I wrote about Chad and DeAnn who took the road that Mark and I didn’t take. 

Mark and I went to Chad’s wedding last weekend. It was a celebration in moving forward.  He married a woman he has worked with for the past 10 years.  They became close in the wake of his divorce–something she’d experienced.  When shared pain is transformed into something wonderful, it is cause for celebration.  (Note that DeAnn married her affair partner over the summer and has no ties to her friends from her previous life. She not only left her husband and kids. She left us too.) I can’t even write about the toll of all this on the kids.  It is too painful. 

In the middle of all of this–before the happy ending part–I had the opportunity to talk with Chad.  Chad said it helped, so I share it here…

1) The way your spouse’s choices make you see yourself is not true. I repeat. The way your spouse’s choices make you see yourself is not true.

2) The “annulment” language isn’t true. In all the marriages we’ve watched dissolve–and in some ways in our own situation, the spouse who wants to go uses phrases like… “married too young” “never really was in love” “wanted different things out of life”. It is easier to leave if you can somehow void all that has gone before. In fact, then it becomes sort of noble because the leaving spouse sees themselves as righting the wrong and now finding the right path. This can poison your early memories. Don’t let it. It is not the truth.

3) In many ways, the story itself isn’t true. True love will die for the object of its affection. You laid your life down for your family. Your spouse didn’t. You are the one who loved, and that remains beautiful and worthy–even if it didn’t turn out as it was designed to.

4) Your story isn’t over. And your biggest challenge is going to be to remain open. You can get up every morning and put on your bulletproof vest and do reasonably well, but your heart (and the hearts of your children for that matter) will starve to death. Do whatever you have to do to take off the vest and deal with the scar tissue. (BTW, this part really, really sucks.) If it didn’t hurt, then it wasn’t true love, and I’m pretty certain it was. (See #3.)

5) In many ways, your life really is a story. Donald Miller says that heroes and villains are very close. They both have strengths, struggles and catastrophic flaws, but in the climactic moment the villain will chose what is best for himself and the hero will choose what is best for others. The best stories are the ones where people die if the hero doesn’t get what he wants. Miller tells the story of his friend who’s life is dedicated to building wells for villages that don’t have clean water supplies in South America. If her story stops, people die. Look at what “your character” wants, and make sure it is something compelling. It will help with #1.

6) Forgiving your spouse–not holding them accountable for all they’ve done against you and your children–is essential. Letting it go, doesn’t make it okay, but it keeps it from poisoning you. This a process.

7) You are going to have a lot of work to do not to carry this baggage into your new life.

8 ) Your children are battling because they are also being told a story that is not true. (Internally, that it is their fault. Or externally through the betrayer’s story that they found “true love” morphing your children’s ideas of what love actually looks like.) You’re the hero in the story. You can capture their hearts by inviting them to live a story with you that wants something better. You can help how they see themselves. (Note that bashing your spouse won’t accomplish this.  But telling a new story for yourself will.)

9 ) The hardest part is letting go the way you think things should be and simply allow them to be the beautiful things that are. (You will have to work on the mental discipline to find the beautiful and ignore the ugly.)

10) You are now living a new story–whether you chose it or not.  Make it a good one. And give yourself time to heal so you can fully enjoy it.

As you might imagine, I don’t check this site often. I’m not a counselor. I wasn’t kidding that all I have to share is my story. 

So when I popped in today, I loved reading comments saying this site helps. (Of course, if I had my wish, I’d trade the story for a big fairy godmother’s wand and I’d zap everyone and erase it all to make everyone’s story perfect .)  But, if there’s anything I’ve learned in the past two years, it is that we are living a story of restoration and redemption rather than one of perfection.

So since people are reading, I started wondering if there was something I left out. Something that looks different now.

Looking back, I think one of the most devastating things about an affair is how it warps your identity–for both the betrayer and betrayed.

The betrayer in the midst of the affair becomes schizophrenic. Sometimes being more attractive, entertaining and powerful than they really are. (Sorry. Is true.) And the rest of the time being more loathesome, worthless, cowardly than they could ever possibly imagine. (Also true.)

The betrayed see themselves as unattractive, worthless, stupid for trusting, and an absolute fool for any feelings of compassion whatsoever.

And you can live there.   You can own that identity of the betrayed or betraying spouse.

Worse,  if you leave, it is easy to define your identity.  There is power in it.  Betrayer and betrayed can leave their previous life behind, fashion whatever story they want in their head (wasn’t REALLY in love, married too young, and other types of annullment language) to avoid the identities that are too uncomfortable to wear (chose myself over my family, didn’t care for the love I had for my spouse, etc). 

But if you stay, there isn’t really an identity to own.  There is no movie about a heroine/hero who takes back the betraying spouse.  We don’t admire Liz Hurley (she forgave Hugh Grant…you can probably google it).  We don’t admire Bill and Hillary (well at least not for their private lives).  Would we be excited if Jon and Kate got back together?

So if we stay, who are we? 

There is a mental battle to restoring your marriage that has to do with how you see yourself.  If you are the betraying spouse and you feel “justified” in any way–good luck with that.  You aren’t in. You won’t make it.  If you are the betrayed spouse and you see yourself as unattractive–you won’t be able to leave the pain behind.  You’ll punish yourself every day feeling like it is your fault.  That if you were thinner, sexier, smarter–this never would have happened.

It takes a lot to write a new story.  The best thing you can give each other is messages about who each other is. Because though you can do this by yourself, the reality is that the strongest influence on identity isn’t what we tell ourselves.  It is what others say about us.

And the thing is, to be really effective, it has to be concrete.  It isn’t enough to say, you look wonderful. (Because your spouse likely won’t believe you.)  This has to a be a deeply creative effort.  You have to reveal things about your spouse that they simply can’t see.  Something like this…

“You have a real gift for…”
“I always admired how you…”
“What you said about……really connected with me.”
“I love it that I can rely on you for….”
“Remember that time you…” (Because you have to heal your history too.  The betrayed spouse will doubt their memories)

Identity is a gift you can give each other.  Mark did this for me with the Stardust movie.  And more recently with regard to a sitcom we are watching where the couple have a really sweet love for each other.  “You are Lily.” He said.  (Which was great, because in the episode we watched it was particularly true and it was a very “us” moment.)

Heal each other. Redemption and love are worthy goals.

It’s been two years…in case you are wondering here are the updates:

On the marriage. I truly enjoy our life together. Laughter with our kids. Cooking dinner. Hanging out watching TV because we like all the same shows. Long talks. Hugs. Holding hands. Watching squirrels in the backyard. Household projects. Inside jokes. Dreams. Plans. The marriage part of our marriage is good. Not perfect. We still disagree and frustrations flare. But our day to day life is rich, comfortable and we need each other. We are fully present.

On Mark. He’s different. Softer. Kinder. More open. Willing to try.

On faith. I just had a long conversation at a trade show–as happens with vendors when traffic is abysmally slow. I have no details on his story except that he is divorced and went from a deeply risk-taking-God-directed-life to a very pragmatic faith. And the conversation bothered me. I grappled with it on the plane ride home. I risked everything believing that God asked me to stay. Believing little encouragements like the Stardust movie and the Disney Princess Toothbrush holder. I need those things to be true. It’s like the movie Secondhand Lions. You don’t always have proof that what you trust in is true. But in my case, the story is more beautiful if it is, and I’m living that story…

On me. I’m different. Less sure. More able to embrace that life is messy. That people are messy. I understand pain. I recognize it in others. And though I rarely have the opportunity to share my story, I have deep empathy when others are living it. The crashes still come. Though rare–they are difficult to walk through. And each time, we have to dissect until we get to the core. I wish it were easier. There are still some splinters there working themselves out.

Was it worth it? I’ve hated the pain. The confusion. The searching for answers. The crisis of faith. All of it impossible to measure. Love, forgiveness, hope, a life together, the beauty of Mark’s soul…how do you weight the two against each other? Honestly, if I’d known the full process going in I’m not sure I would have had the strength to stay. But standing here two years later, I’m deeply glad I did. I wish our story were different. I wish Mark had made different choices. (Mark wishes he’d made different choices.) But we took where we were and went from there. It was all we could do. The best part is that we are doing it together.

I wish I could give you a “secret formula” to get through this. To speed up the process. Lord knows, I looked for one. Hard. In desperation…

What I can tell you with confidence is that you can come through this and find yourself in a better place than you were before this marriage-ending event.

This year (plus two months at this point) was about failure, betrayal, anger, doubt, fear….but it was also about honesty, discovery, beauty, need, belief and love. The real kind of love. The forever kind.

In the realest sense, “the other woman” is irrelevant. She played out her role in our story, then her chapter was over.

This story is about Mark and I. About putting things back together. About someday holding aged and lined hands…and even–gasp–future grandkids.

I can tell you it will take both of you. If either one of you opts to close up because it gets too hard…becomes bitter, vengeful, desolate…looks for comfort with other partners…then you are done. You start a new story on your own or with someone else. And no one would fault you for taking that path. Especially not me.

But if the two of you are committed to rebuild on what is now “Ground Zero” of your marriage, I want you to know that it is possible.

This story isn’t going to have a Disney movie ending. But it can end deep, real, and satisfyingly beautiful. You will find yourself stripped to your essence and connecting on that level. Something not everyone gets to do…

This road is one that few travel, but it can also get you to places that few get to go.

I wrote earlier that trust was one of the last things to be repaired.

Over the past several weeks I’m coming to a heart place of understanding that though it makes no logical sense to ever trust Mark again, that I can trust the One who asked me to stay.

And that’s been the craziest thing.

Other friends who have been through this have divorced and gone on to lead happy lives have talked about God being with them every step of the way providing comfort and hope. My experience has been different. I didn’t get to pack up my pride and move on. Staying requires a grace and humility I didn’t know the depths of until now.

I’ve never experienced emotional pain like I have this year. Never experienced that depth of betrayal. And the knowledge of it scared me to the core. It’s hard to live life fearless when you know what it feels like to be that hurt.

If I really believe there is a God who loves me passionately and that He asked me to stay, then things really will be okay. I can trust Him even on days when I’m afraid to trust Mark.

I asked a friend once who had been through a major betrayal (not an affair but equally devastating) how he “got over it.”

His answer surprised me. He said, “It came down to who I wanted to be.”

This week, a friend of mine who divorced this year was “toasting her husband with piss and vinegar” on her Facebook status, while another who exited with more grace than you could possibly imagine after her husband’s affair has made a beautiful new life.

I think the same contrast is possible if you choose to stay. You can stay and be angry/bitter/hurt as a daily reminder of your spouse’s failure, or you can stay and love them again as the vibrant, courageous, beautiful person you are. (Yes, if you stay you are definitely courageous.)

I want to clarify that I would never advocate staying with someone who:

1) Had any contact whatsoever with their former affair partner.
2) Continued to tell lies or hide any part of their life.
3) Wasn’t completely, demonstrably committed to me and the marriage. (Had Mark been wishy-washy even a little, it would have been impossible.)

Interesting that in the staying or the leaving, my friend’s advice applies.

One of the biggest battles this year wasn’t what I believed about the affair, but about how the affair made me view the rest of my life.

It made me feel like a failure.

I’d worked so hard to love my family. To create a place where they would feel love. A home. Why would Mark leave that to find validation somewhere else?

In looking at some old photos yesterday, the poisoning thoughts came in. Was Mark really happy then? Was I?

It’s almost impossible to get through your day if you feel your life is invalid. So how do you not own it?

Mark continually says that this wasn’t about me. That it was about failures and flaws in him. The hard part is in truly believing that. In letting go of my fear and feeling the sunshine that this one tragic event doesn’t color all of the rest of our years.

It occurs to me that most of the battles are with fear and doubt. And maybe, just maybe, now that I think about it…doubt and fear are the enemies of all marriages no matter what the status. Fear and doubt make us put up walls to protect ourselves. Make us define boundaries. Make us make decisions that protect us over our spouse.

If the opposite of fear is love and the opposite of doubt is faith, then love and faith need to be my focus. Love and faith have power. And deep inside I believe they are stronger than doubt and fear.

It’s time I started walking in that.

Last night, Mark and I went to a class that covered spiritual formation.

As the instructor was talking, he captured it. He described that sense of being connected to God. I know not everybody walks around with that feeling, but I have. Since I was a little girl.

One of the hardest things to deal with this year is that sense of God went missing. Completely.

In fact, most of my struggle over the past few months hasn’t been with Mark. It has been spiritual.

It occurs to me that the Christian tradition I grew up in was transactional in nature. They sold a “perfect life.” Find Jesus and everything will be perfect. And, if it isn’t, you are screwing up.

While sometimes that is true–clearly Mark screwed up causing us both a great deal of pain–but it isn’t always.

So, where has God been in all this and why a little over a year later, can’t I feel that joy and peace that is so Him?

As the instructor talked last night, a small thought planted itself in my head. Here the next morning, it has developed into this: what if I can’t feel God because I was looking for perfect? I wanted Him to cheer me up. To fix it. And, don’t I have the right to expect that? After all, that is what Christianity sold me. “Beauty for ashes, gladness for mourning, peace for despair…” Paraphrase of Isaiah 61:3.

I got quiet today and started looking for God. It occurred to me, I always looked for Him in the joy I experienced before. That sense of purpose, presence and…I can’t find another word, except joy.

What if I missed God because while I was looking for Him to bring joy, He was sad with me. He didn’t come to cheer me up; He came to mourn alongside me. What happened was terrible. It broke so many things on so many levels.

Maybe the goal isn’t to get back to my past concepts of the way things are supposed to be. Maybe the goal is to walk with God to the new place we are going. And maybe I’m going to feel Him being sad with me a little while as we walk.

I’m not talking about depression or despair. I’m talking about mourning.

In any case, after last night’s class, I am focused on just being. Being not as I want to be, but as things really are. Right now. Engaging God in the sadness.

A friend sent me a You Tube video this week called, “Cardboard Testimonies.” The premise is that people walked across the stage of their church one Sunday morning with pieces of cardboard. In black marker it had a statement of their life, then when they flipped it over, another statement of what God had done with that.

One woman walked across the stage with her husband. Her sign said, “Diagnosed with MS.” His said something like, “Specialist was an atheist.”

The husband flipped his sign over. “Specialist found God.”

Then she flipped hers. “Worth it.”

In looking at the dramatic changes in Mark this year, I wonder if I could walk across the stage and say truly with my whole heart, “Worth it.”

The pain? The doubt? The uncertainty in myself?

I always thought I would die for my family. But in my head, I thought of that as throwing myself in front of a bullet…which if you think about it doesn’t have a lot of long-term consequences. One heroic event and it’s over.

But staying, and living life, takes daily figuring out.

It appears that there are no road maps for this whole staying thing. I’m having to figure it out as I go.

Probably the biggest splinter of this year was the damage to my spiritual life. I went from having a very clear sense of God’s presence and His love for me to absolutely nothing at all.

Even as Mark and I went through the healing process, in my quiet moments, there was a deep sense of not being okay. Sometimes on high volume and sometimes on low, but it was always there.

For the past two days, the “not okay” feeling was on high, and I cried bitterly off and on. Then, at some point this morning, I had a realization.

When I learned of the affair…when I read Mark’s e-mails…I felt tricked. The man I believed loved me…didn’t. In fact, one of his e-mails said she was the one true love of his life. He had just married me because she had married someone else.

I can’t explain to you how that invalidates your life and everything in it.

And though Mark has explained over and over that he was just caught up in some ego-driven fantasy of feeling 20 again and none of what he wrote was real, my heart has been slow to believe it.

What I didn’t realize until this morning was how when my marriage was invalidated, my faith was too. After all, if Mark didn’t really love me when it felt like he did, then maybe God didn’t either, and none of that sense of Him was even real.

And that doubt, has ricocheted around like a bullet in my heart tearing it up for over a year.

It occurs to me that faith is the “secret ingredient” to sensing God’s presense and that doubt is its enemy.

These are new thoughts for me. I don’t know what happens from here. The story keeps unfolding…