Fall (ing)

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I love this time of year. The cooler weather, the leaves changing, the anticipation of upcoming holidays. It’s a season of coziness. Soft warm sweaters, crackling fireplaces, hot cocoa…all those things of comfort.

I just got home from visiting my newest granddaughter in the Midwest. I went to help out with the new baby and her two older siblings. It was a lovely time and I so love spending time with my son and daughter in law.  They have been the one part of my family who, when the revelations of D-day were new, were willing to accept my grief and pain. Unlike my daughters, who felt that Will’s issues were somehow my fault, my sweet daughter in law embraced me and my pain and loved me all the more for how it affected me.  She is an amazing young woman who is fun, smart, accomplished and blessed with a joyful spirit. I don’t get to see her as often as I’d like because she is a two-hour plane trip away, but when I spend time with her I am always struck by how blessed I am, as a mother in law, to have this wonderful person in my family. I fall in love with her a little more every time I see her.  How fortunate that she and my son fell in love and have chosen to spend their lives together. She calls me “mom” and her 5-year-old asked her why she called me that since his other grandma is “really” her mom. She replied simply that “Daddy’s mom became my mom too when daddy and I got married. She’s not only my mom but she’s also my friend…how cool is that?!” What a lovely explanation and such a simple statement of love and family.

What an amazing world it would be if we were all so accepting and loving! I think back to those early days in my trauma when I was so judged and my family was so cruel to me. I understand that they, too, had issues and betrayal and hurt. But I also understand that, on a basic human level of compassion and empathy, they lacked both and in some ways still do. I am still unable to speak with my girls about anything regarding my feelings of betrayal and healing. They prefer to discuss their feelings with each other and still blame me. If “the past” comes up in any way, they quickly change the subject as if nothing ever happened. It is denial in the worst way. It still hurts, but there is little I can do about that if they choose to ignore it. I think this is part of the reason I love being with my son and daughter in law. They are open about what happened and want updates on how both Will and I are doing in recovery. It is not the big, ugly elephant in the room that no one acknowledges. It is comfortable and normal and loving. I don’t know how to achieve that with my girls and it is still so hurtful and I fall into a depression over it so easily. It is definitely something that, through all our family has been through, I struggle with the most.

However, there is something about this time of year that sparks in me a tremendous gratitude and appreciation for all the blessings in my life. There is something quite beautiful about the idea that the trees, so recently in full leaf and at their prime, have so quickly changed color and are now losing their leafy protection to the elements. I know that the coming months will bring bitter cold temps and frosty winds which will batter these vulnerable bare trees. I know that they will be exposed to whatever Mother Nature throws at them and that they will withstand frigid cold nights and overcast, sunless days. BUT… In the spring, they will begin to warm from their roots up. They will be re-invigorated into growth and beauty. The brutal months of cold and exposure will have made them stronger than the previous year. They will produce even more full branches of even deeper and more prolific leaves and buds. Their trunks will have strengthened from withstanding the winds which bent them and built their inner core…but never broke them. They will leaf out fully and provide beauty and shade in the spring and summer. They will provide shelter for squirrels and birds and insects of all types. They will provide comfort and privacy and depth to our landscape. What a metaphor for betrayal and healing! As my family has been through such a cold, bitter, cruel “winter” because of Will’s addictions, I have faith that, with time, we too will come through it and have a glorious “spring.” I believe that as I have withstood all the rawness and bare vulnerability that betrayal brings, I will be stronger for it…I already am. I think that my family will regain its roots and it’s core will be strengthened. I know that our leaves have all fallen off and we still struggle with the chill and frost but, I think our empathy and compassion will grow deeper and that our family will again return to its full canopy of shade and comfort from the storms of life.

It is ironic that I love this season where everything is dying…yet it is so beautiful. It seems to me that this sums up my life so well right now. I see my kids as being in different seasons at different times. I see the same for myself. But, I have faith that we will all go through our different seasons at our own pace and in our own time. I believe that, although this winter season seems to be eternal, it will refine us and strengthen us and that we will be healthy and happy and will enjoy an amazing spring and glorious summer.  There will be more falls…and winters. Some will be not  quite so beautiful and maybe some will be harsh and unforgiving. But there will always be a spring and a summer. Always.

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace. What profit hath he that worketh in that wherein he laboureth? I  have seen the travail, which God hath given to the sons of men to be exercised in it. He hath made every thing beautiful in his time: also he hath set the world in their heart, so that no man can find out the work that God maketh from the beginning to the end.”  ~ Ecc 3:1-12

 

 

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Healing

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I am healing. Not just physically from my recent surgery, but from the trauma of betrayal. I am struck, though, by the speed (or lack thereof) of healing emotionally and healing physically. And I have always thought that unfair. Healing faster is better right?

As I heal from major surgery, I can feel myself get stronger. I can see results on the scale. I can walk farther and longer. I have regained some of my energy. I just simply  feel better.  I have not had any instances where I have felt worse or even the same as before the surgery. The progress is all forward with no relapsing. And I am only about six weeks post-op. To me, this is amazing.  But regarding the devastating betrayal, I am over three years post-D-day and it has only been recently that I feel I have made noteworthy progress. Have I seen and felt myself change? Absolutely! But it is agonizingly slow and painful. And I feel like there are relapses way too often.

Today, I was in a grumpy mood and didn’t want to talk to anyone or do anything. I didn’t want to take a walk or even get dressed. When Will got home from work, he cheerfully asked if I wanted to go for a walk. And so we did. Partly because I knew I needed to walk for my continued recuperation, but largely because in the past, Will would never take a walk with me and I’m not about to pass up that opportunity. We walked, held hands, picked up the mail and talked about everyday stuff. It raised my spirits somewhat but I still had a dark cloud that I couldn’t quite describe hanging over me.

We sat outside under our new pergola and watched the sunset and shared silly videos with each other on our iPads. It was a nice quiet evening. As we said our prayers together, I prayed for the Lord to protect us in our sleep and in our dreams. It was at that moment that I remembered my dream from right before I woke up this morning and realized what it had done to my mood all day long. It was horribly vivid and seemed so real and it put me right back to the rage, the disgust, the sick feeling of betrayal, the absolute feeling of broken-ness of D-day.  And the hangover from it stayed with me all day. It made me so angry that my brain and my sub-conscious would torture me this way. Why?!?! Why can’t my mind and my emotions heal like my body is doing?

Then, I began analyzing it all, like I do 🙄, and have come to this conclusion:

A body is really just a vessel. A relatively temporary thing for our use here on Earth. It is easily bruised or broken and, for the most part, there is generally a medical remedy, like stitches or casts or surgery to put one back together again. It takes some effort to heal, but the body does most of it on it’s own. We can not control how the bones knit together or tissue regenerates. It just does.

The mind, however, is far more complex. It is part of our spirit, our personality, our intellect. It is WHO we are. We cannot rely on the miracle of healing in quite the same way. When one is mentally or emotionally damaged, there is no chance that the brain is going to “fix itself” and heal on it’s own. There is no third-party like a doctor or nurse that can stitch up the gaping holes caused by years of false memory. No one can put a cast on the broken heart or broken trust and allow those things to knit back together. Healing from trauma is s-l-o-w. It is painful. It is So. Much. Hard. Work!

Healing is not for the impatient. And that is what I keep reminding myself. I keep telling myself that I am worthy of grace. I am allowed to take my time. I have earned the absolute right to feel the pain and anger at times, but also revel in newfound joy and, dare I say it, happiness. I am learning to accept the relapses and then put them behind me. I am learning that a relapse does not impede forward progress or even slow it down like it does with a physical injury. It is actually a PART of the progress and makes one stronger. Every thought and emotion and even dream is something to process, to digest and to learn from. It is all part of healing.

So yes, I am healing physically faster than emotionally. That is a given. But I am healing well on both counts…and that is what is important.

Leigh ❤️

 

 

Still Skanky After All These Years

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Today Will went to work as usual. But, mid-morning he showed up at home. I was a bit alarmed. I thought maybe someone died or he got fired or…worst of all…he had some relapse or was about to disclose something new.  He came and sat beside me and said simply, “Skank is in town.”  If you remember, Skank is the slut that Will worked with at a branch of his company in another state. She was one of three whores at work with which he had affairs. She was, by far, the longest at about four months. At that time, Will traveled “for work” a lot. 🙄 She is also the one who had several posts in the online shaming site, Homewreckers dot com. One was from me. She is the one who attacked me and blamed me for her own slutty behavior and cyber bullied me when she found out I knew about her.

So, when Will says she is in town, well, that’s a pretty big trigger. He was unaware that she was coming here for work and only caught sight of her in the office out of the corner of his eye. He did not take a second look, he did not engage.  What he did do, was go to his office, get his keys, duck out of the building and drive home. To tell me. In person. And to sit with me as I absorbed the information and begin to process. We discussed what he would do if she approached him. We discussed what he would do if she was in any meetings he was required to attend. We discussed what he felt when he caught that sight of her.  I asked him to go back to work and let me process. This post is part of my processing.

Of the many women Will has been with, this particular person disgusts me more than I have words for. I generally don’t hate anyone, but Skank is the one person I feel rage for whenever the thought of her or discussion about her comes up. Maybe it is because she was the one who dared to come into my home and into my bed and screw my husband. Maybe because she demanded that Will tell her he had feelings for her…which he did because he didn’t want to lose his free and easy access to sex. Maybe it’s the very fact that he is forced to refer any work related emails or phone calls from her to his tech to handle because she is too stupid to realize he can’t stand even the sight of her name coming across his computer screen.  Maybe it is simply the fact that she stole what is mine. My husbands time, his body, his interest, his attention.  Particularly at a time when I was in need of his support and help in our lives.

Will no longer visits prostitutes or massage parlors. He does not have any contact whatsoever with any former affair partners. But, Skank? She just keeps intruding in our lives. She will have a problem that she can’t resolve and will try to call Will directly. She shows up from out of town on Will’s floor where she has no need to be. I don’t want her to be a part of our lives and I have such anger at Will for bringing her into our marriage. I just want her to disappear from our memories. I don’t want her to have the power to trigger me. I am tired of letting her have that power.

Turning the page, the positives are obvious. Will did not engage and came home because he wanted to be with me when I got the information that she was here. He was concerned for me and knew it was a trigger so stepped up to tell me himself…in person. He said his initial reaction to seeing her was disgust. And shame. He now questions himself like I questioned him years ago… How could he lower himself to have sex with someone like that? He posted on Facebook this afternoon about gratitude. He had a paragraph about me:

“ I’m grateful for Leigh. Words can’t properly express my feelings towards her. She is loving, persistent, caring, protective, kind, humble, beautiful, witty, resourceful, intelligent, authentic, passionate, and courageous. I am learning that marriage and love are action words, and I’m grateful she is also patient as I continue to learn how to effectively and lovingly provide, protect, and pursue her heart.”

I am choosing to put this day behind me, where it belongs. I am choosing to see Skank for what she is…a sad, pathetic, needy person who is “less than” in every way. I am refusing to give her any more power in my thoughts, in my life or in my marriage.  I am choosing to be grateful that I am not the type of person she is. I am grateful that Will has progressed enough to see her for what she is and to appreciate all that I am. I am grateful that, after all this time, Will and I are different people…better people. And Skank? She’s still Skanky after all these years and that’s her problem.

Leigh ❤️

The Physical Legacy of Betrayal

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As I write this, I am sitting in bed past my bedtime because I cannot seem to sleep. I can’t sleep because I am in some pain. I am in some pain because I just had a major surgery. I just had a major surgery, because my emotional trauma literally “broke” my body’s ability to function normally.

I have learned more than I ever cared to in the last three years about CPTSD, fight or flight, Stockholm Syndrome, gaslighting, meditation, emotional support systems, etc…etc…etc… What took some deep diving and demand for answers was information about the physical aspects of severe betrayal trauma.

Like most partners of cheaters or SA’s, when I discovered Will’s secret life, I went into a sort of shock and could not make sense of my world any longer. I involuntarily lost over 50 lbs. in less than 3 weeks. My heart rate was erratic, I began having anxiety attacks, I would get lost in a fog and “lose time” for hours or even days. I had instances of waking blackouts where I would go places, do things, meet people…and have no recollection of whatsoever. Some of that time is still inextricably lost in my memories. I am hoping that’s a tender mercy. About a year after D-day, my physical symptoms began to dissipate little by little. I was able to gain a little weight back, the anxiety virtually stopped, my heart rate stabilized and the blackouts stopped. I was under medication that kept my HSV under control and my doctor was diligent in treating my HPV with constant screenings and biopsies.  But then, I realized, I was NOT “returning to normal” as I thought. New, more dangerous and insidious health issues began to arise. Which brings me to this point in my journey.

As I began to gain some weight back, I became increasing fatigued. I began having pain in my joints and in my back. The eczema that infrequently showed up on my palms, was becoming impossible to manage and I would often have multiple cracks all over my hands and fingers which would bleed and were so painful. I began a medication for that which controlled it somewhat, but did not stop it. I was given a bone scan and found to have osteoporosis and osteopenia. I was put on yet another medication for that. No matter what I did for that next year, I gained weight. My cholesterol shot up dangerously and I was put on a statin medication. My hair began to thin dramatically and my feet, ankles and hips began to hurt so badly that even walking was difficult. I had to begin yet another medication for high blood pressure and was living on Motrin to get through the pain of each day.

Tests were done. Then more testing. I had more blood drawn during this time than a Red Cross drive. And peeing in cups. And X-rays and CAT scans and stress tests. My thyroid was broken and they couldn’t fix it. My adrenal glands stopped functioning properly and they didn’t know why. The weight kept coming, the pain increased, my hormones got so out of whack that I will be working with an endocrinologist for a long time to come. I had a minor surgery on my wrist to remove a cyst and have my carpel tunnel released. Because of the breakdown of my body and a compromised immune system due to the STDs, of course my incision site got infected and then infected my blood. A second surgery, an implanted drain and a pic line for IV antibiotics followed. That was in December of last year. I had a whole medical team to include a gynecologist, dietician, nutritionist, wellness coach, bariatric specialist, cardiologist, endocrinologist, and trauma doctors working on my health issues.

After nearly 18 months of rapidly deteriorating health, with no solutions, it was discovered that severity of trauma I had gone through, had worn down then broken my body’s ability to physically regulate normal function. The most dangerous was my endocrine systems inability to produce necessary hormones to facilitate any type of regulated metabolism. The hormones in my gut had gone rogue and there is no medicine that can repair them. I became pre-diabetic, high risk for heart disease, stroke and heart attack. Even thyroid medication was too dangerous for me to take because the way my systems were reacting to “normal” remedies was erratic and unstable. I was nearly 100 lbs. overweight, couldn’t sleep, had shortness of breath and my quality of life was degraded.

The bariatric docs referred me to a surgeon. My team believed that a surgery like bariatric bypass would be the best option. The thinking was not that I had an eating problem (the closely monitored 650-700 calorie diet produced a 10 lb weight gain in 8 days) nor did I have an exercise problem. I walked everywhere, albeit painfully, and kept as active as I could. The problem, they believed, was one of irreversible shock to my physical body. How to fix it? Shock the body again…in reverse. Instead of traumatizing my endocrine system by tapping into the hormones that were broken beyond repair, they instead decided to eliminate the home of those by removing the part of my stomach which was feeding the out of control hormones into the rest of my body.

Thus, here I sit, late at night, one day released from the hospital and unable to sleep because I have staple stitches in my belly and an open wound. The surgery was laparoscopic and successful and after three days, I went home. After a day and a half at home, my wound became red and hot and I could not stand. Although they had done everything they could to compensate for my weak immune system, a large abscess had formed and I had to have a second procedure to drain it. Another few days of IV antibiotics and blessed, merciful pain meds, and I am again home.

I have great hope, because even with the pain and discomfort and annoying-ness of a clear liquid diet, I feel better. My joints don’t hurt when I stand up from sitting. My back is pain-free. My outlook is optimistic.

I should clarify something. I didn’t post this to whine or bemoan my circumstances. I posted this, really, for two reasons.

1) I know others have had the same trauma and may be experiencing some of the same physical difficulties. Sometimes we neglect to remember that our emotional, mental and physical health are enmeshed and intertwined. It sounds like a long road from betrayal trauma to major surgery, but it is not. I assure you, that road is clear and unobstructed.

2) Although the psychology community has made great strides in recognizing the damage of betrayal trauma due to sex addiction, they are no experts when it comes to physical manifestations of that trauma. It is so important to be aware of all that is going on with one’s body and to be an advocate for one’s own health. I would have never found answers and would never have known how ravaged my body had become had I not pushed and persisted. Indeed, the weight would have killed me had I continued to try to diet and exercise and believe that I could fix me. I would have gained weight until my heart gave out.

Lastly, I am eternally grateful to a couple of compassionate Air Force doctors and a slew of battle hardened Army medical specialists and surgeons who understand PTSD and depression and the physical effects of emotional/mental health. In my opinion, heroes don’t wear capes. They wear scrubs and lab coats and surgical masks. They wear concerned faces, compassionate smiles and combat boots. I am blessed and humbled and grateful to know such heroes. ❤️

 

 

Thirty-Nine YEARS

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June 30th was our anniversary. Our 39th anniversary. It’s a long time to be married. It’s an even longer time to be married to a sex addict. 😏

When we were married in 1979 (yikes!), the world was a different place. Men were different and women were different. All I wanted was to be married to someone who loved me like crazy and would be my friend, my lover, my protector and the father of my children. I was committed and meant every word of our wedding vows…to love, honor and cherish. Thru thick and thin, in sickness and in health. I MEANT those words. I think those words were completely foreign to Will. He did not comprehend, let alone mean any of them. And, let’s face it, he’s not a quick study.

Many, many times in the past 39 years, we have come close to calling it quits. When he cheated, when he lied, when he ruined us financially (over and over), when he was demoted in the military (twice), when they courts martialled him, when he confessed “everything” in 1996 and pretended to turn over a new leaf…and then of course, D-day. Never in that time, was I truly happy. Never in that time did I feel loved and protected. As puzzled by the words love, honor and cherish Will was, I was equally puzzled as to why my marriage was always so difficult and why was there something missing? I did not know what it meant to be loved, honored or cherished. I thought what we had, was as good as I deserved. Will often told me, in so many ways, that I was not good enough, I was difficult, I was the cause of everything that HE had done. And I believed it. Only really special women were loved and cherished…and I was not special. When D-day and the aftermath of slow mini disclosures came about, I had complete confirmation that I was not special…not to Will, not to my girls, not to my mother or sister. I had always felt alone…after D-day, I realized I had always been alone. It was the hardest time of my life. And I tried to end it. I thank God that I failed. That was three years ago when we had been “married” for a mere 36 years. Times have changed.

Looking back, I can’t honestly say why we are still together. We don’t have an epic, overwhelming love story. We aren’t the beautiful, wealthy, accomplished people who seem to have it all together. Currently, we don’t have the passion for one another that we hope to have when we get to that point in our recovery. But, I think there is much to be said for commitment. But, like I said, 39 years ago, men and women were different. When you married, you stayed married.  Even through all of Will’s infidelities, when his addiction was at its peak times, the thought of divorce never crossed his mind. When we married, I committed to Will…heart and soul. I took our vows seriously and I lived them. Will took what he understood, seriously…it’s just that he never understood them. He just knew that somewhere within him, he didn’t want to be without me. It has taken him 39 long years to start figuring it all out. But, we both look back now, and understand commitment differently. We treasure our history, our shared memories, our family, our experiences, our laughter and our sorrows. I think this is all why we are still together and willing to keep working for our marriage.

Today I can say that I am not alone. I do still get lonely and I am working on that. I am no longer puzzled by the past because I have my eyes wide open now and the confusing signals I got then, make sense knowing what I now know. I have discovered that Will is not the key to me feeling special or “enough.” I now know that his addictions were born largely out of his own feelings that he was not special or enough. I am still learning what it is to feel loved. Will is still learning how to love. We still have much to learn…but the difference now is that we are learning together. Finally, after nearly four decades, we are on the same path. We are living our lives differently now and it feels so much better and healthier. We see little changes in one another that are making big differences. Life is good. I am blessed and grateful.

Leigh ❤️

The Pergola Project

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Summer! Finally! I love this time of year when the warmth of the sun seeps deep into my bones and the pace of life seems to slow down. I am an outdoor kind of girl and love to putter around the yard, so it was no surprise to Will that I wanted to put up a pergola over our patio this year. After getting quotes and searching online for a ready-made pergola, we came to the conclusion that the only way to get exactly what we wanted, was to build it ourselves. This alone was slightly triggering. Let me explain.

In the past, Will would begin to argue, complain, attack, withdraw etc, the minute a project was proposed. What I know now, that I didn’t know then, was that he resented spending time on projects which he felt could be better spent practicing his addictive behaviors. All I saw was him telling me how my idea was stupid, that we couldn’t manage it, that it was too expensive, that it would take too much time…blah, blah, blah. He was completely unwilling to work with me and intentionally put up obstacles and resistance to thwart my plans. This made for a hellish experience when renovating our first home from pillar to post. Much of the work on that house was done by me…and my kids when I could recruit them.

So, when it became clear that building a pergola together was the best option for our plans and our bank account, I immediately bounced back to days when Will would disappear to make a Home Depot run…and didn’t come back for a couple of hours.  I thought of the many, many times when he promised to take care of some aspect of a project I couldn’t do on my own…and he never followed through. I remembered how he told me the kitchen renovation was not gonna happen unless I could do it on my own with a $500.00 budget. (I did and came in under budget at $380.00!) I know now that as we were building storage in our garage, Will was coordinating with the Skank for her trip to MY home, to sleep in MY bed and have sex with MY husband.  So…yeah, a building project with Will was an event that I both dreaded and needed to confront.

After receiving the lumber and spending a week staining and setting the footings for the posts, Saturday morning was the day. We started out okay…and then things quickly went downhill. See, Will is inflexible. He gets an agenda or method in his mind and if something doesn’t go as planned, he loses it. This is something he has been working n, but has much more work to do. So, he had in his mind a certain way to begin the pergola, and without going into the weeds here, it wasn’t a viable plan. I suggested we do it a different way and “Old Will” quickly emerged. He discounted what I was saying, began to be short and abrupt, interrupted me or spoke over me. It was not going well. But then…something amazing happened. He was on the ladder, I was on the patio holding the drill and lag bolts. He was on his way up the ladder and our spat had grown into an argument. We were sniping at each other and it was painful and ugly. He stopped going up the ladder and came down to where I was. He looked at me and said, “This is not us anymore. Let’s start over.” And we did. We spoke to one another instead of at each other. We calmly discussed our views about the best way to accomplish our goal. We apologized to one another and hugged.

Now, for some people, this is their normal. For Will and I, this was nothing short of miraculous. We worked together the entire day. From 8:30 am to our finished project at 9:30 pm. We have never, ever finished a project, even a much simpler, smaller one, in a single day. Ever. This was such a valuable lesson for us both. I learned that Will is truly changing and is trying to be present. Will learned that projects get done when he is here and present.

And we have a beautiful new 16’ x 18’ pergola that we have been enjoying every day.

Progress, people. Progress.

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Three

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Today is my D-day anniversary. Three years. Three years ago, May 17th was a Sunday. Will and I had gone to church, come home and had Sunday dinner and then our son and his wife called us as they usually did on Sunday afternoon. Will and I had returned a few days earlier from a trip to Florida. A work trip for him. Time to relax in the sun for me. Time “together” in the evenings for us as a couple. Only….it didn’t really work out like that. For some reason, Will had meetings late in the afternoon and early evening. I spent each night on my own (table for one please) and he was wrapped up in “work stuff” on his phone and IPad.

Well, that Sunday evening, after returning home, it all became clear. Those distant too-busy-with-work-to-spend-time-with-the-wife moments were spent with “The Ho’” planning their next encounter when he would travel to her state ostensibly to work, but actually to have sex. Disgusting, can’t-vocalize-the-words kind of sex. That trip never happened because that narcissistic Ho couldn’t resist sending selfies of herself to Will’s phone…while it was on speaker…while having our Sunday evening convo with our son and daughter in law and grandson. He was busted and my heart was broken out that day.

So, yes. It has been three years since that day. Guess where we are. Florida. Same business conference. Same state. Same time of year. But…different. I am OK. Will is OK. He went to a golf meeting today with a client and unlike last year, I stayed at the resort. I spent time with myself. I read, I watched T.V., I took myself out to dinner and had alone time. I was alone like that trip three years ago, but I wasn’t lonely. We have come a long way. He checked in throughout the day…not to be accountable, but to connect. To say he loved me. To tell me how his golf game went. To tell me what he was having for dinner. It was nice. It was comfortable. It was healthy.

So, yeah….three years. Time has not flown by. It has been rough. It has been painful and we still have our moments. But it is better. Better than deceit. Better than loneliness. Better than neglect. Better than the insanity of addiction.

Just…Better.

Leigh ❤️