Benediction

We lay together in the dark.  The light from the muted television casts a soft glow over the bed.

As he runs his hands down my body, I feel a rush of pleasure followed by a twinge of insecurity.

I have made love with this man countless times.  We've grown up together.  We've walked through fire together.  There are no longer any boundaries between us.

Still... When he runs his hands over my belly and I feel the soft, sagging skin under his hands, skin that never really recovered from pregnancy, I feel embarrassed and self-conscious.

"Tell me," I say.  "Truth, please... That really doesn't bother you?"

"What, this?" He caresses the area in question.  It makes me cringe faintly, and I nod.  Before, I never would've had the courage to ask.  Now, I know the importance of saying what I'm thinking, shedding light on the darkness and uncertainty.

"No.  Not at all.  Not even a little bit," he says.

"Really?"

"Really.  I heard my kids' heartbeats for the first time right here.  I could not want you more than I do, and the fact that you gave birth to our children with this body makes me love it even more.  Then only thing that bothers me is that it bothers you so much."

I am suddenly fighting tears.  God, but I do love this man.  

What follows is not so much a seduction as it is a benediction.

This is how we heal, not with one act but with a hundred - or a thousand - moments in time that lead us to a better understanding of each other.

Dear Alice...

Dear Alice, 

I, like you, have found myself in this deranged wonderland. In a way my whole life has been on some sort of "detached" path...and I suppose this is no different...it's just MY way. However, there are NOT many answers here, and not much guidance either...each attempt at therapy...together or individually...is very black and white. It never deals with the grey. 

My husband...I am not sure why I have felt a connection to him from the very first time we met...maybe it was a familiar depression or feeling unworthy or not good enough, as we had both been through very difficult past relationships that were hurtful in more ways than one. I don't know. I just knew I had never felt that connection before. We shared everything, we talked, we laughed, we cried...we SHARED our life, and appreciated having each other for both the ups and downs. Or so I thought.  He did admit to having consensual sex with [another woman]...so my questions are much like yours...why? how? when? where?...his answers of "I don't know why I did it", or " I was stupid, this had nothing to do with you"...what am I supposed to think? Where do I find THOSE answers? I do know, at least as of now, nothing has satisfied those questions yet. And the questioning of my own self-worth for even contemplating his coming back home. My family threatened to disown me if I allowed it...even my own mind questioned my heart...why would I even consider it? But I did. WHY? 

The opposition, the speculation, the cruelty from the outside world was near unbearable...and added to my soul-crushing pleas of WHY...WHAT'S SO WRONG WITH ME???...well, 3 years later I am still battling with bouts of that. And it will hit me out of nowhere...we will have done very well for a while, and anything at random can bring those memories flooding back, and making me question everything.

I decided, after much prayer and pleading and grappling between my mind and my heart that I would forgive and we could make this work if he was in this whole-heartedly as I was. But NOW WHAT? Does it ever go away? Those visions, that unbearable set of memories...the questions and trust issues...does it ever stop? Will the questions always be there at least in the background? Every moment he isn't home exactly when he should be...if he takes longer than usual at the store or to pump gas...stupid little things caused by everyday inconveniences cause BIG questions. I Knew this would not be easy, but honestly, can I get completely past it? 

I honestly am interested in knowing any coping skills you may have come across in your journey down this grown-over path of unknowns. I can deal with being judged by others...I really have learned not to care... I don't let it affect me much anymore... My inner turmoil torments me. It is difficult to be intimate...3 years and forgiveness and moving on later...with my husband without picturing him with her. It makes for a difficult relationship all around, but we are both still hanging on. There has to be a reason for that, or at least one of us would have let go by now, right? 

For most people I come across, it is overwhelming to absorb...and from outside the box, most people think I am just insane and they would have done things so much differently. Maybe I will have regrets another decade down the road when I look back...who knows...but at this point, I guess I need some help LIVING in it at the moment. I love my husband very much, or I would not be here fighting with my own self about it. I don't have any problems of "being alone" or "desperate"...I have been alone a great deal of my life...at times with children and making it all happen for all of us...so when most of the outsiders feel my fear of being alone is what keeps me here...no. Sometimes I wonder what kind of humans THEY are that they would give up on something over mistakes...as though they are mistake free in this life. I have certainly made my share of mistakes... 

...even when happiness is abundant and joy should be felt above all else, there is still a cloud that hangs over it. The "waiting for the other shoe to drop" that you referenced. How do you deal with that? Sometimes I think it would be easier to just have walked away, and been like the rest of those around me who, apparently would have just been bitter and cold and said they were done. Doesn't that feeling eat at you on the inside too? I have no desire to be angry and bitter...I'm past that point in my life, and it was a very miserable feeling... 

But my question in this "realignment" now is...when is enough enough? I mean, if I have come back to this now, have I forever compromised myself? Will I take ANYTHING and everything everyone has to dish out, and just be ok with it? What does that say about my own strengths and morals and self-worth? And as much as I desperately want to be happy and see how good this is...there is always that gloomy cloud of questions that hangs over me...and the waiting... 

IS trust rebuild-able? Can a marriage exist and grow if it is somewhat broken, but hope still there? Thought you might have found a few ways of handling some of these emotions... 

Thanks,
 A Reader

Dear Reader,

Alone and lost are feelings to which I can thoroughly relate.

No matter how many other people have been there, you still feel like you’re the only person in the world that has ever felt this way.

Please, please know one thing, if you don’t know anything else: there is nothing wrong with you.  You are enough.

Does it ever go away?  No.  Not in my experience.  But it can serve as a lesson.  Don’t feel ashamed of it.  Use it as a reminder.  Be proud that it’s something you’ve gotten through and lived to tell about.

You wrote of trust issues; trust seemed like an insurmountable obstacle at first.

The problem isn’t that you still think it might happen again… It might happen again.  That’s just reality.  The naiveté was in ever believing that it would never happen in the first place.

There was never any ironclad certainty that our relationship would be perfect.  That was just a fairy tale we like to believe in.  If I were to leave him, there’s no guarantee that the next man I marry won’t be unfaithful after 10 years of marriage.  Life makes no promises to us.  We’re foolish when we assume it does.  

The best you can do is just to be grateful for today.

Today, we are “us.”  I love him.  He loves me.  Yesterday already happened.

Forgiveness means giving up any hope that the past could have been different.  It’s done.

Today, he is a good man.  He brings me coffee in bed. Today, he works his ass off for us.  He takes my hand at the end of the day and kisses it and tells me he missed me, even though he just spent the weekend with me and has only been gone since this morning.  He wishes out loud that he had more time to spend with me.  He rolls over and curls up next to me, hugs me to him, and lets me know that I am adored.

Today, he engages our children; he challenges them and supports them and spends time with them.  He mows the grass and fixes the things that need fixing.  He does laundry and dishes.  He takes me out on dates and makes an effort to court me.

Sure, he leaves his shoes all over the bedroom and bathroom even while he complains about the state of the rest of the house, and he steals my car keys, and he threatens to take our smallest dog to the pound; he’s not a saint.  But he loves.  He is a decent and kind man that has flaws and has made mistakes.

At the risk of sounding trite, who knows what tomorrow will bring?  Tomorrow, next week, next month… One of us might muck it all up.  It could be him.  It could be me.  We’re just flawed human people here.  Maybe we have financial problems that cause a divorce.  Maybe I die in a car accident.  Maybe one of us is ravaged by illness.  My point is… I cannot dwell on tomorrow.  Today, we are “us.”

Is trust re-buildable?  Yes, in my experience it is.

I no longer wear my wedding ring from 11 years ago.  It is a symbol of a promise that was broken.  I’ve put it to rest in my jewelry box.  It doesn't belong on my finger.  I haven’t decided if I want to save it for one of our children.  Probably I won’t.  I’m a believer in positive energy, and it doesn't have a lot of positive energy attached to it anymore.  Maybe I will sell it.  I won’t wear it again, though, I know that for sure.  We’ve made a new promise to each other, and one day, when we can afford it, I will have a new ring.  For now, I wear a simple diamond band that was not a part of my original wedding set, a concession to the fact that we are still committed to this marriage thing.

You can hold on to your marriage, but you can’t rebuild it on an unstable foundation.  You can’t get to good until YOU are good.

You have to love yourself before anyone else can.

Another important message the universe sent my way, via Facebook:

Lots of love,
Alice

Back to December

I go back to December, turn around and make it all right
I go back to December all the time

                                                             ~Taylor Swift 

Ah, December.  

December was "the scene of the crime," as they say.  

Since the holidays were just wrapping up, the halls were still decked when my world went sideways.  The holiday décor stays up until after the New Year, traditionally.  By traditionally, of course, I mean that I dread taking it down and put it off as long as socially acceptable.  

I don’t know if my husband felt he was doing me a service, if he felt that the cheerful décor was too harsh of a backdrop for our misery, or if he just needed something to do, but he took down the decorations by himself that year.  

I had some other things on my mind.  

My husband and holiday decorations are like oil and water; throw them together as much as you want, but they’ll never mix well.

Consequently, I was hit with a giant What the fuck happened here? when I opened up the holiday boxes this past season.

It was a bona fide clusterfuck of tangled, jumbled, wadded up "holiday fun."  

Then, it punched me in the gut; he did this.  He must’ve taken down Christmas last year.  I have no recollection of it happening, but he must’ve, because here it is.  And he fucked this up just like he fucked everything else up.  

Suddenly, there I was again… 

Painful emotions had gotten boxed up with the Christmas ornaments, mingling with Santas and snowmen and broken ornaments.  They were laying in wait for me there in those boxes.

I had to unpack them and exorcise them all over again.

As we hung lights on the house, I started to say something about the disarray.  Then, I bit back my comment.

He looked at me with abject regret; he knew the gist of what I had meant to say.

"I can hardly look at this stuff without reliving last year," he said.

"Yeah," I said.  "It's making me very angry with you.  There are layers of anger.  I'm getting mad at you all over again.  Mad that the ornaments are stuffed and broken, mad about why they're like this..."

"I know," he said.  He embraced me, and I stood in his arms by the forgotten ladder.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I know."

"I love you," he said.

"I know."

As we move on with our life, these moments come and go, rippling out in tiny waves through the current of our new normal.  They hurt, but I've learned to let them come.

After all, those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it, right? 

Keeping secrets

There is no room for secrets in my life.  There will be no brushing things under the rug.  I believe in forthrightness and candor.

I won't put up a billboard calling him out as a cheater...

I won't say the idea didn't hold some appeal at one point, though.

But I won't shy away from the topic, either.  To hide it is to be ashamed of it, and to be ashamed of it is to admit guilt over it.  Before you know it, we're back to the self-loathing place again.

I will not hide my husband's infidelity just because we are still together and it might be embarrassing for us.

More embarrassing would be trying to pass a life off as perfect and then having people discover that it's not.  I won't pretend that we haven't struggled, that we haven't fought tooth and nail to keep the life we have.

I won't make this business of marriage look simple.  It does a disservice to everyone.

As I was looking for ways in which to cope with my new Wonderland, I poked around this topic online.  I found a lot of angry women that had left their husbands, and I also found a few women that had decided, inexplicably, that cheating was the best thing that had ever happened to their marriage.

I couldn't relate to the angry ones.  Oh, I was angry.  But I was not separated or divorced or wanting revenge.

I couldn't relate to the happy ones, either.  Sure, they didn't get there in a few days.  Still, it turned my stomach.

In our daily lives, everyone that really matters already knows.  I told everyone close to me right from the beginning.  When something turns your life upside down so thoroughly, it's nearly impossible to hide.  I told my mother, I told his mother, I told all of our friends... I exposed him to them utterly and completely.  I make no apologies for that.  But that came from anger and hurt.

Talking about it now, shedding light on a subject others often shy away from, is about transparency.  It's about relating to people like me, because I could find no path to which I could relate.  It is about reaching out, and it is about healing.

I have hesitated for months to publish a blog post on the topic, because he has business acquaintances to which this subject has no relevance.  I respect that.  I can be circumspect.

(If you happen to know me, try not to roll on the floor laughing over that one, okay?  I can...really.  Seriously.  Hush.)

I can write about it here, though, where nobody knows my name.  I think that honors the spirit of transparency while also honoring his (unspoken but clearly present) desire for a modicum of privacy.

If the subject of infidelity comes up in our daily lives, I will speak my truth in a way that is genuine and relevant.  If my experience can help someone down their path, I will not hesitate to offer it up.

I'll leave you today with some food for thought...

Excerpts from The 'Gospel According to Jesus' on Transparency

When you have nothing to hide, shame can dissolve. Lies no longer need to be upheld. Simplicity and clarity rule in your life, for there is no deception or hidden agendas.

If you have a fear and share it, that fear and the guilt beneath it no longer remain hidden. If you have a judgment, you can see it and examine it. You can hide your attack thoughts or you can confess them.

There is no one who does not make mistakes. Trespass one against another, with or without intention, is commonplace. Mistakes will be made and each error is a gift because it brings you to correction. Celebrate the opportunity to bring all manipulation and deceit to the surface. Be thankful for the invitation to reach into the dark places of your mind and bring the contents to the light of conscious inspection. When you justify your mistakes, you hang onto them, forcing yourself to defend them over and over again. 

Trust your brother and sister and know that they do not stand above you in judgment, but side by side, as your equals. They cannot condemn you without condemning themselves.

Confess to yourself. Confess to your mate, your boss, even to the stranger on the street. Do not be concerned about what people think.

Your confession gives others permission to look at their own mistakes with compassion.

One who admits her mistakes is a beacon of light to others. She has shed her cloak of darkness. Light shines through her, for her mind is transparent, a clear channel through which truth flows without effort.  

Others immediately know that she can be trusted and they reach out to take her hand. Having forgiven her own sins, she can extend that forgiveness to others. Her authority does not come from outside, but from within. She has been ordained by no authority of the world. Yet each person who comes to her recognizes her, trusts her, and confides in her. 

To end suffering, you must end all forms of deceit in your life. And that can only be done by telling the truth, to yourself, to me, and to your brother and sister. 

Confess your fears, your feelings of inadequacy, your trespasses and your grievances. Bring the darkness of your secret thoughts and feelings into the light of conscious attention. There is no mistake that cannot be corrected. There is no trespass that cannot be forgiven. 

Forgiving: giving back the blame

There was never a moment when I decided that I wasn’t going to leave him.  I got up every day, made it to the end of the day, went to sleep, and did it all over again the next day.  I gave myself permission to leave whenever I was ready.


Just stay for now, and if you want out tomorrow, you can go.


I found a really good therapist, and I went by myself.  I had a lot of work to do on my own.

Months later, after hearing me make yet another snide remark about him, my therapist asked how long I was going to punish my husband.  I don’t know, forever??

She asked me when I was going to forgive him.  I had no idea how to do that.  

As it turned out, she had some insight on that, as well.  She went on to tell me that I wasn’t going to be able to forgive him until I came to terms with the fact that it wasn’t about me.  

As long as I felt like he did this thing because of something I did or didn’t do, then I was taking responsibility for it.  Forgiving him meant admitting that it was not my fault, and I still had so little love for myself that I could not accept that it wasn’t my fault. 

Harder than deciding to not divorce him was deciding, consciously, to forgive him.  Once she planted the seed, though, I knew that it was something I had to do if we were going to move forward.

I don’t know how far in we were; I’m pretty sure it had been less than 6 months from the time I found out.

It was nighttime.  The bedroom lights were off.  He was getting into bed, and I stopped him.  I embraced him in the dark.  We stood together, naked, which seemed only fitting as there could be no barriers for what I had to say, and I told him that I loved him.

Then, I gave the blame back to him; I told him I understood that what he did wasn’t my fault.

I told him that I forgave him.  There were tears.

We stood like that, in the dark, holding each other and crying, for a very long time.

I wish that I could remember all that was said that night; it’s like the remnants of a powerful dream that elude you when you try to bring them back.

I know it was profound, but I can’t remember why, exactly.

Forgiveness doesn't mean forgetting; otherwise, I wouldn't be here writing about it, reliving it.

What forgiveness was, for us, was a new beginning.