My last post has had so many reach out to me. I can’t thank you all enough. I use this blog to release what’s inside and it helps me to sort of “look at the big picture.” I truly don’t know where I would be if it wasn’t for all of you, your support and your own stories. ❤️. I am doing alright, I feel strangely strong and hope this feeling lasts.
I’m just rambling this morning… trying to get my head around life at this point.
I’m a very visual person.
Meditation and visualization have been a part of my life for so long, I don’t really remember a time without it.
When I discovered he was talking to another woman, a window appeared in my mind.
It’s beautiful, really. It’s in a very dark room, the window frame itself is in silhouette, there are lace curtains softly framing it. It’s open about 6 inches. There are golden beams of sunset light coming through the glass, the beams glow in an unseen fog, as though there is smoke in the dark room. The stream of light rests on an old, wonderfully worn wooden floor.
So there’s my window. I’m not sure why it came to mind as it did, but there it is.
I am comforted by that light.
But always present is a small seed of panic building deep in my stomach if the window were to close.
When I found out about them talking, it appeared. As time went on, it remained the same. He promised me he was not having an affair.
I believed him.
He swore to me she did not reach out to him after I sent her a text, pretty much telling her he was lying if he told her our marriage was over.
They only talked for 10 days before I found out.
Surely I stopped anything from progressing further. Surely I did, look at how we were with each other. The sex was incredible and often, we talked more than ever, we broke down the marriage to the bones. I thought we were rebuilding it.
There were many moments I thought that them talking actually ended up making our marriage the strongest it had ever been. It made us realize what we had to lose.
So I thought. But in actuality, it was tearing me down to the bone, not our marriage. Yes, we talked, but it was more talking about all the things I did wrong. It didn’t make us realize what we had to lose, it made me fight hard for him and our family as he began to pull away emotionally. Not physically, but emotionally he started to hold himself back.
But the window… it was still open. It was still the same.
Christmas comes and he walks away from us and moves in with his nephew. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever faced. The 27th finds me packing our kids into the suburban and driving to Florida to sit on a beach.
I asked him a thousand times that fall and early winter if they still talked, saw each other, if she was the reason for the emotional withdraw.
And when he leaves us, I ask him if she’s the reason.
No, he says. No. She is not the reason. She is not in the picture at all. They haven’t spoken once since I found out in September.
Do you promise? I ask. “I promise you.” He says.
The withdrawal and leaving us is due to depression, he tells me.
He laid in my bed Christmas Eve and swore he hadn’t spoken to her and never would again, he just needed some space and time, he said.
Now I know he spent the entire day with her, then came over to our house and chilled out in my bed.
“Will you come back home?” I asked. “Yes, this is my home.”
The window stayed the same. Still open, still comforting.
I find myself on the beach, I can hear the kids laughing in the waves. It’s December and we are getting sun and salt water therapy. I’m on my stomach, sun is warm on my back and I stare at the sand in front of me.
I believe him, I tell myself. The window is still open. There’s hope in that light.
But yet there I am. On a beach hundreds of miles away from him, and believing him when he says she is not in his life at all.
He’s not cheating on me, how could he? I think of how physical we have been. It’s like we are 20 again, but with time and age comes a level of trust that makes it even better than when we were 20. A level of trust comes with being with a man 25 years at that point.
I trusted him.
When I came home from Florida, he was standing in the kitchen. He tried to leave to go back to his nephews. I wouldn’t let him.
“This is your home. This is ridiculous, you belong here with your family.”
“I’m not ready” he said.
“If there is no one else in your life, then explain this to me, why are you living on a cot in your nephews house?”
“There is absolutely no one else. I just need peace.” He says.
I look at the gold band flashing on his hand. I’ve never seen it not on his hand.
The window is still the same. There’s hope in my heart as long as it’s still open.
I believe him.
But on some level that maybe I didn’t know how to face, I knew. I knew. It’s why the window appeared in the first place.
He doesn’t go back to his nephews that night. We end up tangled around each other for hours. He moved his stuff back in the next day.
The window stays open and looks so comforting in its lazy golden glow.
There is hope. I believe him.
Later in January, I text Toni. Something is off… something isn’t right.
She goes on to tell me that they haven’t spoken since I sent her a text in September. She says something definitely wasn’t right with his story when she got that text from me, so she didn’t talk to him anymore from that moment.
I believed her.
My window stayed the same.
February rolls in and my son tells me she met up with them at a Taco Bell by the dumpsters.
My husband says she just randomly showed up.
My son tells me before she showed up, that his Dad looked at him and said, “Toni is going to come by, are you OK with that?”
My son was NOT ok, now he’s in a bind. Should he tell me?
Yes. But it takes him until the end of February to do so.
My window isn’t the same. It’s almost shut now. Somehow, there’s no longer beams coming through transparent glass panes, now the panes are black and there’s a small line of light shining under the sash, but it’s almost gone.
The light isn’t warm and golden anymore either, it’s a harsh white light in this dark room and it’s hard to look at.
It’s not closed, but I no longer want to be in this dark room with that small stream of light. I want out. Panic has set in and it feels very heavy.
He spends some time explaining the Taco Bell visit. Swears she just texted out of nowhere, swears she stopped by just to say hi and see how he was doing. Swears swears swears.
I believe him, but I don’t.
My window doesn’t change back, it remains the way it is.
But it’s not closed. But I’ve now come to see it for what it is.
Hope. Hope that he’s telling me the truth. There’s a small glimmer of hope that he’s telling the truth.
Monday, April 25th rolls around and he hands me his burner phone.
I lose it.
“The only reason you would have a burner phone is if you were fucking her.”
“No no no!” He swears. “No! Just texting and talking! I swear! I promise! We didn’t see each other physically at all except that day she showed up at Taco Bell.”
The window stayed open a little.
I leave the house with that phone in my pocket. I’m losing it. He has no idea where I am that night. He thinks I’m at her house and her and I are talking. I let him believe that.
I told him she told me it was a full blown affair with all the bells and whistles and confetti.
He admitted it then.
The window slammed shut. I swear I could hear it. It sounded like bulldozer bucket slamming into the ground. I could feel and hear the room shake with slamming of that little window.
Very dark now.
It’s never opened again. Not even a little since that day.
That should tell me all I really need to know.
I think about that window sometimes. In the beginning, it was pretty and comforting. I miss it at times.
After what I found this weekend, I’m not sure how to move forward.
I’ll definitely talk to my counselor today about it.
But I have no desire to talk to him at all about it.
A person can only take so much.
I am not a fan of the silent treatment. I think it’s abuse. He does it to me all the time after a fight and it makes me insanely sad.
I’m not doing that to him, I won’t. But I don’t even want to see his face right now, much less hear words coming out of his lying mouth, or even using an ounce of my energy to speak to him.
I’m so angry.