Dates.

I told him last week I was worried I would struggle as these dates of them starting up their affair were approaching.

He said these dates mean nothing to him and I’m unbelievably ridiculous for even keeping them in my head.

Like I want to keep them there.

9/10. He went to her. It’s when it started.

Yes, I’m affected today. It is a bit different this year, I feel more sad. I picture them eating lunch together, laughing. I know they exchanged numbers that day, I saw her message to him giving him her number.

The way it’s effecting me is strange. In years past, it’s been an anxiety attack of the worst kind. But this year, I’m just sitting here. Ive cried a few times, I’ve had low-key moments of anger.

But my stomach is messed up. Very messed up. It’s nothing I’ve eaten, I can tell it’s just a new way my body is dealing with this.

Great.

He said I’m ridiculous about the date. He has said that about every single date I associate with the two of them. He says I should not let a date be a thing. It’s just a day. He doesn’t think of dates, so why am I.

He has said I’m psychotic in thinking this way.

I don’t even know what that means, really.

Let me go see what the all knowing google definition of psychotic means…

So I saw the word ‘psychosis’ associated with the work ‘psychotic’ a lot, so I checked that one out too.

Not sure any of those sound like me, so I did see there was an online psychosis test. So I took that too.

Ok. So evidently, me thinking about dates that are associated with the trashwhore and my husband do not seem to fit the definition of psychotic.

Dates are dates. They bring meaning.

Right?

We accept acknowledgment of a birth date. An anniversary. Even a death.

I often think of my grandparents on the dates they passed. Because those were hard days in my life. I give them thoughts, I give them moments of sadness. I remember.

But I also remember their birthdays, their anniversary. It’s just a date that is now also associated with them.

So why does he get so angry that a date he decided our marriage was over, took off his ring and then took another woman to lunch and proceeded start an 8 month sexual relationship with is affecting me.

Because it’s a date associated with a bad decision? Something he did that wasn’t right?

Are we only supposed to remember good dates? We can only talk about birthdays and graduations and anniversaries?

Tomorrow we will all be thinking of where we were on 9/11. We will all be remembering how we felt when the towers went down. We will see them coming down in our memory. We will remember. Many of us will still catch our breath the same as we did that day, many will cry.

We will not have that same feeling on 9/12. We will remember, but it won’t be the same.

Dates are dates. I will be giving my oldest a gorgeous cake on 10/1. He will be 20. I will remember the day he came into my life. I will remember hearing his first cry, I will remember how he felt in my arms. I will remember how his little cheek felt against my lips when I gave him a big kiss after they placed him in my arms.

Dates are dates. I will not be called names and diagnosed with psychosis by my husband because he did something on this date that ended up causing trauma in our lives.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not following him around the house and shoving this date down his throat. It’s nothing like that. I just mentioned it to him last week that I may be struggling this week and why.

That’s when I got called names and all the eye rolls happened and then the arm throwing and “Jesus Christ, you’ll never forgive me” bullshit.

I guess this whole ranting blog is just nothing more than wondering why I can’t just go down on this date if I want to. Have a glass of wine tonight, maybe just avoid him if I need to and do whatever I need to do to make it through.

Dates are dates. They do what they do.

I do wonder though… will it get easier with each passing year… and would it be easier if he would just talk to me instead of deflecting and blaming me.

We did talk a bit when I brought this up last week… but the talk left me more confused and I don’t know what to make of it. I’ll write that one out later.

I’m just going to sit here and think about that wine later.

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Posted in affair, cheating husband, gaslighting, healing after the affair, infidelity | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

On this day four years ago…

Well, it was actually the 3rd. 9/3/2015.

Why do dates stick in my head like glue?

He took me to see A Walk in the Woods that night. We hadn’t seen a movie together in a long time. This one has some meaning to us.

We started geocaching with our kids and that led to some really amazing local hikes.

We had not hiked any of it, but heard there was this trail nearby called the Appalachian Trail. The AT.

You know, just this little trail that extends from Georgia to Maine.

In a second hand store one day, I came across a book title that caught my attention.

I grabbed it for my husband, though he does not read much. I thought he might like it.

I read it first. Though I had done many local hikes at that time, I had only heard of the AT and had not put my feet on that particular trail.

I highly encouraged my husband to read it after I did. He did and enjoyed it as much as I did. We talked and laughed about it. Our, well mainly mine, obsession of the AT began with that book.

The more I read of it, the more intrigued I became.

About a year after reading it, researching it, reading stories about it, dreaming about it, I got to put my feet on the trail for the first time.

It may sound ridiculous, but it was an emotional moment for me.

My feet were on the trail. My feet were on the Appalachian Trail.

Since then, I have hiked a section here and there. My husband and sons have spent literally weeks at a time on it. They have hiked all of the Maryland and Pennsylvania sections and more. They took a trip to Maine to cross off some sections there.

Imagine my excitement when I saw there was to be a movie based off the book! We went opening night.

9/3/2015. Thursday. He held my hand. We laughed where we were supposed to, we raised an eyebrow on parts that veered from the book. We enjoyed the night together.

It was a rare night.

The Sunday before that, 8/30, he took me antiquing, out to lunch and then home for an afternoon in bed. I think we even took a nap.

( The Clocks )

These were rare days then. Finding moments that didn’t involve the kids, they kept us extremely busy. So these days and moments together were amazing and needed.

A week later, 9/10, he goes and takes her to lunch. Then he goes to her house on 9/16 and fucks her. So begins his web of lies he puts over her, me, his kids, his family, his friends.

He tells her his marriage is over. She believes him. He takes off his ring around her so that must absolutely prove to her he is leaving me.

I find out on the 20th she exists.

I contact her on the 21st.

He swears he won’t contact her again. So to hide her from me, he buys a burner phone on the 23rd and creates a fake facebook account to be in contact with her.

All the while, he is sleeping with me. But he’s telling her his marriage is over.

He’s telling her he sleeps in another room. Poor him, his wife is so crazy and horrible and won’t have sex with him. Poor husband. Poor Whore, she can’t have him whenever she wants because of his crazy, insane wife.

He tells her he stays for the kids and needs to work this out before he can leave. He tells her his mean crazy wife will play games and not allow him to see the kids. He has a lot to work out, but he’s leaving soon. He promises poor Whore that he will leave as soon as he can.

Meanwhile crazy wife is having amazing sex and thinking she had stopped the affair before it began. Crazy wife has no idea what is really going on.

He maintained the entire 8 months with her that his marriage was over and he was lonely and abused and not loved.

And I’m fighting with all I have to show him how much I love him and that we have something worth fighting for. No matter what he did, I wasn’t giving up.

I think thats the worst part of it all for me. How hard I was fighting for him, all the while being lied to and cheated on.

I even get angry that I felt moments of empathy for the trashwhore. He lied to her too.

So here I am. Facing the trigger filled months that have brought me to my knees these past years.

September 2016 was a horrible blur of intense emotions. 2017, pretty much the same. 2018, I jumped in my car and left for a few days just to be out of the area when the dates rolled in. But even then, when thoughts would hit the triggers would sink me.

I know how far we have come. It has been a very long and exhausting journey. I can see how much he’s changed and I know for the first time in years, our family feels like it’s on a more solid foundation.

But damn… these days coming up scare me. I’ve been here before. I know they can put me right back to four years ago. I know they can feel like a rockslide coming out of nowhere and burying me in seconds.

I wonder though, will it be easier this year? Maybe a little? The EMDR sessions most definitely helped, so I have some hope. It helped me in many ways, but the best part I think was giving me tools to recognize what I was experiencing and ways to get me through.

Since finishing the sessions in June, I really haven’t experienced or needed any of the tools and I had a very nice summer.

However, the past few days have found me crying in the car, thinking too much and wanting to yell at him (I haven’t) and picturing the two of them together and how he could just say his marriage is over so it justifies to everyone, including himself, that an affair with a 6 foot trashwhore was a good choice to make.

I want to head into these next few days and months with a “YOU GOT THIS GIRL!” State of mind.

Don’t slip… don’t fall… don’t let them bury you…

I still dream of the AT. I’ve hiked quite a bit of the sections that are in Maryland, PA and WV.

I actually dream of thru-hiking it. I find the thought comforting. The desire to just get on in Georgia and not stop till the end in Maine is almost obsessive. I have read a million stories of women who have done it and I find myself wanting to be one of them.

Happy Fall, y’all.

Posted in affair, cheating husband, extramarital affair, healing after the affair, homewrecker, Hysterical Bonding, infidelity | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

The tide is turning.

There’s a part inside me that I’ve nicknamed little demon.

For the most part, she stays inside and quiet. Sometimes she comes out… sometimes I let her.

A week ago today, I decided it would be fun times to check in on the TW. (Trash Whore)

It wasn’t fun. At least that day, it wasn’t. But oh am I in a much better place a week later.

She’s in love.

Looks like this one isn’t married, so she can publicly put it out to the world.

Initially, it hit me hard. Like a punch or kick right to the gut. I felt physically ill and found myself crying. How dare her be happy?

She gets to move on and be in love and be happy and brush off the affair with my husband like she had no part in the destruction and aftermath of their little hurricane of an affair?

I’m not sure why, but it hit me hard.

The thoughts pounding through my brain were bordering on manic insanity.

My husband was leaving for the evening and could see I was upset. He didn’t ask, I didn’t tell. But as he walked out the door, he paused, looked back at me and came back in and gave me a hug. That was nice.

It wasn’t hard to find who she’s in love with. Even that made me mad. This guy seems nice and I felt bad for him for a moment.

It wasn’t hard to see his interests in life match my husbands. Do I think she’s replacing? No, I don’t. I think his interests are his and I think she’s just a gold digging whore.

She had a lot to say to me about my husband and money. She took digs at him saying he was poor and if he was to get her a ring, she would have to pay for it.

I also need to remember that none of this is her fault and she had to spread her legs for him for 8 months because he told her he was leaving me, even though he didn’t and she could only talk to him on that burner phone while he sat on the toilet taking a crap.

But whatever… I guess she forgot the handful of times I also contacted her telling her we should talk because something was up and he may be playing us both.

I guess she forgot I contacted her 10 days into their affair telling her he’s married, what the fuck are you doing and she replied she wouldn’t talk to him again. But then fucked him and had an affair for the next 8 months.

But whatever…

Anyway, her new man has money.

So she should be very happy.

I jumped and went off there for a second… back to her love… the interests that he and my husband share? It has put us in the same place a couple of times. I didn’t see her, but it’s very possible I wasn’t looking around for her and I wouldn’t know New Guy if someone picked him up and tossed him at me.

By Wednesday morning, I was feeling a bit different. No longer feeling gut punched, more feeling lighter, like a weight has been lifted.

By the end of the week, I was smiling. Something had started to come over me, that same feeling you get when the tides turn.

High tide can feel crazy. High energy, uncertainty. You’re cautious, watching, feeling, keeping yourself safe.

Low tide can feel calm. Relaxed and safe.

You can physically feel when tides turn.

I feel like the past three years, I’ve been living in high tide.

The TW finding a new love? It’s brought a calmness.

I realized, no matter what happened with us, together or apart, I didn’t want him with the trashwhore. If he was unhappy and wanted to leave and then find himself in a relationship? Easier to accept. But to leave me now and go back to her? I don’t think I could handle it. In time, maybe, but let’s face it, she would always be the trashwhore, I would always hate her, our kids would never view her as their step mommy, she would be the trashwhore to them too.

So as the week went on, I felt lighter. She’s in love, and it’s not my husband.

It’s. Not. My. Husband.

I didn’t tell him. Yet.

The weekend comes and I’m going on a kayak trip with our daughter. He’s taking one of our sons and going to a place TW May actually be with New Guy.

I find I don’t care! This is new…

But I’m curious… and also I may be a tad bit evil…

I ask, “If you saw someone there that I would want to know about, would you tell me.”

“Yes.” He says.

“Knowing I would probably be pissed, would you still tell me?”

“Yes.”

“If you saw her, would you tell me?”

“Yes, but that will never happen.”

My little demon inside grins…

“Actually, the possibility is very high.”

He smiles, shakes his head no, repeats that it would never happen.

He told me a long time ago she’s a hermit. Never leaves her house but to go to work. Does not go out much at all. He’s falling back on what he knew of her. He doesn’t know new TW, in love TW.

So I let little demon out for a second. She has something to say.

“Actually, it is possible. She’s in love and new guy is very involved in that world. It is very very possible he will be there and so will she. When you’re in love, you do what your man does. She may have been a hermit with you, but she’s not now.”

Little demon is taking pleasure in watching his expression change as I tell him a little more of New Guy.

On paper? New Guy looks amazing.

I lock down little demon and switch the subject to lunch.

But it’s on his mind.

I know him. Almost 30 years together, I know him.

He sits on the couch and his energy becomes electric and he’s having trouble keeping emotions inside.

Little demon inside smiles. She can see he’s actually upset and trying not to show it.

How can he? To show me this bothers him wouldn’t do him much good, would it? What did he think? That she’s just been sitting in her hoarder house full of crap and too many animals missing him? Did he think she was hoping he leaves me and seeks her company again? Did he envision her missing his married ass everyday?

He has to lock down everything. I see the actual struggle. I can feel it.

He starts to act a little manic.. jumps up, attacks some over grown hedges with the trimmer, waxes the car, mows the lawn with me, cleans up around his shop, starts organizing this and that… his energy is straight up manic.

I smile. This is amusing me.

He didn’t sleep well that night. There was a lot of tossing and turning.

I smile in the dark. Welcome to the last three years for me.

I tell myself, look how he’s acting!! You should be upset! You should be mad that he seems to care she’s moved on!!

But I’m not. I don’t seem to care at all, let him be upset.

I still imagine him high-fiving himself the entire affair, having two women in his bed, the thrill of the affair for him… so watching him going through this is not bothering me at all.

Sunday morning comes and he leaves for the event that may just put him face to face with TW and New Guy. I kiss him and tell him to have a wonderful day.

I pack up the kayaks and my daughter and I head out for our own day.

I never asked if they were there, he never said.

I don’t care.

Whenever he gets a text now? I use to wonder who it was every single time, I don’t now.

When he walks out the door, I used to fear he was heading to her. EVERY SINGLE TIME he would walk out the door I had moments of fear and panic.

Not now. Something switched. The tide turned.

I haven’t quite figured out exactly what it is yet, but New Guy has seemed to cut a cord that was weighing me down, holding me back.

There’s a feeling of freedom now. It seemed to happen so quick… it’s left me a little dizzy.

No matter what, I want to be happy. I love him, I want him, I can choose to be happy, or I can chose to live in constant fear.

If he hurts me again? I have to face that if it happens, but I want to be happy now. I want to live each day feeling loved and loving him, not always so guarded, scared and waiting for him to walk away.

There’s still healing to do, but for right now I’m happy. I feel good, I feel a sense of peace that I haven’t felt in a long long time.

It is what it is…

But little demon still hangs out, she whispers “I hope TW falls head over heels in love, can’t live without NG, I hope he becomes the center of her world….

…and then I hope he cheats on her.”

I will never look up the Trash Whore again. I don’t want to. I don’t need to. I’m free. She’s nothing and she’s no one.

Posted in Uncategorized | 10 Comments

The farm house.

It was September 2013 when I saw it for the first time.

The house cannot be seen from the road, so as we pull into the driveway, I’m anxiously waiting for the house to come into view.

We pass a building close to the road. No idea what it is, there is over growth up to the roof.

We pass another, this one is very large and I can see a silo rising out of the brush. This building is also swallowed up and nature is attempting to take it back.

I can see the field behind it, I know there is a creek, but I can’t see it from the driveway.

We come around a corner and the house comes into view.

No. Nope. Not happening.

It’s bad. It’s really really bad.

I look at my husband, his expression is not matching what I’m feeling. There is joy and excitement in his eyes as he turns to look at me.

Oh my God.

We pass a broken down car in the driveway. Nature is attempting to also reclaim the car.

We walk up to the front door, the porch is packed with trash and weight benches. Old coolers and broken chairs. Trash. Garbage. Liquor bottles. Scattered everywhere on the porch are what look to be a million .22 shells.

We walk in. The smell hits me first. Cigarettes and some weird sweet smell. I absolutely can’t stand the odor of cigarettes, I think it’s because I’m an ex smoker. 16 years without one, I think I brainwashed myself against them so I wouldn’t go back. They are awful and I can’t believe I smelled like that when I smoked.

Anyway, it smelled very strong and very bad. There are towels for curtains, large thick black cobwebs hanging all over a weirdly textured ceiling. The floor was half finished, someone had glued hardwood straight down to the old wide pine boards.

I looked into what was the kitchen in pure horror. There was a sink sitting in a decaying cabinet. I could see at least four mouse holes chewed into the drawers.

It wasn’t a kitchen. It was a nightmare.

The bathroom was worse. I couldn’t imagine sitting in there, bathing or showering. Whatever was on the mirror prevented even viewing a reflection.

The bedrooms… one of them had been turned into a closet, since there were none in the house. There were plumbing pipes nailed to the ceiling to hang clothes. There were even thicker black cobwebs up there. One room someone had glued beer bottle caps straight to the plaster wall. Thousands of them. An entire wall filled with glued on caps.

What the hell?

I hated every single inch of this pile of garbage.

There was an outbuilding next to the house that was so over grown I could only see the roof. When you walked onto the second story back porch, you could touch the top of weeds and trees and other vegetation that had grown out of control and was attempting to take over the house.

There were still people living here.

There were broken windows, bullet holes in the walls. Liquor bottles everywhere. And it smelled.

The basement was completely packed and massive spider webs everywhere.

Oh, the things we found down there. From crack pipes to old toilets.

There was no freaking way.

I look at my husband with complete fear and a ‘hell no’ attitude.

We leave and head back to our house. He looks at me with pure joy, “What did you think?” He asks with excitement just dripping in the tone.

“Well, that’s a no.”

He looks crushed. He says, “You can’t see it like I do.”

He grew up in this area living in old farm houses. He’s always talks about them and there is a fondness to the memories as he tells me. Now he has the opportunity to do it again.

So the house becomes ours.

We bring the kids and as soon as our -at the time- 8 year old daughter sees the house she bursts into tears. I totally understand but comfort her and try to reassure her of the joy that is here and try to look past the ugliness and garbage.

Even though I myself cannot do so.

So begins the year of working on the farmhouse.

I do some research and it doesn’t take long to see the house was built around 1850. Putting it around 170 years old.

We cannot move our family into this house in this condition. So we live at the old house and work on the farm in the evenings and weekends.

It began to grow on me. I started to see my husband just a little different. He worked hard all day, would spend his nights and weekends at the farm. He was working late into the nights trying to create a home for his family.

The weeds came down and outbuildings emerged. A storage shed, a cattle barn, a summer kitchen.

The three feet of grass in the field came down and the creek came into view.

The carpets were removed and walls and floors scrubbed, the smell started to go away. The cobwebs came down, the spider webs removed, the junk packed in the basement and on the three porches hauled away.

We worked hard. He worked hard. The kids worked hard.

Our son that claimed the bottle cap room worked for a week scraping them off. They helped drag out the carpets and they helped wash floors and walls.

I would come home at night exhausted. Black stuff in my sinuses. The smell of the house still sticking to me.

But I noticed I started smiling. I began to look forward to going and working.

He ripped out what was the kitchen and installed a new one. It’s amazing. There are two walls that still have exposed log beams and I absolutely love it.

I started to really feel the house. Sometimes there was work I couldn’t do. Construction things that are out of my capabilities. That’s what he does for a living, that fell to him.

The cleaning, scraping, painting? Me.

I would help him if he needed a hand, and he often did, but fixing walls, wood stoves, chimneys, roof, deck, porch and so on was on him. He also built a closet in each room too.

Those big black gross cobwebs all over the house were created by a wood stove that was not venting correctly. The house is heated only by wood, so he fixed that really early on.

So when we would work on it through the nights and long winter weekend days, I would keep the fire going. The evenings the kids didn’t come with us turned romantic and fun. The moving blankets all over the place got put to good use.

Bringing this house back to life seemed to bring us closer together than we had been in a long time.

I started to see what he could see that first day. As it took shape, I could finally see through the mess and see it was a very cool house with an amazing history. I would often step back, look around and see the past moving around me.

I would stand in the windows and look out at the creek through that old wavy glass and know I wasn’t the only one to do so. To just stop, to just look, to just breathe. The history and the past surrounded me every time I came to the farm to work. I started to love it.

I watched my husband that year work so hard. I admired him. I found him sexy as hell creating a home for us. I would bring us dinner to eat on milk crates that were scattered in the living room. I would tell him every chance I got how proud I was, how beautiful it was becoming. We always ended those long nights wrapped up in each other in one of the rooms somewhere in the house.

I enjoyed him. I loved scraping century old paint from old windows for hours, listening to him sing or whistle from whatever song he was listening to, working on whatever project was on the long list of things to do.

We were ‘unplugged’ then. We only had electricity and that was also a nice break from the world. No tv, no internet… just work and working together.

There were times there wasn’t much for me to do while I waited for him to finish something, so I would explore the property. The barn, the storage building, the summer kitchen.

I found relics of the past and I more than once wished I could’ve seen this place on its heyday. More than once we have all experienced a visit of some sort from a past resident. I always hope it’s the one that built it and is happy we are bringing it back.

The summer kitchen fascinated me. A two story building that has a curved staircase to the top floor. A massive fireplace with an absolutely gorgeous wooden lintel that I just know is American chestnut.

I found myself standing in the wreckage of this building so many times. I can stand back and just see the hustle that happened in there. The cooking, canning, candle making… I know it was the heart of the home once it was built. It had a small porch and after digging around the scraps of wood and trash that was there, we discovered an old hand dug, stone lined well.

Amazing. Life then really did surround that building. The fireplace, the well, the outhouse located on the back. I feel like the house itself held the sleeping area but the summer kitchen was the center.

But it’s not structurally safe. I only made it to the second floor once. There must be 4000 empty beer bottles in there. Now all of those bottles are broken… smashed against the fireplace bricks… but that’s another story.

So the house grew on me. The land it’s on called to me. The flow of the creek is spiritually cleansing. The animals, the wildlife both air and ground change daily. You never know what is going to come through.

This September will be 6 years we’ve had it, 5 that we’ve lived in it.

It’s become a part of me. From the creek to the land, the barns, the ghosts and the house itself. It’s truly a part of me.

We brought it back together and that year was the best year of my life.

I told him. I told him constantly how amazing he was and how I was blown away that he could see through all that trash and decay to what he turned into our home.

November 2014, just a couple of months into living here, his brother and work partner had a massive heart attack. It rocked my husband to the core. His brother is an emt, had the heart attack at the station. If he had been anywhere else, he wouldn’t be here today. I think they call it a widow maker.

My husband didn’t quite come back from the shock of that. He was not the same. He started to withdraw and shrink away from all of us.

It was rough. I didn’t know how to reach him. I could see him struggling. Some internal demons he couldn’t talk about.

I tried. But he has never been a talker.

10 months later he’s in bed with a 6 foot whore.

He continues to run to her bed for the following 8 months. Often telling me during that time “I’ve already lived half my life. What do I want the last half to be?” I knew when I found out about the affair, much of it had to do with watching his brother almost die.

There were other things too, but I feel that was the biggest.

Now it’s July, 2019.

I still love every inch of this house. I love it more than he does.

I love this property. I’ve explored every square inch of it that I can. He has barely taken a stroll on one of the many trails that winds through the woods.

He has never sat under one of the massive trees by the creek and listened. The land here has so much to say. But I have. I listen.

There’s a section at the end of where I mow that I’ve nicknamed the Cove. There’s rushing water, woods behind me, meadow in front. I go down as often as I can and write, meditate, listen.

As much history is here, I know I’ve now left my own stamp. My love for this place is beyond words. I feel at home.

That’s something I’ve never had. The feeling of home.

I’m often asked “Why don’t you leave him?”

I think I know somewhere in my heart it’s this place I don’t want to leave.

Financially, I could not keep up with the demands of living in a home this old that needs constant maintenance.

I know this. I sometimes think that’s what keeps me here. My kids enjoy it, I love it.

Strangely enough, it saw the best part of my marriage and the worst part. It’s kept us protected inside during the worst of the storms that came with infidelity.

I don’t know how to go. I’ve never had a home.

The foundation here has stood the test of time. But does my marriage have the same strength? Was it ever strong enough to rebuild on after such betrayal? I don’t know.

I have so much to think about.

Sunset time lapse from my kitchen window.

Posted in cheating husband, extramarital affair, healing after the affair, healing after the affar, infidelity, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , | 6 Comments

Summer

It’s been a jam packed summer so far.

I don’t feel like I really stop. That’s good though. I like to keep busy.

The house has also been packed, which is an odd feeling. The past three years the kids have all been wanting to go elsewhere. I didn’t blame them. With the tensions in the house as high as they were, it was good they had friends to go to.

But they have gravitated back. With that, they are bringing friends. They stay over night, they fill the house with noise and laughs.

I love it.

I like having them all under one roof. It feels like the old me. Mom, taxi driver, cook, cleaner, ear that listens.

My boys have really come around. Both come to me constantly about life issues, choices to be made for college, girlfriend questions or to even tell me about their days at work.

My daughter, the youngest, is usually right by my side. Sometimes because I’m following her around, or sometimes she is shadowing me. But the older she gets, the more I seem to be running her everywhere or dragging her somewhere with me.

It’s been a busy summer so far with the kids.

But do I make time everyday for myself. Something I never did in the past.

Once a week I mow, which takes a few hours to do. There’s nothing like being in the sun, earphones on, blasting classic rock for a few hours.

It’s truly my favorite day of the week. The wildlife here is amazing. There’s a heron that hangs out down by the bank that on each pass I get to watch him fishing. I have been buzzed several times by an eagle as he does that awesome eagle dive for a fish. Deer, rabbits, geese and ducks all annoyed with me because they have to get out of my way.

It’s my favorite day of the week. Mow day.

On the other hand, I’m still quiet around my husband.

He and I did have a talk though. I won’t go into the whole thing that was said, but the jist is:

“I was in a dark and evil place when I did what I did. Bringing it up now puts me back in that dark place and it takes me days to get over it. (This is when I get the silent treatment.) I will not allow myself to go to that dark place. Your reactions put me there. When you want to talk about what happened, I go right back to that dark and evil place.”

So after he told me this, I went for a walk. I needed to think about what he said. I can hear him. I can see that something was definitely wrong inside him during that time. I can give him that. After all, I’m asking him questions, I can’t choose how he answers them. I should listen.

A few days pass and I’m still thinking about what he said.

I’m also vividly remembering how he was during those 8 months of his affair.

So I call BULLSHIT.

I would love for him to describe this dark place of fucking another woman, then coming home to his wife and doing the same thing.

How dark and evil was this place of his that he would have sex with me when we woke up, kiss me goodbye, and head to her house to do the same?

How dark and depressing was it to go to the store and buy a burner phone and set up a fake Facebook account so he could communicate with her all day and then come home and sext with her while he sat on the toilet?

How dark was it for him to leave his family at Christmas and then Easter and sleep in her bed next to her every night while his family was home and struggling to understand why he was gone?

How insanely depressed was he to keep up the web of lies he spun to her, to me, to his friends that knew?

How dark was it for him to take her dinner? Movies? Lay in bed with her after fucking and, according to her, pick out a future engagement ring?

I got nothing here. Nothing. Whatever.

As a twitter friend told me a couple of years ago, “he’s making it about all about him. Until he can see it’s no longer about him, there can’t be any movement forward.”

He’s right. He’s so right. My husband has made this whole thing about him from the moment I found out. Not once has he looked at me and even come close to mumbling, “Damn… I hurt her, I fucked up, what can I do..”

I think that’s all I’ve ever wanted. Maybe I haven’t needed the transparency that I feel like I’ve been requiring. Maybe I just need him to see what he did. Who knows.

So I am just going about my life. Busy with the kids, busy with life, just staying busy. I’m taking care of my home, my kids and myself.

Fall is my favorite time of the year. I think for the first time in three years, I’m very much looking forward to it.

The heat and rain here have been harsh. I’m already starting to look forward to cooler days and nights.

But I will so miss when mowing season is done.

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I wonder sometimes..

I’m not sure why this is on my mind. Maybe it’s guilt. Maybe it’s a small glimmer…small I say…of understanding? I don’t know.

It was that New Year’s Eve, bringing in 2016 sitting in a hotel room on the beach in Florida.

New Years Eve

I left out a part of that evening. Guilty conscience? Maybe.

I tried texting my husband all night. I know now he was at the local bar with the Whore and our supposed friends.

He tells me he dropped her off at home and was back at our house before midnight.

I don’t believe him. That sounds ridiculously stupid. Your wife is out of town with your kids, waaayyy out of town. Like, 5 states away out of town. Why not bring the new year in with your whore?

He swears he was home. Honestly, I’ve often wondered if she was in my house while we were in Florida. Was she in my bed?

Well, my mind just went left… let’s just bring it back..

Anyway.. that’s the joy of mind movies that we make up when we don’t have the truth… so anyway…

Here’s my guilt.. here’s my whatever it is.

Right around midnight, the beach was lit up with fireworks and people bringing in the new year. I was curled up on my side looking out the window watching. The kids were out on the balcony watching.

My phone made a weird dinging sound I didn’t recognize. It was Facebook messenger. I checked it. It was a very old friend from junior high. He was part of the group I hung with, but his association with the group was more ‘a friend of a friend’. I did have a moment with him one night at a drive in movie. Let’s just say I still remember his kiss.

Fast forward 20 odd years and I’m working at an elementary school. There was a new student that started and I needed some info from her teacher. I went to her class and as soon as I saw this little girl, her last name and her sweet face clicked into place. She looked exactly like that old friend and her last name matched.

It didn’t take long to find out he was her dad. We re-aquatinted on Facebook and would sometimes message each other and light chat about his daughter.

He and his wife had divorced and though I never saw him at the school, I did see her mom a lot.

So that night in the hotel room, I was somewhat surprised he messaged me. He mentioned he noticed that I was in Florida, he said the beach I was at was a place he knew well from his childhood, and then he mentioned he noticed my Facebook posts were a bit “off” and was I alright?

That small act of just absolute kindness? I could feel tension just releasing from my entire body. I actually smiled, picked up my phone and he and I chatted for about an hour.

I didn’t tell him then what was going on. I turned the conversation to his daughter and the holidays that had just passed. I kept it light and I was strangely happy to be talking to someone.

He doesn’t know that just days before this I was recklessly flying down backroads in the rain looking for a suitable tree to put myself into.

It’s strange to describe, but I felt like I was just laying in quicksand, struggling to get up, and he felt like a rope. He felt like a rescue. I clung to that kindness.

We continued to chat on and off for the next month or so and I ended up telling him what was going on. He told me his wife cheated, that’s how they ended. He said he had long been suspicious and put a recorder in her car.

At that time I still had no proof my husband was cheating. I sometimes think back on what he did and wonder if I had taken the advice of the recorder, if we wouldn’t be in a different place now.

We never ever took the conversation over any line. I wouldn’t let it and he didn’t push anything other than just chatting. Only one time that long ago movie kiss was brought up, and then I turned the conversation another direction quickly.

He seemed genuinely concerned for me and I enjoyed hearing tales of old friends from the group and stories of his life.

Did I cheat too? Sometimes it feels like it. Though it was only ever chatting online, I sometimes feel guilty.

But at the same moment, I don’t. Maybe it’s alright to have a friend of the opposite sex, and maybe it’s alright that we both seemed to need another human around the same time?

Or is that also just justifying what I did? I mean, my husband is the King of Justification.. I can somewhat spot it.

I might be justifying… I don’t know.

But in hindsight, I don’t think I would change a thing.

He was a rope. He was a rescue. He doesn’t know that, but he was.

Husband says he cheated because he wanted to be liked. He didn’t think I wanted to be around him. Was he sinking too? Was the Whore his rope? Was she his rescue?

I didn’t cheat, but I did hide something. Is that cheating too?

I’m rambling. But do I now have a small look at possibly understanding?

I don’t know.

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Anxious tonight

Anxious tonight. Not sure why.

Probably because he and I are getting nowhere.

I’m not usually like this, I want to fix everything and have everyone around me happy.

But I’m holding strong this time. I’m playing no games, I’m just trying to hold onto some dignity. He had no right the other night to use my name like that, he had no right to immediately turn it onto me.

He hasn’t apologized and never will. I will usually break by now and just let it blow over so all is calm. But I haven’t. Not really.

Yesterday, I asked, “Where is your head with us right now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think maybe blaming my reaction is a little far off? We haven’t even talked. We are only talking about talking and you’re assuming I will have a reaction.”

He just looked at me.

Today I asked him, “would you like to maybe go back to our counselor? That way it’s a safe environment for both of us to talk.”

He shrugged and said, “eh. I don’t know.”

He then left for his evening job. He didn’t say goodbye.

I sent him a text “Why won’t you try?”

He read it at 5:20.

Two hours ago. No reply.

So I will go back to withdrawing. I stepped out a couple of times and tried to reach out, but I can’t keep asking the same things.

So I can feel the anxiety rolling in. It feels like when you’re in the ocean and can see that big wave heading your way and you know you can either push through it, or it’s going to take you down and tumble you around a little bit.

I miss him though. I can say that here. I miss him. See, it’s just fine when I’m not asking about his affair.

I’m sitting out on my deck watching a storm coming. Amusing myself by drinking some red wine in a skull glass.

Anything to not allow this anxiety to take over.

It’s not worth it.

Hope everyone had a nice and safe 4th. ๐Ÿ‡บ๐Ÿ‡ธ

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I just donโ€™t.

I just don’t have much to say to him.

He uses the silent treatment on me, which I hate. I’m not doing that to him, I answer him and go about my life. But I’m making no effort to speak to him.

I usually rattle on and on filling him in on the kids activities and daily life around the house, but there no desire to do so now.

He often tells me we wouldn’t talk at all if I didn’t speak to him. He says I say a thousand words to his 10.

He’s usually staring at his iPad anyway when I talk to him.

I feel like I’m detaching.

Or shutting down. I’m not sure.

There’s just nothing else I can say to him. I’ve said it all.

There’s a girl I work out with, she has a farm and her house has an in-law apartment. It’s sitting empty. It’s completely furnished.

I can’t stop thinking about it. Not permanent move, but maybe a week or two? I just feel the need to get away from him. Probably not the thing to do, but it’s on my mind.

I just need a break. He knows all the things to do and say to “smooth over” our conversation the other night. Sweep it under the rug.

Not this time.

Hope everyone is staying cool. The heat here in Maryland has been a bit brutal this week. Happy 4th!!! ๐Ÿ’ฅ ๐Ÿ‡บ๐Ÿ‡ธ

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Have you thought about it?

We had a nice weekend.

We are looking at land to buy to build a small weekend cabin on. We took a trip yesterday to look at a few. West Virginia.

It was a perfect ride out and two of the kids joined us. At their age, to willingly spend almost all day in the vehicle with their parents is something of a miracle.

It was a nice family day. Rare.

He didn’t say anything if he had thought about what boundaries he would like set in place for a talk. Let’s be honest, I didn’t expect him to.

Today goes on and we are busy around the house. I swear, it’s no longer a working farm, but there’s a lot of land and a house that’s 170 years old that needs constant work.

Well, I did get chickens, so it’s got livestock again for the first time in about 25 years. ๐Ÿ™‚

The evening rolls around and he cooks on the grill. We finish up and he says he’s going to the barn to work on his car.

I very quietly asked “Did you get a chance to think about what boundaries you would like?”

He crosses his arms, stares at me, and very nasty says “What is it you would like to talk about, Christine.”

He uses my full name in such a nasty, heavy tone.

Chris…tine… emphasis on the ‘tine. Draws it out like ‘teeeen’. I swear there are times I hate him.

I recognize this for what it is. He uses my name like that to establish the upper hand, control, like I’m beneath him. As a parent would do a child. Putting me in my place. I want to say this is bordering on some kind of abuse, but I can’t quite put my finger on what it is. What I do know is that I don’t deserve it. His name is is also shortened and I’ve never ever used his full name in any way that would establish some kind of superiority over him.

I said, “I have things about that time I would like to talk about.”

He says “I don’t trust your reactions.”

I breathe.

He says he will never accept the reactions I had. That will never happen again. He said. Never. “I will not tolerate ever being treated like that again.”

There it is again, using words like ‘tolerate’ using a heavy tone, glaring. Is it emotional abuse? Whatever it is, it’s worked in the past but I’m seeing it clearer now. It’s not going to work this time.

I said, “The same for me. I will never again accept the way you treated me, the horrible names you called me, and the situations you would put me in during those times.”

Ready for this?

He said, “I would have never done or said any of the things I said if you didn’t make me.”

I have heard this a lot. I know it’s bullshit. I didn’t stick my hand up his ass and make him do anything. He’s not a puppet, I’m not a puppet master. He’s deflecting and in doing so being a total ass.

So I said, “I have no control over your actions. The only person that does is you. That would be like me saying I forced you to call me the horrible names you have called me the past three years. Don’t you see that’s insane?”

“If I had all this control over your actions, as you love to claim, I would’ve long ago forced you to talk about what happened. The only person I have any control over, is myself.”

Nothing. He has nothing.

I quoted what Gone said on my last blog, “If you wanted to fix things, you would do the work. You constantly just throw your hands in the air, walk away and say ‘You’ll just never forgive me’ but what have you done to get any forgiveness for?”

I went on, “I’ve done work. I’ve been doing work from the start. I want our marriage. I want you, I want to grow old with you. All you can do is still blame me, don’t you see how wrong that is? I. Have. No. Control. Over. You.

He looked down.

Said nothing.

I walked away.

I will not be blamed again for any of his actions. Not a single one.

This man. This man that I have loved since I was 18. Three children. I cook, I clean, I take very good care of our kids, our animals. I follow him around and do all the hobbies he gets involved in. His band, mountain climbing, cycling, mountain bikes, camping, hiking, bowling, shooting… whatever he gets into, I happily follow. Because I love him, I want to be by his side, support him in whatever he wants to do. Almost 29 years of my life spent doing this.

Who is the real puppet here? Me.

I love him.

But I am done. Done.

I can stand on my own without him.

Fuck that land we are looking to buy. That’s a future together and I don’t see that right now.

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What do you need?

I’m quiet most of the time. I don’t talk about the affair with him, but I need to.

I’ve needed to since I found out.

But there’s been no talking. Only defensive bullshit, fighting and blame games. Trickle truth. Gaslighting.

I’ve tried it all, from counseling to sending him books, articles and affair recovery videos.

He doesn’t watch. He doesn’t read anything. He didn’t cooperate in counseling.

It’s not that I want to “punish” him. I don’t. I just need to feel I can trust him again.

But the rest of our life together, outside of the affair?

Fine.

It’s fine. If there’s no talk of affair, or what his actions caused to our family, we are fine. He’s attentive, sweet, kind and loving. We are good. If I can push it to the side, I’m a good wife, he’s a great husband.

So I have found I keep quiet. It’s better that way, right?

It’s not. It’s just not.

It’s been two weeks since those EMDR sessions have ended. I’m happy with how I feel, which is calmer. Though I still have my moments here and there, there has not been a single panic or anxiety attack. It’s the first two weeks free of those since dday 3 years ago. It’s been nice.

But I also wonder if it’s because I’ve been somewhat avoiding him and filling every spare minute with the kids, gym and pool.

EMDR is not a magic pill, but so far I’m happy I went through it. It feels like I have tools in place now to handle thoughts of suicide and acts of cutting. Though I have not had an extreme anxiety attack in two weeks, I feel I may be able to pull out of it if it happens.

I hope.

So now, I’m ready to talk to him. One of the biggest reasons he would throw at me for refusing to talk was “You can’t handle it! I’m worried about your reactions!”

I can’t seem to convince him that his stonewalling me and turning it back on me was always the cause of the over the top reactions.

But I’m ready. There’s a definite feeling of desensitized emotions now. Let’s test it.

I did A LOT of work. It’s his turn.

I just looked at him and said, “If we were to have a discussion, what do you need?”

“What boundaries would you like in place? A time limit? A scheduled time to talk?”

He looked at me and said, “I don’t know.”

I said, “Would you like some time to think about it?”

He nodded.

I’m not sure what to do. I don’t know what to do, or how to get him started.

I don’t know. I can’t force him to talk. It’s been so long now that I wonder what it is I really need.

Am I just being stubborn and because I’ve needed it for so long that I’m wanting something that doesn’t matter any longer?

I don’t think so.

No matter how much therapy and internal work I’ve done, I’m still stuck with the puzzle missing so many pieces.

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Her name is…

I was talking to a friend that has been somewhat in my circle for about a year and half.

An “after dday friend.” ๐Ÿ™‚

She has noticed my Facebook is not always positive, dark humor, bordering on sarcasm and passive aggressive digs. She questioned me about it and asked if I was alright.

I told her. I just said it.

“Husband had a 8 month affair. We are still dealing with the aftermath. Most of my posts are passive aggressive little digs at the other woman, who I absolutely hate.”

She nods. She puts her hand on my arm, looks me in the eye and says, “I hate her too.”

I laugh. Females are funny. We hate each others enemies no matter what.

We talk a little about it, we talk a little about the OW.

I tell her how she came to be in his life, I tell her a bit here and there about her.

I’m not really giving up information, I’m more answering her questions. She has a lot.

Then she said, “What is her name?”

I don’t hesitate for a second.

“Whore. Her name is Whore.”

She laughed a big, real laugh. “Whore. Got it. I’ll be on the lookout for her.”

I never told her her name. I rolled the conversation to another direction and we left Whore in past.

I wish I could do the same for real.

For the most part, it comes and goes. There are days I feel almost consumed with hate and anger. Other days, weeks, she doesn’t cross my mind at all.

The days I feel consumed are usually trigger days.

I want so bad to tell her what her part in this nightmare has done to me, our kids, my family.

Maybe I will.

(I am aware that he is also to blame. I am also aware he made the promises, not her. But it takes two….)

Whore. Her name is Whore.

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Intensive sessions over

It’s 3am. I do so hope this insomnia begins to fade away.

Two weeks of intensive sessions have come to an end.

It feels so much longer.

Two weeks of some sessions that went a couple of hours. Some that lasted 45 minutes because I had to stop it.

She actually added on another day yesterday. But I am done now, and she has already moved out of her office. I don’t know that I will seek another therapist, let’s see how this goes with what I’ve accomplished with her.

I was so open to it, so hopeful that it would help. I did not care that there were days I would come home from a session and crawl straight into bed. I would do it all again the next day.

Maybe because I’ve used meditation so much in my life, it was easy to open my mind and allow the back and forth lights of emdr just take me back, put me back there, unlock the memories and traumas that I have evidently been silently dragging along my whole life.

One thing with emdr is the flood of memories that keeps coming after a session is over. She told me to expect this and gave me ways to try to keep it under control.

The trucker was hard to do. I had to relive that way too many times. On the first day, I was on my way home and was hit with a memory so hard I had to pull over and sit for a minute because I couldn’t breathe.

He wrote me a letter after he raped me. He went out with my mom that same night and gave her a letter to give to me. He told her not to read it, leave it sealed. The next morning she gave me the letter.

Who the fuck does that?

That was when I told her what he did. She didn’t believe me and we got into a screaming fight. She told me he already told her I came on to him.

The fight made its way into the kitchen. She picked up our cordless phone to call him. In a rage beyond anything I’ve ever felt, I charged her, slamming into her and grabbing the phone. I threw the phone to the ground and watched it break into a thousand pieces.

I guess those first cordless phones of the early 80’s were expensive, because she lost it. She shoved me into a wood chair and pulled open a junk drawer. Reaching in she grabbed a hammer.

I looked up at the hammer and it seemed like the downward swing happened in slow motion. I rolled forward onto the floor and heard the hammer slam into the seat of the chair. I looked back and will probably never forget seeing the hammer head in the wood of that chair.

If I hadn’t rolled forward, I don’t think I would be here.

That ended up being more difficult to reprocess than her nasty trucker boyfriend. Go figure.

Maybe it’s because as my mother, she was supposed to be a protector.

Several more memories came along as we went forward and most days left me drained and weak.

So how does this help me now? How does reprocessing childhood traumas help me now?

Getting the diagnosis of c-ptsd was not easy. Also realizing the fight or flight response was something I always seem to be in now wasn’t easy.

Always. I always seem to be in it. You can’t think rationally when you’re in it.

It’s not a good way to live.

So that’s why I put myself back there, so I can learn to think rationally now and handle stressful things life throws at me (husbands affair as an example) in a much better way.

I don’t always have to be in a fight or flight state of mind. The world is not out to get me.

The affair put me in this hell. The trauma of his infidelity brought back those traumas of the past. My system just instantly threw me into that fight or flight response for the past three years since Dday.

Much of our attempts at healing our marriage have been sabotaged by me. I have to be honest. I have not handled this well.

Neither has he, but I cannot control him, I can only control myself.

Maybe if one of us has got themselves under control, the other will follow and we can start being rational and see where this goes.

He’s my husband, my partner. Through some calmer eyes, I can see how he has been trying. I’ve been a bit blind to it.

I love him, he loves me. I want to grow old with him. I want my marriage. I want my family.

Let’s see where this goes now.

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Comparison to the other woman

I wonder…

Bear with me here as I work this out.

I watched a video from Affair Recovery this morning.

 

This one definitely got me thinking a little.

I can honestly say I don’t think I’ve ever felt jealous of her.

But do I compare myself to her? Is there something in me that finds her a threat?

I don’t know. I think it was just a physical comparison for me.

January of โ€˜18, I joined a gym. I wandered in and took a yoga class. I kept going back. I know I definitely wanted to lose weight, but maybe somewhere in my head I wanted my body to reflect what he seemed to want. Her.

In this video, Samantha says to Samual many of the things I also have thought and said to him.

“If that’s what you want, then go to her.”

I’ve said that one a lot.

Maybe subconsciously, I did start losing the weight because she was thinner than I was.

She’s a year younger than me. She has never put her body through pregnancy nor childbirth.

I’ve had three, weighing 8, 9 and 10 pounds.

They did a number on my body for sure.

He told her I was fat.  He told her I wouldnโ€™t have sex with him.  He told her he slept in another room. He told her our marriage was over.

As much as I hated her and knew she was a worthless human being, I also knew somewhere inside I was comparing my figure to hers.

But I think that was it. I lost 43 pounds since that first day I walked into the gym. I’m tone, there’s muscle definition from head to toe, I like my reflection in the mirror.

In retrospect, I don’t think I continued that gym journey for him. Or to compare to her. I ended up losing the weight and transforming my body for myself.

Physically… she’s extremely tall, 6ft. Long face. Very big feet to hold up that tall frame. Pooch of a belly and a slumpy posture.

(I saw her at a gas station)

She’s a hoarder. I’m not.

She doesn’t cook. It’s what I do.

She has no kids. I got her there.

She has been married 3 times. I’m just on the first round of promises.

She repeatedly told my husband she had men trying to break down her door to be with her. She’s clearly gotten around. (Whore)

She thought it was alright to fuck a married man for 8 months.

She lacks integrity.

In the end, he chose me.

I win.

But what did I win?

A man who lied. Broke the foundation of our family. Still lies to this day. No remorse. No empathy.

Not sorry.

So, I don’t think I’ve ever truly been in a place where I have compared myself to her. Maybe a time or two because I knew she weighed less than I did (at the time), but I think that was it.

So what made him keep going back to her over and over all those months.

The fantasy life? No responsibilities. She boosted his ego. Fed him all the kibbles.

Wonder how that fantasy life looks to him now when he looks back.

Don’t compare yourself to them. They are the lowest of low and you are more beautiful inside and out than they could ever be.

In the end, there’s no comparison.

She’s garbage. You wouldn’t ever find me in a trash can. But that’s exactly where she belongs.

 

 

 

Posted in cheating husband, extramarital affair, healing after the affair, homewrecker, infidelity, the other woman, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Am I being true to myself.

I’m several sessions into the trucker.

I have two more to go with her before I lose her. But we are close with this one and I’m glad she offered the intensive sessions.

Though they are exhausting.

We always begin with “What is the worst part of the memory.”

I have had to relive the rape for three long intense sessions. But I’ve also noticed a decrease in my responses each time.

So yesterday she begins by asking me again where I am with the worst part of the memory.

I looked at her. “I’m worried.”

“It’s after he took me home and it’s the next morning with my mother telling me he told her I came onto him.”

She said, “Why are you worried?”

I said, “I’m worried I don’t want to relive it again and am pushing myself forward in the memory. But it’s honestly the next day.”

She said, “You’re worried you’re not being true to yourself.” I nod. Yes, that’s perfectly said.

“But now, today, when I think of him and what he did, I am angry. Angry that he set me in motion on a path I followed after that day that I may not have been on if he hadn’t done what he did. It’s an odd feeling to not feel anything towards him at all but the anger of what he did to my future.”

As I say this to her I let my mind go back to when he pulls me into the back of the truck. I’m testing myself a little.

Nothing. No shakes, no stomach pain, no rapid heart beat… just anger. Even the anger is low key and sort of just sitting there. Not boiling, not out of control.. just sitting there. I don’t say anything to her, but I was glad I tested the waters.

If I had to relive it again, I would.

But she seems satisfied that I am not pushing the memory forward and that the emdr worked on desensitizing the actual act.

I ask her if I will have to go back to it again, she said it will be up to me and she can’t tell me that.

Makes sense.

But even if I don’t 100% clear this trauma before I lose her, it’s greatly desensitized. Much much more than when we began.

This is good.

We went forward from there and the session was long and opened up so much that happened from that point. It was downhill for sure from that point. Her and I fought hard. Within a year of that incident I was in a foster care situation.

The biggest thing I’ve learned from all of this is that I’ve been hero searching my whole life.

First, my dad. When he was around, she did not abuse me. The house felt somewhat safe with him there. But he was not there very much due to his job. Then they divorced and I lost my hero.

Then she married my step-dad.

Enter hero #2. Same situation, she holds back around him. But now I’m older and he enjoys me. I adore him. I’m always by his side when he’s home. I’m safe there. She resents this, and not long after they marry, they divorce.

No one enters my life again that provides any feeling of safety.

Until my husband.

Enter hero #3. And he was. For the first time in my life there was a feeling of safety, stability, family, consistency.

Then he cracks the foundation and the walls crash down with his choice to cheat. Now there’s no safe place and life feels raw, open and bleeding again.

However, knowledge and understanding is power. To see how I spent my life standing next to someone else and searching for someone else to provide a safe place upsets me. I want to stand on my own and feel safe on my own terms. Not lean on anyone or look to anyone else to provide it.

Especially since I wasn’t aware I was doing it.

I want my marriage to work. But I want to stand on my own first.

For the first time in my life, I don’t want to need someone else. I don’t want to be a scared kid any longer.

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Rings and symbols

The pastor placed our rings in his bible and blessed them. He handed mine to my almost husband and he said his vows to me as he slid mine onto my finger.

Pastor handed me his and I slid his onto his finger as I said my vows to him.

It’s a big, heavy gold band. Comfort fit because of his job.

I watched that gold band shine on his hand for 20 years.

I watched it when he was on stage. I watched it shine in stage lights as his hands flew up and down the neck of his guitar.

I saw it shine as he cut the cord to our babies. I saw it as he held each of them. As he took their hands and helped them walk. Ride bikes. Drive cars.

It was always there. 20 years.

Even during the affair, I never saw it off.

He did take it off though.

“What would you do with it when you were with her?”

“I don’t know. Leave it in the cup holder of the truck or tuck it into my pocket.”

After he ‘picked me’ 3 years ago, it came off. He bought a Qualo sports ring.

I hated that rubber ring.

“Why don’t you wear your ring?”

“I can injure my finger.”

“You’ve done just fine in the same job for 20 years.”

“I know. But the ring feels like I tainted it.”

You did.

We went to a wedding 3 weeks ago. He was a groomsman. I asked him if he would wear his wedding band. He said yes, but forgot.

That sucked.

I won’t wear mine either. I have also purchased several rubber rings. Or I wear nothing at all, but I wanted to wear my set for that wedding. But not if he isn’t wearing his.

Then this past weekend we were heading to his family reunion. As we were getting dressed and getting ready to go, he randomly went for his ring.

He had trouble getting it over his knuckle, it’s always fit him, but the knuckle has always been a problem. He wet his finger and was then easily able to get the ring over the knuckle.

As I watched this, my breath caught in my chest. I could see him having to do the same thing when he would take it off to be with her.

I didn’t say anything. I caught the choking sensation and went for my jewelry box.

I reached for my set and slid them back on my finger. I admired my diamond. I smiled at my rings. They are simple, much like me. I never wanted anything big or over the top.

The diamond sparkles and the gold ring states I’m taken.

I put my left hand over his, looked at the bands I hadn’t seen on and together for 3 years.

He’s right.

His ring is tainted.

Mine feel the same way now.

I kept mine on through the weekend. I took them off again yesterday. I know somewhere inside that it’s the last time I will do this. The last time I will see them on my finger.

He went to work with his still on yesterday. But this morning I heard him taking it off, I heard that heavy ring land in the drawer.

I know I’ll never see it on his finger again.

He’s so right about his. But for me, both sets feel tainted.

I don’t know what the future holds, but those symbols of marriage around our left ring fingers will never be there again.

That marriage ended with his choice to cheat.

Getting new ones when we haven’t (he hasn’t) worked on what happened can not happen yet. New rings won’t fix anything.

But I hope. Inside, I hope. Just like I did before he gave me the engagement ring 25 years ago and asked me to marry him… I hope. I hope this left hand of mine will see a ring again.

But not yet.

He has also spoken several times about renewing our vows.

Not yet.

There’s work to be done.

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