The Rundown, Part 17

J started out saying all the right things regarding my decision to travel alone. 

"I understand you feel uncomfortable."

"I'm so sorry that I ruined our romantic trip."

"I will support whatever decision that you make."

But when I began to actually book hostels and make plans, it became clear that he hadn't expected me to really go through with it. He expressed concern for my safety. He voiced his doubts in my ability to navigate on my own. He offered again and again to simply sleep on the floor at the hotel if I would just join him for the duration. 

It was soon obvious to me that he had envisioned an entirely different scenario-- one where I was hurt and delicate, but he won me over as we explored exotic locations and rekindled desires. Once again, I was jarred by the realization that J thought things would be fixed if he could have a chance to introduce more sex and romance into our relationship-- that those were the only things that had ever been needed to repair all that was wrong between us. 

I forged ahead anyway. I gave J a copy of my contact information and a vague itinerary, and when we settled in to our seats next to each other at the beginning of the 12 hour flight, I put in earplugs and slept the entire time. 

Once we arrived, I made sure we parted ways immediately. I went through customs alone. I bought an Oyster card alone. I hopped on the tube, found my hostel, then took a long evening walk in Regents Park alone. 

It was amazing, meditative, and surprisingly healing. (The whole trip ended up being that way.) J sent a photo of his hotel room and again offered to share with me if I felt unsafe, but I ignored him. I needed time and space to think, and his refusal to recognize that was offensive. 

I ran in to J just once. It was a few days into the trip and somehow, we both bought tickets to the same performance of The Woman in Black. Afterward, he walked me to the tube station. He was casual and charming, chatting away about things he'd seen and done and asking after me. I walked next to him, feeling increasingly tense and angry, until finally I blurted out, "How do you do that? How do you just act like everything is okay between us?" 

He looked confused. "It's not easy, but I don't want things to be awkward. I can't be like you-- just detach and give up hope. I have to have hope." 

I was frustrated. "I'm not asking you to give up hope. I'm asking you to recognize reality. You don't acknowledge my pain! You don't respect my boundaries! You act like pretending everything is normal might somehow make me forget! You don't treat this like a big deal."

"Yes I do!" He countered, "I'm not minimizing the situation! I just don't think that backing off completely is going to help us to heal together." 

I was walking fast and blind now, pushing past crowds on the escalator and hardly stopping to check which train I was catching. "Exactly! There is no healing together right now!! You've cheated on me. You've betrayed me. You've lied to me. You are the biggest source of pain for me, not comfort. Refusing to see that is just reopening the wound!!" We were giving all the midnight train-goers quite the show with our american lover's quarrel. I ignored the stares and continued to hiss, "I am devestated. I am hurt to the core. It's as if you ran over and killed my son. Every time I see you, I re-live that trauma. If you really understood that, you would not walk up to me with chitchat. You wouldn't expect me to forget my pain just because you avoided talking about it. You would empathize! You would apologize! You would expect my pain, and accept it as normal! You wouldn't push me to let go or forgive, especially without any humility on your part!"

By this time, I'd become so heated, I hadn't noticed that I'd missed my stop. We got off and switched trains. 

"I do acknowledge your pain," J pleaded. "I know this isn't fun for you. It isn't fun for me either. "

"It isn't FUN?!" I shouted, "so you kill my son, and your response to my utter heartbreak is 'it isn't fun?' This is my point! You can't even fake empathy. You don't see this as devastation, so you don't treat it like devastation. This is why you are not safe for me! This is why your very presence is traumatizing for me!"

J had tears in his eyes, but my heart was completely unmoved. "You're right," he tried, "I'm weak at many things, and empathy is one of them. But I'm working on it. It doesn't mean that I don't feel the things you want me to feel. It doesn't mean that I don't love you."

We got off at Swiss Cottage and J followed me as I stormed toward my lodging. "I don't know what you think the definition of love is, but it certainly isn't mine. You do not love me. If you did, you wouldn't be able to do half the things that you do." He tried to argue, but I turned on him, my arms crossed and my eyes burning. 

"That day you lied to me, knowing you had looked at porn just hours before-- you tried to have sex with me. You did have sex with me before I left for the summer, even though you knew that if I had the complete truth, there would be absolutely zero chance that we would be intimate. But of course, you didn't let that stop you from getting what you wanted. That's wrong. That's abuse. That's rape." J was crying, and I was shaking with rage. 

"My feelings always take a back seat to what you want. Well, I'm done being used. If you think that is love, then you haven't the first clue what real love entails." For a long moment, I couldn't look at him. I clenched my jaw and stared at the moon trying to compose myself. 

"You know," I said finally, "I always thought I'd have to hate you in order to want a divorce." I looked at him, pathetic and broken as he stood alone in the dark, and at last, my eyes began to fill with tears. 

"But it turns out I only had to be hurt enough to never trust you again."

The Rundown, Part 16

For the first time in my life, I was honestly feeling afraid of J. He had become unknown, and thus, unpredictable to me. 

When he dropped off the kids after his first weekend with them, our boys cried and begged him to stay for dinner. J told them that he'd love to, "but mommy doesn't want me here."

When my father in law emailed me with manipulative threats that divorce would guarantee my children would feel like second class citizens and leave the church, I told him to never voice his misplaced fears to me or my kids again; then started this blog and announced I'd give the link to anyone but J's boss or father. J was mortified, and instead of defending me, told me that I'd been "mean" and had unfairly embarrassed my father in law. 

Most hurtful of all, in an attempt to be honest and transparent, J emailed me every night with a copy of the journal entry he would send to his sponsor. Almost immediately, it was filled with accounts of the women he looked at, flirted with, and lusted after throughout the day. It was always said so casually-- as though it never even occurred to him that his behavior might be disturbing or even outside of the norm for any faithful, priesthood man. He seemed to operate under the assumption that every man looked at and objectified women this way. I knew that anything he was willing to divulge to me was probably just the tip of the iceberg, and what he was already revealing was so painful-- I shuddered to think what else there might be that he was in denial about. 

None of these had ever been things I'd have thought J capable of, which made me all the more afraid of what he would yet do. I simply didn't know him anymore. 

Before I'd come home, I had felt impressed to contact friends in my ward and let them know what I was dealing with, and that I'd need help and friendship when I returned. I was so grateful for that immediate support! Amid all the betrayal and mourning, I also had lunch dates, shoulders to cry on and company at the temple. I felt loved and cared for by sisters, which carried me through much of the confusion of that week. 

In the temple was the only place where my mind quieted and my heart felt at peace. It was there that I cried to the Lord as divorce seemed to solidify as a very real, very probable and very necessary outcome. I'd dreaded this kind of answer to prayer for years, and yet I could not deny the somber surety that had already begun to settle on me. 

J continued to push against my boundaries. He asked me out on dates. He hinted that we should have family activities together. He constantly crossed lines with the kids, telling them that this separation wouldn't last long and we'd all be back together in no time. His aggressive disregard for my safety and wishes meant that I was constantly taking steps to back away and protect myself even more. 

For months, we had been planning a trip to Europe, piggybacking on a film trip he was taking for work. We'd already purchased tickets and made arrangements, but as the time drew near for us to leave, I knew I wouldn't be able to bear sharing a holiday with him. I looked in to canceling my ticket, but it was non refundable. I could get credit with the airline, but they would charge a $300 rebooking fee. 

If I was honest with myself, I knew I would be resentful of J if he went off to Europe without me when I felt that he was responsible for my inability to join him. So I began to consider taking the planned flight, but then jumping off from there into my own solo vacation. 

I researched hostels and day trips and even nearby countries I could visit. One night, while watching Broen/Bron (The Bridge) I realized I could go see Malmo, Sweden and Copenhagen, Denmark-- the settings for the show! And while I was in London, I could take a train to Oxford and see all the Morse/Endeavor sites and the Harry Potter locations! I emailed J with my decision to travel separately, and started making plans. It was such a relief to have something to look forward to. I craved the adventure, solitude, and independence of it all. 

J was not very happy about that. 

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The Rundown, Part 15

"She always threatens divorce after a relapse," J said, "but I really don't believe she has grounds for it. I think that whatever happens between the two of us should not have an impact on our children. We have a responsibility to them first and foremost-- but she's making them suffer just because she doesn't feel comfortable around me."

As J spoke, I couldn't get far enough away from him. We sat on the stereotypically overstuffed couch in our therapist's office as he calmly listened. "What, in your opinion," he asked, turning to J, "would be justification for divorce? Or in other words, how long do you feel a woman should stay in this kind of marriage?"

J didn't even hesitate. "I think if I were having a physical affair, that might be justification. But this? No way. She should be willing to stick by me for the rest of our lives. Especially since I haven't given up. It's not like I've just given in entirely to addiction. I would hope that as long as I am trying, she would want to support me."

The rest of our lives? At those words, the floor seemed to drop out from under me. How could he even say that with a straight face? Had he no concept of how devestated I was? How absolutely shattered? For years I'd been extending myself, doing everything in my power to love, support, understand, and let go of my own desires. I'd sacrificed all that I'd dreamed for just to try and make this work, and now he was saying that it hadn't been enough. No, worse than that-- that it wasn't even a gift, but something merely expected of me as a wife. To be broken and depleted the way I was wasn't an indication that he needed to change, but that I was not strong enough to endure and achieve an eternal marriage. He saw my as a quitter. 

"I can't do that," I told him. "I wasn't making idle threats last time when I told you that I only had one last round in me. I told you that dishonesty was my bottom line, and that I did not think I'd have the capacity to come back from another betrayal. I'm sorry that you didn't believe me, but if you want someone who can go through this over and over until the day you die, you better find someone else, because it won't be me."

Afterwards, j asked if I'd like to go to lunch and talk about the session. I stared at him in disbelief. He'd just minimized, in no uncertain terms, the worst pain I'd ever experienced. And now he thought I could sit across a table and talk to him as if my world wasn't ending? I could not even begin to comprehend how he was able to be so blind to everything. His level of denial was astounding. I was dying inside, in agony as I began to realize AGAIN, how close we really were to divorce, and yet there he stood, blithely unaware. 

I sort of hated him just then. 

I refused, observing with incredulity the surprised, wounded look that crossed his face, then walked away. 

As I drove home, I was struck all over again with how much I no longer knew my husband. It was as if, by giving him the benefit of the doubt, I'd painted all his features in a positive light and was only now becoming aware of his true nature. I'd always thought he was a peacemaker, but now I saw him as an appeaser. I thought he was lost and unaware, but now I saw him as weak and a liar. I thought he'd loved me, but now I saw he'd only known how to use me. He was selfish and manipulative whether he did it maliciously or not, and seeing him that way was like looking at an optical illusion-- one minute, all there is is a young woman in a hat, and the next, it's a hideous old hag. Once I saw it, I couldn't un-see it. 

I felt afraid, and very, very alone. 

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The Rundown, Part 14

For a few days, I worried that I wouldn't be able to go home because J was resisting the idea of separation so much. He even admitted that he looked into what legal recourse he had,  (What? Did he think he could force us all to live under one roof?) but eventually came to the conclusion that pursuing that route would be ugly and fruitless. 

He flew in to help me drive back to Arizona, and as I went to pick him up at the airport, I felt powerful and sure of myself. Writing my list of 6 Recovery Behaviors had reinforced my belief that the safety I was looking for was necessary; what I was asking for was not unreasonable or unattainable, but was in fact the very bare minimum that I would need to see in order to try again, and that I would be ready and willing to recognize safety when I saw it. 

J must have anticipated a weepy, heartbroken, angry mess, because he seemed startled and disoriented by the cheerful yet firm way I explained my expectations for our separation. But he soon appeared to take it in stride, and the next day, we spent our last hours of summer vacation at the county fair with the kids and my parents. 

On the surface, everything looked so happy and healthy. We could sit around a picnic table and talk pleasantly. We divided duties with the children and reveled in their joy at being together again. I felt no animosity towards J and was completely content to spend time around him as long as he did not attempt to touch me. It was all so normal. 

I was grateful that I felt solid in the decisions I'd made, because days like that--where by all appearances, we are the very picture of an ideal family-- could have thrown me into a storm of doubt and confusion. That had often been the case in the past. 

However, the facade began to crumble as we made our way back home. J began questioning my boundaries once again. He struggled to understand why I felt that such "extreme" measures were necessary. He tried, unsuccessfully, to disguise the fact that he felt I was being punitive. 

That afternoon, I'd written a letter to his family in reply to all the emails they'd been sending me, and while I didn't say anything that I hadn't already discussed with J, he felt that I'd been harsh and judgmental in it. He really became concerned with appearances. He thought I was causing him to look bad in front of his family, friends and co-workers, and that being separated was an embarrassment and failure that I was forcing on him. 

That night, we stopped in Utah and had to tell the kids why we would be sleeping in separate rooms, and what life would look like for them when we got home. J was furious with me and refused to participate in the discussion or back me up in any way. I'd foolishly hoped we could present the situation as a team, but instead I was left holding our daughter as she sobbed (she was the only one who could vividly recall the last time we'd separated, and had cried, "I can't do that again!") as our sons asked questions I couldn't answer and J glared daggers at me. 

I was so relieved that we had a therapy appointment already lined up for when we returned, and longed to have someone who might be able to 'get through' to J for me. I began to hope against all hope that the therapy session would change everything. 

It did. But not in the way I expected. 

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NOT Team Edward

The night after I hung up on J, my mom and I sat down to watch Twilight with my thirteen year old daughter. 

Teen-angst romances make me uncomfortable, and the fact that my little girl is old enough to read them (let alone watch them!) make me even more so. I'd agreed to let her see it as long as I watched it with her-- so I could point out all the parts I felt were inappropriate, unrealistic, or just plain unwise. Basically, my definition of good mothering is making sure I'm a killjoy. ;) 

She conceded, so we gathered treats and settled in for a girls night. 

Fairly early in the film, there's a scene where super-mopey-and-mysteriously-strong-Edward saves Bella's life by stopping a car from crushing her with his bare hands. Bella turns to him and asks, "How did you get to me so quickly? You were clear across the parking lot!" He calmly lies, looking in to her eyes and saying, "No I wasn't. I was standing right next to you the whole time. You must have hit your head harder than we thought."

Though he was just a stupid, fictional character, his words made me feel like I'd been doused with a bucket of ice water. My heart began to race, my mouth went dry, and my hands became shaky and numb. 

I hated Edward in that moment. 

He was doing something I was all too familiar with-- blatantly denying the truth and manipulating the situation so that the blame rested squarely on his victim. He was justifying his actions behind a veil of love and protection, but in actuality he was selfish and weak, not trusting Bella to have the sense to make decisions for herself. 

"He's controlling and emotionally abusive," I warned my daughter. "If someone really loves you, they don't lie to you."

My stomach was in knots. In a distant corner of my brain, I knew I was just triggered and feeling trauma, but I kept hearing "emotionally abusive" echoing around in my head. I don't know if I was overreacting, or if I was simply seeing things differently because I was imagining my daughter in my place, but finally I began to acknowledge to myself that the things J had been doing to me, saying to me, and asking of me all these years was wrong. Addiction did not excuse his behavior. 

I turned to my daughter, dead serious, and said, "If you ever meet a boy who acts like he owns you the way Edward acts like he owns Bella, you RUN."

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6 Behaviors of Recovery

I no longer remember everything that was said during that first conversation, only the choking emotions that rose in my throat and the rage that exploded in my chest. I do, however, recall with complete clarity that J told me, "I can understand that you are hurt. This is more than just what I've done. This is touching on childhood trauma or something."

I sat up in the hammock where I'd been attempting to keep calm, and through decidedly un-zen, cleanched teeth yelled, "This is NOT childhood trauma. This is broken covenants trauma. This is fifteen-years-of-lies-and-betrayal trauma. Don't you DARE tell yourself that you have nothing to do with my pain; that you hold no fault in our separation. Be a man for once and take responsibility for your actions."

And then I hung up on him. 

I was ashamed of my outburst as soon as I hung up, and yet as I walked in to the house to make breakfast, I couldn't help but notice how much lighter I felt. It had been a relief to speak the truth without mincing words. I was tired of always trying so hard to say the "right" thing, to be empathetic, and see things from his point of view. 

That night as I journaled, I considered what it would take for me to even consider attempting reconciliation. J's behavior was making it clear that we would be starting from scratch, which meant that even if he began sprinting towards recovery, it would be a long race. 

Almost effortlessly, I wrote out 6 behaviors that, if I saw from him, might allow me to feel safe enough to attempt to support him in that marathon of recovery. 

*****

1) Radical Honesty. I need to experience consistent, unprompted honesty wherein you share every temptation, trigger, thought and action the same day. Be willing to divulge every detail. I need nothing less than complete and utter transparency. 

2) Take Full Responsibility. I need to see you make the connection between your actions and my pain. Instead of being angry at me for the distance between us, I need you to acknowledge that you've caused that distance by breaching trust and breaking covenants. I need to see you own the consequences of your actions instead of making excuses, minimizing, or shifting blame. 

3) Empathy. I need you to take my pain seriously and make extraordinary efforts to nurture through genuine empathy, without thought of reciprocation or 'what's in it for me'. 

4) Enthusiastically do whatever it takes to obtain recovery. This means taking the initiative to attend meetings, reach out for help, be honest and transparent, and humbly submit to anything I require in order to feel safe. I should never have to investigate, interrogate, or submit "proof" to justify my discomfort. You should be willing to go above and beyond, with gratitude, for the chance to redeem yourself and save this marriage. 

5) Progressive Victory Over Lust.  At this point, there should never be an opportunity to seek out pornography-- ever. If you are being honest and transparent, you will have obtained help long before you have the chance to go looking for it. Accidental exposure is one thing, but there is no excuse for seeking out pornography. That is addict behavior and I will not remain married to an addict. 

6) Respect. I need to feel that I am being respected as a human being with real worth, genuine feelings, and value as a Daughter of God. I am not an object for your pleasure. It is not my job to fill all your emotional holes or to 'fix' you in any way. I was not created to complete you. I need to see that my opinions, feelings, inspirations, and needs are just as valid as your own, and have them taken with equal consideration. 

*****

Much later, I ended up sharing the list with J, but even the practice of writing it out brought me so much comfort. I knew what recovery looked like, and I knew I could live with nothing less. That was both freeing and empowering. 

Roller Coaster Ride

I was so grateful that J's confession took place when I was halfway through my time at mom & dad's. While I felt bad that suddenly our carefree vacation was being overtaken by long, serious discussions and bouts of tears, it felt like a kindness to be miles and miles away, where distance could allow me to have clarity and safety while I processed.

The weeks that followed were tumultuous. J replied to my first response with humility and remorse. I felt flooded with relief and hope, only to be jarred into a harsher reality the days later when he began to push back against the boundaries I'd established.

"Separation is not what God wants of us."

"We have a common enemy. He is destroying our marriage, but it is not me."

"I believe we can heal more together than apart. How are we supposed to be an effective team if you detach from me?"

"Separation is what YOU want and need, but it is not what is best for US or the KIDS. Do not punish them for my actions by asking me to move out."

"I was honest with you! That's progress! Just because I didn't tell you things within the timeline you wanted, you're going to kick me out?"

They were the same old lines all over again. With each email, my mouth hung open in disbelief, and then I'd feel angry at myself for being surprised at all. With shocking predictability, his focus shifted from humility and remorse to minimizing, blaming, and attempting to negotiate with me while he adopted a wounded, I-can't-believe-you're-really-doing-this tone. 

In the face of his forceful assertions that I was over-reacting, I asked for a written statement itemizing each website he'd visited, each action he'd taken, every detail of his relapse(s) in the past month. Complete transparency. I reasoned that the very act of being brutally honest would make it impossible for him to then expect that I brush his sins and betrayals aside as if they were inconsequential. Also, if he was insisting that lying to my face in that devastating way was never, ever going to happen again; that he was committed to change; I needed to test that commitment.

He dug in his heels. He argued and resisted. He sited every reason he could come up with why such a list was unnecessary, dangerous, and plain masochistic. But in the end, he wrote an admittedly touching letter pleading with me NOT to read the attached list-- but he did give me the list. 

For weeks, I didn't read it, but basked in the joy and comfort I found in the fact that he was willing to provide it. That was a sign of progress, right? And the fact that he so vehemently opposed my viewing the list meant he knew just how wrong his actions were! This has to mean that he was no longer minimizing! I'd broken through his denial! We were on the right track! 

Ha. 

Addiction is a roller-coaster ride, and that high was quickly followed by an even more dramatic low. He took my renewed encouragement to mean that I'd "let it go" and was shocked when I began talking to him about the details of our upcoming separation. 

"Wait, you still want that? I thought we understood one another!"

"Really, you're saying you don't feel comfortable attending church together? What will people say?"

"You think the kids should be free to talk about separation? Aren't you worried they'll advertise it to everyone?"

He sent me a voicemail advising me to focus on the good and let the Lord heal me. "We're so much better together" he proclaimed, along with his belief that being hundreds of miles away just made "all of this" worse. "You need to cry on my shoulder and I need to cry on your shoulder" he said, his voice choking up. As I listened, I couldn't figure out why everything he said rankled me. I should feel tenderness towards his pain, shouldn't i? Instead, I was certain that he was only crying for himself. I felt that my pain was completely unacknowledged, which only magnified the trauma of the betrayal. 

The whole song and dance was so sickeningly familiar. It was déjàvu all over again. And then he demanded that we talk over the phone, regardless of the fact that after his confession, I'd told him that I only felt comfortable emailing. My emotions were too raw and unprocessed. I needed time to think before I wrote-- to pray before I replied too hastily to him. 

He refused to honor that. "I am not hiding anything from you," he wrote every day. "But I will say nothing more until you are willing to talk on the phone with me."

I found it galling that he felt justified in making demands of me-- that his desire to hear my voice was somehow more important to him than MY desire for space. Each day that he continued to make his requests and imply that I was being unresonable was another day where my respect for him waned.  

I was tired and hurt and angry when I finally called, which meant our conversation went exactly as well as you can imagine it went. 

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First Response

August, 2014

I didn't talk to J for a week. As his disclosures trickled in and I began to have a clearer idea of just how dire the situation was, I agonized over how to respond. In the end, I wrote with more tenderness than I expected I had in me-- but it felt both honest, direct, and loving. It felt true. This is what I wrote:


J

After several days spent in thought and prayer, I think I've come to some peace. I'd like to share with you how I see our current situation. 

It has been a difficult two years. The struggle to trust, attach, and build a new version of 'us' has been all consuming. It's taken every ounce of energy we've had. And there have been glimpses of what we can be as 'a very effective team'. Those glimpses are incredible. They fill me with warmth and hope as I see our real potential together. 

Having seen our potential makes your betrayal all the more heart wrenching. 

Seriously, I have no words. 

(Except that, yes I do. Because words seem to be my strength at times like these. I bet you wish they weren't. )

I'll be honest, I don't know how this will end. I can't even think that far without turning into a puddle of grief. I know that I don't want a divorce. I keep seeing the last 15 years flash before my eyes like on The Story of Us and I think, how can we throw away all that history? The video that taught me to swing dance and brought us together? You teaching me to drive while we made out at stop lights? Cold showers in our first apartment? Experiencing Europe together. That awful red-yellow combination that I painted the walls (ketchup and mustard!). Riding a Vespa among red sand and arches, then breaking down. Walking through model homes on a Sunday, while C ran ahead of us in her boots-with-flashing-lights and picked out 'her room'. No one else knows what it was like the day our children were born, warm and slippery into your arms, or how thrilling it was when each of them said their first words. No one else shared those moments when we cried-- you when your grandpa died, me when dad had a heart attack, both of us when I found you in the closet, trying to compose a letter of confession. We've lost jobs, gone to concerts, tried new foods, traveled the world, watched our children learn and grow, and looked into each other's eyes and said 'let's not do that' every time we heard of another ugly celebrity divorce. Almost half of my life has been spent with you. I hardly have a memory that you don't share. 

And you are destroying that. For what? Lust? You're selling your birthright for a bowl full of porridge, and don't even seem to grasp the repercussions of it. 

This is like a nightmarish form of Groundhogs Day. Here I sit, in the peace and solitude of my parent's home, as once again you tell me that you've been lying to me. My one and only bottom line-- that I don't expect that you'll never struggle, be triggered, slip or even relapse, just that you respect and love me enough to be transparent-- and you cross it. It feels like a sucker punch. The lowest of low blows. 

I keep seeing us in bed together over Fourth of July weekend, me telling you about watching Hoarders and being so, so afraid that nothing has changed. You reassuring me that all is well. Us running and hiking together, bonding as my fears were attributed to 'self esteem problems'. I want to throw up knowing now that I was right to fear. That once again, you lied to my face, and worse, let me believe that I was somehow to blame for the distance between us. 

And then I see us in the car 2 years ago, after your inventory. I'd cried for 24 hours, and then poured out all my heartbreak to you. I needed you to feel the pain I was feeling, to experience it as I did. And you did-- we cried together, first in agony and then with joy as The Lord literally lifted the pain from us. It was miraculous, and I told you then that we could do ANYTHING from that moment on, if only you would be open with me and allow us to be a team. 

I do not know how to come back from this. 

If separation, therapy, hard work, and years of faith and prayer and outright miracles have now been brushed aside as if it were nothing-- what will it take? What is your rock bottom? And do I even have the capacity to wait for you to reach it? 

I am afraid that even if this were it-- your lowest moment--and you were completely transparent and honest and vulnerable from now on-- I'm afraid that I'd still be too broken and traumatized to ever believe it. 

I love you, but I don't know that I can ever trust you again. And the thought of living in a marriage where I'm too fearful to allow myself to be loved by you is simply unbearable. 

Is this too much talking around the issue? I'm trying to let you see my thought process and feel what I'm feeling-- the sick twist of fear and discouragement and grief-- but maybe I should just be plain:

I don't know if I can come back from this. This feels like the beginning of the end. I am honestly considering divorce, though every fiber of my being cries at the thought. 

I have to type this, because the thought of saying any of it out loud makes me sob. 

Going forward, I see two options for separation. 

1) The kids and I come home as planned, but you move out. Unlike last time, we would not have church and Family Home Evening together, but you could take the kids for the weekend so you have time with them. 

2) The kids and I can stay here with my parents for the foreseeable future. 

Either way, I would be willing to continue therapy and hold off on any decision about our marriage until the end of the year. 

Also, I think we should tell the kids about your addiction. Their lives are going to be upturned (again) and they deserve to know why. I suspect {daughter} and {son} have an inkling anyway. 

I love you. I'm devastated and have lost all faith in you, but somehow I still love you. 

Please change. Please choose me. Choose us. I just can't believe that you would allow this to be the end of our story together-- that you would trade what we have and 'return like a dog to his vomit'. It makes me think of these lines:

This is the way the world ends. 

This is the way the world ends. 

This is the way the world ends.

Not with a bang but a whimper. 

If we are going to go, do it with a bang. Stand up and fight. You are worth more.

-N

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