Making It Through The Sad Days…

As we approach Thanksgiving and my Facebook feed is flooded with daily thankful posts, I’ve been pausing frequently to get a good perspective of what I am thankful for in my life right now. When I stop to really think about it, I’m overwhelmed by all I have to be grateful for. Our beautiful, healthy baby girl, my supportive and loving family, a network of close friends, a comfortable home, a job I love, my health, and my husband who has worked tirelessly this past year and a half to regain my trust and rebuild our marriage. I feel like it should be fairly easy by now to focus on all of the positive things I have going on in my life and leave all the negativity in the past. But I’m realizing I may be asking too much of myself, too soon.

Last Saturday was what I simply call a “sad day.” Nothing in particular triggered it, I just developed a heavy, depressed feeling that seemed to weigh me down as the day progressed. My mind easily drifted to memories surrounding D-day and various scenarios that happened during Max’s affair. I couldn’t seem to regain control over my wandering thoughts as I’m usually able to do on a normal day. Everything began to remind me of the affair, from a song on the radio (I’m Not The Only One by Sam Smith, to be exact) to the name of a cupcake flavor at a shop we stopped at (Cheating with Chocolate.) I let myself wallow in the deep sense of sadness that had welled up in me. I let the soundtrack of tired questions play freely in my mind: “How did my husband ever allow himself to have an affair?”, “If he really loved me, why did he betray me?”, “Will I ever be free from the painful memories?”, “Do I honestly trust him now?” We were out running errands with the baby and by mid-afternoon I was crying along with her in the backseat of the car. It felt so incredibly good to cry. I hadn’t really allowed myself to in a long time. Max was driving and he realized I was crying and reached back to grab my hand. I could tell he felt helpless and concerned. I told I was having a rough day, thinking too much about the affair. He let me know that earlier in the week he’d had a moment when he was struck by just how much he loved me and couldn’t believe how stupid he had been when he almost lost me. It felt good to hear that. We haven’t spent much time talking about the affair in the past few months. I haven’t felt much of a need to until fairly recently.

Our life has been so consumed with the new realities of parenthood, that the past is feeling increasingly foreign. I’m starting to have a difficult time determining how much thought and energy needs to be put into things relating to the affair. Most days I feel like we are in a very good place. We’re communicating openly, showing our love for each other on a daily basis (though having a baby now does make it difficult to find time to be intimate!), and focusing on keeping our relationship strong by making time for date nights, even if it’s just a glass of wine and Netflix movie at home. Most days I feel like I have forgiven Max. Most days I am very happy with our “new” life. I adore being a mother, and seeing Max as a father melts my heart every day. But I’m finding that being somewhat isolated at home with the baby (I only work in the afternoons) seems to allow more time for thoughts of the affair to creep into my day. Do I just push all those thoughts away entirely? I’m afraid of transitioning into a place where we just act like it didn’t happen. I don’t want to diminish the life-changing events of 18 months ago. But I also don’t want to keep bringing up the same memories and questions…I feel like they have all been addressed. What do I gain from thinking about it now? How do I leave the affair in the past, but still acknowledge that it is a part of our past? These are the questions I’m struggling with. I’m realizing it would do me good to organize these thoughts and really talk with Max about it, instead of just mentioning things to him here and there. One thing he has made clear to me in these past months is that my happiness is his priority. It may be hard to discuss this ugly blemish in our marriage now, but I know he will do anything to help me clear these hurdles in recovery. I just hope I can figure out exactly what it is I need right now to keep moving forward and make these “sad days” a thing of the past.

At This Time Last Year…

I’ve been quiet in the blogging world for a little while now for a couple of reasons. First, the last week of February was spent completely cut-off from technology during our “babymoon” cruise to Mexico. It was absolutely wonderful. It was exactly what we needed to just relax and focus on us. Pretty soon it will be trickier to find time to devote solely to us as a couple, so it felt good to take full advantage of the time we have now. It was heaven to not do a bit of cooking, cleaning, or laundry for a full week…to just focus on having FUN! We went on an awesome whale-watching trip in Cabo San Lucas and actually saw mother and baby humpback whales breaching in the water. It gave me goosebumps! During that week Max felt and saw baby girl move for the first time. I had been very eager for him to finally feel one of those little kicks or punches I’d been feeling constantly for a couple of weeks now, and he thought it was amazing! It was all around a pretty awesome, stress-free week.

Since then we’ve been busy getting back into the swing of things and preparing for baby girl. Max surprised me and got her crib assembled last Friday…I swear that man is getting very, very good at finding sweet, meaningful little ways to surprise me. (And I LOVE surprises!) So we’ve been working on setting up and organizing her room and I’ve been busy assembling the guest list for my upcoming baby shower. Honestly, Tori and the affair have not occupied much space in my mind lately. Until March 15th…

I knew full-well that the date was approaching. It was the day that Max and Tori first had sex a year ago. Max told me he wouldn’t have remembered the date at all had I not told him. But I know I’ll never forget it. March 15th, March 30th, April 5th, and April 6th are all dates that are burned into my memory: all of the days that they had sex (except for the last, which was D-day.) On the Thursday before the 15th, as I was driving home from work, a particularly sad song came on the radio (“Say Something” by A Great Big World.) I had been thinking ahead to Saturday, trying to decide what we could do to distract myself from the memories of last year. Suddenly a lump formed in my throat and my eyes burned. I was shocked by the tears that started flowing and the sobs that shook me as I drove. I hadn’t cried over the affair in MONTHS. And suddenly, out of nowhere, I was a red-eyed mess in my car. I was overwhelmed with sadness. Sadness that I even had to be brainstorming ideas of things I could do to distract myself on Saturday so that I wouldn’t allow myself to dwell on the fact that on that day, a year ago, my husband was having sex with another woman while I was at work. Sadness that I know he will always have memories of those days, those intimate times with her, even if they didn’t mean all that much to him. Sadness that it still stings to remember how foolishly trusting I was, to remember all of the lies he told me over those weeks. Sadness that my husband ever allowed himself to become so selfish and vulnerable that he repeatedly hurt and betrayed the person he loved most in the world. It felt good to cry. I was much better by the time I arrived home, but I told Max about it once I got there. We decided to plan something special for Saturday night to focus on where we are now, instead of how broken things were a year ago. We ended up going on a dinner cruise on a lake near our house and it was perfect. We did talk a bit about the affair, but not too much. We mostly focused on the future, talking about the baby, the possibility of moving, and the job options I’m considering after baby girl is here. I felt more centered again after that night. I feel more ready to face March 30th and April 5th. My birthday falls in between those dates, and I happen to have that week off. So, I plan on filling my day with shopping, pampering and plenty of good food! Honestly, I’m truly looking forward to that week. I have a feeling Max is planning a surprise for my birthday weekend…so I’m excited to see what happens. I know we’ll do something special on D-day too but we’re not sure exactly what yet. I want to acknowledge the sadness, hurt, and pain that was suffered last year but to also celebrate the immense progress we’ve made since then. I think April 6th will evolve into a day that celebrates our marriage. I’ve heard of calling D-day an Anti-versary…I interpret that as being the day our old marriage was burned to the ground, and a new, fragile one emerged from the ashes. It’s taken a lot of tears and hard work to build it up to where it is today, and I know we will be continually building for the rest of our lives. Marriage is constant, conscious work. I don’t think I fully believed or understood that before, but I most definitely do now. And I am happy that Max is right by my side, working hard with me, every single day.

Life In Hell

The week following D-day felt like living in an alternate universe. The life I had known was no longer in existence. I woke up on Sunday morning with rage still coursing through my veins. I shoved Max awake, saying he had no right to sleep while I was up. He had to wake up and face the shit-storm he had created. I launched into a new tyrade then, telling him how disgusted I was with him, how disrespected and insignificant me made me feel. I felt so terribly alone. I wanted to run out of the bedroom and announce to his siblings (who were sleeping in the living room) all the horrible things their brother had done to me. I wanted to call my mom and cry with her. I needed her advice. Her first marriage ended in divorce after her husband cheated on her with her cousin…twice. I knew my situation was different than hers but I wanted to call and commiserate with her. Instead, I continued my angry monologue in the bedroom which Max silently listened to, offering a bewildered “I’m so sorry” when he could. I finally exhausted myself and we headed into the kitchen, continuing our charade with his sisters and brother. I’d be surprised though if they didn’t sense something was wrong. Right before his sister walked in the kitchen, Max had been crying on my shoulder. I’m sure his puffy, red eyes must have looked suspicious. But if they noticed anything, nothing was said. I felt relieved when they finally left after breakfast.

And so began a day spent camped out in the family room, crying, talking, questioning, confessing, researching therapists. Max spent an hour or so typing up a confession, explaining what happened (but without too much detail, I didn’t want certain images burned into my memory.) It felt good to get a clear, full picture of what happened, even if it made me sick and was terribly painful to read. I felt like I was finally gathering up the puzzle pieces to the previous month of my life and could start piecing it together. He explained how things progressed from what he honestly thought was a friendship to a full-blown affair. He made it clear he never loved her, but admitted he did really “care for her.” He had a difficult time with the “why/how did you let this happen?” question. In retrospect, I realize that on the day after confessing, he wasn’t going to necessarily have a good grasp of that concept. But he did the best he could at that time, saying it started off as feeling the need for a new friend and Tori essentially volunteered herself for that role. She was eager and readily available to do anything at any time. He didn’t seek her out as a possible affair partner (but I believe Tori had this in mind from day one, according to her actions and the vibe I always got from her.) He didn’t view her as a threat to our marriage. As for the rest of the explanation of the affair, I feel like I can’t do it full justice writing from my perspective. The reasons he gave me that day have evolved and transformed into a clearer truth today after hours of introspection and therapy. It’s not that he lied to me then, just that he wasn’t digging as deep as he could in the beginning. So I plan on asking Max if he can do a “guest post” or at least work with me on a post to get a clear explanation. I think it would be good for both of us. In the meantime, I’ll skip ahead a bit in our first week in hell.

My mom called me sometime on Sunday afternoon. I ignored her first call since we were mid-conversation, but picked up when she called back a bit later. She knew immediately from my tone that something was off. In the previous weeks I’d shared with her my concerns about Tori and she had actually encouraged me to sign us up for couples counseling (which I had been seriously considering in the week before D-day.) So I didn’t need to say much to convey to her that we were having a rough time because of that “friendship situation.” I was on the verge of tears and told her, “I’m struggling with how much to tell you about what is going on…” and she answered, “I don’t need to know anymore. I have faith you two can work through this. I just want to know and love Max the way I know him now.” I started to cry. I am so happy my mother said that. I understand now that telling her then could have jeopardized our ability to reconcile in the future. When I told Max what she said he crumbled into sobs. He said he hadn’t realized just how much he loved my parents until that moment. We decided then that we would only tell a select number of friends to help us through this process. Family would be spared the pain so that we could hang onto that sliver of hope for our future.

Sometime during that day, Max told me he felt like there must be a special place in hell waiting for him. He hated himself then. He was disgusted with the person he had become. It was hard for me to hear him be so self-deprecating, even though I’d just said horribly mean things to him hours before. It was a dark day. And it would be followed by a dark week.

Monday was rough, to say the least. I knew Max would see Tori at work and it killed me. He was under orders to text and call me whenever possible throughout the day. I felt like a zombie at work, going though the motions while feeling dead inside. Thoughts of the affair tumbled around in my brain all day long. I kept imagining them in their office, worst-case scenarios playing out in my overactive mind. What if she cornered him in a back room and begged him to come back to her, throwing herself on him? What if they kissed again? What if they made some elaborate plan to leave? In my heart, I don’t think I truly believed any of this would happen, but I was so rattled by what had already happened without my knowledge that any number of terrible things seemed possible. On my drive home from work “our song”, that we also had be a part of our wedding ceremony came on the radio. I cried, remembering that day and the promises we made. It felt like a mean joke now. I knew that if we were truly going to make it, we had to do some sort of vow renewal. Those vows had been broken ten times over. As I was driving I also realized that my heart was lurching every time I saw a white four-door Jeep drive by. Tori had a white Jeep, covered in various bumper stickers. I now felt sick any time I saw one. I’ll admit I still notice them more than I should. I didn’t know it then, but that was just one of the many “triggers” she had now created for me in my life. Unfortunately, a simple phone call was not going to entirely erase her from our lives.

Coming home to Max now felt like coming home to a stranger I was just getting to know. We didn’t kiss. We did hold each other from time to time. We both needed that. He told me he loved me countless times during that week…I was reluctant to reply. I knew my love for him somehow hadn’t vanished completely, but it was buried now under piles of lies and betrayal. I honestly don’t remember many specifics about that first week. We did meet with a therapist, which helped somewhat, but we soon realized he wasn’t the best fit for us. He almost seemed to write us off, saying we’d be okay and to come back if we thought we needed to. He gave us some homework that was mildly constructive, but not what we really needed for the state we were in. I’m so glad we didn’t go back to him. We managed to survive the rest of the week and I thought we’d made at least a little progress. We were talking about things we had rarely talked about previously in our relationship (mostly about past sexual experiences that may influence our perceptions and feelings about sex in our marriage. Long stories I don’t feel the need to get into.) We agreed that this extreme vulnerability and honesty was helping us feel more deeply connected. But unfortunately I was about the discover the true meaning of “one step forward, two steps back.”