I’m suspicious. But can I trust that?

I don’t trust my instincts any longer.

I used to. There was a time my instincts were spot on. I trusted my gut. I trusted it.

But now? I don’t know.

Sept. 10 2015. – he went to her. Just showed up at her work and took her to lunch.

Sept. 20 – I find out she exists. We fight and cry long into the night. He takes me to bed.

Sept. 21. – I contact her. Wtf? Why are you sending pics to my husband? I ask. Nothing! He’s just a friend! She says. Later, he tells me she’s pissed. She tells me she will not speak to him again. He says it’s over with her before it had even begun.

He takes me to bed.

Sept 23 – he goes and buys a burner phone, creates a fake Facebook. (I know this now)But swears to me he won’t talk to her again. He takes me to bed.

Continue this for the next 8 months. I guess in retrospect, I knew deep down. But I couldn’t fathom it then. How could he? We were all over each other, except for two weeks of healing in December due to surgery. But… we found other ways. Though I felt there was definitely something going on with him, I no longer trusted that instinct.

Is it because it’s that time of year? Sept 2016 was melt downs and insanity. 2017 was a little better, but there was anger. Here we are 2018, and I’m definitely triggered, but it’s a calmer, more in control, some anger, but most is at her.

So do I trust the suspicion I have right now? I was wrong before. I was also right before. But what can I trust now, when trust has been destroyed?

He comes home and goes right to his basement office. Spends a lot of time there. He is also camping in the bathroom. He is getting up at strange hours, leaving the room, taking his phone. Or his iPad. I guess that’s not unusual – taking a device.

He used his own devices during the affair, he didn’t always use the burner, he would go to the incognito tab to access his fake Facebook, and then use messenger, so he could talk to her in the house.

Does he have another Facebook now?

I accessed our router. It’s so easy to do. Once into the router, you can monitor web activity. I’ve definitely looked. Hell, once again, if I had done that during the affair, I would’ve seen a strange device connected, and messenger being used. So yes, sometimes I go on and see what’s connected and what websites are being viewed. I haven’t seen anything unusual though.

There is some weird brick looking dust all over his office chair. Is he seeing if I’m going in there? Did it fall off his pants from a job?

He’s already perfected the burner phone, so there’s no point checking phone records.

He was texting me a lot during work, but for about 3 weeks now, no texts.

Is he busy?

He usually has lots of receipts in his pockets. Yes, I sometimes look. If I had found a burner phone receipt back then, because he had to keep buying phone time, the whole affair would’ve come to light much sooner. But there are zero receipts in the pockets. Did he empty his pockets? He’s never done that before.

Some days he stays in his van for a while before coming in. I can see he’s looking at a phone. His? A burner?

Why so long out there? Work?

He hasn’t worked a Saturday since the affair. He didn’t work a Saturday then, either, but I didn’t know that. That’s just what he told me as he walked out the door to go to her.

He worked last Saturday.

I asked him where. He told me. I totally rode by. The van was there, outside, was he inside?

Is it just the time of year?

Is it the full moon?

I just don’t trust him right now.

But I don’t trust myself. He could just be doing life, and I’m seeing it as something else.

Is this my life? My future?

Am I looking in hopes of finding something?

There will be no second time. It will be immediately done. Am I looking?

I’m tired. So tired.

Posted in cheating husband, extramarital affair, healing after the affair, infidelity | Tagged , , , , , , , | 20 Comments

The “Slut” car conversation

I guess I had too much to say, or think about, to reply on Dolly’s post.  Or even a reform cad’s.

Dolly: Creative Writing

ARC: 138 – Slut

They both then had an interesting conversation about it on twitter.  I chimed in a bit, but my mind was really going a million miles a second, and I just needed to think about it.

I saw his post a few days ago, and I understood his anger.  He has had is own ride with people that do not even know him inserting themselves into a situation that has nothing to do with them. They have labeled him, just as someone labeled this girl.

I even had some respect that he wanted to help her clean off her car.  He felt bad for her, that’s not a bad trait to have.

I get it.

But on the other side of the coin, here I sit.  The betrayed. I had no problem with it at all.  I understood completely.

Let’s be honest here, as there was a discussion on whether or not it was a car belonging to a female.  It was a female.  She pissed off someone, she slept with someone she maybe shouldn’t have, and that’s really that.  

So that whole thing really got me thinking.  So, I’ll just talk about that.

About 4 years ago, I was in a parking lot and saw a car.  White. Spray painted in black all over it was, “whore, slut, skank.” Each of her tires was flat.  I remember sitting there looking at that. I remember looking around to see what store she could’ve been in.

I waited.  I waited a while.  I wanted to make sure she could get where she needed to be, and if she needed help.  I felt bad for her.  I had never seen anything like it, and felt she would be humiliated when she walked out and saw it.

I never saw her come out. She probably worked at one of the many stores nearby.

Fast forward to now.  2 years and 4 months past Dday.

I am no longer who I was.  I will never be again.

I absolutely despise the OW.  My anger and hurt at her and my husband has completely changed me.

A month or so after Dday, I got on google and searched, “How to heal after my husbands affair.”  The first return was Elle’s blog Betrayed Wives Club, and then a few more.  I took to twitter and searched out #Infidelity.  I found so many in the same situation.  I found many that were the unfaithful.  Their point of view helped tremendously.  I was seeking information.

But to be perfectly honest, those first few fog filled months, I was truly searching for someone, anyone, that had the same HATRED that I was carrying for the OW.

So many were like, “Let her go. She’s not important. Don’t let her take up any space in your head. She didn’t say the vows to you. Forgive her, he lied to her.” I had real life friends asking me why I hated her. I should be mad at him. Yes, I get that too, and I was. But…

NO. To take away the anger and pain she caused so she could be the poor victim? Nope.

I was FURIOUS at her.  I hated her.  Thoughts started forming in my head that didn’t feel normal to me. This intense anger and hatred was completely out of character for me.

I hated her.  I thought of seeing her in public, and pointing and screaming, “Whore!”  looking at someone nearby and telling them to keep their husband close, this whore likes them married!

I called her words I don’t think I’ve ever said to another human. I called her a cunt. A twat. Whore. Dumpster slut.

I thought, and still do, about putting her on Shes a Homewrecker.  She’s ended up driving behind me twice and it was all I could do to not brake check her.  I picture grabbing her by her stupid rainbow my little pony hair and driving that ugly face into my knee.

I still think about sending her a box of crap from poopsenders. I think I would choose the elephant poop.

I have battled with this anger at her for a long time. It’s confusing to me. I don’t know what it is I want from her. What do I need in myself to get that poison out of my system?

She’s poison.

So, back to arc’s post. I no longer have the same empathy for a situation like that. I believe, given the chance, I would’ve done the same. The anger and pain was intense. I believe it would’ve said “Dumpster Slut”

He drives a box truck for work. If my kids wouldn’t have seen it, his may have been plastered with “cheater, hope she was worth it, sticks his dick in whores”. You know, lovely and mature things like that.

He was not immune to my wrath, for sure. So who knows if there was another car also vandalized in the slut car situation. 🤷🏻‍♀️

If I’m standing there with a can of spray paint in my hand…Am I labeling? Maybe. I’m not thinking that though, I’m acting on the emotions. They both labeled me. Him with his pathetic and usual shit, “she’s evil. She’s crazy. She nags. She won’t have sex with me.”(Lies). Her with her social media attacks (never to me though, she’s a coward) “she’s so ugly even her husband doesn’t want her.”

And then my favorite from her “Her kids aren’t even his.”

She called my principal and told her I shouldn’t be allowed around children.

Really bitch? You’ve never met me, don’t know me, judging me, and thought fucking my husband for 8 months was a good decision?? She took time, money and moments that never belonged to her, away from my family.

(Yes. I know he gave them to her. But she didn’t have to take them)

She went after my job, my marriage, my kids. I definitely wasn’t in the mindset and rational thoughts of “Am I labeling? Is this true? Will she be hurt by my actions? Am I bullying her? Am I doing this to make myself feel powerful?”

No. None of that. That would be rational thought, and there is none of that in the wake of discovering infidelity. It’s pure insanity.

What’s that saying? Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? That’s some serious truth right there.

Maybe I need some Jesus in my life, I don’t know, but betrayal is devastating. If given the chance in the days following dday, I would’ve decorated her car.

The ones that can absolutely and completely let the OW go, without harboring anger and hate, have my respect.

I couldn’t. I still struggle with it.

But other than all that up there, I really am a good person. 😊😂

Posted in cheating husband, D-day, DDay, healing after the affair, homewrecker, infidelity, marriage, mistress, the other woman, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 20 Comments

My trip.

I packed and left Sunday at 9am. When he and I said goodbye, I cried. Sadly, it wasn’t for missing him, it was in the fear he would go to her. But I left anyway. I can’t live like that any longer.

I think it’s just fear on my part too. I am like 99.9% positive he wants nothing to do with her.

I put in my GPS the address and hit Go.

There are several ways to get to the interstate that I spend the majority of the trip on. One takes me through some serious curvy mountain roads that keeps my speed down. It chose that route. I picked another one. I was somewhat familiar with that one, it’s the one we usually take. For the past 28 years of going to Kentucky together, this is the route we have gone, not matter where we lived. Unless I’m going alone, he drives, and I dont pay much attention. He has been the one to drive us on this route. The last times I’ve gone alone, I’ve followed the crazy mountain route, which I sort of hate.

So off I go. Turn, it says. I turn. Turn here, it says. I turn. Turn right onto the whores road, it says. What the fuck, I say.

Did we pass her house every time we went? Did he know when I left it would take me that way? Fuck.

I turn right. I know it’s coming, and I take a deep breath. I see it, it sits way back off the road on hill. Easily seen from the road. I wait for the rush.

Nothing. Hhmm. Interesting. Absolutely nothing. Not even a rush of hatred.

Ok then… I continue on. I shrug, look at it as some success of healing, and continue on.

When I arrive at my dads, he’s excited to see me. We fall into talking and laughing. I feel good. At one point in the visit, I tell him he should come visit me here. It would be easier to see each other. The kids all have school and jobs, it’s not easy to pick up and go. We also have animals. Cats, dog, bird.. also not easy. My husbands job also makes it difficult to pick up and go.

My Dad says, “I will not visit with you, I’m very angry at your husband.”

Ok. I take a deep breath. He’s being protective. I get it. So I answer, “Me too. I get it.”

We fall into the first conversation about it.

He’s 72. There’s a certain way about him that has always rubbed me a little wrong. His hypocrisy through my ordeal has me angry, but I hold that in.

“You need to leave him.” He says.

“I would if the affair was not over. But I’m building a new marriage. I’m trying, so is he. I can’t walk away from a 28 year relationship, 3 kids, a family.”

“There will never be trust again.” He says.

I think, “That’s easy for you to say. You walked from 2 marriages that had no good foundation ever. One lasted 7 years, the other lasted two.”

You should move here.” He says.

“I have thought about it. But I could not leave my kids, and I would not move them here, they are established at home. One is in college, here, one is a senior, one just started high school. There’s no way I would just come here with just my daughter.”

His eyes go wide at the last last statement. “Why not!?”

I’m so shocked at his reaction, I forget all that I need to say there and just mumble, “She just started high school. I will never take her out of that comfort of knowing her school and friends. I went to 16 different schools before 8th grade. I swore I’d never do that to my kids.” He looks at me like I’m ridiculous.

He was never the new kid, not once. He doesn’t get it. Also, I would never take her from her brothers. He’s an only child, he doesn’t get that. But most important? I would never move her 10 hours from her father. Another thing he doesn’t get. My mother moved my sister and I 26 hours away, and we never saw him again until I was much much older, and he and my sister have no relationship at all. He doesn’t get it. I’m not engaging him.

He’s looking at me like I’m weak. So I do my best…

He didn’t do this to hurt me….” I start out with.

He cuts me off.

“That’s where you’re wrong. He did.”

“No, Dad. He didn’t. He did not go to her with the thought, “I’m going to hurt and destroy Chris, this will be fun!” No. He went because something in him was broken. Something was missing. Our marriage was not good. We did not know how to connect. He did not know how to tell me something was wrong. I did not know how to listen.”

He shakes his head.

“Did I get hurt? Yes. Did he hurt our family? Yes. Look at you! He even affected you! His choices sucked, his lies sucked. Everything he did, sucked. But here we are. Marriage counseling, learning how to communicate, seeing where the marriage crumbled and learning how to rebuild. When I say we have a different marriage now, it’s the truth. Is the affair still affecting us? Yes. But it’s slowly getting there.

I have 22 years of marriage. 3 kids. I can not go forward without trying. I do not want to be sitting on different pews in a church watching our kids getting married. I don’t want to be sitting alone in some house waiting for grandkids to finish their visit at grandpas house before coming to see me. I can’t be 80 years old, and look back on my life and regret not trying. I want to see that I gave it my all. If my all doesn’t work? Than at least I know I tried.”

I tell him of the good. The good my husband is doing, how we communicate now, how we make time for each other. I can’t tell him of the incredible turn around in the bedroom, which I think is very important in a marriage…because it’s my dad… but I go on and on about the positives. I wonder at one point who I am trying to convince, him or me?

I can see he’s not buying it.

But here he is. 72. Alone. Not one of his relationships have worked. Not one of his marriages have made it. He has no relationship with one daughter. He pretty much abandoned me. If it weren’t for my close relationship with my grandparents, his parents, he and I would not be sitting here together now. He let me go into foster care, he never came for me. Both of my parents abandoned me, he will never understand why I am doing all I can to hold my family together.

I know he is coming from a place of concern. But Lord, I wish he would just support my choices, instead of this. He spends the rest of the evening talking of ruined trust, no respect, lies, cheating.

I get it. There is no changing his mind. So I slowly steer the conversation to politics. Much easier to talk about than infidelity. We don’t go back to it again. He is delusional, and not willing to see outside of his box. Maybe I am too.

But other than that? A very good trip. It was cut short due to hurricane Florence. Virginia was supposed to also get hit, so I left a day ahead of the track. I spend almost the entire trip driving the length of Virginia, so I didn’t risk it.

But now looks like I could’ve enjoyed another day or two there, as Florence has landed and shifted south instead of north.

My GPS wanted me to go past the whores house again. But now knew how to detour that myself and get home without going through whoreville.

All in all, running away for a few days was good. The long drive left me with lots of time to think. A bit of distance created some clarity. I could breathe a bit.

We have good moments, for sure. No matter what I tried to convince my dad about, and what I didn’t say, was that I’m truly at a crossroads.

Do I want it to work? Yes. Am I trying? Yes.

But he isn’t. He wants to sweep it under the rug and never look back. He still blames me. I still don’t feel much remorse from him.

I read other blogs, where there is true healing happening. They all have things in common. Transparency. Complete openness. Remorse. Humility.

He’s not there. Has never been. Can I truly move forward without that? I don’t know. In every other way, we are doing alright. There is love. There is the history, there is the future. I love him. It’s hard.

My dad may be right. But for now, I’m not on his path. I’m on mine.

Posted in affair, cheating husband, cognitive dissonance, extramarital affair, healing after the affair, husband, infidelity, marriage | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

Out of town

Friday, I asked him if I could go to Kentucky.

Told him I wasn’t doing very good, the desire to go was overwhelming, and I would like to see my Dad.

He said,”Go. You need to see your Dad.”

I waited until Saturday to get my daughters work schedule. I’m her ride, her place of employment is being re-modeled, and they’ve moved employees to another restaurant, but she’s not guaranteed hours.

She’s not working this week.

So I contacted my dad. “Want some company?” He said, “absolutely.”

So I’m leaving at 8:30 this morning.

I’ve put visiting him off for three years. I have been afraid to leave!

I guess it was around month three of their affair, he started randomly pushing me to go see my Dad. I couldn’t get off work, and I didn’t really want to. I was confused why he was pushing me to go out of town.

Now I know why.

Still, it’s been hard to think of leaving. I would picture him running straight to her the minute I turned out of the driveway.

I talked with him last night. “I really want to go. I fear you will run straight to her?”

“Hell no”

I was quiet.

“It’s stupid, you know. This fear I have of leaving. You had a full blown affair with me right next to you for 8 months. If you wanted to, you could see her anytime. Whether I’m here or not.”

He looked at me. He nodded.

“Never again will I do that.”

So I’m off to the mountains.

Though I was not raised there, I consider it home. My grandparents lived there, and now my father lives in their house. It’s a meteor town. A little coal miner town nestled at the bottom of an ancient crater.

It’s slow there. They drive slow, they talk slow, they walk slow. Im craving it.

I didn’t live in this town, but I did say my first words in another town in Kentucky. My first 6 years were spent there.

It’s funny, when I go home, my accent comes back. But not as heavy as the locals. And I move fast. And they say I talk fast. And I drive fast. You should see me in the town hang out – Walmart – I am zipping through the isles, and people (folks) are looking at me so strange. It’s like they didn’t know the cart (buggy) could move that fast.

Gas is cheaper, too.

So I should get there around supper time (which is called dinner here in Maryland… but dinner there is lunch time. 🤷🏻‍♀️)

I’m looking forward to slowing down.

Tomorrow will be three years ago he decided having an affair would be a good choice to make. I just want to leave.

Posted in affair, cheating husband, extramarital affair, healing after the affair, infidelity | Tagged , , , , , | 4 Comments

Did he? Didnt he? Who cares now?

I’m obsessing over something ridiculous.

Welcome to my insanity. Sometimes it’s nice here. There’s usually some nature, quiet walks, deep thinking, cake, and wonderful thoughts of punching someone in the throat.

I have had a rule, so to speak, for about a year and half now… if something about the affair pops into my head, and I need an answer, I don’t say anything. I give myself 24 hours. If it’s still on my mind, I give myself time to think about how to ask him. If a day or two more go by, and I’ve forgotten, well? Then maybe it’s not that important and bringing it up would’ve been not such a good thing.

In all honesty, I usually forget way before the 24 hour time frame.

But this one is stuck. It’s been 72+ hours now. It’s stupid. I don’t know why I want to know. I don’t know why it makes a difference now. It doesn’t, actually.

We went to dinner at this adorable Irish pub in town. Great atmosphere, amazing food.

I’m happily shoving cottage fries down my throat, drinking a Magners, and I look down at his ring finger.

I almost choked.

He wears a Qualo ring. Actually, so do I now. I don’t think my gold band and diamond will ever be on my finger again.

I watch how he holds his fork. He’s eating Sheppard’s pie. I see how he reaches for his napkin. Every movement of his is familiar. I’ve watched him for almost 29 years.

The old wooden tables, plaster walls, and lace curtains, literally fade from my view… the scene around me changes to Perkins, the Family fucking Restaurant he took the whore to. I’m her now, watching him eat. Watching him smile. Reaching for his napkin, taking a drink. He looks up at me, but it’s not me he’s smiling at, it’s her.

It’s a trigger, Chris. You know this shit happens. Breathe through, get to the other side.

Don’t say anything to ruin this evening. We are doing good.

The Irish pub comes back. My eyes fall back on that silicone ring.

I want to know now… did he wear his ring when he took her out? He told me the ring would come on and off in the beginning. But then he kept it on.

I never saw him without it. Not once during their affair. The real band. The gold one I put on his finger when I said my vows.

Did he? Does it matter? Why am I obsessing?

Then I play it out… what do I want him to say?

What do I need?

I took it off to go out with her“. Well… that would make sense. You were a cheating, lying asshole, might as well play the part to it’s fullest. I hate you.

I left it on.” Curious… because this answer ignites pure hatred towards her. How could she sit there at dinner with him seeing that big gold band? Anger at him, too. But seething anger at her. I hate you both.

What the hell is my problem? There is no right answer.

What will it do to ask him? Nothing. It will do nothing.

Welcome to my insanity.

It’s ridiculous here. But there’s usually always cake.

…And throat punches.

Posted in affair, cheating husband, extramarital affair, healing after the affar, husband, infidelity, the other woman | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

I reach for him..

I’m just in my head today.

The moment I found out he was a liar and a cheat…


I think I ended that post with me laying in the grass.

I still remember that. I can still feel the cold grass, the sky was exploding with stars, I could see lightening bugs deep down in the grass slowly blinking. I remember I could smell the chilly air, the creek, earth. I could hear the two creeks that border this property meeting up and the rush of water is loud.

What I didn’t write in that blog was what happened after I laid down.

I think about that night a lot. It crosses my mind and I wonder.. I wonder. I just… wonder who that person was, is.

It crosses my mind again today.

My phone was in my pocket that night. I felt it buzz. I look at his message. “Where are you?” I turn off my phone.

I want to die. I want to curl up right here in this meadow next to this creek I love, and die. I want the earth to just swallow me up. I curl tighter, my knees are close to my face. I watch that lightening bug in the grass. I’m amazed they are out here so early. I wonder about them. I’m really good if that is the last thing I think about, the last thing I see.

Because if thoughts of them together are my last, well… that would just suck.

But then I hear him. He’s got a light and he’s searching. I don’t move. I hate him.

I love him.

I want to die.

I see his boots right in front of me. I hear words, but I don’t know what he’s saying. I feel his hands picking me up. He’s holding me, and moving me towards the house.

He has me in front of him, moving me along. I’m crying now. It’s raw, almost primal. His hands go across my chest, and my body reacts. We are passing in front of the barn now. He turns me and kisses me. He’s never kissed me like this. One hand gripping my hair, the other near my throat. Intense doesn’t come close to describing.

We move to the barn. No words.

I’m at war with myself. I didn’t know the term “Hysterical Bonding” at that time. I just found out he was having sex with another woman. How could I be doing this? I was angry at my body for reacting to him, I was angry at his betrayal, I didn’t know who I was.

I’ve never experienced such raw, angry, intense sex in my life. Haven’t since.

When we went to bed that night, I reached for him. I needed to feel him under my fingers.

The next night, I reach for him again. I just need to feel his heat and energy.

No matter if we start out wrapped around each other, when we roll away, I still reach for him.

It seems to keep me grounded. To feel him there. He commented once about it. I told him I don’t know why, but I have to reach for him, feel him there, then I can close my eyes.

Every night since, there he is. Under my fingers. Sometimes, depending on where my hand falls, I can feel his heart beat. I can close my eyes.

He’s there. He’s not with her. He’s not gone. He’s there.

He makes me crazy. We fight. We cry. We aren’t doing any of this right. What is the right way anyway? Some days we totally suck at this, and he’s selfish and a prick.

Some days I’m a complete insane bitch.

But he’s there. So am I.

Posted in affair, cheating husband, D-day, DDay, discovery day, extramarital affair, healing after the affair, husband, Hysterical Bonding, infidelity, marriage, suicidal thoughts | Tagged , , , , , , | 11 Comments

Doctor Foster

I binge watched Dr. Foster on Netflix yesterday.

Both seasons.

Back to back, non stop.

I have this tendency to sign on to Netflix and search “infidelity” or “cheating” movies. I don’t know why. I guess it’s the same thing as doing the same search for blogs on the subject.

So I started with episode 1. Ended with the last one around 1am.

So good. I found myself nodding and understanding exactly what she was going through.

My heart was pounding when she found the burner phone. I actually felt dizzy with understanding. When she walked into the ocean? I knew that feeling. When she picked up the scissors and walked through the party? Oh yeah, I wanted her to just go ahead and go nuts.

But then season 2, episode 4. His back is against his front door, and he slowly slides down it, crying hysterically…

I smiled. 😏

Very good.

Posted in cheating husband, infidelity | Tagged , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

A talk on the couch.

It was about a month ago. I spoke about this in my “forgiveness” post.

I threw a question at him out of nowhere. According to our MC, there has to be boundaries, timers, and a big talk about expectations before any discussions.

We usually end up in a fight before the actual talk, so I skipped all that.

I’m writing this, because this one was somewhat successful and when I read back on my blog, I want to see this one. He didn’t get defensive and he actually answered.

December 16, 2015. Our 20th wedding anniversary. I asked him days before, “can we go out?” He kept saying no. He wouldn’t say why. He only agreed to go out if the kids were with us. I just decided to go out on my own when the day arrived.

And I did.

It crosses my mind again as I’m driving down the road. I’ve mentioned this recently, but I am looking back again. Going over the timeline. I’m not sure if that’s “normal.” But looking back over it now with a bit of calmness, fog cleared, and emotions low has been enlightening.

I’m still healing, I’m still on this path, and I still need answers from him. But this go around of looking at the timeline, there’s less emotions.

I looked at him and said, “I have a question for you.” He looked at me.

“You refused to take me out for our 20th.” He looked a little stunned, but said, “I know.”

“I’ve been thinking about it.

“Did you refuse to take me out because you knew I would probably post it on Facebook, and she would see?”

“Did you not take me out because if she saw the two of us out celebrating our 20th anniversary on social media it wouldn’t quite fit the story that you were telling her? That our marriage was over?”

“Is that why you wanted the kids to come along? So if I did post it, you could just tell her it was for the kids?”

He actually looked sad. “No. The thought of social media didn’t cross my mind. I was being so fake, I didn’t know what I was doing, and I didn’t want to be any more fake than what I was already was.”

And then the icing on the cake, “I didn’t want to lead you on. I was going to leave you.”

We talk a little more, we hug, I take a walk.

Here’s where the healing through this falls on me.

I asked my question. I can’t argue with him that it’s the wrong answer. That’s crazy.

I’m furious though. But what good will it do to scream at him? What good does it do for me standing up, screaming at him that he’s a fucking liar? Maybe throwing some shit around? What good will that do us?

It will do no good. Nothing about this is good.

Maybe that’s how he feels now. Maybe looking back for him is full of shame and he sees it different.

But I know full well social media was in full swing at the time.

She was stalking me hard. I was stalking her, too. Anytime we went out with our kids, she would post the most passive aggressive shit. I would point it out to him. He would say, “It’s not about YOU Chris!! Not everything is about YOU. I’m not even talking to her, so why would she post about you?! STOP LOOKING AT HER PAGE!”

She was definitely posting about me. Now, 2 years later, he admits and agrees that she was attacking me.

If she saw a post with him and I out celebrating our 20th anniversary, that really would throw a wrench into his big stupid web of lies he was weaving.

Now? He wants to tell me that he didn’t want to lead me on? That he was leaving me?

Oh. Well, thanks motherfucker. Never mind the fact that you and I were dragging each other off to bed, or wherever we could, the entire time you’re thinking about leaving me?

That couldn’t possibly lead me on.

How about telling me you had a side whore? That would’ve helped you out get out the door you were so desperately trying to do.

Or the fact that we spent a million hours tearing (me) the marriage apart, seeing where we went wrong, seeing how it could work and what we needed to do. Yeah, that couldn’t possibly lead me on.

Stupid. That’s so stupid. “I didn’t want to lead you on.” Ugh.

Maybe that is his truth. Who am I to say?

I just don’t tell him. Because again, what good does it do?

So I walk and yell at him in my head. I get to a safe place that I’m alone, and yell at him out loud.

He thinks me asking questions is to punish him. But I don’t. If I want questions answered, I can’t scream at him after and call him a liar.

What good does that do?

But I’m not stupid. It was definitely because I may have posted on Facebook. He may have felt all that other crap he said, but in the end, I went out on my 20th anniversary alone because he would’ve been caught in a lie on social media.


So this is how I process. I ask… and IF I get an answer, I remain calm, leave the situation when appropriate and fume. I write about it here, I cry, I cuss him out, I cuss her out, I think about it.

Then…when the anger settles down, I see how far we’ve come. I see our marriage is different now.

I let it go.

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

Let me introduce myself.

When I started this 2 years ago, I wanted the security of anonymity. I also started my twitter account on the same day. That is also anonymous.

(Come say hi! @dawn_bythecreek)

I went anonymous to protect myself. The OW has no right to my story, if she were to find it. But there’s nothing in my story that would cause damage to my life or my children. Or even my husband.

The mask is starting to get on my nerves.

So let me introduce myself …

Depending on who you are in my life… co-worker, family, friend… my name is Christine, Chris or Chrissy. I answer to all.

I’m a photographer. It’s always humbling that people pay me to take their picture.

I’m a vegetarian. But I miss hot dogs. 🤷‍♀️

I only recently learned how to back up a vehicle.

I know sign language. I use it to communicate with non-verbal kiddos. When they use it back? Best thing ever. It gives them a voice.

I love antiques. I can’t resist an old cast iron pan, an old clock or an old typewriter. I have way too many of all mentioned. I love the sound of the clocks ticking away, but my kids hate it. So it’s rare when I wind one up.

A new obsession is starting to grow… fans. Old old fans.

I’m not sure how there aren’t more folks walking around missing fingers. These fans are pretty serious. 😂

I’m originally from the south… so even though I no longer live there, I still say “y’all” and it’s in my blood to bless your heart before I insult you. I also truly believe my blood type is sweet tea.

My daughter can’t stand tea, so though she looks like a perfect split of my husband and I… I am positive she was switched at birth.

I will not ever squish a spider. They can live where they are, or I will re-locate them outside. I had a tarantula for years. She made me love all arachnids… except ticks. They must die.

I went to 16 different schools before 8th grade. It sucked. No, not military. (My step dad was, but they weren’t married long enough to move a lot.) we moved usually because rent was due.

I look exactly like my mother. But she’s 6 inches shorter than me. And I’m nicer. 😏

I’m a huge Star Wars fan. My husband, father and son are all trekkies. The fights around here get pretty epic. I always win though… The Force is, and always will be, greater than tribbles and Q. Don’t even get me started on the millennium falcon vs. the enterprise.

I love love Love muscle cars. Chevy. A gen 1 Chevy Camaro? Good lord… I feel a little weak in the knees just thinking about it.

I’m a Stephen King fan. I have no favorite, but I do absolutely love Christine. I saw her at a show and I may or may not have cried a little. A single car restored from all the cars used in the movie.. it was a beautiful moment.

It’s incredibly hard to insult me. I just don’t care. Yet, I can be sensitive. What can I say.

There’s more to me than just being a betrayed wife. 😊

Nice to meet you 👋


Posted in affair, cheating husband, healing after the affair, infidelity | Tagged , , , , , | 17 Comments

Trickle Truth HELL

I’m currently in hell.  There is no other way to describe this.  I’m losing it.

I came back up to the top to give you an F-Bomb warning.  There’s a lot.  Sorry.. sort of.

Last night, after yet another discovery hits me out of nowhere, I think I had a breakdown.  I couldn’t breathe, I threw up, my hands feet were cold and tingling… I couldn’t control my breathing, my thoughts, my body was shaking, I couldn’t stop crying.  It’s been a while since one of these attacks have hit me.  Panic?  Anxiety?  I’m not sure what it is called, but its AWFUL.  I can’t function, and I can’t think properly.

The crazy thing is I almost reverted back to techniques I used when I was younger and when I first found out about him and dumpster.  Cutting.

I haven’t talked about that here at all, (shame maybe?), but it’s there.  It’s a been a part of my life a long time.  As a teenager, I would cut.  It took away the pain, and I had control.  It was the only thing I had control of.  By doing that, I took the emotional pain and turned it into physical.  That actually felt better and again, I had control.

When people take away your choices, the desire for control is consuming.

As an adult, it came back when I found out about them.  It was a bad fight, and I guess I had what he loves to call a mental break down.  I was in the driveway.  I saw a rock that had a sharp edge.  I picked it up and went after a tattoo I have on my wrist that represents him and I.  I have no fucking idea why.  I didn’t think, I just did.

Immediate calm.  I hate that it brings immediate emotional relief.  But it does.  I didn’t do much damage to myself, but over time, the next year actually, I kept going back to destroying that tattoo.    I told a counselor about a year ago, and talking about it to another adult human seemed to help. I haven’t since then.

Even though he did look at me like I was nuts.  But this is also the one that also told me to have a revenge affair.  I don’t see him anymore.

This is all so fucked up.  I didn’t physically harm myself last night, but God I wanted to.  I hate this.  I hate him, I hate her, I hate myself. I hate this so much.  I’m fucking losing it.

I don’t know how to keep doing this.  Trickle truth is evil.   It will never end.  Things will be going great, the future looks stable, and BAM.  Out of NO WHERE.  Another big hit. 2 YEARS LATER!!!  How long does this go on???

As long as I let it, I guess.  I’m allowing this to keep happening by staying with him.

Bottom line.  I’ve asked about what I got hit with in the past. Several times I’ve asked. He lied.  I believed.  So when it comes out later that he lied, it’s so much worse.  I’m not sure why I’m shocked.  He’s not fucking protecting me, he’s a coward and protecting himself.  Fuck him.

I’m not sure how to get out of this hell.  I keep telling myself I’ll be on the other side of this one soon, but I don’t know how.  I know I’ll get there… I know I’ll get there… don’t pick up a fucking rock.  He’s not worth it.

It’s just going to keep happening.  If he grows the fuck up and actually sheds that coward skin, we may have a chance.

But I don’t see that happening.  I don’t see him growing up, and I don’t see me allowing this any longer.

How can I get away from him?  He will not leave.  I want him to LEAVE.  I love the house I’m in, and I can afford it on my own.  HE WILL NOT LEAVE.  I want HIM OUT.

I hate him.  I want him to leave.  I’m done.  I want off this ride, this roller coaster sucks.  I want off.  Fuck putting the puzzle together, it’s killing me. It’s gone on too long.

Sorry.  This was a hot mess post… I don’t know if I’ll hit publish.   I’m not doing good.  It’s continuing through to today, and I’m losing it fast.




Truth really does set you free.








Posted in extramarital affair, healing after the affar, suicidal thoughts, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 31 Comments