All over the place.

Yeah, my head is all over the place.

I hate Valentine’s Day. Hate it even more now.

One of the questions I asked him recently, only in the book, was about Valentine’s Day.

I’ve asked many times. He admitted at the two year mark that he gave her flowers and stopped by her house after work that day.

I also got flowers. Please… I’m the furthest thing from materialistic. Not even kidding. My life is simple, I save money everywhere I can and gifts honestly make me awkward.

So, that being said, I’m having a moment.

My flowers for Valentine’s Day that year was an orchid. I actually loved it. Orchids are gorgeous. I’m not a ‘I must have Roses’ kind of girl. I think they are pretty, but it’s not my thing.

On the bottom of the orchid was a price tag and name of store. It’s our local grocery store. 5.99 for my cute orchid.

Whatever, that was fine. So when he told me he ran her some flowers too, I figured he also got hers at the grocery store.

First time I ever asked, he said to me “It’s none of your fucking business”.

Maybe it wasn’t? I don’t know, I felt like it was my business. I told a friend what he said and she said, “oh no girl, it’s your business. He would be out on his ass if that was said to me.”

I asked many times. He just straight up refused to answer, or he would answer, but it would be a completely different answer than before. Basically? I never got the same answer.

Leaving me in the insanity loop. Seriously, this isn’t a hard question! If I’m supposed to start trusting you, opening up about where you got her goddamn flowers shouldn’t be the hard part.

This has actually been an issue. Fucking Valentine’s Day. Let me out of the loop!

One year I reached out to her and just asked her. She lied. Check this out:

So he does not know to this day that I texted her and asked about the flowers.

But that’s what she told me. Friendship. It was just a friendship between them. So she lies too. Shocking! Sidechicks lying!

So now I have the book.

He likes the book. Book makes him feel safe.

So if it’s truth I seek, I will play by the rules and boundaries I myself have set.

But the wildchild in me wants to scream. It’s too much. I just want it all at once. I want off this dumbass ride. Fuck that book!

But I smile instead. Comfort him so he continues.

I can’t move forward with or without him without disclosure. I wish though that I don’t need it.

So I asked again about Valentine’s Day in the book.

He answered.

“I went to the local florist and had them delivered to her. There was a card included. She was very happy to get them, so our ‘no gifts to each other’ rule didn’t seem to apply to Valentine’s Day.”

When I read that I wanted to puke. She didn’t get grocery store flowers.

You know I googled the flower place and got an idea for prices. Looks like it was close to 100. Yay.

So I wrote back “delivered to work or home?”

We all know that work delivery is a flex. A brag. ‘Look at what I got!!’

He circled “work”

Her work is in another town almost 45 minutes away. It was an extra charge for him to get them there for her brag moment.

Maybe the book is a good idea. Because the flash of anger that went through me could’ve resulted in us fighting. So there’s that.

I have to admit, I had hoped it was a home delivery. Work bothered me.

I was only going to spend like 2 lines talking about this. But looks like I needed a bit more, I’m still so angry at him.

She lied too! Why? Is honesty just not a thing for anyone? Why would she still be protecting him? After the fact? Makes no sense to me. I guess she’s more protecting herself.

I don’t care about her. She’s an idiot.

So in the end, he spent much of Valentine’s Day with her at her house and she got a pre-vday brag delivery.

How special she must’ve felt.

I hate Valentine’s Day.

I actually went onto poop senders today and considered sending her some poop. But unlike my husband, I will not be spending any money on her. It’s a waste.

Funny. But a waste.

What’s weird with this disclosure is how it picks me up and puts me right back at Dday.

What’s different is that now I can recognize that I’m hurt. There is no longer fog and blurry days and weeks and months.

It hurts, but it’s clear.

What my main struggle with now is that I asked. I asked I asked I asked. He lied he lied he lied.

Now I’m getting truth and I find I’m more angry about the years of lies than what he actually did. I’m angry that if he had answered 4 1/2 years ago, I would not be still going through this today. I feel like it would’ve been processed, dealt with, done and moved on.

But I’m quiet about that too. When I ask my last question and get my last answer, I will then figure what the future will be.

I did ask him if they had sex that day. He said No.

So I’m supposed to believe he goes to her house for hours and no sex. On Valentine’s Day. With her being all giddy over her brag flowers.

I asked him because I know he and I had sex that night.

So great. I still want to puke.

One day, years ago and not long after I sent that text to her, I went on her friend of hers page.

Sometimes you gotta stalk through the friends to get to your target.

The friend was in her living room in March of that year. He took a picture of her dog. Her house is extremely unkempt. Crap everywhere.

On an end table was a vase of dead ass flowers in an inch of discolored gross water.

I knew when I creeped that he had brought her flowers, so I knew what I was looking at.

She’s nasty.

Someone tell me though that me being knocked back by this and thoughts of comparison are somewhat normal? I’ll snap out of it right? Stand back up again? She’s nothing. No one.

I just feel like he belongs with her and I’m in the way.

I also feel like maybe I should just send her the poop.

Posted in adultery, cheating husband, DDay, discovery day, extramarital affair, healing after the affair, homewrecker, infidelity | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

I need this space to vent

I’ve been here on WP yapping away for years at this point, I know the power of peace it gives me to get it out and just have myself a safe space.

My heart is pounding tonight. Stress high and I’m waiting on the teapot to heat up so I can calm down a bit with a cup of tea.

It’s that notebook.

It’s weirdly working but it still comes with a heaping dose of anxiety and a wrecked stomach.

I sat for 8 days with his answers. Picking it back up tonight brought that mind movie and anxiety rushing in.

So I finally sat down, picked up a pen, and ripped into him with a reply that was quite stinging. Pissed about the lies.

Tore those pages out and threw them into the woodstove.

Started another page and inquired as lightly and as sweetly as I could “WHY THE FUCK DID YOU LIE ASSHOLE.”

Ok. Angrily tore those out too and they also burned away.

tea is ready…

So I took a deep breath, then took another one. Picked up the pen.

I thanked him for answering. I answered the silly, but cute, questions he asked me. I then expressed I was confused by his answer and asked again for a bit more detail.

Then told him I knew this wasn’t easy for him and I appreciate that he is trying.

Then I screamed and took a walk to check on the chickens.

It’s freezing here and honestly, you can’t hug a chicken and not feel some peace. It helped a bit, but the tea should finish up the ‘bring the anxiety down a notch’ feeling.

This isn’t my way. It’s just not. Maybe it’s the Sagittarius in me. I would just rather take the full on burn all at once and be done with it.

But he is not that way. He never has been. He’s calm. Cool. Collected. Annoyingly so.

I’m a raging bitch on fire. It’s hot and dangerous to be near.

So I took the notebook down and put it on his office chair.

I can’t scare him off. I actually needed what he told me. It somewhat put to rest what I knew he was lying about, i need a bit more clarity and then I don’t think I’ll ever feel it tumbling around in my head again.

On to the next…

What do you do when you finally have the disclosing information you seek? I don’t even know. It’s a strange choking feeling.

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The notebook.

I went and looked for it in his office 2 days ago. I couldn’t find it. I wondered how I would ask him for it. I don’t think I was ready to look, I think I just wanted to see if it moved from where I put it.

But then I went into my office and I saw it on my desk. It’s a bit crowded in there this time of year, it seems to be the catch all room while the tree and decorations are up.

I decided to ignore it.

Yesterday it crossed my mind. I checked in with myself, nope. Still not ready.

Today I thought of it, I pictured picking it up, opening it, seeing if he wrote anything at all. Nope. Not ready.

I pictured myself seeing nothing. Nothing at all. I think at that moment that was the reason I didn’t want to even open it for fear of nothing.

Then tonight, I was vacuuming, cleaning, making sure the new year was brought in in a clean house.

I could hear him in his studio playing guitar. I just put down the vacuum and picked up the notebook.

Without my reading glasses, I couldn’t make out words, but a quick flip through the first few pages showed he had indeed answered and had written quite a bit.

Was I ready? Nope.

But I went up to our room and closed the door, grabbed my glasses and had myself a read.

He said more in those few pages than ever before. Not only did he answer the two questions, he gave an explanation and a bit of his state of mind at the time.

Then went into an apology unlike any he has done before.

On the last page, he wrote questions for me. Silly and cute. Like, where did I learn to cook so good? There were some other questions that made me smile a little. Just a little.

He then thanked me for taking care of our home, our kids and him.

Now. All that being said, I’m crushed.

He has done what I’ve asked and if I wish to continue it this way, I must also follow the notebook rules.

But goddamn. It’s like being back to the day I found out.

Maybe not as bad… but not good either.

For one, question number one I asked him? I’ve asked a thousand times. Each time was a different answer. Each time I knew he was lying and the different answers each time left me just not able to process through it.

But this time? I know it’s true. Because it sucks. More and more I think because he knew it would hurt, and because he knew it was wrong and because he was protecting himself, that his lies were just that.

Protecting himself and maybe a little of not wanting to hurt me.

He could never get through his fucking head that he was not protecting me by lying.

So now it’s on me. I decided to look at this on New Years eve. Like a dumbass.

But now I get to do what I’ve been saying I’ll do, and that’s process, think about it, cry about it, punch some shit at the gym, breathe through it and stand back up. There’s nothing else to do.

But I do know it will no longer bounce around in my head.

This way of communication is weird. It’s not my way. I’m a “let’s talk, let’s scream, let’s fight it out, let’s cry, then let’s go make love”

But I have seen more remorse in those words he wrote than anything he’s ever spoken.

But I’m still pissed. I can’t throw those lies back at him. I can’t, I won’t. I won’t.

Breathe… breathe….

What is said in the notebook stays in the notebook.

It’s 8:22 here. Time to breathe, smile, pour a glass of wine and begin watching the ball drop festivities.

🎆Happy New Year 🎆

I wish a happy and healthy 2021 for all.

Posted in adultery, cheating husband, healing after the affair, infidelity, lies | Tagged , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Tattoos and a notebook

He told me 3 weeks ago he was getting a tattoo.

I was shocked. This man is not a fan of ink and has not ever really acknowledged that I have tattoos.

Honestly, I don’t think he likes mine. I got them when he was away for scout camp 7 years ago. I got three birds on my right wrist, to represent my three children.

I did tell him. He wasn’t that happy with my decision to get them, but I didnt care. My body.

Plus, I love ink. I think it’s so artistic and so beautiful that someone puts a permanent piece of art on themselves for life.

I didn’t tell him about what I was getting on my left wrist that day. We are bird watchers, we feed them, watch them, learn about them. So on my left wrist I got two birds sitting on a branch, to represent him and I.

He didn’t seem to care about that either.

I have written of this before so I won’t go deep into it again, but that’s that the tattoo I would attack during breakdowns.

There’s some damage to it for sure. Each time I went at it, the bandages would have black ink on them and it’s faded now and a scar or two can be seen.

So he tells me he’s getting a tattoo.

I’m shocked. What? Also a little intrigued, a man with some ink is kinda hot to me… anyway…

“What are you getting?”

He walks over to me and pulls my watch off. Taps the two birds and wraps me in a hug.


His appointment was two weeks from that day he told me. I spent the next two weeks telling him he shouldn’t. He can get what he wants, but maybe not get something that represents us.

I said, “If we don’t make it, you’ll have something permanent.”

He said, “I’ll just have it redone to you flying away.”

That kind of made me laugh.

Anyway, he did it. It’s gorgeous. I mean, it’s an amazing tattoo! Beautiful colors, good lines, good saturation.

The birds are adorable.

But I wonder… what the hell is he doing? My guess is he feels the detachment. Maybe he thinks he just tattooed a ‘get out of jail free’ card on his arm. Maybe he really wanted to do this.

I don’t know. Doesn’t change anything for me. I’m a little weirded out by it.

On another side of it though, it’s sexy as hell and I’m wanting new ink of my own now.

We had a nice, quiet Christmas. The kids had a great day and even stayed here the entire time. 21 had his girlfriend come to us and I enjoyed playing hostess and feeding everyone till they couldn’t move.

The weekend before found us in the living room dragging out a horrible trigger day. He still didn’t answer anything. He makes me crazy.

I said, “What about a journal? A notebook. Letters.”

Basically, we keep it to the notebook. We have a set of rules, boundaries, I ask my question or my questions. I leave him the notebook. When I’m ready, I read his answers.

But we keep it in the journal. No verbal communication about the affair, just the letters in the notebook. We give this a try, see how it goes.

He told me several times last week he feels like I’m throwing in his face all the things he’s done wrong.

I explained to him that I am not. I may have done that on the beginning, but we are 4 1/2 years now past dday. I explained all the reasons I need disclosure and it’s not to make him feel guilty, that feeling is inside of him. That’s his shame and I’m not here to shame him, I’m here to heal and move forward with my life no matter what that means.

He agreed to the notebook. He actually agreed and said that this sounds promising.

So a moment hit me this weekend. I started the notebook. First page was rules. Second page was rules he may want. Third page was two questions.

Its been days now and I haven’t picked it up to see his answers. I find that knowing he may have answered hits me in a way I didn’t expect. I will go and check when I’m ready and maybe that will be a while.

Maybe that will be tonight. Or tomorrow. Or next week.

I think I like that I can wait till I’m ready.

Maybe asking him anything during a full blown panic trigger attack was a reason he never answered.

Maybe I’m an idiot that I never saw that. Maybe he saw I was breaking down and didn’t want to add to it?

Maybe I’ll never know anything about why he doesn’t and hasn’t disclosed because he and I can’t master communication at all.

Well, affair communication. Other parts of life we can talk about just fine.

He’s not forgiven. I still don’t see him in my future, bird tattoos or not… but I feel this peace knowing that notebook is sitting in his office with something written in it.

By him.

Even if I have no idea what it is.

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Trigger season is upon me. Yay. It actually pisses me off. I’m done with this.

So today is the date he walked out and left us. Just scooted on by with his laundry baskets filled and left me on the driveway.

What’s weird about this year is, it hasn’t dropped me. I haven’t fallen. But I’ve had some moments where I’ve tripped. This time last year was the last time I cut. I feel like that is under control. Fuck him, he’s not worth it.

This year my moments seem to be bringing some clarity. I still seek answers. For whatever reason. Whether I am with him or not, I still want to know.

I play the two weeks he rolled out on repeat. But this year, I’m putting the pieces together a bit.

When he left that morning, I had no idea it was coming. I was making him breakfast when he got out of the shower and went into our room. He was in there for a while.

Hash browns finished up and I could hear him coming down the stairs. I turned and he had two laundry baskets full. Pillows on top. He put them down and looked at me.

He looked good. His face was bright. Eyes were bright. He was dressed nice.

I thought, “that’s weird. Why does he have his pillows going down to the laundry room? I don’t know if the washer can handle the pillows. That’s weird.”

I was still in my nightgown. I just stood there. He looked at me and picked up the baskets and went to the front door.

It hit me. It hit me hard. I screamed and grabbed for the baskets. He yelled for our son and had our son block me while he got out the door.

I fell. I just went down. I remember something popped in my wrist when I went down.

He came back in and got more things. I got around our son and grabbed some stupid things back from him, like a coffee cup. A shirt.

I was able to get out the door after him. He called again for our son but I got ahold of a pillow.

He won’t leave if I have his pillow right?

Wrong. He left. I was barefoot and in a nightgown and standing on gravel. I tried to chase his van down the driveway. What is he doing? Where is he going?

What the fuck is happening?

I just laid down. It was around 20 degrees that morning. I just laid down. I still had the pillow. Fuck it all. I can’t move.

I did though. I got up, my son said it was freezing and to please get up. He said something about my daughter and to please please get up.

Now. I look at that spot where I laid down and I can remember that morning like it was yesterday. I can look over at the doorway where I just collapsed and sprained my wrist. I can see me there screaming, bawling and begging.


Please don’t leave me.

Please don’t go.

Out of everything in my life, that day, and that moment, those 5 minutes it took him to walk away are the worst in my life. I’ve never felt anything like that.

…and today? I’m mad at myself. When I look over and can see me begging like that? I’m pissed.

When I pass the driveway where I collapsed? No. Just no. Dammit.

I’m so angry at that version of me. I’m angry at how I just simply shattered that day.

When it hit me last night that today was the big trigger day, I tried to brush it off. Tried to steer my thoughts another way. Tried to breathe. Thought about making a cup of tea. Tried to think about anything other than the stupidness I felt begging him.

Pathetic. I’m so mad at myself.

I tried to bring myself into the present and let it go. But then I thought of something.

Something that hadn’t crossed my mind at all.

It had to have been planned. What? Wait. What?!

You don’t just wake up on a Sunday morning, leave to pick up something for your daughters Christmas present, come home take a shower, get yourself looking amazing, pack your laundry baskets and leave...AND HAVE A PLACE TO GO, ALL READY FOR YOU TO MOVE IN.

I never thought of this.

How long did this fucker plan this?

Sit down Chris. Do NOT go down into his studio and ask him. Don’t.

I went down.

Me, “How long did you have it planned to leave us 5 days before Christmas? You just happened to have a place all ready?”

Him: I don’t recall.

Me: how long?

Him: I don’t know. I just knew it was there to go to.

Me: was she happy you had gotten away?

Him: I can’t answer for how another human feels.

Me: when did you make the decision to move out?

Him: that morning.

Me: and you just happened to have a place to go and move right into.

Him: I knew it was available.

Why didn’t I ever think of this before? But he’s lying. He had to have planned it.

Questions flew for an hour or so.

I got the same answers to everything.

I don’t know

I don’t recall

I can’t remember

But even though it hit me and attempted to drag me under, I was calm. At one point there were some raised voices, but nothing crazy. I was more sad than anything. Because this is like talking to a wall. I wild probably get a better response from the wall though.

I asked him why did he chose to go when he did.

He said he wanted peace. That we were fighting too much.

I asked him if it had anything to do with her. He repeated that it had nothing to do with her and everything to do with wanting peace.

It’s those two weeks. Those two weeks that started the morning he walked out that still haunt me. Things went down in those two weeks that I can’t comprehend at all.

What kind of person walks out on their wife and kids 5 days before Christmas?

I should also just note that though I’m a bit lost and trying to push off the weight of memories….I’m OK.

I’m on to him. I may ask questions till I’m blue in the face and I know now I’ll never get an answer.

I’m on to him. I can see his tactics. I can see there is no future with a man who still lies to me.

One day I’ll stop trying I guess. Don’t know why I do.

Don’t they say something about insanity is doing the same things over and over and hoping for a different outcome, but it never is? Something like that.

Why didn’t this cross my mind years ago? Why now?

Abandonment issues are just so much fun. I pray for a day I’m just comfortable and on my own. I’m pretty sure I can’t leave myself.

Posted in adultery, affair, cheating husband, extramarital affair, gaslighting, healing after the affair, infidelity | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments


Have I written that he accuses me of being abusive? He says I am an abusive spouse. He tells me I abuse him.

I know I’ve tried to write it, but not sure if I hit publish. There’s a lot of nonsense just sitting in the drafts.

So, I was accused again last night.

Am I? I don’t know.

Do he and I have different definitions of the word Abuse?

We might. But just as I will no longer allow him to tell me how I feel about anything, I cannot tell him that I do not feel he is abused.

If that’s how he feels? Then he must take his own actions and do what must be done to protect himself.

If that makes sense.

I have asked him many times to give me an example of how I am abusing him, so that I may be aware of what he is defining and feeling as abusive.

This accusation against me has been happening for about 2 years now. 2 years out of 30 together.

The first time he said it, always and only during attempts to face the affair, I shut down immediately.

I was stunned. Shocked.

I can’t help but be mortified that that definition would be placed on me. How? How, I asked. He never answered.

I was crushed for days. Replaying everything said in the conversation.

Am I my mother? I don’t know. Because that is my definition of the word.

I was abused by my mother. So my definition comes from that. Bleeding, screaming, neglect, punching, name calling, bruises, humiliation.

So my definition and understanding of this word may be different than his.

Or is it?

So last night I attempted to lay down some boundaries and talk.

It’s a hard time coming up. Christmas is shit. Our 25th wedding anniversary coming up is a pile of shit. It’s a trigger filled time coming that I’m doing my best to change this year.

So I told him almost word for word what was in my last blog. The I just don’t care and I just need to talk this out with you.

I went on, “We schedule all kinds of things in our lives, but we don’t with each other. I have classes and schedule time with friends. You schedule band nights and recording sessions. We can do this.

How would you like if we scheduled a night and we set a time and we set a time limit and go in with boundaries set by both of us.”

He said, “Let me think about it. I’ll let you know.”

I said, “When can you let me know.”

He said, “When do you want me to let you know.”

I said, “I would like to know by tonight if this is something we can do.”

So later, I asked if he had thought about it.

He said, “Maybe it’s something we can look in to.”

I felt a flash of hope.

That’s when I found it in me to tell him where I was now. That I don’t want to talk about their intimacy. I know that makes him uncomfortable and I’m trying to let him know what it is I need and I just want to heal.

He stared at me.

I asked him if he still wanted a third party involved. A therapist.

He has told me he won’t talk to me at all if there is not a therapist involved. I’m good without one at this point. 4 therapists and I’m kinda done with that. But if that’s what he wants, then who am I to tell him no.

But he told me this with Covid restrictions in place and tells me to wait until they start seeing patients in person because he doesn’t want to do it on a computer.

But I’m impatient. I don’t understand at all why we can’t just sit down and talk. I don’t understand why it has to be so dramatic and complicated.

You should see it. It’s kind of nuts.

I’m baffled by his responses. For 4 1/2 years now.

Me: affair.

Him: crosses arms, stares right at me or the floor, won’t talk, or when he does it’s to point out I’m abusing him, tells me he’s an abused spouse, says I berate him and am coming at him with vitriol.

He uses these words and I’m so fucking confused.

I say: can you give one to me, just one thing I’ve said that can fit any of the descriptions you’re accusing me of.

Him: stares. Says nothing.

I don’t get it.

Why does he want to drag this out this long? Why do I?

There is no lack of emotional reaction when it comes to talking about the affair. I do get emotional.

That being said, we do not talk about the goddamn affair. We talk and then argue about possibly talking about the affair.

But never have we even talked about it. This is what happens every single time.

We argue and get all emotional about maybe talking about it.

What the hell universe am I in?

So. In a nutshell. It seems that I’m abusive because I wish to discuss some aspects of his affair that still have me stuck.

If he would actually talk? And answer? And I punched him in the goddamn throat? Or called him names? Or tore his life apart? Took his money, turned his kids against him, trash talked him to everyone and anyone that would listen?

Maybe then I could see the abuse word being thrown at me.

Wait. He did give me one reason I’m abusive. About a year ago, when he accused me again.

I wasn’t alright that first year. I wasn’t alright that second. I wasn’t alright. It was bad. Mostly in my head, but one thing I thought of constantly was suicide. I had it down, I planned it. I wanted the pain to just stop. Fight or flight was no way to live, I was struggling to not go through with the plan. Thoughts of my kids stopped me every time.

He said it was abusive. That I was abusive with telling him I wanted to die.

That made me sad. I told him, “I only told you because I wanted to be stopped. I wanted help. I didn’t manipulate you in any way. Threatening you if you left I would do that. Nothing like that. I was in a very dark place and wanted help.”

He never helped. It was a few times. I really wanted help but had no idea how to bring myself to just drive to a hospital. To ask someone other than him. I needed help but had no idea what to do.

So, in time, I helped myself. I found I was not healthy and wanted to be. So I put myself in therapy and faced my demons and stood back up.

Is it abusive though? I don’t know. Maybe I just have a different definition. But god it hurts when he throws that at me.

Because I don’t want to be.

But I think I’m at the end of my rope.

It kinda sucks. I realized, through therapy, that I didn’t really allow anyone to love me. I didn’t really allow myself to love.

That awareness has brought me to my knees. Because I’m with someone who I cannot trust and I’m pretty sure is the actually the abusive one out of the two of us.

I’ve stepped back and really watched him.

He is perfect in every way when I don’t want to talk about Toni.

He’s funny, giving, loving. He says all the right things, does all the right things. Then?…

Me: Having a bad night, triggers are drowning me.

Him: you’re abusive. I’m going to glare at you until you shut up and realize that we are fine until you need to talk about my affair.

So I see. I see.

But there it is. This accusation of abuse. Sitting in my gut. I think he saw that first reaction from me when he said that. I cried. I crumbled. I self reflected. I was appalled. I was shocked.

I shut up.

So now he uses it every time. With still no explanation of how. But he saw what the power of that word did to me.

So I see. I see…. do I? Am I crazy?

Am I justifying away my own reactions?

If he were to write his own blog, would his be very different? There’s two sides to a story.

Maybe to him, I really am an abusive spouse.

I don’t know. 😔.

Posted in adultery, affair, cheating husband, healing after the affair | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 11 Comments


I was outside feeding my feral cat, Oscar, this morning.

He’s a cutie for sure. I’ve been working on him daily since he showed up in April. He remains as feral as he can be though. He has finally allowed me within 5 feet, but that’s all I can get.

But he loves the food I give him and if that’s all I can get, well, that’s all I can get.

After attempting to close the gap this morning, I gave up and headed inside.

My hand landed on the doorknob and I just froze.

Is it the passing of time? Maybe. Is it just becoming numb in my mind? Maybe.

But I don’t care that he fucked her. I can almost understand why he made that choice. I don’t care. I just don’t care.

I don’t care that he created this whole second life. I don’t care that he vilified the hell out of me just to justify his choices to go to another woman.

I don’t care that he wrapped himself around his little victim teddy bear and found comfort there.

What seemed to hit me out of nowhere is what I do seem to care about.

He lied.

He lied.

His lies hurt our kids. His lies hurt his family.

His lies hurt me.

He lied. Like a little punk trying to get away with it all.

He still lies.

Over time I have grouped the two together: Lying Cheater.

And grouped the pain of both together. But if I separate the two and really look and the fallout of both?

It’s the lies that have me still struggling to this day. Maybe because the lies caused the distrust that still exists? Maybe.

Because though it would’ve been devastating in its own right, if he had just been honest… “Hey. Chris. I’m totally banging the 6 foot widow up the road” I feel like in time that could be worked through. Whether he stayed or chose her, I feel like I would’ve eventually respected honesty. Maybe even healed a little better.

Honesty. It’s more respectful.

No matter where we end up, the fact that he could look me dead in the eyes and lie…. I think it will always be the gut punch.

Not even sure where this is going. Just writing out the realization.

Happy Thanksgiving y’all. 🦃

Posted in adultery, affair, cheating husband, D-day, DDay, extramarital affair, gaslighting, healing after the affair, infidelity | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Apology – my rant

I think I figured out how to repost… I’ve never done it 😬

But Tearing at the Fabric wrote a post that got me thinking as she always does 💞

I’ve thought about this a lot.

I wouldn’t mind an apology from the other woman.

Look at me being all nice up there… “other woman…”

But yeah. An apology.

I have told a friend or two it’s something I would like to have. I ALWAYS get “why?! Why would you want that from her? He is the one that broke the vows and lied and blah blah blah.”

Of course I know that. Does she owe me an apology?

I don’t know. But it would be nice because I feel that at that time she could stop playing victim and own her part.

Does she owe me an apology for having sex with my husband? I don’t know.

Does she owe me an apology for allowing him into her bed, her home, her life all the while KNOWING he had a wife at home, three kids at home? I don’t know.

Does she owe me an apology for accepting gifts from him and him spending money on her and the time he gave to her when he should’ve been home? I don’t know.

Does she owe me anything? Probably not.

But the minute she allowed this CLEARLY married man into her vagina, I feel like maybe an “I’m sorry” would be nice. Maybe even a little of throwing him under the bus session would suffice.

After all, this man DID lie to both of us and played his lying “poor me I have bad life bad wife” bullshit lying card the whole time.

I always wondered why she protected him. Why? What was the end game for her? After 8 months, if she truly felt he was still telling the truth that he was leaving me, but could only talk to her on a fake Facebook account using a burner phone the whole time…..???

If she truly believed him, she absolutely DID end up knowing the truth when I found out. Oh, she knew the truth then. Should she apologize?

I think so. It’s just a human thing to do.

I mean… she doesn’t know me. But her actions affected my life and the lives of our children.

(His did too. I know I know…. but she had a part in this story)

If I fling open a door and smash someone square in the face, I’m not going to say, “Oh. Look at that. You’re bleeding. You’re clearly in pain, but it’s NOT MY FAULT YOU WERE SO CLOSE TO ME THAT THE DOOR SMASHED YOU IN THE FACE. It’s your fault, not mine.”

No. I’m going to see I caused someone pain and I’m going to apologize. I’m going to own my part. I’m going to feel like shit.

Why. Why would she protect him. I want to call her stupid, that she believed him, but she CAN’T be that stupid. I don’t get it. Was it love? Did she fall in love with my man? I don’t know.

Yeah. I would like an apology.

But I will never get one. She, much like my husband, absolutely LOVES flashing her victim card. It’s not her fault. She did nothing wrong.

I’ve been contemplating a few things lately. As I do. Work is RIDICULOUS. I’m wiped out. I never have time for a bathroom break! Running, running, …

Posted in adultery, affair, cheating husband, D-day, DDay, discovery day, extramarital affair, healing after the affair, homewrecker, infidelity, lies, mistress, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments


Waves. Roller coasters. Whatever it may be, I find myself just riding it.

I had to step away from social media for the last couple of weeks. I’ve had to snooze people I consider very good friends and a handful of family. I’ll post here and there, but I post a status (usually just my antics with my daughter or pictures of my chickens or cats) and pop right back off. I can’t scroll through posts at this time. Just taking care of my mental well being. It feels like the country has lost its mind.

People are brutal to each other. It’s sad.

However, I found TikTok. I’m having a blast there, watching dogs, cats and people dancing. It’s nice there, because once you like a cute cat video, that’s all you will see for the rest of your life. Algorithms there are perfect. I even looked up #infidelity and #cheatinghusband and have found a few awesome tiktokers that have hit me right in the feels.

Anyway, here’s the point of this particular blog:

I didn’t write about it, but we have been working on the house nonstop really, since March.

In a nutshell, we needed to get the house to pass a lead test.

An 1850 farmhouse with outbuildings and three floors. Well, four including the attic. There was lead in the attic. (Insert a lovely eye roll here)

In the attic. Which is haunted. But that’s another story.

So four floors of work, three porches and decks, including the deck ceilings and roof and all four sides of the outside of the house.

Lead. Let me just tell you. During the initial test, the inspector came out and his response was pretty much, “Yeah. Not ever going to pass. Haha. You people suck. Enjoy your poisonous house losers!”

So it began with a complete window replacement.

30 windows. It was a lot. A lot of work.

Then scrub downs and repainting every inch of every part of this house that included inside and out. Many floors of many rooms having to be re-done.

The basement was the worst. But now it’s clubbed out and actually pretty nice down there. It’s haunted down there too, that’s also another story.

Outbuildings that were within so many feet of the house had to be taken down. Not that we wanted to, but not structurally sound enough to fix. So down they came.

All of this going on while quarantined, virtual schooling with all three kids and a marriage that is going in no particular direction.

So the re-test happened about two months ago. This time the inspector was shocked. I think this douche nozzle of a tiny little weasel man actually wanted us to to fail, he couldn’t believe the work we did.

This weasel of a man seemed to look for something that would fail.

He found it.

Basement floor 🤦🏻‍♀️

Half the basement was originally a root cellar. But it looks like the other half had concrete poured maybe around 1950? The paint on the walls down there was definitely lead. Concrete is porous, so it held some bits of lead.

Easy fix, weasel face came back and we finally passed.

It was a long 10 months. I never want to see a paint brush again.

I miss the old windows, to be honest. They were original, wavy single glass panes. Not good for winter, but I loved them.

I’ll give the new windows some props though. It’s getting cold and I can already see they are holding heat in the house much better. They just don’t have the energy or characteristics of those original windows for sure.

Anyway, a lot of moments with my husband this past year have been thoughts wrapped up in “Let’s get the house to pass, I need him.”

It’s what he does. Construction. Windows. Decks. Roofs.

I asked him one day, “If you had left and the house came up with this lead issue, would you have worked on it? (The kids would be here) or let us lose it all?”

He said, “Of course I would have worked on it.”


But that didn’t happen, he was here, so of course he can say that.

Some things between us are better. Maybe it’s been the passing of time. Maybe it’s because I seem to care less and less as each day passes. Detaching. I can feel it. It’s like rubber bands snapping.

He swears he will never do it again. But the sheer fact that he didn’t do any work or actually face what his choices did to him, me, his kids?

I think the odds of it happening again are very high.

I found something on his iPad in July. He had saved a meme to his iPad, and I could also see he was using Firefox for the incognito option. He would do that during the affair time, he would use that to log into his fake Facebook. No trace and it could stay completely hidden.

Here’s what I found:

It was saved in May. In May when we were all boarded up tight in this house together for months.

This couldn’t be for me. I’m dumb, but not that dumb. I had been next to him, locked in for weeks and weeks. He wasn’t smiling for no reason thinking about me.

But I knew I couldn’t ask him about it. I knew as soon as I would ask that he would say it was for me. I would not be able to prove otherwise.

Operation Gaslighting 101 would be put into full force and I would be left feeling like an idiot.


I did say something in August. He did say it was for me. He laughed at me and yelled at me that I make shit up. That I took something cute and innocent that he was saving to send to me and turned it into a shit show.

I knew he would do that.

I wonder if he sent it to her? Did it make her smile?

Because I know that wasn’t for me.

The house is done. The last lead test passed last week. I can’t stop thinking about the fact that I can just go file. I can file and, from what I’ve been told, a judge can decide who can live in the house. Because he will not leave, and I’m not stepping one foot out of this door.

The insanity, turmoil, overthinking and heartbreak that goes on inside my head and heart is such a deception from the smile on my face.

The home I keep, the food I cook, the errands, the chores, the taxi service, the upkeep of the property, the care of the animals. I never stop. I keep this wheel rolling and in motion for all under the roof.

I don’t know how to stop the wheel.

Am I scared to stop the wheel?

Do I just live with this fake ass smile plastered on my face and keep putting one foot in front of the other?

It’s my choice now. It’s on me. I know this.

Stay safe everyone, looks like much of the country is headed for another quarantine lock down.

Posted in adultery, affair, cheating husband, extramarital affair, gaslighting, healing after the affair, homewrecker, infidelity | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

I threw my rings.

I threw them. Like a child. Like a bratty child that wasn’t getting her way.

I asked him not long after dday, “Why?”

He answered, ” I was done.”

I told him I didn’t know he was done. Having sex with me daily didn’t point me to the “done” column.

He said, “It was when you threw your rings at me.”

I was stunned. I blinked. I shook my head.

Because I threw my rings?

He nods.

Ok. So almost 4 1/2 years now there’s been a silly part of me that has hung on those words. The reason he gave me for being done.

I could justify my actions that day I threw my rings, and there is a part that is somewhat justified. But it was still a disrespectful act on my part.

It was about 6 months before he went to her. Our house and just been formally foreclosed. We had been working on the farm house almost a year at that point, knowing we were losing the other house.

He was quiet. He wouldn’t talk. There was very important paperwork that had to be done, by him, but he had his head up his ass instead. His brother had a massive heart attack. There was a lot hitting him. I did my best not to add on to that pile of crap weighing him down.

So instead of talking and communicating, he picked up a game on his phone called Game of War. He would play that game night and day. While our kids were playing sports, he would be sitting on the sidelines playing that game. I found bank records showing he was sinking over a thousand dollars so far in that game.

No matter what I said or did, he would not talk and he would not put that game down.

But it was the paperwork that sent me over the edge that day. It not only affected him and I, it affected our kids.

I ripped off the rings and tossed them at his feet and yelled “This is no kind of marriage!!”

A week went by and I had to grovel and pour on the apologies and make it all better to get my rings back.

He gave them back without a word.

6 months after that, he went to her. He was still heavily into that game and had still not done the paperwork. We had been disconnected for quite some time at this point, but had tried to connect here and there and there was no fighting at all.

So, though he got me frustrated and angry to a point of throwing my rings, it was still wrong to do.

It really is disrespectful.

But for that to still be a tiny thought all this time later that it was my fault he went to her because I threw my rings is kinda insane.

But it’s there. It’s the only “reason” he has ever given me.

The rational and Infidelity Informed (that’s now a thing) me knows that that is not a valid reason to cheat, it still remains in my head.

I know I didn’t cause him to cheat, he did it. But still…. it’s there.

Today I was making the bed. It’s a huge, California king. It takes me about 5 or so minutes to make it. Lots of walking around it a thousand times, throwing the cat off 4000 times. Getting those corners correct, getting the bedspread lined up, getting the pillows tucked out of sight.

It hits me.

He took his ring off to be with her.

Wait. Wait. Wait.

Why is that OK?

He justifies having an affair because months before, I threw my rings.

But it’s alright to just slip his on and off depending on which woman he is with? I’m around, ring on.

He’s in her bed, ring off.

So I guess when I send him out the door I can just justify it to him, myself and anyone who asks, “he took his ring off to crawl into someone else’s bed. Marriage is over.”

I guess I’m still being immature.

Don’t care.

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