Tiny Buddha

Tag: cheating

  • My Husband Left Me for Another Woman: How Forgiveness Set Me Free

    My Husband Left Me for Another Woman: How Forgiveness Set Me Free

    “Allow yourself to be proud of yourself and all the progress you’ve made. Especially the progress no one else can see.” ~Unknown

    I watched my then-four-month-old daughter wiggle around on the floor on her belly, arms flailed out to the side in her pink-footed pajamas, giggling hysterically. Her brother, four years old at the time, was launching himself from our king size bed onto a pile of pillows next to her, over and over. He’d land with a thud and a loud “oof,” cracking himself up,and she would break out in hysterics right with him.

    I heard my voice in the background of the video, light-hearted and sweet, encouraging them both: “Look at you two! Look at you making her laugh. Isn’t he such a great big brother, cutie. Look at you!”

    I didn’t sound like me. I sounded like an actress in a movie playing a part.

    I was playing a part.

    I went down the rabbit hole of watching video after video of my kids when they were just babies, which was housed on an old hard-drive I kept in a drawer hidden away. I hadn’t taken that drive out in a long time.

    Too many memories. A time in my life I try to forget.

    But there it was, beckoning me back. Inviting me to take a painful trip down memory lane, which I now feel was no accident because sometimes we have to look backward to see how far we’ve come.

    My kids are now almost fourteen and ten years old. They still play the same roles as in that old video. My son often doing something idiotic and funny to make his sister laugh out loud. Her looking at him with adoration and love.

    If someone could hear my voice now when I talk to them, though nobody is here anymore to hear it, it would sound light-hearted and sweet, laughing along with the two of them most days when they aren’t driving me crazy. I’m no longer playing a part, but still I secretly guard the story around what happened at that time in our lives that forced me to ever pretend at all.

    I wept watching those videos that night, a profound sadness I hadn’t felt in a long time working its way up the hidden chamber of my soul. Friends who carried me through that period of time will often say, “Oh my God, that was awful. You were a mess.”

    My friend Patrick, who came into my life not long after those videos were taken, said, “Dina, you were not well during that time. I mean, it was painful to watch. You’re a completely different woman today because of what you went through. I think you should talk about it.”

    “No,” I said emphatically. “I don’t need to talk about it. That’s in the past. I’m different now. Why dredge it up?”

    Except we don’t help each other when we don’t share our experiences. We can’t heal or give others hope that they too can heal when we’re not willing to go to the dark places; the ones that may be in the past but have left a scar reminding us of how far we’ve come.

    Scars are just reminders of the wound. They don’t define us.

    So, rewind the video… I had just had my second child, a baby girl I’d longed for. We were the perfect family, parents to a boy and a girl, both of us working glamorous jobs at movie studios in Los Angeles. With a nice house in the burbs. I was wildly in love with my husband at the time. Life was perfect.

    Until it wasn’t. I found out just a few months before my daughter was born that he was having an affair. Some gorgeous blonde at the office. Younger than me, everything I wasn’t. All the cliché things.

    I thought I could hold our perfect life together. Nobody had to know. I didn’t tell my family. I confided only in my closest friends, who became the army who carried me through the unbearable days, talked me through the panic attacks when I was hyperventilating on the floor, then came to sleep at my home and carry on a round-the-clock vigil when he moved out to be with her on my son’s fourth birthday. 

    I felt decimated. I was decimated. Here I was with a new baby only four months old and a four year old. My family lived across the country. My life in pieces. It felt like my heart had stopped beating.

    It was a long road to healing and forgiveness. There are people I know who never get there, who allow the wound to stay open, bleeding; in pain, stuck, and feeling they can’t forgive and move on.

    But I wanted to forgive. I wanted my peace, my power, and my own happiness more than I wanted to be right. I wasn’t  going to let one person take everything away from me or allow one moment in time to define my life and my future happiness. But boy, did I want to stay in my story for a period of time.

    The victim story.

    The scorned wife story.

    The cliché of believing he left because she was younger and prettier than me and that I wasn’t enough. Thinking his leaving meant I would never be enough for anyone.

    That was a bullshit story that wasn’t true, and if anyone is in it now, I promise you that someone leaving you is an invitation to rise up and become everything you already are but don’t know you can be.

    It took years for me to truly move on in a way that felt real. Because I did all the things within the first few years that made me look like I was doing just fine but wasn’t. I dated and had a few relationships. I continued to succeed at work, building my own business, and accepted every social invitation that came my way, all while taking care of two kids.

    I pretended that when I saw him with her, I was doing just fine.

    But I wasn’t. I hated him for what he did to me, and I loathed her. I was jealous, angry, and depressed. I hid my struggles and real feelings behind a fake-it-till-you-make-it confidence I didn’t really feel and filled my days with distractions from morning till night so I would never feel alone.

    It wasn’t until I got honest with myself and really did the work that I started to thrive. My end game was forgiveness. Without it, I was locked in a prison of anger, resentment, and pain. I knew I needed to forgive myself first for not seeing what was right in front of me, my ex for not loving me the way he promised when we exchanged vows, and the other woman who I blamed for the ending of my marriage.

    I found a great therapist, dove deep into my spirituality, worked with sacred plant medicine, and traveled to Costa Rica and Peru, where I took part in ayahuasca ceremonies. It was Mother Ayahuasca, as we call her in the shaman community, who showed me our soul contract together, which was to bring our children into the world, and also showed me his deep pain and regret for hurting me.

    It was through all of the healing modalities I embarked on that I found compassion for the woman he was now with and a forgiveness I didn’t know was possible that set me free.

    Flash forward ten years. My ex and I have a healthy co-parenting relationship. We’re not besties, but we have mutual respect for each other and bring our families together to celebrate the kids’ big milestones, whether it be their birthdays, holidays, dance recitals, or graduation.

    I forgave and made peace with the woman he left me for. She and I stay in touch, although they are no longer together. She loved my kids for four years, and for that I’ll always be grateful to her. I cheer her on from a distance and pray for her happiness and that she finds love again.

    I’m raising my kids solo, having moved them from LA where their dad still lives to the east coast to be closer to our families. It’s hard co-parenting long distance, but when it feels really hard, I remind myself that I’m surrounded by so much love and have a ton of support. There’s not one shred of me that feels not enough or unlovable or that something was done to me.

    It was an invitation to grow. It was a bigger invitation to learn how to forgive.

    We all make mistakes and do things we wish we could go back and undo.

    We’re a messy, sometimes complicated family, just like every other family. Nobody has the perfect life, the perfect family, or the perfect relationship. I have to remind myself every day I scroll through my social media feed and see happy families smiling on the outside, that there is a story behind the smiles we aren’t always privy to.

    My smile is real most days. Other days, there are tears of overwhelm or sadness or just mourning a life I thought I should have. There are also days when I am still angry with him for what he did to my heart and to me. But I am incredibly proud of the life I’ve created for myself and my children. They will never know the progress I’ve made in the last decade, nor will people who didn’t know me back then, but me… I’ll always know.

    We can survive anything if we make the conscious decision to not let that thing take us down. We can not just survive but thrive if we allow forgiveness for ourselves and others who have hurt us to always be our endgame.

  • How Getting Sober Healed My Dating Life (When I Thought It Would Ruin It)

    How Getting Sober Healed My Dating Life (When I Thought It Would Ruin It)

    “Sometimes we motivate ourselves by thinking of what we want to become. Sometimes we motivate ourselves by thinking about who we don’t ever want to be again.” ~Shane Niemeyer

    When I faced the prospect of no longer drinking anymore (at age twenty-one!), after eight years of heavy boozing, I had so many questions about my dating life.

    Will I be fun anymore? Will I have FOMO? How will I cope with stress? What will I drink on dates? Will anyone want to be with me? What will sober sex be like? Omg!

    These questions paralyzed me, as I couldn’t imagine my life without alcohol, yet I couldn’t imagine my life with it either. I put down the drink and with it, I thought I surrendered my desirability and compatibility as a potential partner.

    That couldn’t have been further from the truth.

    Over time, I’ve realized plenty of people don’t mind that I’m sober; some even like it or are sober too. Ultimately, I found I didn’t really care what others thought because I was okay with myself.

    The reality was, slowly but surely, getting sober healed my dating, sex, and love life for good. Here’s how.

    Feeling My Feelings

    Gosh, alcohol seemed to solve everything. Stressed? Drink. Excited? Drink. Sad? Drink.

    I’m face-to-face with reality without picking up the bottle every time I have a feeling. I don’t get to check out. It’s a good thing, honestly. It means I feel the spectrum of feelings and am present with them, which helps me work through those feelings in a healthy way.

    I recently went through a breakup, and it destroyed me emotionally. Even though I was the initiator, I felt so many feelings.

    I spent the first few weeks running from my feelings by trying to meet people on dating apps (what a joke that was at such a raw point!), but I quickly realized this wouldn’t serve me. I had to face my feelings head-on.

    Now, it’s been almost two months, and I’m still sad, but I’m feeling the sadness. I’m leaning in to let the sadness visit, then leaning out when I’ve let it visit for long enough. I know now that the best way to move through sadness is to let it unfold within me, not fight it.

    Owning and Releasing My Stuff

    Alcoholism stunted my growth as a human. I think when I got sober, mentally, I was like sixteen instead of twenty-one. What sobriety has given me is a chance to catch up with that emotional maturity.

    I can take responsibility for my actions, knowing when something is my fault and when I owe someone an apology. For example, if I raised my voice at my ex-partner, I owed him amends or an “I’m sorry,” and I apologized promptly.

    I can also own when I don’t have a part in things and, instead, have to figure out what isn’t mine to carry. For example, I felt some guilt and shame about the traumatic aspects of my childhood, but this is not my stuff. I’ve learned that I need to let that go.

    Emotional maturity teaches me to make sense of what to own and what to reject as not mine.

    Becoming Okay with Being Alone

    When I was drinking, I was terrified of being alone. I was cheating on my partner because I couldn’t be with him but couldn’t be without him either.

    Once I got sober, I spent many years practicing being by myself. I took myself on dates to beaches and bookstores, learned proper self-care through relaxation and gentle but necessary productivity like doing my laundry, and learned that I’d be okay no matter what happened.

    I realized I was a lovable human being and that I could love myself.

    I’m alone again a few years later, and although I don’t love it, I’m thriving in solitude. I’m rediscovering my passions, such as yoga, writing, and spending time with loved ones. I’m embracing myself because I’m realizing I’m worth it.

    I can’t be with another person until I’m whole again, and I’m just not there yet. Today, I try not to use other people to escape my feelings through rebounding. So alone time it is.

    Engaging in More Communicative Sex

    When drinking excessively, it can be challenging to have consistent consent. I was assaulted several times during my drinking days, and although I never deserved that, I put myself at risk by blacking out and drinking to excess.

    Now, I have incredibly communicative sex. I don’t settle for anything less than enthusiastic consent.

    When I sleep with someone, we talk about it before it happens and make sure we know each other’s boundaries and needs. We communicate clearly during and even after. It’s magical! Sure, you don’t need sobriety for this, but with my drinking habits, I did.

    Getting Additional Support

    Getting sober in an alcohol twelve-step program made me realize I needed another twelve-step program for sex and love. I came to find out that, although getting sober did a lot for my sex and love life, more healing was necessary to level up. So I joined Sex & Love Addicts Anonymous, where they taught me self-love and how to date in a healthy way.

    They taught me how to avoid behaviors that harmed me, like having sex with randos and chasing unavailable people. In the evolved part of my life with my ex-partner, they taught me how to set boundaries and accept love. Now that I’m alone, I’m learning again how to face it.

    Final Thoughts for Others

    I have nothing against alcohol; it just didn’t work for me anymore. I was binge drinking, blacking out, cheating when I got too drunk, waking up in strange places, and just generally making an ass of myself. I was most definitely ruining my relationships!

    If you think you have a problem with alcohol, there are many resources for the non-drinker. I personally found Alcoholics Anonymous to be the most helpful, but whatever works for you is what you should do. It might just heal you and your relationships.

  • “But He Never Hit Me!” – How I Ignored My Abuse for 30 Years

    “But He Never Hit Me!” – How I Ignored My Abuse for 30 Years

    “People only see what they are prepared to see.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

    Abuse is a funny thing. I don’t mean humorous, of course.

    I mean the other definition of funny: difficult to explain or understand.

    Abuse shouldn’t be difficult to understand. If someone is mistreated, we should be able to clearly point a finger and proclaim, “That is wrong.”

    But not all abuse is obvious or clear-cut.

    I was abused for most of my adult life and didn’t know it.

    Crazy, right?

    Let me state it again: I was abused and didn’t know it.

    I only saw what I was prepared to see.

    Is That Really Abuse?

    I’ve read enough biographies and seen enough movies based on true events to know what physical abuse looks like. But broken bones and bruises are only one kind of abuse.

    Through deep discovery with a therapist who cradled me protectively, I can now say with certainty that I have suffered abuse in several forms:

    • Emotional
    • Financial
    • Sexual
    • Spiritual

    Yes, abuse comes in many forms.

    It is often invisible.

    My abuser was my husband—the very person who was supposed to love me more than anyone.

    A man I started dating when I was seventeen years old and married when I was twenty-two years old. We were married for thirty-one years.

    He never was physically violent. He never screamed at me or called me names. That abuse would have been more obvious.

    His abuse was subtle and manipulative.

    Invisible.

    What People See

    Imagine you stand outside to watch the day end with a beautiful sunset.

    A friend stands next to you and remarks, “What a beautiful green sun.”

    “Green?” You scoff, “The sun is orange and yellow like a big ball of fire. It isn’t green. Maybe you should get your eyes checked.”

    A neighbor overhears your conversation and joins in. “It certainly does look magnificent tonight. That is my favorite color. Emerald green with shades of lime.”

    You wonder why two people suddenly think the sunset is green. Could they be playing a joke?

    You squint your eyes, looking at the sun critically. You see an orange ball surrounded by yellow haze shooting out until it blends into the ocean-blue sky.

    No green.

    You overhear more conversations around you. Everyone is talking about the green sun.

    A kid cruises by on his bike. “Look how green the sun is today!” He shouts and points up in the sky. Everyone murmurs their appreciation of the view.

    You slowly begin to think maybe you are the one that is confused. Maybe you aren’t seeing things right.

    You keep hearing that the sun is green, but you don’t see it. Maybe there is something wrong with your eyes.

    And just like that, your perception has changed. The next time you look at a sunset, you look at it differently. You’re going to be looking for green instead of the oranges or yellows.

    You only see what you are prepared to see.

    Abuse is a lot like that.

    The more you are told something, the more you believe it.

    I was told I was worthless, and I believed it. I didn’t argue against it. I didn’t see it as abuse because it didn’t fit in with my idea of abuse.

    My Abuse

    The abuse I suffered was so manipulative and deceitful that I didn’t see it coming. I was belittled and bullied. I slowly lost who I was while I fed my husband’s constant need for validation.

    These are the words I often heard:

    • You’re too emotional.
    • That’s not what I said. You never remember things right.
    • Are you cheating on me?
    • You’re too sensitive.
    • The husband’s role is harder than the wife’s.
    • It’s a good thing you have me–who else would love you?
    • I never said that. Why do you always twist my words?
    • Your body doesn’t belong to you, it belongs to me.
    • Why do you always make me feel bad about myself?
    • Remember when you messed up that one time? Let’s talk about that again.
    • Most women are better… and I got stuck with you.
    • Women just aren’t as smart as men.

    Thirty years of these statements left me feeling inadequate. Worthless. Hopeless.

    I wondered why I couldn’t be a good enough wife.

    If you read through those sentences above, you may see the obvious gaslighting that was going on.

    Classic gaslighting.

    My husband made me think I was ‘wrong’ about everything in life. I was too emotional and sensitive. I had a good body but didn’t want to have sex 24/7. (He called that false advertising.)

    I was not allowed to ask him questions about things like our finances and savings … or I was questioning his manhood.

    If I asked an innocent question, such as if he was going to have to work on Christmas Eve, he would chastise me for making him feel bad.

    My husband used my faith to control me. He would cherry-pick bible verses and common ideologies to support his authority over me.

    And then he made me feel like I was overreacting and ridiculous.

    What’s worse, I began gaslighting myself!

    I would chastise myself for not being his ‘ideal’ woman.

    I blamed myself for not being a perfect wife who could take care of everything in the home, raise three children, hold down a job, and take care of his mother who lived with us… all while fighting lupus—a progressive autoimmune disease.

    I felt like a failure.

    And then something happened…

    The House of Lies Falls

    Thirty years is a long time to live in ignorance. When I finally realized what was happening, my whole world collapsed around me like a brick building in an earthquake.

    The blindfold was finally taken off my eyes.

    In the span of four months, I discovered every heartbreaking lie my husband told me. And there were mountains of lies.

    First, he hadn’t had a job in over fifteen years.

    Every day he would tell me goodbye and go to a “job” he didn’t really have. He had lied about his job so convincingly that he had made up fictitious friends and co-workers, and even told stories about them.

    We didn’t have health insurance. He hadn’t filed taxes. He hadn’t filled out financial aid for our college-aged children. We didn’t even have car insurance.

    We had no savings. No retirement. We had been living on my meager income. We made ends meet because we were living with his mother.

    He missed many events because of his “job”: soccer games for the kids, concerts, school programs, church events. I lived like a single mother because his non-existent “job” demanded so much of his time.

    He has never given me an answer as to why he did this. But honestly, could there be an answer that would be forgivable?

    He confessed he had a porn addiction. He was watching porn every day. This skewed his sense of reality.

    This is why I was never good enough for him. He expected a porn star for a wife.

    Then came the infidelity…

    The Final Straw

    It’s not going to be a surprise to hear he was cheating on me.

    When I first learned of all the lies, my husband tried to maintain that he had been faithful to me. Well, when everything about him was revealed to be a lie, I couldn’t blindly believe him anymore.

    He finally broke down and confessed that he had been cheating on me since we began dating over thirty years ago.

    He thought he should win some brownie points because he never had a girlfriend, so he hadn’t cheated emotionally. I wasn’t too impressed.

    He had sex with over fifty people. Fifty!

    I can’t count how many times over the years he accused me of cheating on him. Now I understand why; it’s called projecting. He was projecting his own guilt on me. All the things he did, he assumed I must have been doing as well.

    And the cherry on top? He said he cheated because I didn’t fulfill him.

    In a nutshell, he cheated, accused me of cheating, and then blamed me for his cheating.

    There is no coming back from that.

    A Shift in My Thinking

    My ex-husband has narcissistic personality disorder (NPD). He is a pathological liar and a sex addict.

    He can’t think beyond taking care of his immediate needs and desires.

    But here is where I had to change my thinking: He didn’t act maliciously. Atrociously and carelessly, yes. But not with malice.

    There is something wrong in his brain, a disconnect. His emotional intellect is a cross of a horny teenager and a petulant child.

    I know I’ll never get a sincere apology from him. (How can you really be sorry about lying for thirty years?) I will never fully understand the way he thinks because his brain doesn’t work the way most people’s do.

    And that’s okay.

    I don’t have to understand him to heal, move on, and live a peaceful life.

    My perception has changed. I do not accept the blame for his issues and shortfalls. It is not my fault.

    This shift in my perception did not come overnight. It has taken a lot of time, and I was helped by an awesome therapist.

    In fact, during one session, my therapist had me write in big letters on a piece of paper: I didn’t do this. That visual reminder helps me view the situation through a new lens. Now:

    I no longer accept abuse.

    I no longer ignore abuse.

    I will never again be abused.

    No one can convince me that the sunset is green today. I see the golden oranges and yellows as they really are. I am prepared to see clearly.

    But He Never Hit Me

    Remember the second definition of funny: Difficult to explain or understand.

    This whole situation is funny; it is impossible to explain or understand.

    It’s abusive.

    The only good thing to come of this is the shift in my perspective. I am now important in my life. I am the top priority.

    I remember telling my story to a friend. He listened kindly, and then asked THE question in hushed tones. “Did he ever hit you?”

    Dumbfounded, I shook my head no.

    “Well, thank God he didn’t cross that line. Then you’d have so much more to heal from.”

    This friend wasn’t being flippant. He just spoke out loud what many people think: Abuse is visible.

    But I now see abuse as it really is—hurt, harm, and mistreatment that can be visible but is often invisible.

    Scars of Abuse

    I wish I could show the marks his abuse has left on me.

    I’d love to reveal how my self-worth has been chipped down to sawdust. Or how my self-confidence has been beaten down by fear and panic.

    The wounds on my heart are deep and scored like an ancient oak tree; no amount of repair work can erase the damage that has been done.

    The bones of my joy have been broken and re-broken too many times to properly set anymore.

    Scars sheathe the joints of my freedom from the bondage of “til death do us part.”

    And the gentlest, softest part of my soul is shaded dark by bruises.

    No, he never hit me. But great damage has been done all the same.

    I am an abused woman.

    I am a victim.

    But I am a survivor.

    And my story is just beginning. I walked away from my abuser and am embracing a new life, a life where I am in charge.

    I call the shots.

    My scars may not be visible to the eyes of people who don’t know what to look for. But they have forged a new woman who is strong, courageous, and much, much happier.

  • Healing from Abandonment Trauma: 3 Things I Learned from Being Cheated On

    Healing from Abandonment Trauma: 3 Things I Learned from Being Cheated On

    “The wound is the place where the light enters you.” ~Rumi

    I want to share an experience I went through that hurt like hell, but that helped me so much in the long run.

    The experience was being “cheated on,” though the woman wasn’t my girlfriend. Nevertheless, I was very attached and it felt awful.

    So, let me start with the backstory.

    I met Diana through mutual friends in late 2021. I thought she was cute, and a little anxious, which I seem to gravitate toward. That’s just my savior complex coming out, which is another story for another day.

    Eventually we hooked up after a holiday party and continued hooking up regularly. I began to have stronger feelings for Diana than I anticipated, though I tried to play it cool and not cause any awkwardness in the group.

    Things started deteriorating between us at one point, and it culminated in Diana going home with another guy basically in front of me.

    Needless to say, I was devastated.

    My friend who introduced me to Diana was there, and he asked me, “Are you catching feelings?” I was so angry that he would try to shame me into not feeling what I was feeling. I said, “Yes, I am” and left immediately.

    On the way home, I was screaming in my car, and I even punched my steering wheel, which I had never done before. I was so triggered and mad. There was a tornado of emotion ripping through my chest—anger, grief, worthlessness, desperation.

    The next day, I woke up and left the house to get a smoothie. I didn’t want to be by myself as I was going through this.

    Initially I didn’t feel so bad, but I knew that the wave was going to hit me sooner or later. I started rereading books on relationships that I had read before. Books like Fear of Intimacy by Robert Firestone and Facing Love Addiction by Pia Mellody. Luckily, I had these books to turn to for guidance.

    Over the next two weeks I cried multiple times on my way to work, or on the way home from running errands. I even pulled over a few times to bawl my eyes out and wail alone in my car before continuing.

    Over the next couple of months, I worked on processing the grief and pain. Occasionally I would dive deep and get a memory of childhood abandonment, the real source of the pain. I’d get a memory of my mom not being there for me…

    While I was growing up, my mom worked all the time to support our family. And we had such a big family that one-on-one time was basically nonexistent.

    That meant there were countless times when I felt lost, abandoned, and overlooked.

    Being deeply hurt by Diana gave me the opportunity to go right to the source of the pain, my original abandonment experiences. Daily meditation and journaling helped whittle away the pain.

    It was slow progress for a while. I even stopped writing for a few weeks because I was overwhelmed with emotion. But eventually I began to feel like myself again.

    The first two months were rough, the next two were a little better, and after six months I was finally out of the weeds. But more than that, I feel better than I did before I met Diana.

    I feel as if my baseline level of security and happiness is higher. The way I think about it is that my abandonment experiences were heavy boulders weighing down my soul. Not carrying them around feels so much lighter.

    I must have spent over 100 hours meditating to let go of these emotions, and I’ve learned a few things in the process…

    1. Present pain is compounded by pain from the past. If you want to be free, heal the original wound.

    2. We seek what is familiar in relationships, even at the expense of our safety and happiness. And what is familiar is the love we received from our parents. If we want to have better relationships, we need to heal our past or we will repeat what we know endlessly.

    3. We get what we need to heal in relationships. And I think that’s beautiful. While things might suck in the short-term, you’ll come to know that life has your best interests at heart. Now that this episode is over, I’m glad life gave me the experience I needed to heal.

    Now it’s time for a counterintuitive move that helped me close this chapter in my life.

    I used to think “being left by Diana like that hurt so bad and I wouldn’t want to experience it again, but I am glad that I was able to learn and grow from it.”

    But that thought reveals that there is more work for me. To get closure from this experience, I had to open myself up to going through it again (but trusting life to not be so cruel).

    It’s not what you would think would help, but when you run from an experience you are still controlled by it.

    And if your goal is genuine freedom, you need to open yourself up to it. Of course, I will still be cautious going forward, just not fearful.

    Once I opened myself up to experiencing that same pain and hurt, I became freer. I took off the armor I was wearing, and I know that life can be trusted to have my back.

    I’d rather live with an open heart and get hurt than live closed off. That’s the way of freedom.

    “You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens.” ~Rumi

  • Surrendering Isn’t Giving Up: Why We Need to Accept What’s Happened

    Surrendering Isn’t Giving Up: Why We Need to Accept What’s Happened

    “The first step toward change is awareness. The second step is acceptance.” ~Nathaniel Branden

    I remember the last time I saw him before my world crumbled. I held up my hand with the ASL sign for “I love you” through the window to him as he mouthed the words back and got in his car to leave for work. I found out an hour later that he—my fiancé—had begun cheating on me a month before he had proposed.

    He never fought for me. Even during the course of our relationship, when he would run away due to his insecurities, I would perpetually be the one fixing everything. That should have been a sign. But even as I stood before him and confronted him about his infidelities, telling him we could work it out, his pride was too wild. He didn’t fight for me.

    I am an impulsive and drastic person when I have been hurt. I have a tendency to pick up and move when things have gotten too emotionally rough, looking for the magic pill to happiness in the new places, faces, and experiences. It works for a while…until it doesn’t.

    So I left again. I went from a home-owning, engaged woman in New England to a renting, single, almost middle-aged chick back in my hometown of Los Angeles within three weeks.

    Then everyone around me waited for the other shoe to drop; they watched me closely and expected me to lose it in the middle of dinner, or start crying while watching TV. But nothing of the sort happened, and that’s because I was completely dissociated from the environment around me. I had not accepted a thing that had occurred.

    A month later, I got COVID. I remember in the midst of purging my guts out, I asked the universe to either end it for me or make me better. I was at the mercy of the cosmos, and it was in this total surrender that I began accepting where I was and how I got there.

    In full surrender mode, acceptance has a strange way of finding you without you seeking it out. I began accepting that my relationship was over. I began accepting that I wasn’t, in fact, a failure because I was back in my hometown. I began accepting that I was going to have to pick up what was left of me off of the bathroom floor and start anew.

    More importantly, along with acceptance came personal accountability. I made the choice to end my relationship when push came to shove. I made the choice to sell my house and move across the country. And I was making the choice to pick said shell of a human off the bathroom floor, accept who and where I was at that moment, and move forward.

    I think our natural instinct is to think in circles instead of accepting. We’ll obsess over why something happened, try to find ways to undo it, and exhaust ourselves trying to control the uncontrollable so we don’t have to admit defeat.

    We mistakenly believe acceptance means we can’t feel how we feel—maybe angry or disappointed—or that we’ve given up. Worst of all, we assume acceptance means what happened was okay.

    But that’s not what acceptance means. It simply means you acknowledge reality for what it is and surrender instead of resisting. You lost your teaching tenure because of financial cuts? It’s not okay, but it happened. Your partner left you for someone twenty years younger? Still not okay, but again, it still happened. Your best friend got diagnosed with an incurable disease and is suffering? Nowhere near okay, but it happened.

    Understanding and surrendering to the situation because it happened does not mean that you have to be all right with it or do nothing about it. But at this current moment, what has transpired is already past, and therefore, any move you make is just future planning and action. You cannot change the past; you can merely accept it and go from here.

    As the days continued and my body got stronger, my mind wanted to retreat again. I had to continuously remind myself that I had made these choices, and even though my brain didn’t want to acknowledge that it could do something to hurt itself, I repeatedly told it the situation to get it to finally sink in.

    I sat in my desk chair one day and looked around my new apartment. Even though I had moved most of my stuff with me, nothing seemed familiar.

    I realized that for the months of being in this new space, I still felt like I was just visiting and waiting to go home to my ex-fiancé. Trying to grapple with my new reality, I simply began talking to myself out loud:

    “This is your apartment.”

    “You live in Los Angeles.”

    “You moved here two months ago.”

    “You broke up with so-and-so, and the relationship is over.”

    “You are home.”

    I spoke to myself out loud for about twenty minutes, repeating these phrases over and over with different intonations, until I felt them really settle into the cracks of my cerebral cortex. Since that day, I have not had to do it again, nor have I felt dissociated from my current reality. I was finally able to entirely accept the setting of my life and truly initiate the changes I desired.

    Is it okay that my ex cheated on me? Absolutely not. But it happened. And I can say that now without cringing at the thought. Is it okay that I allowed him to make me feel so unloved that my trauma response flung me back to the west coast? Nope, but at least I’m aware of it and can do things to control my own reactions from here on out.

    All of this means that I am in control now, and it’s purely through taking accountability via acceptance of the situation. Surrendering on the bathroom floor during my bout with COVID may have initiated the wheels of acceptance, but it is continued mindfulness and submission to the present moment that actually ensures that acceptance.

    Whatever happened to you is not okay, but it’s okay to accept it. Acceptance doesn’t mean you’re weak; it means the opposite: You are strong enough to face the reality of the situation you’re currently in.

    Acceptance doesn’t mean you forgive and forget what befell you, but rather that you understand where you are, how you got there, and that you now have the control to make a change.

    And surrendering doesn’t mean you’ve given up. In actuality, it exemplifies that you’re willing to roll with the punches, trust something outside of yourself, pick yourself up off of the bathroom floor, and move forward.

  • 5 Ways to Start Healing from the Grief of Betrayal and Domestic Abuse

    5 Ways to Start Healing from the Grief of Betrayal and Domestic Abuse

    “If your heart hurts a little after letting go of someone or something, that’s okay. It just means that your feelings were genuine. No one likes ends. And no one likes pain. But sometimes we have to put things that were once good to an end after they turn toxic to our well-being. Not every new beginning is meant to last forever. And not every person who walks into your life is meant to stay.” ~Najwa Zebian

    It’s hard to describe what betrayal feels like. Unless you’ve experienced it, I mean, in which case you’ll know. You’ll know that moment—the punch to the gut, which in my case, even though I was standing in an empty room all on my own, literally knocked me to the floor. I’d seen something, you see.

    Proof that my partner had been cheating.

    It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining. I think I’d been listening to music, probably something upbeat in the hope it would squash the worry that something wasn’t quite right. Maybe (most likely, knowing me) dancing, to carry some of the nervous energy away. Scrolling on social media, distracting myself with other people’s realities, to stop me thinking about my own.

    And then something—something—made me look. A pull. An inexplicable urge. And so, of course, I did.

    There it was. What I’d known in my gut, but had been told repeatedly couldn’t be true. Labelled as “over-reacting,” “seeing things that aren’t there,” “being too sensitive.” What I now know to be gaslighting, that abuse isn’t always physical (even though in my case it was that too). Tangible evidence for all to see.

    And so here I was, in a heap. Collapsed to the ground like a house of cards that had been caught by a gush of air. But it wasn’t air that had taken my legs from underneath me. It was the end of a relationship.

    To this day, I don’t know how long I was lying there. I can picture it in my head even all these years later.  Like a boat that’s adrift. Wind knocked out of my sails. Listless.

    The night drew in, and with it came this incredible wave of noise. Like I was sitting in a busy café, and someone had turned the music up to try and compensate, but you couldn’t make anything out. Except no one could hear this noise, because it was all happening in my head. Thoughts about “what if?” and “if only,” ironically contributing to the din.

    I wanted a hand to reach out from the darkness and give me the answers. To say “It’s going to be fine.” But it wasn’t fine. It was painful. Distressing. Desperate.

    And then, something. A message. A friend. He had no idea what was going on; I hadn’t told a soul. But he knew. At least, he sensed it. So he had messaged me and gently reminded me that I have a right to be here.

    I look back on this moment in my life now as if it was another person. I’m still me, of course, but different, like we all are when we go through grief. Because grief doesn’t just belong to death. We experience it for anything that mattered to us that’s no longer there.

    A divorce.

    A redundancy.

    Even a child leaving for college.

    Endings mean we go through this process; not in stages, but a journey that takes as long as it takes.

    Here are a few insights and tips that might help if you’re on this journey now.

    1. Grieving is a unique experience.

    It’s raw at first; it can be messy, but it does look different to everyone. Some people feel rage, others feel numb. I felt completely lost for a while. There is no right way to mourn a loss; we just find our own way, hopefully with the support of others who get it. Even then, people need to resist the urge to cheer us up or “silver line” what’s happened.

    We don’t always need to find the “upside” of pain or be told “at least you can always get remarried” (sigh). What helped me that night was the generosity of a friend, a simple act of kindness in the willingness to just hold space with me.

    But of course my journey to recovery didn’t end there. Allowing myself to be open to the idea that I didn’t need “fixing”—that I just needed to go at my own pace, finding healthy ways to cope—was hugely beneficial.

    2. Feel what you feel.

    Sometimes we numb out with booze, food, or mindless scrolling so that we don’t have to feel the pain we’re enduring, and I get it; grief can be gnarly. But the reality is, whether we give our feelings a name or not, they’re there anyway. Sure, we can push them down for a while, but if we keep putting pain on top of pain, eventually it rises up and grabs us metaphorically by the throat.

    Give yourself permission to sit with your emotions when you can, or with someone else if it helps.

    3. Reach out.

    I am so grateful in my case that someone reached in, but in the weeks that followed I went in search of people and services that I knew would be able to help. I got in touch with a therapist to sit with my grief and found a mindfulness teacher—a Buddhist monk as it happens. He trained me to be still with the painful thoughts of rejection and abandonment I was having, and the trauma I had been through.

    I also found agencies who could offer practical help with housing and finances, as I literally had nowhere to go, having been isolated from friends and work, what I know now to be a common sign in these cases.

    If you or someone you know has been affected by domestic abuse or are suffering with difficult thoughts, find what services are available in your local area.

    4. Share what you know.

    I do not see what happened to me as a “lesson.” I didn’t need to experience trauma in order to be a “better” person; I was good enough before all this happened actually.

    Having said that, I did find meaning in these moments. I decided to use what happened to me to help others; I became accredited to work with victims of crime and now volunteer my time in a women’s refuge. I also work as an independent advisor to police authorities to help raise awareness of what helps (and what doesn’t), as well as writing and supporting people in other ways.  When you’re ready, you could use the benefit of your experience to help others too.

    5. Take care of yourself.

    I cannot emphasize enough how important it is that when you’re going through a difficult time, your needs matter too. You’re not saying “me first” to the people in your life; you’re just saying “me included.”

    For me, this meant making sure I was eating, getting enough sleep, and yes, even dancing round my kitchen—it all helps.

    I’ve always believed self-care is in the little things, like changing your bedding, putting out clean towels, and getting fresh air. But it can be other things, like spending time in nature, chatting with a friend, or learning new ways to cope healthily with what life throws at you.

    It doesn’t have to be expensive; in fact, restorative acts of self-care don’t have to cost a penny. I love taking myself off somewhere to enjoy a cup of tea and reading a book. You’re allowed to have and do nice things that can help lift your spirits. Give yourself permission to say no and make sure your tribe includes people that help you rise, not bring you down.

    —

    We deal with endings all the time in life, and some might seem inconsequential, but that doesn’t mean we have to forget or pretend they didn’t happen. We can honor our experiences in helpful ways; we might just need to figure out how to do that for a while.

    Allow yourself time and space to discover what helps you best. This might mean taking time out or just taking a deep breath, revisiting your values to understand what really matters to you, setting new boundaries, or distancing yourself from those who don’t help. As Elizabeth Gilbert once so beautifully said, “We can love everybody, but some we must love from a safe distance.”

  • How I Found Peace and Self-Love After a Toxic Relationship

    How I Found Peace and Self-Love After a Toxic Relationship

    “Bravery is leaving a toxic relationship and knowing that you deserve better.” ~Unknown

    When my marriage ended, it left a huge void that I desperately needed to fill, and quickly.

    Along with my divorce came the unbearable feelings of rejection and being unlovable. To avoid these feelings, fill the void, and distract myself, I turned to dating. And it turns out, it was much too soon.

    What seemed like a harmless distraction soon became what I needed to feel wanted and loved. This was a way to avoid doing the harder work of learning to love myself instead of needing outside validation to feel good about myself.

    The online dating scene was a complete circus that I didn’t know how to navigate with all of my wounding. I ended up falling for a guy—let’s call him Steve.

    Steve seemed nice enough when I met him. He was quiet and seemed like he may have been a little too passive for me, but he was really into me, so I kept coming back for more. It was nice to feel wanted again.

    We had some things in common, and he was handsome and sweet. We had fun together, and he was always texting me to say hello and chat—again, that made me feel wanted.

    Eventually, Steve grew more distant. When I brought it up, it only seemed to get worse. But at this point, I was addicted to the feeling of being with someone again. I was addicted to feeling wanted and loved, so leaving wasn’t an option I was willing to entertain.

    The unconscious programming in my brain that would do anything to avoid rejection kicked in. I began to justify everything that should have been a red flag. I found myself constantly doing whatever I thought I needed to do to keep Steve from rejecting me, but it never seemed to be enough. I became unconsciously obsessed with being who I thought I needed to be to win his love and approval.

    Steve and I had both been through divorces and were both dealing with mental health issues. The relationship became very codependent, and I began putting my own needs aside to be his caretaker. He would never return the favor unless it was convenient for him, so I would just try harder to get him to want to return the favor.

    It never worked.

    As each day went by, I was becoming less and less of myself to be loved and accepted by someone who would never be able to give me what I wanted or needed. He just wasn’t capable of it. There was no possible way that I would ever be enough for him.

    He ended up breaking up with me, but shortly after we resumed our relationship on a casual basis. Deep down, I didn’t feel this was showing myself respect, but I allowed it to happen because again, I was trying to be who he wanted me to be—a casual friend-with-benefits.

    Our relationship eventually started to get more serious again, and it seemed we were headed back to exclusive relationship status when I found out he was dating other women behind my back. I’m so thankful I found out about this because it was the singular event that made me stop and get intentional about respecting myself.

    I realized how completely I had lost myself in this dysfunctional, codependent, and toxic relationship, where my only concern was avoiding feelings of rejection and being unlovable. It was the last straw for me, and I decided I was done tolerating it. I was done abandoning myself to get something he was never going to give me.

    I cut off all contact with Steve that day.

    You’d think that it would be easy to leave a relationship that is toxic. I mean, who wants toxicity? But the truth is, it isn’t easy.

    Why do we get into these tricky situations in the first place?

    My divorce had left me in so much pain, feeling rejected and unloved, that I was willing to do anything to avoid those feelings. Instead of being discerning and heeding the red flags that were, in hindsight, obvious, I jumped in and continued the pattern of proving that I was worthy of love.

    When you’re always trying to feel loved and accepted, you’ll ask yourself questions like, “Who do you need me to be to love me?” You’ll shape-shift to fit someone else’s needs and abandon your own. You may over-give, or shower your partner with gifts and affection, all in an effort to win their love so you can feel loved.

    The end result is similar to being rejected because you end up feeling alone—except this time it’s because you’ve abandoned yourself and your truth.

    You lose yourself, which, in the end, can be just as lonely as feeling rejected and unloved. That’s how it was for me. I spent so much time trying to prove my worth that I lost sight of who I was and what I deserved.

    I didn’t realize at the time that I needed to come home to myself first and love and accept myself before anyone else could ever give that to me.

    It turned out that leaving that relationship was an act of self-love and the beginning of finding peace.

    Was it easy? No. There were so many feelings that came up for me when I left the relationship. There was embarrassment that I had chosen him over myself so many times. There was the loneliness and pain that go along with the end of any relationship. And, of course, there was fear that I would never find that love and acceptance that I craved so desperately.

    So how did I do it? How did I find inner peace after leaving that toxic relationship?

    What it really came down to was finding peace within myself.

    When there is a void of some sort, we naturally want to try to fill it with something else. But when you try to fill the void with something external, it never works.

    If I had kept looking to fill that void with things outside of myself after my relationship ended, I would have likely bounced from one toxic relationship to another until I learned to turn inward and fill myself up from the inside.

    So how do you turn inward? Part of the reason you’ve gotten into a toxic relationship in the first place is that you don’t know how to do that.

    The act of leaving the relationship was the first step for me. It was a huge step. The feeling you get when you decide you’re no longer going to pretend you’re someone you’re not in order to gain someone’s love is empowering, and gives you a little boost of confidence that you’ve got your own back.

    It’s an act of love toward yourself.

    At the time, I didn’t think of it as an act of love, but in unpacking it later, I can see that it was. It was the first step in rebuilding my relationship with myself.

    The next part of the process for me was to reconnect with myself.

    We tend to get our identities tangled up with our partners’, and it’s easy to forget who we are without our relationships. That happened to me after seventeen years of marriage, and bouncing right into an unhealthy relationship didn’t help. I spent so much time worrying about who I was being and if I was good enough to be loved that I totally lost sight of my true self.

    Reconnecting with myself meant spending a lot of time with myself. I had become great at staying busy to avoid loneliness, but I knew I needed to learn how to sit with the discomfort of being alone in order to heal.

    I spent a lot of time connecting with nature. I started taking myself out on solo dinner dates and I went to movies by myself. And when the loneliness didn’t feel good, I sat with it while I cried tears of sadness, learning how to show myself compassion for what I was feeling instead of pushing the feelings away.

    For someone who has spent a lot of time avoiding rejection, being alone can be difficult. But it’s a necessary part of reconnecting with your truth, and you will learn, like I did, that it’s really not that bad. It’s actually refreshing and beautiful to have time with yourself.

    I also reconnected with my support system. When I was in the relationship with Steve, I didn’t make my friends and family as much of a priority as I once had. In my quest for feeling loved, I became so focused on the relationship that I not only abandoned myself but also some of the most important people in my life. I made some questionable choices when I was being who I thought I needed to be for him, and after leaving the relationship, it was time for me to reconnect with my true support system.

    But the most important thing I did to find peace after this toxic relationship was to learn to love myself.

    I started with a list of all of the reasons I didn’t deserve to be treated the way Steve had treated me, written with dry-erase marker on my bathroom mirror. Every time I looked in the mirror, I was reminded of why I deserved more. I also kept a list of all the things I wanted to believe about myself. I wrote a new list each day and eventually, one by one, I started to believe the things on that list.

    I made the decision not to date for a while so I could focus on strengthening my confidence in who I am without someone else. Through therapy and working with a life coach, I learned that my self-love issues were rooted in perfectionism, so I worked to lower the expectations I had for myself to a more realistic level.

    I learned that I was much happier when I was just focusing on enjoying the moment being an average human. In fact, I adopted the idea that we are all just average human beings. We all have unique gifts and talents, and there is no need to compete with one another to be exceptional. Average is a fine place to be, and I found embracing this attitude helped me navigate life with more compassion toward myself and others.

    The most important step I took toward self-love was learning how to surrender and accept the present moment as it is. If I was feeling a lack of self-love, I learned to sit with it and send love to the part of me that was feeling that way. I learned to not get hung up on the what-ifs and to appreciate who I am being in this very moment, which is all I know I have for certain.

    The journey to loving yourself is the most important one you will ever make. Self-love is a work in progress, of course, but knowing where you’re headed helps to know who you are, know your worth, and remind you to always choose yourself unapologetically.

    While the relationship with Steve was traumatic in many ways, I am grateful for it because I learned and grew so much from it. Needing to heal from the codependency and toxicity of the relationship created a beautiful space in which I was able to ground myself and find peace in knowing that no matter what, I always have my own back and I will always choose myself.

    It’s a serene feeling and I wish this for you too.

  • The Surprising Lesson I Learned About Why People Leave Us

    The Surprising Lesson I Learned About Why People Leave Us

    “When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.” ~Lao Tzu

    While this Lao Tzu quote may sound familiar, I recently learned there is a second portion of that quote that often gets omitted.

    “When the student is truly ready…the teacher will disappear.”

    The first part of this quote was a healing anchor for me as I went through what I call a thirteen, or a divine storm.

    In one year’s time, I went through a devastating divorce, was robbed, got in two car accidents, and lost a dear friend to a heart attack. I felt like I was watching everything in my life burn to ash, including my deepest desire of having a family, and found myself on my knees doing something I had never done before: asking for help.

    I realized the way I had been living my life wasn’t working anymore and I needed to learn, so I became the student and opened my palms to the sky asking for guidance.

    So many teachers came. I found a therapist who helped me heal from my divorce, I found spiritual guidance after being lost, I met other divorcees, and found meditation, which was a loving balm to my broken heart. I was ready, so the teachers appeared.

    Each teacher that came forward instilled in me the importance and effectiveness of the right support, and as I faced all the challenges of building a new life, I continued to seek help. What I learned allowed me to find my life partner, one who desired creating a family as much as I did.

    As my life transformed and I opened my heart to love again, I thought the first part of this quote was the full lesson.

    Until recently, when I encountered the second part on a quote website.

    Staring at the words on my screen, my whole body stopped. Tears fell down my face as I realized all these years I’ve spoken about the teachers that arrived in the face of my divorce, but hadn’t really spoken about the teachers that left.

    Specifically, the biggest teacher, my ex. For the purpose of this post, we will call him Jon.

    When Jon dropped the bomb on Thanksgiving Day of 2012, and said he didn’t love me anymore, I honestly thought I could stop it. I thought I could save the marriage. But nothing worked. Not couple’s counseling, not locking myself in the bedroom and refusing to eat, or crawling under the hide-a-bed he was sleeping on in the living room, pleading for him to stay.

    Jon’s refusal to work on the marriage left me with something I hadn’t spent real time with in my thirty-seven years. His refusal left me with myself.

    And the truth was, I had been lying to everyone around me for years. I had been in an on and off again affair and swayed violently between immense shame for my actions and complete confusion as to why I kept going back to a man I didn’t really love.

    I didn’t understand what I was doing or why.

    I would cover up the shame and confusion with overdrinking, lots of TV, and listening to constant music. I would cry in the shower, so afraid I would be found out. I was convinced my friends and family would all stop loving me.

    But something had been alive for a long time. In fact, it was alive when Jon and I were engaged in college.

    I was a musical theater major, and in my last year of school, when I was planning my wedding, I threw myself at two men I was in shows with. Nothing happened with the first guy, but with the second, we kissed, and I immediately felt ashamed and appalled. What was I doing?

    So I told Jon, and he asked me a powerful question, “Do you want to postpone the wedding?” I told him no. I told him I loved him. I apologized and promised this would never happen again.

    So the wedding went forward, except a week before I walked down the aisle, I felt scared again and asked my mom if this was a good idea. She thought it was just nerves and talked me back into getting married.

    Our first year of marriage was both exciting and tumultuous. We were both actors, and very passionate, and many times would have escalating fights filling our small Queens apartment with our voices. My parents came to visit, and my mother pulled me aside, concerned about how we were speaking to each other.

    I told her this was what actual communication was like, not just staying silent like she did with my father.

    So the yelling continued, as did all the excitement of our careers, and we spent a lot of time apart as we worked at different theaters. Even though I thought we were on the same page about having a family eventually, the years went on and on.

    Until my thirty-sixth birthday, when I finally got off the pill. I was terrified. I never thought I would wait this long to have a family, and as the months went on and my period continued to come, I heard again and again how scared Jon was too. Nothing I said would make any difference, and the fights were getting uglier and uglier.

    I felt so alone.

    And a panic was rising in me. A panic that he didn’t want to have a family. That I was married to a man who didn’t want to be a father.

    Then he kneeled in front of me a year later and confirmed my panic. Turns out, everything I felt was actually true.

    “When the student is truly ready…the teacher disappears.”

    Jon was my teacher for nineteen years. I met him when I was eighteen, wide eyed and madly in love. But now it was time. Time for me to learn what it looked and felt like to be with a partner who shared my deepest desire.

    Time to learn what a healthy relationship is, and what healthy and loving communication sounds like.

    Time to learn how to honor my instincts and process strong emotions, and especially my anger at being in my late thirties with no children.

    He didn’t need to be there anymore, because I was finally waking up and ready to learn the lesson he was in my life to teach me.

    He could leave, and actually had to leave in order for me to grow.

    Lao Tzu was speaking to one of the most profound teachings we have, that change is constant. People come in and out of our lives for different purposes, and our deepest suffering arises when we try to control every outcome. We try to control our relationships, our friendships, and the people we believe have to always be there.

    But what if each teacher is here for the time needed, and when they leave, it’s actually a reflection of what you are ready for?

    What if people leaving, relationships ending, is actually a reflection of your readiness for transformation?

    What if your heartbreak of any kind, romantic or personal, is a moment of sacred alchemy?

    Take a moment today to honor the teachers who have left. Perhaps write in your journal around this question: What did you learn when they were gone?

    For me, I sat down on the floor and cried. I felt a great wave of relief recognizing Jon left because I was ready.

    And I would not have known otherwise.

    You are so much stronger than you know, and your greatest learning comes when you claim the wisdom of those teachers who have left.

  • How I Healed My Low Self-Worth After Infidelity and Divorce

    How I Healed My Low Self-Worth After Infidelity and Divorce

    “It’s okay to let go of those who couldn’t love you. Those who didn’t know how to. Those who failed to even try. It’s okay to outgrow them, because that means you filled the empty space in you with self-love instead. You’re outgrowing them because you’re growing into you. And that’s more than okay, that’s something to celebrate.” ~Angelica Moone

    Once upon a time, I met and fell in love with the man of my dreams. He was the most romantic, loving, amazing person I had ever met and for some reason, he wanted to be with me.

    I was a nobody. I was the little girl who had lost her mommy and had control issues. I was the princess needing to be rescued by a prince. And I was rescued, whisked away to a whole other state, and loved and adored by this wonderful man whom I eventually married.

    We were together for almost nine years. But my history of eating disorders caused a disconnect. I obsessed over food, exercise, and the slightest interference in my perfectly planned day. We no longer could talk with each other. We no longer could connect on a physical, spiritual, or emotional level.

    Two days after Christmas, he told me he didn’t love me. He filed for divorce in early 2021.

    I admit, the facts remain foggy about when husband’s affair started, but the emotional truth is this: I felt raw, exposed, ripped apart from the inside. My heart broke into pieces and then those pieces broke into more pieces.

    Each time he left the house, I knew where he was going and who he was with. A pickaxe constantly chiseled away at the hole in my chest, making the constant ache and longing for the return of my former life, my husband, greater and greater.

    I wanted him next to me, in our bed. I wanted to feel his weight while he slept, see his silhouette in the darkness. Hear his breath and occasional snoring. I thought I would run out of salt from the tears I shed, but they kept coming, night after night, day after day.

    I blamed myself for all of it: losing my husband, my house, my dog. It was because of me that my marriage failed. I was unlovable and unworthy of love. Broken. That is why my husband didn’t love me enough to want to work through our problems.

    If I had only gotten help sooner, then we would have stayed together. If I wouldn’t have been so obsessive over exercise and what I ate, then he wouldn’t have stopped loving me. If I would have loved him perfectly, then he wouldn’t have found the love he needed with another woman. 

    Good and bad memories of him haunted me in my dreams. Harsh words I said, unloving things I did, waited for me in my bed and pounced when I tried to sleep. Wherever I went, the constant flood of tears threatened to destroy me.

    When he filed for divorce, I made up my mind. I refused to allow the eating disorder to take any more of my life away.

    I realized I couldn’t blame myself entirely for the end of my relationship. For the first time in fifteen years, I threw all of my energy into my healing process instead of achieving the perfect body.

    I needed to heal for me. I needed to take real control of my past and learn from my mistakes so I wouldn’t make them again. I had experienced other life-changing trauma, and knew I finally needed to work through it. But I didn’t know where I should begin in the healing process. This is what helped me:

    1. Gratitude and Prayer

    I am reminded every day that there is always something to be grateful for. The light of the sun after the darkness. The gentle rain that falls after a long dry spell. The changing leaves on the trees. A functioning mind and body. People in your life who love you unconditionally.

    I still experienced all of these things, and I still had people who loved me in my life, even though they were hundreds of miles away. I vocalized my gratitude for even the smallest things out loud each day.

    At night, I wrote down at least three things that I was grateful for that day: I am grateful that I rose from my bed free of pain in my body. I am grateful for the ability to make my bed. I am grateful for my job.

    When you express gratitude for even insignificant things, you begin to see the good in your life, and not dwell on what is going wrong.

    I have always been a spiritual person, believing in a connection with a higher power. Each night, I prayed for my family. Then for my friends. And eventually for myself, something I’d never done before because I didn’t feel worthy.

    I wanted the gnawing ache in my stomach gone, and my broken heart to mend. Blaming and berating myself all my life had not worked, so what did I have to lose. What I had to gain was a stronger and more confident self.

    2. Counseling and Self-Love

    I sought a counselor. It helped to relay my story to someone who could help. By telling someone my story from the beginning, I was released from its power. It didn’t own me anymore.

    But I still had a long way to go.

    The energy around my husband was cold and uncomfortable. I knew he felt it too. He avoided me. When we did encounter each other, he looked at me with disdain and disgust. I went straight to my default thoughts; he must think I’m ugly. It put me in another downward spiral of self-loathing, but not for long.

    I was determined to get better, to stop struggling with low-self-worth and lack of self-compassion.

    Counseling helped put things in a new perspective. In one of our sessions, she told me something I will never forget: There was nothing you could have done differently. He was going to leave anyway. To know that I hadn’t failed at my relationship and it wasn’t all my fault was a huge relief.

    My counselor introduced self-love activities, which sounded so counter-intuitive. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Despite the awkwardness of looking at myself in the mirror and giving myself positive compliments full of compassion, I did it. The more I practiced compassion toward myself, the more I began to see my intrinsic worth.

    I began with the simple phrase: I love you.

    That turned into: I deserve love.

    I kept saying these every day, wherever I was. My thinking changed my reality. I began to truly believe I was worthy of love.

    3. Acceptance and Forgiveness

    Even though I spoke with a counselor regularly, I still rode on a rollercoaster from hell. While I still lived at the house, my husband had told me he was going on a fishing trip a few hours away. Every fiber of my being told me he was lying.

    The Monday he returned, I searched the room he slept in and found the receipt for a hotel room for two people only twenty minutes away. I confronted him and he denied anything was going on. I couldn’t mention the receipt because I was ashamed for trying to find proof.

    I said horrible things to him that night, not because of what he had done, but because he was lying. After being together for almost nine years, how could he still ignore my feelings? How could he continue to lie? His behavior made it perfectly clear that our marriage was over, he had someone else, and he had nothing else to lose. Why not admit it?

    I felt as though he never loved me at all. The tension between us worsened and I felt like a stranger in the home I had lived in for six years.

    I wanted him to hurt like I did, to understand my pain, my devastation, to empathize with me in some way. He had never experienced a devastating loss of a parent like I had as a child. He had never experienced abandonment of people who are supposed to love all of you, the imperfect parts too. He could not begin to understand the pain and grief I experienced. He had no idea how it festers inside like a dormant volcano for years, then spews out in forms of self-harm.

    Despite my mistakes in our relationship and my feelings of unworthiness, I knew I didn’t deserve his lies. The next morning, I promised myself that I would stop trying to find proof of his affair. It wasn’t worth the pain. I knew the truth and if he wanted to continue to lie, that was his choice. I also stopped berating myself for what I had said.

    I knew I could never go back in time and redo everything. I couldn’t take anything back. I had to learn from it all and move forward. I had loved this man, and a part of me still did. It was at that moment I forgave my husband for what he had done. I just couldn’t forgive myself yet.

    4. Meditation and Breathing

    I tried meditation on my own, but I was in the same boat as so many other people who say they can’t meditate because their mind wanders. I didn’t have the patience to meditate, but I still tried.

    I sat down on the floor, closed my eyes, and began thinking of all the things I wasn’t supposed to think about. I tried hard to stay focused on the present moment, like I had read so many times. I needed help.

    I found a Meetup group about mindfulness and the healing process. I learned tactics for finding awareness and my own inner peace, like repeating a mantra over and over, “I am here. I am love. I am enough. I am okay.” I learned about the power of breathing and the breath cycles: inhale for four seconds, hold for seven, exhale for eight.

    With practice, I was able to retrain my brain to stay in the present and not dwell in the past or worry in the future. Meditation helps to change the mind’s thoughts, too.

    With meditation came awareness and acceptance of my emotions. When the sadness came, I let it. I crumbled to the floor and allowed my tears to fall for as long as needed and eventually, I rose from the floor and moved forward, telling myself that it’s okay to feel whatever it is you feel.

    When loneliness threatened to debilitate me, I let it in, sensing it poke and pry at every vulnerable part of me. But then it eventually went away too. I learned that emotions are like unwanted guests: they are annoying when they are around, but they will eventually leave.

    Over the next few months, I could feel a shift within me. I felt empowered. I felt more confident.

    5. Writing

    Writing is in my soul. It helps to put things in a new perspective. Since I was a child, I wrote my thoughts down to help process what happened to me. I can see the events anew with some distance and perspective.

    I kept a notebook and carried it with me wherever I went. When I felt overwhelmed by my thoughts, I wrote them down. It served as a kind of brain dump for all the streaming thoughts in my head.

    Writing is tangible proof and a reminder that the only constant thing in life is change. Our viewpoint on life never looks the same when we look back on it from the rearview mirror.

    I am a work in progress. I am healing. I am growing. I am learning. I am rising stronger every day. Even if one person cannot see my value, my worth, and my intrinsic goodness, I have countless others who can and who have shown me that I am worthy of love.

    Love is what humans truly crave when they futilely use money to buy new gadgets, clothes, or make fancy renovations to their homes. But at the end of the day, humans thrive and prosper on love. No amount of money or material wealth can replace the desire to feel loved and be loved in return. The most important love of all is that for yourself.

    I still question myself and my value. But I am getting better at recognizing those thoughts and shutting them down sooner, then replacing them with more compassionate ones.

    I have learned that mental illness is not something to be ashamed of or kept secret.

    Mental health is okay to talk about. It is okay to ask for help. Don’t hold it in no matter what you assume other people will think. You are worthy of finding peace and healing. You deserve to be the best version of yourself. Accept yourself so you can forgive yourself. Choose to love yourself first and everything else will fall into place.

  • How to Spot Abusive People and Stop Getting into Toxic Relationships

    How to Spot Abusive People and Stop Getting into Toxic Relationships

    “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” ~Eleanor Roosevelt

    When it comes to dating, I have always been drawn to people who made me work for their love and validation. Despite the fact that I, like anyone else, wish to be with somebody that loves and supports me, I have always somehow managed to attract the opposite.

    My relationship history has been fraught with rejection, feeling unworthy, and trying harder to win love and approval. Every time I felt criticized or undervalued, I would look inward and ask myself what I could do to make my partner love me more. I always felt as if it was my fault, and when in doubt, I would blame myself.

    I’m an overthinker and would spend a lot of time in self-reflection. I came to understand that the trauma I had experienced as a child played a large part in my relationship choices.

    Experiencing trauma as a young child leaves a faulty wiring imprint on your nervous system. Instead of developing a secure attachment, the trauma/abuse/neglect causes the brain to develop differently.

    I grew up with very little love and affection and never felt valued by my parents.

    Children who grow up without consistent care and love learn to cope in various ways. They become hypervigilant of people’s moods around them (so that they can stay out of the way of an angry/moody parent, for example), and they can also learn to disassociate from their feelings because they cannot escape the situation.

    Trauma as a child often leads to an anxious attachment style or an ambivalent attachment style, and this affects adult attachment styles too.

    I know for sure that I have an anxious attachment style, and I also have low self-belief and self-confidence. This makes me a prime target for toxic partners such as narcissists or other abusive individuals.

    It is commonly known that narcissistic types attract co-dependent, insecure types. The root cause of co-dependency is the fear of being abandoned. Co-dependents work hard in relationships to avoid the threat of abandonment. Toxic people, however, don’t respond to more love and attention; it just fuels their abuse.

    I knew I needed to break this pattern, or I would never be happy in love. I am now quite adept at recognizing the signs of a toxic person.

    Here are the common signs that you’re in a toxic relationship:

    They tend to lack empathy (although they know how to fake it for at least the first three to six months) and the world revolves around them, not you.

    Of course, people on the autistic spectrum can seem to lack empathy, so this isn’t a guaranteed science, but it is still a sign to consider. My ex found it virtually impossible to put himself in my shoes. He would sometimes say the right things, but his words never really came from the heart.

    My ex abandoned me at Heathrow airport because there was an unexpected issue with my passport. Instead of considering how I might feel, he swore loudly and kicked the baggage around and then said he had to go without me because he didn’t want his birthday ruined.

    We had planned to fly via Singapore to Sydney. I should have known then that this was the start of many awful episodes to come. Thankfully, I joined him twenty-four hours later after hastily getting a new passport issued, but he dumped me (for the first time) four weeks later.

    They will always be at the center of everything they do, and your needs will be unimportant.

    Their time and needs take priority over yours. Relationships are all about compromise and consideration for each other. When the give-get ratio is imbalanced it is often a sign that the relationship will not be equal.

    If you confront them about this one-sided dynamic, they will either dismiss what you say, ignore you, or turn the conversation around and begin to play the victim.

    When I would confront my ex about his selfishness, he would sometimes breakdown and cry and say, “I know I am a terrible boyfriend,” but then he would soon stop crying and life would carry on as it did before.

    They will justify cheating on you and lie about it.

    A friend told me over lunch one day that she had seen my ex on Match.com for the previous nine months. I felt sick, and when I confronted him, he said that it was only ”light window shopping.” I was an idiot and I stayed. I only had myself to blame for allowing this to continue.

    Toxic individuals regard others as objects to be used. I felt replaceable and never felt fully secure in the relationship. Ironically, the one thing that attracted me to my ex in the very beginning was how keen he was on me. I love the way he chased me and the very next day after our first date he called and said, “At the risk of seeming too keen, I was wondering if you’d like to join me again tonight?”

    I was flattered, but of course this is a common sign of a toxic individual. They move in fast; they gain your affection and trust very quickly. Once you’re hooked the manipulation and the control begins.

    Another thing to look out for is subtle or overt criticism.

    My ex would comment on my posture at the dinner table, the way I spoke to friends, the way I cooked, as well as the tidiness of my house. He didn’t like it if I watched television too much and would treat me like a child. He was very controlling, but he never saw that in himself.

    Once, on a journey in the car, I saw the funny side (thank goodness I had humor to help get me through) when he said, “I am not controlling, but don’t ever use the word ‘controlling’ to describe me.”

    A friend of mine remarked at a later date, “That’s like saying ‘I don’t f#%@ing swear’.” Utter madness!

    Emotional abuse can also occur in the absence of criticism, selfishness, and controlling behavior.

    Being ignored can be just as painful. When I was stone-walled or felt neglected, it triggered my childhood trauma and transported me back to the feeling that nothing I did was good enough.

    In fact, my ex triggered me a lot and made me realize how dysfunctional the relationship was. It’s an interesting cycle that I have come across numerous times: childhood trauma and subsequent toxic adult relationships.

    This is what I have learned since finally moving on from my toxic ex-partner:

    If someone is too smooth in the very beginning and tries to fast-forward the relationship, I am wary. I would far rather be with someone who was slightly clumsy and forgetful than someone who is super slick.

    If they lack friends, that can be a red flag.

    Again, this doesn’t happen in every situation, but it can be a sign of trouble to come. My ex-partner had very few friends. He didn’t seem to understand the value of connection and keeping in touch with people unless he needed something from them.

    Underneath all of the bravado was someone who was quite insecure and had high standards for himself. I’m not sure that he actually even really liked himself. He would act extremely confident around others and was able to charm others especially when he wanted something from them. Toxic people often boast about their achievements and seem to think they are more entitled to things than others.

    What I Have Learned from My Past Relationships

    All of my failures in relationships have taught me that the old cliché of loving yourself first is actually true. Instead of planning my life around somebody else’s, I made choices about where I wanted to be and what was important to me going forward.

    I have built a strong foundation from which to explore the world. My strong foundation is built on self-awareness of my strengths and weaknesses. I understand why I sought out toxic individuals and have worked on my self-belief and self-esteem. The inner bully (the negative voice inside) is still there trying to tell me what I can’t do and why I need to be fearful on my own but I’m learning to tune it out.

    I have made more time for people and experiences that uplift and inspire me as well as focusing on inspirational podcasts and videos. What you focus on becomes your reality, and it ultimately affects your quality of life. I’ve become less accommodating to people who make me feel bad about myself.

    Feeling bad about myself is familiar, and I am convinced that previous childhood trauma altered my way of thinking and behaving, and over time it became a habit. The good news is that habits can be changed. We can’t change the past, but we can certainly update our beliefs about what happened and how we wish to see ourselves now.

    When you like and value yourself you will be far less likely to take abuse from others. You will also be more inclined to have healthy boundaries and ensure that there are consequences for those that violate them.

    Know what you will and won’t accept from others and let others know when they have overstepped the mark. If they are decent, they will be upset that they have hurt you and will make an effort to consider your needs. If, however, they dismiss your needs and feelings, that should tell you all you need to know.

  • He Broke My Heart But Taught Me These 5 Things About Love

    He Broke My Heart But Taught Me These 5 Things About Love

    “Sometimes the only closure you need is the understanding that you deserve better.” ~Trent Shelton 

    I’ll never forget the day we met.

    It was a classic San Francisco day. The sky was a perfect cerulean blue. The sun sparkled brightly.

    I ventured from my apartment in the Haight to Duboce Park to enjoy the Saturday. Dogs chased balls in the dog park. Friends congregated on the little hill. They giggled, listened to music, and ate picnic food. Kites flew high in the breeze. Adults tossed Frisbees in their t-shirts and bare feet.

    And I sat, bundled up in my scarf, zippered fall jacket, warm wool socks, and cable-knit sweater.

    This was summer in San Francisco. I had recently moved to the city at the end of May from the east coast with steamy eighty-degree weather, and now in July I sat on a hill and shivered. The famous saying fit perfectly, “The coldest winter I ever spent was the summer I spent in San Francisco.”

    I decided to venture to a nearby café, a French café called Café du Soleil (The Café of the Sun) and warm up with a hot beverage. I loved their outdoor seating.

    When I arrived, the café was packed. Every seat in the patio and the whole place was taken, except for one free stool at the bar next to a tall, handsome man.

    I sat down next to him with my hot chocolate and commented on how crowded the café was. He smiled and agreed, no longer interested in his salad or his glass of white wine. He was interested in me instead. His eyes sparkled.

    Fireworks!

    He was an artist, a photographer. He was a creative like me. Recently, he purchased his first house in Oakland, which included a lovely garden and was close to his work at a fine Japanese restaurant. Our conversation flowed easily, but from the moment I met him, I noticed a dark cloud over his head.

    “Are you married?” I asked.

    He jiggled his left fingers to show an empty hand.

    “No. No ring,” he said.

    “Kids?” I asked.

    “No,” he said, “but I would like some.”

    Our eyes locked. He sighed.

    “But… I’ll never have kids,” he said.

    I pressed my lips.

    “Oh, I think you’ll have kids one day,” I said in a lulling voice, looking sweetly into his eyes.

    He melted.  He really saw me. His eyes were full of adoration, love, and awe.

    We started dating immediately. It was fun and easy. He came to see me perform in Berkeley and I visited him in Oakland (in Fruitvale where he lived), where it was warmer and sunnier. He cooked me meals at his home with fresh fish and vegetables from his garden.

    Hummingbirds danced in the air when we were together. We drove to romantic rendezvous, danced, and he introduced me to the important people in his life: his best friend and his boss.

    The more time we spent together the sunnier and brighter he became, the happier we both were.

    Later, he admitted that he actually made most of his money selling drugs, followed by bartending, and that photography was only a hobby, not a profession. Also, he confessed that he had an alcohol and drug addiction. This was the reason his previous relationship ended even though they were both in love.

    I became sober before I moved to California. I overlooked the red flags because of our remarkable chemistry. Since I didn’t drink, he only drank one glass of wine with me at dinner and didn’t seem to want another. Because I didn’t do drugs, he never did drugs around me and he never talked about missing them.

    Everything was going perfectly, or so I thought. We never fought. Then Malik took his annual vacation to an event called Burning Man in Nevada while I stayed in San Francisco looking for a new apartment. Burning Man was very popular among the San Francisco locals and I was intrigued, but my sublet was up and I had to find a new place fast.

    Described as the “biggest party on earth” or “the only place where you can truly be yourself without judgment,” Burning Man was where people could party all day and night, dress up in outrageous costumes, see fantastic art and performances, and be completely uninhibited.

    When Malik returned from Burning Man, the storm cloud over his head reconvened above him and overshadowed him. He was jittery and paranoid. In fact, I didn’t recognize him; he became distorted and ugly. His eyes were glassy and darted back and forth like Gollum in The Hobbit. Hunched over, he tapped his fingers incessantly.

    “Everything happened too fast,” he blurted. “I told you, I don’t want to fall. I just wanted to have fun. I didn’t want to fall. I can’t sustain a relationship longer than two years. You want more than that. You should have kids. You’re getting older. You’d be a great mother. You need to have kids while you still can. You deserve that. You’re beautiful. There are plenty of handsome men in San Francisco. Why would you pick me? Pick one of them!”

    “Malik… we are having fun. I won’t let you fall. Let’s glide. Why are you talking about marriage and kids?”

    “You want more. I know it. I see it.”

    “We’ve never talked about the future.”

    “It’s not going to work. It’s over.”

    “Why are you breaking up with me? It makes no sense. Things were good before you left. We never fought. You were only gone a week. You mentioned having fun with a girl. Did you meet someone else?”

    His jaw hung open; his eyes bugged, and he took a large melodramatic step backward and gasped. He was shocked by my directness and accusation. But perhaps he was also stunned by my keen intuition.

    Sure enough, over the magical week, he met a beautiful redhead from Arizona, a single mother, who was interested in doing drugs with him in the desert, to escape her demons.

    They had so much fun together, isolated in a made-up city, laughing in the temptress of the sweltering heat. They experimented with Molly on the floor of his tent and “died together.”  Like Romeo and Juliet.

    I was devastated. Malik was no longer the person I thought he was. I had envisioned a life together. I had imagined traveling the world together.

    He told me he didn’t want me to text him any longer, and I didn’t. But the pain seared inside of me. and I held on for hope that he would see his faults and come back to me. How would he maintain a long-distance relationship with someone he did drugs with in the desert for a week? It made no sense. But that was how much he valued drugs over me.

    I never felt closure. I never felt that I was able to express all of my feelings. I wondered if I had been more vulnerable with him, if he knew how much I cared, if he would have had second thoughts and returned to me. He never came back. He never texted. It took me a long time to let him go. He was a big love for me.

    Looking back today (years later), I learned:

    1. Trust a soulmate connection.

    I felt it deep in my heart. I had met a soulmate. There was no denying it. Even though it didn’t work out, he opened my heart to love.

    2. See the red flags.

    I didn’t understand it at the time, but now I know that you can’t help anyone get over drug addiction. They have to want it for themselves.

    3. Don’t cling to love.

    Don’t cling in a relationship and don’t cling once it’s over for it to return. This was a hard lesson for me because when I love, I love hard.

    I have learned if you love someone and they cannot commit, do not hold on. If you love someone and they don’t want to be in a relationship with you, don’t think that in time, they will come to their senses and see how great you were and regret it and come back apologetically. People sometimes move on fast. Set them free. Holding on only hurts you. Allow yourself some peace too.

    4. Value honesty.

    A relationship without honesty is not a deep relationship. One shouldn’t have to drag it out of someone that they are dating someone else or that they have a drug addiction.

    5. Be with someone who has the same vision of the future.

    If you don’t have the same vision of the future, it’s not going to work. It shouldn’t be assumed that you know their wishes or that you have the same vision. It must be communicated.

    Meeting Malik opened my heart. Even though our time together was brief, it changed me forever. After overcoming the grief of losing a soulmate, it taught me not to settle, that I deserve better, and to trust that I will experience an even greater love next time.

  • How to Love a Lying, Cheating Heart

    How to Love a Lying, Cheating Heart

    Brett’s name flits onto my screen with an incoming email.

    “Call you right back,” I say, hanging up on a friend.

    Last time I talked to Brett, the Obama family lived in the White House. Last time I thought of him? Last year, as Melania took her third crack at presidential Christmas décor, and I failed to muster enough spirit to fetch our pre-lit tree from the garage.

    Brett’s message came in through the contact form on my website. He invited me to meet for coffee; full respect if I decline.

    Four years ago, it was me who reached out to Brett. On a dreary morning in early December 2015, I called his office to report that our spouses had been having an affair.

    The receptionist had put me on hold. I held my breath, rehearsing: I don’t know if you remember me. My husband Sean used to work with Rebekah—

    A soft click, then Brett’s voice on the line, “Jess.” He held that syllable of my name as if it were a preemie, just born. “I’m so sorry about Sean.”

    I slumped on the sofa. Five weeks in, I was still surprised to be greeted with condolences. “Thanks, Brett.” I said. “And I’m sorry for what I’m about to tell you.”

    A heart attack claimed Sean, in the Houston airport, on November 4, 2015. I woke up that morning a stay-at-home mom whose super-achieving husband was about to become CEO of a mid-sized company. By lunchtime, I was an unemployed widow, and sole parent of a heartbroken nine-year-old.

    My love story with Sean had begun in 1995. He was my biggest supporter, my closest confidante, and the co-author of a lifetime of inside jokes. When Sean died, I lost my best friend in the world. Two weeks later, when a good friend—who thought I already knew—let slip that Sean and Rebekah had been having an affair… I lost him again.

    I knew I was a mess, and resisted the urge to ricochet my pain onto Brett. But I finally decided to call him once I’d cottoned on to Sam Harris: “By lying, we deny others a view of the world as it is. Our dishonesty not only influences the choices they make, it often determines the choices they can make… Every lie is a direct assault upon the autonomy of the person we lie to.” Bingo.

    Years earlier, newly enchanted lovers Sean and Rebekah had set up dinner with Brett and me at Redwater Grille. I got to know Brett a little that night, and (since she didn’t attend Sean’s funeral) that evening was the last time I saw Rebekah. We sat next to each other in the leather booth. She took a bite of her salad, then held her French-manicured fingertips in front of her lips, “I fink I broke my toof.” Her cheeks were flushed pink. She looked timid and wide-eyed, like an anime character.

    “Lemme see,” I said, and she lowered her hand a little. The white porcelain veneers on her two front teeth were chipped, revealing a black half-moon and craggy yellowed ridges. “It’s not that bad,” I said, patting her arm as she scooted past me toward the washroom. “You can barely notice.”

    Sam Harris would not have been impressed with me that day.

    I told Brett about the affair in order to show him the respect I wished I’d been given. That doesn’t mean he welcomed my call. He never took me up on my offer to provide phone records or boutique hotel receipts. I don’t know what happened next in Brett’s world. Maybe he forgave his wife.

    Not me. A couple weeks after talking to Brett, I went for revenge. No public shaming. No, “You banged my husband—prepare to die.”  I owed Rebekah a few medical details, and I felt I owed myself the gratification of parceling them in unpleasantries and delivering them at a wildly inconvenient time.

    Christmas Eve 2015: I dropped off my son to sleep over with a cousin, walked my dogs by the river, and then settled into an armchair under a cozy blanket at home. In the late afternoon twilight, I pulled out my phone and fired off an onslaught of text messages.

    I felt like a boss for eight seconds, then realized how easily she could have thwarted me: Block caller—pass the eggnog. Damn.

    I re-sent the messages to Rebekah’s Skype account, instructing her to let me know she got them. No response.

    I paced, stared out the window. Lights twinkled at my neighbors’ houses. Smoke plumed out from their fireplaces. I called Rebekah’s cell. Called family’s landline. Nothing. I looked at my car keys, hanging next to the garage door. If Rebekah didn’t acknowledge me by midnight, I’d be crashing down their bloody chimney.

    Around the time that each of us should have been eating Santa’s cookies and going to bed, it occurred to me that Sean had once been Rebekah’s boss. I logged into Sean’s personal email account and wrote to Rebekah’s work account with the subject line, “Immediate action required: Possible HR concern.” Instant reply. She shot back, saying she’d sue for me harassment.

    I deleted her empty threat. Boom, bitch.

    Four years later, I’m curious how Brett’s life has unfolded. I’m keen to know how my revenge plan landed at Rebekah’s end, and I just want to ask Brett what the hell happened?

    For me, shrieking, “How could you?” toward Sean’s side of our empty bed turned out to be pretty unsatisfying. The only answers I’ve ever gotten are the ones I’ve cobbled together with my Nancy Drew skills. Brett’s email invitation said, “A LOT has happened since Sean’s passing (and the events around his life which somewhat entwined us.)” He’s right—we’re entwined. I can’t wait to talk to him.

    Brett’s late. He texts: Urgent call from his son’s school. I order a latte and grab the last free table—a tall two-seater, inches from other patrons.

    I stand up when Brett arrives and walk to meet him near the door. Brett’s tall, broad-shouldered, and athletic. We’ve both aged in the eight years since we last saw each other, but he’s still young-looking for his early fifties, and an attractive guy. We hug and say hello. I gesture across the crowded cafe, point out the lack of privacy and say, “You wanna get outta here?”

    He gives me a quizzical look. I burst out laughing, realizing what I’ve said. We end up in the sunroom of a quiet restaurant. It’s the mid-afternoon lull, and we have the place almost to ourselves. Our table is directly under a blazing patio heater. I tuck my winter parka into the corner of the booth and settle in. I order a burger and an iced tea. He gets a cranberry soda.

    Brett tells me that when I called him back in 2015, he and Rebekah were 90% down the road to divorce. He hadn’t been a perfect husband. She’d been happy to lay all the blame on him. He says that his conversation with me was a light at the end of the tunnel. It’s been a long process, but their divorce will be finalized soon.

    Brett mentions that he’s writing a book. Same here. He’s had a lot of physical pain and health problems from the stress of all this. Me too. He’s been learning mindfulness practices in order to heal. The enemy of my enemy is my new bestie. The server checks to see if we want drink refills. We do.

    Many years ago, I knew a fitness fanatic who followed a zero-sugar diet, but one Saturday each month he’d go to the movies, sneak in a bag of Goodie Rings and a bag of Twizzlers, and polish off the cookies and red liquorice while watching the show.

    I feel like that guy, watching Fatal Attraction, when Brett starts dishing about Rebekah.

    “She’s got these kinks in the bedroom…” (om nom nom)

    “She’s pretty much slept with all her bosses…” (nom nom nom)

    “Our son suspected her of cheating on me. He confronted her, and she tore a strip off him so deep, she cut him right to the core.”

    (gulp)

    My text onslaught to Rebekah had ended with: “My Christmas wish? That your children find out what a worthless, selfish, life-destroying coward their mother really is.” A pang of guilt flares in my belly. I take a sip of iced tea.

    I tell Brett about a three-day trauma release workshop I recently completed. “There was a dead ringer for Rebekah in that class. I could barely look at her. She looked exactly like her, but ten years younger.”

    “Ten years? Coulda been her. You should see what she spends on plastic surgery.”

    I raise an eyebrow.

    “Well, she kinda has to—a lot of people see her naked.” (Nom nom nom)

    When it’s time to pick up our kids, we thank each other for the meeting. I zip up my parka. Brett says, “I hope this was half as good for you as it was for me.”

    It was better. I’m giddy on a schadenfreude rush.

    One morning a week, I venture into Rebekah’s neighborhood to see my physical therapist. When I get to the stop light near the hospital, I always hold my breath, worried that she’s in a nearby vehicle, scoffing at me in my fourteen-year-old minivan. After today, I’ll never be nervous about bumping into Rebekah again.

    That night, my stomach hurts. Snippets from my conversation with Brett bubble up.

    He told me that Rebekah’s family emigrated from Hungary. I’ve spent the last two years learning as much as I can about healing trauma. One of my teachers is Dr. Gabor Maté, who was born in Budapest. He was two months old when the Nazis invaded. His grandparents were killed in Auschwitz, his father was sent to a forced labor camp. He and his mother starved. He speaks about the long-ranging impact of those experiences on his own life, and the rippling impact on his relationships, on his children.

    Dr. Maté’s story shapes an outline of what might also be true for Rebekah’s parents.

    Brett said Rebekah’s father was a problem drinker. Mine too. Colorful details self-populate into my imagined picture of Rebekah’s early life.

    One area of trauma research that I’ve been particularly drawn to is epigenetics. Our bodies contain molecules that prompt genes to either express or to remain dormant. That’s why some people with genetic markers for cancer will develop the disease and some won’t.

    Traumatic experiences can be a stimulus for gene expression, and, beyond that, traumatic experiences code into our genetic material to help our offspring recognize threats.

    When children live through trauma, they stop coding for connection and start coding for protection. This can affect the way they’re able to relate to others. I can’t know if any of this is true specifically for Rebekah, but when I attacked her, I sensed that pain point.

    The first eleventy-bazilion views of Brené Brown’s TEDx talk The Power of Vulnerability—those were mostly me. Listening to Brown, I could see the people in my life filing into two camps: On one side were those who believed they were worthy of love and belonging, and on the other: the tortured, the troubled, the pain-in-the-ass people with whom having a relationship felt like driving a pot-hole riddled road. The erosive force that kept those people lonely, insecure and disconnected: shame.

    When I assaulted Rebekah’s worthiness, I was trying to crush her f*cking windpipe. I wished for her children to see her as a coward because that was the most hurtful thing I could think to say. I wanted her to die of shame.

    I picture the scene Brett told me about: Their teenage son confronting Rebekah about the affair. I can see her yelling, red-faced, her finger pointing into his chest. Her big blues eyes are narrow with contempt.

    I imagine the boy shrinking back. His nervous system floods with chemicals that will help him build neural pathways to avoid this danger in the future. He’s coding for protection. He’s learning to doubt himself.

    My wish has come true. This boy has seen his mother wearing the coward’s ugliest face: the bully. I wished for something that has hurt a child. If I’d eaten a bag of Goodie Rings and a bag of Twizzlers I could purge that feeling from my system, but I have to lie here in the gurgling awareness that the pain is being passed to another generation.

    The next day I feel achy and drained. Brett follows up with a text, thanking me for meeting. I thank him back. He told Rebekah that we met for lunch, and she wasn’t pleased. He adds: “It appears she feels no remorse toward what she did to you and me.” That should piss me off, but it doesn’t. I read Brett’s text again, trying to spark some outrage. Nothing.

    The way Brett’s framed it for me, expecting Rebekah’s contrition looks like a baited steel-jawed trap. I don’t feel outrage because I can see the hazard, and I’m not caught.

    It dawns on me that I’ve been able to come to terms with Sean—against admittedly long odds—partly because I relinquished the requirement that he apologize. Of course I wanted Sean to be sorry, but given, y’know, the circumstances I don’t get to hear him say those words. I’ve wanted Rebekah to be sorry too, and she’s alive. She could make amends if she chose, but if Brett and I need that, we’re giving her the power to withhold it.

    Brett and I did not deserve to be betrayed. We didn’t deserve to be lied to. But the most hurtful lie of an affair is the romantic whopper that nobody ever apologizes for: That two people are moved by an overwhelming chemistry—the whole world falls away . . .

    Raise your hand if you fell away while your partner was sneaking around with someone else. Hey—would ya look at that. We were all still here.

    The chemistry of an affair is a complex chain reaction. Bonds are broken. New bonds are formed. Highly reactive, unstable isotopes are created. When Rebekah took up with my husband, she also created a relationship with me—not as an unfortunate byproduct, but as an inevitability. To this day, she tries to ignore that fact. I started off unaware that she was a force in my life, but her impact was perceptible, long before I knew what was causing the change.

    Rebekah’s instinct is to erase me from her world. That’s not so different from my attempt to snuff out her life force in a stranglehold of shame. It’s not easy to find common ground with someone who wants to banish you from existence.

    At lunch that day, Brett gave me the piece that changed the equation: He was upstairs in their bedroom when Rebekah got the call that Sean had died. He heard a sound coming from the kitchen, an animal wail he didn’t recognize as Rebekah’s voice—until she started sobbing. I know the sound he means. My body emitted that same tortured cry over the loss of the same man.

    That kind of pain isn’t just common ground; it’s primordial, alchemical. We couldn’t see one another, but Rebekah and I were in that pain-place together.

    That’s enough for me. I want to stop contributing to the suffering. My well-being doesn’t depend on anyone’s remorse; it depends on my decision not to create more pain.

    It’s not Christmas Eve, but somewhere in the cosmos right now, there’s a shooting star, a streak of light making its way through the darkness. In Rebekah’s real name, I wish upon that star:

    May your children know you as worthy, generous, creative, and brave.

    When I sent that hateful message to Rebekah, I thought I was taking my power back. I imagined my spite as a ballistic missile, swift and on target. Now, I see a reeling, desperate woman—all alone—waving a word-slingshot like a maniac.

    I’m stronger now.

    This new wish? There’s a mushroom cloud over it. Shockwaves ripple out from its epicenter. This wish is seeping into the groundwater.

    May you know yourself as worthy, generous, creative, and brave.

    May we all.

    Boom, fellow bitch.

  • What Helped Me Move On After Being Cheated On

    What Helped Me Move On After Being Cheated On

    “Sometimes walking away is the only option because you finally respect yourself enough to know that you deserve better.” ~Unknown

    When I was cheated on, I was hit by an ongoing blizzard of conflicting emotions.

    There were the initial tears that I failed to hide from anyone. There was a cold ruthlessness as I told her that I couldn’t be with her after what she did. There was a wave of misery, there was a wave of anger, and all of it was dotted with periodic moments of calm and even gratitude that she was finally out of my life.

    There were also random spikes in my productivity as I sought to get on with my life, followed by horrifying loneliness, feelings of betrayal, doubting my own self-worth, and the inevitable relapse back into misery at the discovery that she had hooked up with the guy she had cheated on me with less than twenty-four hours after I had ended our relationship.

    Grief, I learned, is non-linear. It will go, and it will come back. Sometimes I’ll be perfectly happy doing the food shopping, and get depressed over a memory of us doing it together. There’s no predicting when this will happen.

    It was an ongoing spiral, as we had a number of mutual friends, and on top of that, two of our mutual friends lived right below me, and she would visit them often. So she was sticking to my life like gum in hair. There was no escape.

    It wasn’t the first time that she had cheated on me. On the first occasion, the man in question told me that my girlfriend had justified her actions by saying that I had hit her.

    This allegation swept me off my feet. In fact, I was speechless. I mean, it’s one thing to be cheated on, but to have the person I am in love with say a lie like that, something potentially so damaging, it actually broke my heart more than the act of cheating.

    I broke up with her then, and she burst into tears. Her tears were so genuine, the pain of losing me was so obvious, but at the same time contradicted by what she had done.

    The following day she begged me to take her back, and with tears streaming down her face she told me that she had been manipulated, and that the other man had made up all that stuff about me hitting her just to split us up. And she seemed so genuine. I took her back.

    Things proceeded as they had before, both of us determined to put this into the past and move on together, into a bright future. We got a place together, and poured all of our efforts into making it our dream home.

    At some point she lost her job, but I told her to leave the rent to me, since we were partners and money shouldn’t come between us. And during the months that I was supporting us both financially, she cheated on me again, this time with a guy who she insisted was just a friend.

    In the past I had noticed a lot of flirting between them, but she had always told me that I was being paranoid, and hanging on to what had happened in the past. It was like my memory of the first guy had been weaponized to use against me if I dared mention that she was making me uncomfortable with her flirtatious behaviour toward her new guy.

    When it came to light that there was more between them than she was letting on, I ended things, and instantly fell down this well of despair.

    Several of our friends had given me plenty of emotional validation in the sense that I had treated her perfectly, and that anyone in their right mind would be appreciative. But at the initial time of heartbreak, such words do little to stand against the relationship grieving process.

    Our mutual friends informed me that she was officially dating this guy less than twenty-four hours after I ended the relationship. That was expected but painful. What wasn’t expected was the revelation that there was a third occasion where she cheated, in the months in between the two that I knew about.

    This was with a friend who she had mysteriously fallen out with, and urged me not to speak to. We had mutual friends who knew about this third occurrence, but had kept silent in the hopes that my girlfriend would tell me.

    When this all came out, I did speak to this mysterious third person, and found out the horrifying realization that my girlfriend had also told this person that I had hit her. What a coincidence.

    This statement not only hurt, but it unravelled all of the trust she’d rebuilt with me when she convinced me that the first guy was lying and had manipulated her. Now it not only hurt to have my partner lie about me, but I learned that she was lying to me, too.

    Her mysterious fall out with her friend was caused by her refusal to leave me, her friend feeling led on, and when confronted by why she wouldn’t leave me, giving the explanation that as long as she stayed with me she could live somewhere rent-free.

    Cue emotional tidal wave. I mean, this is a lot to process. It was as if the person I had spent every day with was suddenly a completely different person. I had been lying in bed next to a stranger. Behind every “I love you” had been a hidden smirk. I felt like the punchline to a colossal joke that everyone knew about except me.

    I coped badly at first, ending the relationship but being unable to embrace the sudden void of free time, which would otherwise have been spent on her. And in the free time, my mind wandered back to the good times, unable to match the person I had fallen for with the person who I had just broken up with. I couldn’t quite believe that they were the same person.

    I sought out moments where she could have changed, and wondered what had changed her. Had she been manipulated by the people she cheated on me with? I grasped at a lot of straws in a vain attempt at thinking that maybe this relationship was fixable.

    The apartment we had moved into together was our creation, having decorated and furnished it together. It was our dream home. Now it was just mine alone, but haunted by my memory of her presence. And at the core of all of this was my own self-doubt. Had I done enough? Why was I so easy to just casually hurt? Is she evil? Am I just undeserving of love?

    But all of my time wallowing in our apartment alone did give me time to think, and I came to the conclusion that all I had to do was think differently.

    A lot of my trains of thought had elements of truth, but were completely lacking in logic. Here are the things that I told myself in order to move forward.

    Firstly, what was my ideal scenario?

    I was mourning the relationship, but what did I hope to happen as an alternative to what was actually happening? In my head I said, “I would love to have her back, having decided that this guy she’s with isn’t actually that great.” Or better yet, “I would love it if she’d never met him.”

    But you see, even if she had never met him, she’d still be capable of doing what she did. In fact, her repeat offences were proof enough that this was a very real side of her, and I needed to acknowledge that.

    If she’d never met this guy, she would have met another guy. So really what I’m ultimately saying to myself is “I would love it if she was the person I thought she was, and not who she actually is.”

    This can be simplified and translated to “I’m wishing for a different person. A better, more suitable partner, that isn’t her.” This thought came as a shock because at the time I didn’t want to accept it, but it’s the truth—she isn’t suitable for me.

    So secondly, what did I actually lose?

    On the surface, it’s easy to say that I lost my girlfriend to another man. This isn’t the case. All I lost is time out of my life that I had spent committed to the wrong person. I didn’t lose the relationship because it was a lie. And I was losing more time out of my life by fixating on it. Again, it’s a harsh truth but one I had to accept.

    So thirdly, it was time to address my own thoughts of self-doubt.

    Was there self-esteem to be recovered?

    I told myself repeatedly that I’d failed her, and that I wasn’t enough, while those who had seen our relationship grow and collapse had reassured me that I had done all that I could. How does one get out of this rut of self-doubt?

    A friend pointed out that the questions I was asking myself, such as “Did I do enough?” in spite of its negative tone, revealed a strong commitment to my relationship. When we were together I was doing my best out of fear of not doing enough. My doubts about this now were the exact same caring, positive characteristics that I was proud of when we were together. I had nothing to be ashamed of.

    So my fourth train of thought: Is she evil?

    It’s a perfectly rational conclusion to come to. Logic would say that if the blame isn’t on me then it must be on her. At first it feels great to say that she’s evil. Misery transformed into anger works, for a little while. But it isn’t productive, nor is it healthy. And I had to come to the hard conclusion that no, she wasn’t evil. In fact, when I last met her, she was downright miserable.

    I asked her, “Why aren’t you happy? You got everything you wanted. You got the guy you wanted, you got rid of the guy you didn’t want. You still have your family and your friends. I just get to live alone in the home we decorated together, with all of our memories.”

    Okay, so I was slightly bitter when I said those things, but one look at my former partner revealed that in spite of everything, she wasn’t happy. Nor was she prepared or willing to make amends. She just shook her head sadly and said that she still felt empty. And that’s when I realised that she was very lost too.

    Her cheating on me was not a reflection on me as a person not good enough for her. It was a reflection on her insecurities.

    She was trying to fill a void in her life, and she was making the classic mistake of looking for the answers in other people, but being unsatisfied because the problem was in her. I was just unfortunate to fall into her destructive path, a path that was just as destructive to herself long term as it would be for her short-term partners.

    Maybe she’ll continue this cycle. Maybe her current boyfriend is the one that will snap her out of it. But in that moment I just felt sorry for her.

    I told her goodbye when she confessed that even though I dumped her, she was planning on leaving me for this guy anyway. I may feel sympathy, but I don’t think a sympathetic side should mean that I’ll let her insult me.

    I still know my worth. Many would say that letting her back after the first time was me being a doormat, but I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. I never lost sight of my own worth.

    I think it’s worth pointing out that even though I’m lessening the pain with these lessons, it’s also important to still let myself feel things. Sometimes I’ll be so sure of myself, and then walk past the place where we first met, or something will remind me of her, often something odd and obscure, and tears will form in my eyes. And that’s okay. It’s not the end of the world. The trick is to let myself feel it without letting it hinder my own productivity.

    An important lesson is that it’s okay to be sad.

    It’s hard to display emotions when people throw out phrases like “Man up” and “Get over it.” Phrases like that invalidate emotions that are perfectly valid. Why should I hide my emotions? Something bad happened to me, I sometimes feel sad as a result, and that is 100% okay.

    A friend told me recently, don’t bury it alive. Deconstruct your relationship, through communication and letting your emotions breathe. Give the relationship a metaphorical autopsy. Do not bury it alive, or it will come back to bite.

    The things I tell myself have aided the healing process. They won’t erase the sadness completely, but nor should they. Our emotions are good for us.

    On a final note, one of my areas of concern is my trust issues. I have yet to encounter them because I haven’t yet attempted to get close to someone else, but I know that they’re waiting to pounce on me.

    After what I endured, it would be crazy to assume otherwise. But does this mean I’ll be avoiding relationships altogether? No, it doesn’t. I’m re-writing my train of thought, and as far as I’m concerned, my trust issues are just another part of the screening process. I know what to look out for. I know my worth. I will not be hurt like this again.

  • Healing After an Affair: How to Get Through the Pain of Infidelity

    Healing After an Affair: How to Get Through the Pain of Infidelity

    “I will breathe. I will think of solutions, I will not let my worry control me. I will not let my stress level break me. I will simply breathe. And it will be okay. Because I don’t quit.” ~Shayne McClendon

    It was a Wednesday afternoon in late July, and I felt like my entire world was coming to an end. My husband of almost eleven years had become distant, and during a phone call on my lunch break he told me he couldn’t do this anymore. That evening he told me he no longer loved me and wanted a divorce.

    It wasn’t until several weeks later that I learned about another woman and reached a low I never thought possible. What just happened to my life? Just a few short weeks ago I was laughing, smiling, and enjoying my life to the fullest. Now I could barely get out of bed.

    I spent the next several months feeling like I had no control over my own emotions.

    I’d see pictures in our home where he no longer lived and break down sobbing.

    I’d hear songs while driving and literally have to pull over until I could pull myself together.

    I’d hide in my room for hours at a time so our children didn’t see mommy crying.

    I wasn’t eating, I wasn’t sleeping, my work was suffering, and I was barely making it through my day. I wanted to make this pain stop, to sleep until I figured out that this was all a bad dream. It never happened.

    I had to face the fact no matter how much I wanted it to change, the facts were the facts: My husband was having an affair and I had no idea what to do.

    I had spent my whole life saying if I were ever cheated on, I just kick him to the curb and never look back. So why was I feeling like I didn’t want my marriage to end? No one ever tells you that this conflict might come up, and no one tells you this is completely normal.

    I began reading everything I could find. I was desperately trying to make sense of a situation that made absolutely no sense to me.

    We were happy. We were the couple everyone wanted to be. I beat myself up wondering how I missed this coming. I wondered why I even cared, and why I would want to save a relationship that was causing me so much pain.

    Was I so selfish that I never saw how unhappy he was? Could I have prevented it from happening? How was I going to become a single mom? How were our kids going to get through this? And the biggest question: Am I going to just give up without a fight?

    That question changed everything for me. I decided, right then and there, that I would not just give up.

    I was a fighter, and no matter the outcome, I would give my all. While I knew I couldn’t make any choices for him, I also knew I couldn’t live with just giving up on him and my family. This man I knew and loved for so long had to be hurting too.

    The information about affairs online is absolutely overwhelming. My search engine became my best friend. As the questions came, I would type them in and search through the thousands of articles for hours and hours. Below are the top ten things that would ultimately give me back control over my own life.

    1. Stop and breathe.

    It sounds so simple, yet when you feel like you’ve just been punched in the gut, breathing can seem like the hardest thing in the world to do.

    When strong emotions came up, I learned to count backwards from a hundred by threes. A hundred (big breath in through the nose), ninety-seven (exhale through the mouth), ninety-four (big breath in through the nose). Counting by threes forces your brain to focus on something other than the intruding thoughts and worries.

    I did this a lot of this throughout the days to come. After a while, I finally felt as though I could control my own breathing no matter what was happening around me. At a time when I felt as if I had no control over anything, I finally discovered that I could control something: I could control myself.

    2. Start writing.

    Get a pen and paper, grab your computer, or put a journal app on your phone. Whatever works best for you, just start doing it. There is something about writing down whatever you are feeling that allows you to release some of the emotion behind it.

    In the beginning I felt like I didn’t have the energy to do this. Once I started writing, I realized how much of my energy I could get back by releasing some of the pain I was feeling.

    3. Eat.

    I literally stopped eating. The thought of food made me sick to my stomach. I had no energy and dropped an entire pant size in two short weeks.

    Eat anything. Soup and watermelon became my lifeline. Make it simple, make it nutritious, but make it happen.

    You need your energy to get through this, and I promise, you will get through this. I began to notice that when my body was getting the nutrition it needed, I was able to think more clearly and sleep more soundly, which leads me to the next tip.

    4. Sleep.

    Maybe you’re like me. All you want to do is sleep, yet when it comes time to go to bed you are haunted by thoughts and emotions you never knew existed. For me, going to bed was just a reminder that my husband was not there. We used to cuddle every night before falling asleep, and suddenly I was left with an empty bed.

    I learned about guided meditation and would use it to drift off to sleep. If I awoke in the middle of the night, I stopped fighting it, got up, and wrote, and allowed myself to cry. I would write and cry for hours until I had nothing left to say or feel and drifted back to sleep.

    5. Talk.

    I never realized how creative my brain was and how many false ideas and images it could conjure up on its own. We want to believe we know what is happening, and when we don’t, our brains create some pretty convincing visuals.

    Find someone, anyone that you can talk to. Make your intentions clear. I wanted to save my marriage. I didn’t want people telling me to forget about him, that I deserve better, to just move on. So I stopped talking to anyone.

    When we only have our own voice, we have no choice but to believe all the lies we tell ourselves. I would tell myself I must not be good enough, I must have been doing something wrong, maybe I’m not pretty enough, smart enough. The list is endless. We need our people now more than ever.

    I needed someone who could ground me when my brain was running wild. Whether that’s a friend, coach, therapist, or family member, just find someone you can talk openly with. Find someone who will listen without judgment.

    6. Get active.

    Maybe you already exercise daily, and that is great. I never exercised, ever. I hated it and I still do. But during this time I found the value in it.

    Yoga was easy and relaxing, and so was walking. I realized that it gave me some me time. It allowed space to clear my head if only for a few minutes, and those minutes were glorious. It didn’t always work. Some days I just couldn’t clear my head, and I learned that is okay too.

    I learned how to give myself grace. I learned that there is no perfect way to do or get through this. Just take one step at a time, keep putting one foot in front of the other, and don’t stop trying.

    7. Know that whatever you are feeling is normal.

    You will experience a rollercoaster of emotions that you never thought were possible. How can you possibly love and hate someone so much at the same time? How can you go from laughing to crying in a matter of seconds?

    You may feel embarrassment, shame, guilt, love, hope, and everything in between. The rollercoaster is real, and you know what, it is completely normal. This realization was one of the most freeing.

    No matter how you are feeling at this very moment, it will change, I promise. No matter what you are feeling, it’s normal. There is no right or wrong way to feel with this, it just is. It is just how you are feeling right now, and that’s okay.

    8. Know that this has nothing to do with you.

    It was all too easy for me to blame myself. It was my fault that he no longer loved me. I would learn that this never had anything to do with me.

    I did not make these choices for him. I did not do anything to cause him to make these choices. He didn’t ask me ahead of time. He didn’t even tell me that he was unhappy. These were choices that he made completely on his own.

    He was suffering, and when someone else boosted his self-esteem, he latched on as if it were his only lifeline. He didn’t realize how much he had been hurting over the years. All he knew was that he wanted to feel good, and because he didn’t know why hadn’t felt good before, he blamed me for his years of misery.

    He eventually learned that it was never about me. He learned that no matter how far he ran, he couldn’t out run his own demons.

    I later learned that while we can all work to improve how we show up in our relationships, nothing we are doing or not doing excuses an affair. However, since I wanted to save my marriage, I had to take a long hard look at myself and see where I could show up better in my marriage.

    I learned how to be a better listener. I learned how to be more compassionate and understanding when my husband was going through a difficult time. I learned the art of patience. And I learned what unconditional love really means.

    9. Make time for you.

    What did you enjoy doing before you were a couple? What hobbies or activities do you have on your own? If you don’t have any now is a great time to find one.

    Look at what is being offered in your community. Look at local schools. Did you always want to learn to cook? Take a cooking class. How about sewing, yoga, finances, painting, or computers? Take a class. Whatever it is for you, find something. Find something you can do at least one night a week and commit to it.

    Sometimes in marriage we forget who we are as an individual. Now is the time to rediscover that person. The added bonus to this if you are looking to save your marriage is that your spouse fell in love with who you were as an individual. Bringing that person back can be eye opening for the one who left.

    10. Give it time.

    Last, but definitely not least, know that this will take time. Research shows it takes an average two years to heal from the pain of an affair. I hated this advice in the beginning because I wanted to feel better right then. But time has helped me realize that it really is the best medicine.

    Right now all you can do is decide how you will spend that time. You can fight to find the blessings in disguise and learn and grow, or you can choose to become bitter and allow yourself to remain the victim of the cards that were dealt to you.

    I choose to fight, I choose to learn, I choose to grow.

    Change and healing didn’t happen overnight. Both my husband and I had to put in a lot of hard work. We read and listened to more information than I ever thought possible. We sought out therapy as a couple and as individuals to heal our past hurts and coaching to help move us in the direction we wanted to go.

    Ultimately, we learned that our communication had to improve. He needed to be able to communicate when he was upset about things, and I needed to be able to receive this information without becoming confrontational or defensive. His openness and honesty allowed us to begin our healing process and start restoring trust in our relationship.

    One day it dawned on me that I hadn’t thought about the affair at all for several days. I wept as I realized I had my life back, only it wasn’t the life I had thought I wanted a few years ago. It was a life that had become better than anything I could have ever imagined.

    Three short years later and both my husband and I will tell you we are happier than we have ever been. Our marriage is stronger than it ever was. Our connection is greater and our communication is better.

    Looking back on that day when I thought my life was coming to an end I now smile, realizing that for us, it was the start of a new beginning. While I never wish the pain we endured on anyone, I have learned that sometimes the greatest pain brings us the greatest blessings.

  • When Someone Cheats or Mistreats You, It’s About Them, Not You

    When Someone Cheats or Mistreats You, It’s About Them, Not You

    “Pain makes you stronger. Tears make you braver. Heartbreak makes you wiser. So thank the past for a better future.” ~Unknown

    I used to think when someone cheated on me that I was flawed.

    You see, I had a core belief that there was something wrong with me. I never felt enough. I’m not even sure I can fully articulate this feeling, but whatever it was, I just didn’t feel enough. Slim enough, pretty enough, clever enough, worthy enough, or just, well, anything enough.

    I’ve now come to see that when someone mistreats you it has almost nothing to do with you. Other people’s behavior is about them.

    I’ve come to realize that my ex flirting and engaging in a sexual manner with other women had to do with his insecurities, and nothing to do with me not being good enough.

    It was his issue, not mine. It was his ego that needed a boost, and he used other women for that because he wasn’t emotionally or intellectually developed enough to boost himself.

    I believe we must be responsible enough to look after our own feelings and not make someone else responsible for how we feel. He was still trapped in a cycle of thinking he needed someone to make him feel happy. He needed to use other women to boost his self-esteem.

    Previously, I’ve felt that my world was falling apart when a man cheated on me or left me. I felt my value decreased the moment he didn’t want me.

    I can now see my value just is, it’s innate. We are all born worthy—worthy of love and good enough. Even if no one in the world can see it, it’s the truth. I am enough exactly as I am. I don’t need to be anything other than who I am. I have nothing to prove to anyone anymore.

    I’ve realized that I am more than lovable. When someone doesn’t or can’t treat me the way I want and deserve to be treated, it’s not a reflection of me.

    I’ve learned that it’s my job to put my best interests at heart and love myself enough to walk away from anything that doesn’t serve me or build me up.

    This time I discovered an inner strength much sooner than I previously have. I walked away when I discovered the lies; previously I would stayed trying to fix myself when I wasn’t the one that was at fault.

    I now recognize that I am a complete person all alone. I don’t need someone else to complete me.

    I function and enjoy my life on my own. That’s not to say I don’t enjoy being in relationships—I really do, and I think it’s so magical when two happy, complete people come together and share their lives.

    However, I’ve discovered that if the other person is looking for someone to complete them or to make their life more exciting than it is, it’s more than likely never going to last.

    Relationships are places of spiritual growth, and they can enhance an already happy life. Their purpose is not to make a miserable one better; that’s too much power to hand to any one person.

    Love is a place of pure positive energy. If someone has to put you down in order to try to keep you then that’s not love; it’s control. Control is based on a scarcity model of love, and that’s not positive energy; it’s fear-based.

    I have never understood it when people said that love isn’t enough. Love is always enough, but love is about loving actions, loving behavior. You can’t claim to love someone yet lie to them; the two things don’t match.

    So here are the five things I’ve learned from my past failed relationship.

    1. When someone cheats or mistreats you, it almost never has anything to do with you.

    You are good enough even when their actions may have you believe otherwise.

    2. Someone else’s bad behavior doesn’t reflect badly on you.

    Someone cheating on you doesn’t make you look silly. It highlights that they have issues they need to work on.

    3. Your value and worth aren’t tied to anyone or anything.

    Not your weight, relationship, or job.

    4. Love is never bad; love is amazing, pure and simple. Cheating hurts, lies hurt, being heartbroken hurts, but these things are not love.

    These cause pain, but cheating, lying, and hurting others are done out of fear, not out of love. Love is, in fact, the only thing that ever makes the pain better again, and you can start to love yourself today. Self-love depends on you alone.

    Set the standard for how people should love you by loving yourself wholeheartedly.

    5. Just because one relationship doesn’t work, that doesn’t mean the next one won’t.

    Don’t give up on love; give up on the people who made you think love wasn’t good.

    And always remember what Steve Marabolie wrote, “The most powerful relationship you will ever have is the relationship with yourself.”

  • 4 Positive Lessons from the Betrayal of Infedelity

    4 Positive Lessons from the Betrayal of Infedelity

    New Beginning

    “Getting over a painful experience is much like crossing monkey bars. You have to let go at some point in order to move forward.” ~C.S. Lewis

    My eyes leapt open sometime after 2am and, after feeling the empty space next to me, I knew.

    The cell phone I laid on the pillow beside my head was silent, my previous text messages left unanswered. Panic swelled in my throat as I frantically dialed his number, calls separated by no more than thirty seconds.

    Checking phone logs and driving past houses at night had never been something I pictured myself doing. So, when I reached for my keys, believing I needed to confirm he was where he told me he would be, I knew the relationship was coming to a heartbreaking close.

    Some three years after this particular relationship ended, I look back on that girl—someone I am disconnected from now—and feel a deep and profound sense of sadness. The desperation and overwhelming devastation I experienced at this time was so intense, it’s hard to think of myself capable of such a heavy fall into darkness.

    Thankfully, I never asked for the full and honest truth about the cheating. The relationship was over for so many more reasons than these incidences, and I loved and honored myself too much to get lost in the minutia—especially when I was grappling with the loss of an eight-year love.

    Now, when I run across kernels of truth from that time, I recognize the profound lessons that come from experiencing this type of betrayal in a relationship. In a very strange way, it was one of the best things that could have ever happened to me.

    It prompted the end of a toxic relationship I would have never left on my own.

    Sometimes we’re convinced that if we just hold on a little tighter, relationships that we should be releasing will suddenly become right and whole again. But if two people are supposed to part ways, no amount of pushing will change their course.

    Because I was so attached to what I had always known and terrified at the thought of starting over, I would not have willingly left this relationship on my own. Suffering seemed far better than facing the unknown. Luckily, this turn of events meant the decision was made for me.

    The life I managed to create afterward was far more beautiful than the muck I convinced myself I was okay residing in.

    It taught me the art of directing anger and upset at the person that really deserves it.

    A million different people could have taken on the role of the “other woman.” As far as I’m concerned, who she was is really inconsequential. I did not share a life nor have an agreement of faithfulness with her—only him.

    Their relationship stemmed from a whole host of incompatibilities and glaring issues that were festering under the surface of what we created together. It was a symptom of a larger issue, and if he hadn’t of been with her, he would have been with someone else.

    She could not be the sole cause of our relationship ending when the heart of the relationship belonged to him and I.

    For some reason, unbeknownst to me, their paths were meant to cross at that time, in that way. Directing anger at her as a facilitator in the demise of a relationship that needed to end is, and will always be, fruitless.

    It taught me to disconnect my self-worth from the actions of others.

    I am and always have been enough, and the actions of someone I love are not a physical representation of my failings.

    This realization was not something I came to immediately after the end of my relationship but in the period that followed—after spending time healing alone and, eventually, after rejoining the dating world.

    All of us are on our own, very separate journey. Even if we come together with a partner for a window of time, we all have experiences and life lessons we must endure alone. While I needed to learn independence and forgiveness, there were things he needed to learn—things I won’t pretend to know.

    In the past I have caused loved ones pain and I know that, each time, it was never a result of their shortcomings. My actions were directly connected to how I was feeling or thinking at the time. In turn, I know this incident wasn’t a culmination of my failings or a representation of something I was lacking.

    If anything, it was a series of events that were meant to transpire for reasons I am still uncovering today.

    It convinced me the greatest beauty is born from letting go.

    I have always been incredibly apprehensive at the mere mention of letting something go. The fear stems from the idea that after letting go, I may never be able to find anything quite like that again.

    Often times, this is true.

    I never did find another relationship like that again—I found something far more loving, supportive, honest, and true. Something I would have never been able to imagine for myself because my frame of reference was so tied to this relationship I had known for so long.

    If I hadn’t been forced to create space and endure the periods of loneliness that followed, I wouldn’t have been prepared to accept this new relationship into my life.

    We usually can’t see a clear picture of what will transpire if we agree to release something from our lives, but that’s often because we must endure a period of growth in between—something that makes us ready and willing to bring it into our experience.

    Through this heartbreaking experience I learned that letting go is the spark that allows so many great things to transpire.

    New beginning image via Shutterstock