m thinking (cue the crazy sirens):

“What is it he feels too guilty to tell me?”

“What lie is he keeping?”

“Is he acting out again?”

“Did one of the ho bags reach out to him?”

“Is he miserable that he’s with me?”

“Here we go… he doesn’t want to tell me that I’m too fat for him.”

“Wait, what happened to sharing our feelings?”

“What happened to building emotional intimacy?”

“He’s throwing in the towel on that already???”

“Asshole.”

All of those thoughts go through my head in WAY less than the time it took you to read them.

It’s exhausting, and I never thought that way prior to DDay #1. Just one more gift from the Infidelity Fairy that keeps on giving.

Beep beep’m beep beep… Nah…

https://youtu.be/M7qNlocNIf8

I’m back from my month away from home. Sadly, it wasn’t all vacation as I worked remotely for three of the weeks, but a good time nonetheless. Handsome made it for almost three of the weeks and was brilliant for about the first 12-14 days. Then the wheels started to get wobbly on his bus. I started to see the anger, venting, and frustration that were all too commonplace with the old Handsome. I’ve generally only had glimpses of that at home since April, but this was like a trip back in time. My response? No more cajoling him, trying to de-escalate him or placate him. I’m done with that. I simply told him that I wasn’t having it. No way am I going back to where that’s what I have to deal with every day. I think he got the picture because he made noticeable effort after that.

We arrived home to find that he had been scheduled for 56 hours of overtime this week. You read that correctly. That’s 56 hours of work in addition to his regular 40 hour week. To put it simply, I have issues with him and overtime. It’s a trigger for me. During the prior three years he would take every overtime he possibly could because it gave him an extra 8 hours a day to act out, and he’d get angry to the point of hostility with me if there was a family related reason why he couldn’t take an offered shift. Post DDays, he threw himself into work as an alternative to his sex addition, leading to his workaholism and the triggers it caused me becoming a source of contention. At present, our deal is that he can take overtime as long as it works for us (with our kids, activities, etc.) and it isn’t on his long weekends off or days off. He tried mightily to chuck that deal out the window this week, but I held my ground and he’s working “only” the 32 OT hours (plus his regular 40) that worked for us. He’s grumbling about it, but we’re sticking with our deal.

I was chugging along just fine till he called to tell me that he finally had a run-in with one of his skanks. I say “finally” because three of the skanks live where he works, and he hadn’t seen or run into any of them since early December. It was simply bound to happen sooner or later.

He was approaching an intersection with a 4-way stop, and saw Angel Baby in her car at one of the stop signs. He says he turned onto a side street and she took off through the intersection after him honking her horn repeatedly and flashing her lights and tailgating him, trying to get him to stop or to pull over. She continued this for a couple of blocks. He ignored her and just turned off the street calmly and deliberately at the next possible intersection. Then he called me.

I knew that call would come eventually – and I’m really grateful both that he followed through with what we previously discussed he should do in such circumstances, and that he called me right away. Nonetheless, I got cold chills up my spine and my stomach turned in knots. She still wants to have contact with my husband, even though he told her it would never happen again and was unwelcome and even though I expressed the same thing to her. Frankly, that scares the crap out of me. I’m sure she has by now convinced her crazy-ass self that he just didn’t see her car or hear her repeated honking. She has likely told herself that he certainly would have stopped if he knew it was her… because he absolutely would have done that before (and likely taken her out for an expensive meal and given her a wad of cash). I warned him that I believe he’ll hear from her again in the not too distant future. He is convinced that she gets the picture, but if she did she wouldn’t have tried to chase him down like she was auditioning for Angel Baby Driver. I’m well served to not underestimate the level of her devious intent… or her plain old stupidity.

The Tale of the Tampon

I wanted to write here about an incident that happened some time ago, but that I’ve been forced to revisit in the wake of DDay #1 and DDay #2. I have said that if you had told me before December 9, 2017 that my husband had a long-term physical affair, I would have thought you were crazy. That is true, but that’s not to say that I never had a period of doubt.

In the Fall of 2015, I had a work trip to LA for five days. It was a longer trip than usual by about two days, but it was across the country and I had two speaking engagements and a series of meetings and a few work events to attend. Handsome and the kids were at home. During those days, when Handsome was working, our kids were either in school or with our nanny at home. Our youngest was in kindergarten and our oldest was in 3rd grade. Handsome was home alone for several hours a day by himself while the kids were at school and the nanny was off at another job.

I got home late on a Sunday night and everyone was in asleep, so I just abandoned my luggage in our foyer and snuck into bed. The next morning was a jet-lagged blur of getting the kids dressed and off to school before I finally found myself with a few moments of peace in our bedroom. I was making the bed and I turned around and noticed… a packaged tampon resting on the window sill beside the bed. On my side of the bed. Aside from the fact that I haven’t needed a tampon in years (shout out to the Mirena inventor!! woot! woot!) it was neither my size nor my brand. It was unopened and appeared carefully placed there, at the edge of the window, closest to the head of the bed. It was, in fact, where you might put something if you wanted it close at hand but you didn’t want to put it on my very crowded nightstand.

This was post “Porngate” that I’ve written about here, and also post the first email incident with the Flame. I immediately assumed that Handsome had another woman in the house while I was gone. I took the tampon, found him in the basement watching ESPN, and flung it at his head while doing my best impersonation of a screaming banshee. I hurled accusations and he denied, denied, and denied. He seemed astounded, shocked. I wasn’t buying it. I did not believe him. I wanted to believe that he knew nothing about it, but he seemed to almost be trying too hard to convince me or, alternately, dismissive of the entire incident.

I later inquired of the nanny if the tampon might be hers (yep, that was an embarrassing conversation) since she was to have been the only other woman in the house in my absence. She was a lovely girl (completely and utterly unimpressed by Handsome so I wasn’t concerned that was an issue), but a bit of an airhead, and her response was along the lines of “I don’t think it’s mine, but I don’t know.” Now, the ladies out there likely understand that once you have a tampon you trust and rely on, that’s the one you are willing to go to three stores to find in your preferred brand/ size. It’s not something you switch up. I think she was trying to not get Handsome in trouble (even though I was the one paying her), but I was unconvinced.

Ultimately Handsome settled on the story that our cat, who likes to play with crinkly things, swiped it from the nanny’s bag and deposited the contraband neatly on my window sill. (Again, that pins ownership of said tampon on the nanny, and that is far from certain.) I never bought that story, although the cat was indeed in the midst of a streak of doing just those kinds of weird things. I would find the plastic wrap from a tissue box under our kitchen table, or a piece of foil on the stairs. The perfection of the placement though was always the nagging issue in my mind. It was tucked away on the sill, on a window the cat was rarely, if ever, on. Also, there were no teeth marks on it. None.

Handsome told me that he relayed the story to his buddies at work and lamented getting blamed for something he “didn’t do.” He laughed about it and acted as if I was crazy. The thing is, at that very moment I now know that he was in the midst of two emotional affairs and his physical affair with the Whore was in full swing. He may have been wrongly accused about the tampon (although I doubt it) but he was nonetheless guilty as sin at that moment. In retrospect I believe this was likely his best effort at gaslighting me.

Before my DDays I really wanted to believe that Handsome was truthful. I wanted to believe that my kleptomaniac cat just grabbed the wrong thing to play with and that it was all a big, bad coincidence. I never fully believed that – my logical brain wasn’t buying it – but I really wanted it to be true with all my heart.

Today, even after all of the disclosures and all of the therapy and the intensives, Handsome still insists that he has no idea how that tampon got there other than by way of the nanny or the cat. He says yes, he engaged in complete and utter shithead-fuckery, but that there was no other woman in our house while I was away on that trip. I want very much to believe that, but having been through what I’ve been through, I just don’t. I don’t think I will ever believe it.

I believe in my head and my heart, based on Handsome’s other behavior, that there was another woman in my house while I was away. I don’t know who it was, and I guess it doesn’t matter. In my mind, he slept with the Whore or some random anonymous skank in my house, in my bed, while I was off working. It’s basically the same thing he did last summer with Angel Baby (except they supposedly didn’t have intercourse, although I don’t believe that either). I’ve dealt with that to some degree, and I’m dealing with this by lumping it into the same pot. Do I wish that I could just believe him? Of course!!! He has 8 months of sexual sobriety under his belt. And for all I know he may very well be blameless as to this one instance and telling the truth about the tampon. But like the little boy who cried wolf he no longer gets the benefit of my blind faith and trust.

It’s his loss, but it sure seems like mine too.

Dispelling a Myth or Two About Sex Addiction (hint: it’s not always about intercourse)

I am not a mental health professional. Nonetheless, having lived with a man who has been diagnosed as a sex addict by not one but two medical professionals on opposite ends of our country (including one who is far from being fully on the sex addiction bandwagon – but that’s a whole other post), and having read as much sex addiction literature (scholarly and otherwise) as the internet and Amazon can provide, I feel like I may have something small to offer here. Maybe.

The World Health Organization’s recent decision to include compulsive sexual behavior as a mental health condition on its International Classification of Diseases list (the ICD-11) has brought the sex addiction deniers out of the woodwork. To be clear, whether you call it “sex addiction” or you call it “compulsive sexual behavior” is mere semantics. The nature of the conduct at issue is indistinguishable.

On DDay #2, I learned that at this time last Summer Handsome was juggling me PLUS four other women, PLUS he was involved in pic collecting, voyeurism, pornography, and a laundry list of other sexual behaviors. It was instantly clear to me that something was very, very wrong. This was more than just casual pleasure-seeking and random self-indulgence. Why? Because Handsome was clearly miserable, distraught, and depressed. He wasn’t just sad he got caught (although there was likely a bunch of that going on). He did these things compulsively and rather than bringing him pleasure, they were literally destroying him. His drinking had escalated. His anger management was abysmal. He was alienating our family. He jeopardized his job to the point that I am still amazed he managed to keep that job. He looked unwell. It was like he was being poisoned from the inside out. I see this in hindsight. At the time, the day-to-day destruction was almost imperceptible – kind of like how you might not notice a parent aging and declining if you see them every day.

Imagine that you are throwing a birthday party for a friend. All the guests arrive and you head to the kitchen to put candles on the cake and you find that your spouse has cut a piece of the cake and eaten it. You might think “Wow, what a jerk.” Maybe you could write it off as a misunderstanding or a bout of selfishness or poor judgment. You would be mad and perhaps hurt, but not alarmed. Now imagine that instead you walk into the kitchen to find that your spouse has eaten the entire cake, all of the appetizers, the entirety of the main course, and that he/ she had started eating their way through the refrigerator and freezer. You would instantly realize that something was terribly, terribly wrong and that help was needed. That’s exactly what I felt like on DDay #2.

In those early days I would read voraciously and clip out text that spoke to me or that I found really helpful to my understanding of what was going on… what I was dealing with. I wanted to understand what Handsome was feeling and experiencing during the time he did these things. I was also skeptical about the legitimacy of sex addiction and yet I intuitively knew that Handsome wasn’t exactly enjoying himself… that he seemed caught up in something he couldn’t break free of. He wasn’t living like a happy man. He was using others and being used by them and, on some deep, dark level, he knew that sad fact. It just took a few months of therapy to surface.

I wanted answers to my questions. How could he risk everything? Why did it continue even though it made him miserable? I found the following text on a now defunct blog written by the wife of a sex addict [note: I just had these lines copied into my notebook without citation, but thanks to Maggie for her comment below with the correct reference to the now inactive blog “Living with a Sex Addict.” http://livingwithasexaddict.com/ and the post “Sex Addiction as a Fantasy Addiction.”] The following paragraphs are about intercourse, but they could just as easily describe the pursuit of a voyeuristic encounter or sexting or pic collecting or the use of pornography. Handsome says that this is remarkably what it was like for him:

“…[s]ex addiction may not be exactly what it sounds like. He isn’t addicted to good sex or sex with beautiful women. This isn’t a case of him wanting “better” sex. I know this only because he wasn’t getting better sex when he acted out. He was getting terrible sex with whomever he could find or pay. The important thing for the addict is the fantasy that accompanies the act, rather than the act itself, which is often disappointing. Fantasy transports him from his real life. Sex blots out what is really happening inside him. And what is happening inside him is terrible, debilitating shame.

Why does the distinction between being addicted to sex and being addicted to sex fantasy matter? Perhaps it doesn’t. But it helps to understand the fantasy component because then it makes sense that he’d engage in sex even when his physical sex drive is low, even if he can’t get an erection while doing so, or even when he’s getting plenty of sex at home.

…The rituals that come before an episode of sexual “acting out” have been observed to be very similar to those used by narcotics addicts before taking a drug. A state of hyper-arrousal (not sexual arousal, as such, but a kind of awakened excitement of the addict’s entire being) precedes the event, and sex addicts enter a state they often refer to as “the bubble” in which they are completely consumed by the planning and execution of their next sexual encounter.

The addict then does everything he can to elongate the time that sex occupies in his mind, to stay in the fantasy. His experience of addiction begins with these first moments of anticipation. He may or may not have any specific partner in mind or any specific act, but this preamble to sex pulls him away from negative feelings about himself and his life at least for a while.

Once the act is completed (the fantasy being dashed ultimately by the awful reality) the addict despairs. First, because the act was so fruitless—he’s back where he started, the same as last time. The sex [if any] almost certainly wasn’t what he’d hoped for, and didn’t accomplish whatever he’d imagined it might (yet again). And now he’s opened the possibility that you will find out and the only real love in his life will be taken away. He regrets what he’s done. He’s deeply sorry; he has almost unbearable shame.

Even worse, he knows he is likely to do it all again.”

I would only add to this description to emphasize again that for many who engage in compulsive sexual behavior, if not perhaps most, actual intercourse is neither the goal nor the point, and not even necessarily desired. Handsome was addicted to sexual attention and fantasy. He got his hits from showering the OW with attention (texts, sexts) and to receiving attention in return. If that attention was sexual, all the better. Bonus points if it was explicit. The intercourse he did have with the Whore was short and unsatisfying, and even all the unprotected oral ultimately wasn’t worth continuing (for her at least). Would he have slept with the others if he could have? Maybe, but he also seems to have passed up multiple opportunities to do just that. Regardless, the end result would have been the same… unsatisfying, impersonal rutting followed by deep shame. On some level, I think Handsome knew that and so his developing addiction focused on attention, fantasy, and self-pleasure instead.

There are, without a doubt, serial philanderers and folks who simply love as much strange as they can possibly get. That doesn’t make them addicts. I don’t believe that they experience what is described above. For them, it is a pleasurable process and there is no shame because, well, they just don’t feel bad about what they’re doing. They enjoy themselves and find pleasure beyond the encounter in their actions. They aren’t embarrassed and, while they might not want to get caught, that’s due more to their concern about consequences than to any deep internal shame. That certainly doesn’t describe Handsome or the other men he has encountered in his recovery.

Did Handsome enjoy driving by the Whore’s house to see her flash her boobs at him? In that singular moment, yes. And then sometimes minutes later he would be screaming at himself in frustration because the hit had passed, the momentary high had gone, and the shame train came barreling into the station. He’d resume texting her and sexting to try to stave off that bad feeling for as long as he could. In those fleeting moments he felt wanted, or at least special enough for a trashy married mother of three to stand topless in the dirty window of her dilapidated house and play with her nipples for him and the neighborhood to see. Now, in hindsight and after months of therapy, he sees it for what it was: desperate, pathetic, and just like a heroin addict chasing the proverbial dragon no matter the costs.

While there was a part of Handsome that hated having to come (partially) clean on DDay #1, there is another part of him that felt abject relief. He was exhausted, literally, trying to keep all of the pins he was juggling up in the air. (With my dark sense of humor I occasionally joke that most guys can’t deal well with one woman, let alone FIVE, on a daily basis, so what guy in his right mind would even try.) A part of him wanted desperately to just stop doing what he was doing, but he lacked the fortitude to make the break on his own. As with other addictions, he would make a mental decision to stop, only to slide back down the slope into the compulsive behavior. Having Fire Dude “out” his affair with the Whore to me was the shove he needed to end everything. It was his NARCAN revival moment – a second chance at life. It still took him several more months to come clean with his disclosures and he made a half-hearted effort to cling to a few last vestiges (saying goodbye to Angel Baby, dragging his feet on the letter to the Flame, etc.), but he says that he has had zero contact – other than sending the no contact letter to the Flame – in almost 9 months and maintained sexual sobriety throughout that entire time, and I believe that to be true.

Sex addiction deniers spend a lot of time on the issue of withdrawal, but I think, again, that this misunderstands the nature of the addiction. Does Handsome miss the skanks? He says not and I don’t think he does. I believe he does, however, miss being fawned over throughout the day, each and every day. He misses that attention factory. He misses the constant “hits” throughout his day. How can I tell? He is more obviously emotionally needy. (Something I never, ever detected previously over our 15+ years together.) Early on we also had to focus a bit on gratuitous touching versus that which is timely, appropriate, and mutually pleasurable. There are clearly some gaps where the addictive, compulsive behavior used to reside, and we are working on filling those gaps with healthy, positive thoughts and behaviors. It is a work in progress.

Will Handsome’s world end if sex addiction/ sexually compulsive behavior doesn’t gain further traction as being “real” in the sphere beyond the WHO? No. Handsome is more than his diagnosis. He is making strides in his recovery. It is, however, an added challenge to conquer a problem when you start behind the 8-ball because others deny that your problem even exists.