I did something I rarely do. I went back and looked through some of my old posts. I started at the beginning of 2015 and did a quick perusal of where I have been over the past year. Wow. Eye opener. I have made a lot of forward movement out of the dark recesses of the cavern my husband threw me into. I dare say, I climbed all the way out and now I merely suffer some harrowing memories of my time there. Even more astounding, however, based on the words I myself wrote, Blue Eyes has made a quantifiable amount of progress in his recovery.
Despite my best efforts to curl up in my bed and throw over a blanket wishing the world would just forget about me, last year was a busy year. I hit the one year anniversary of d-day early in January 2015 while in Japan on my first trip there since finding out Blue Eyes had taken his long term acting out partner to Tokyo three times. While still having panic attacks and moments where I let my mind drift away to nothingness (I remember how much easier it was to exit that sad, horrible, painful spot in my head, while leaving my body behind as a place holder), we seemed to be jetting all over the first half of the year. It was trial by fire in terms of facing the triggers that haunted me at airports, hotels, and cities they had been to together. As silly as it sounds, however, all that traveling did allow me to face some of my fears square on, and take back those places and reclaim them as my own.
Sitting in a hotel room, looking across to another hotel room where my husband had shared intimate moments with someone other than me, I wrote a post titled We are all just players in his game. In that blog post, I outlined what it was like watching my sex addict husband, early on in his recovery, play at the game of life. I wrote about how he manipulated people and used people in order to feed his own insecure ego. When reading my closing words for the post
When my husband is in addict mode, all the people around him are just players. We are interchangeable. We are faceless, and nameless, and we merely fill space in a game he designed so that he did not have to live in reality with the rest of us.
I could feel my own anger and resentment and frustration. I am astonished that I wrote those words just less than a year ago. At the time I really didn’t know whether he would be able to change. Now I know things are different. I know Blue Eyes has changed. He no longer behaves in that manner. He no longer goes into those hyper addict states. His moods no longer take on a life of their own. His feet are planted much more firmly on the ground. I no longer feel like a faceless, nameless nobody in his life. I no longer feel like he is subconsciously manipulating me to feed his own demons. With time and mindfulness, he has managed to actually and honestly change.
As I quickly scrolled through post after post, I noticed other things as well. I noticed that I was still at times basing my own healing on the recovery of my husband. Something I have learned about myself over the past year is that my enjoying my life and feeling like I am making good, honest and intelligent decisions is not dependent on my husband’s sobriety or his becoming a better man. The only thing dependent on how my husband behaves is my marriage. But, my marriage does not define me or my life. The lingering effect of everything Blue Eyes has done to feed his addiction is that I now know how truly fragile that tenuous thread is that is keeping together all the good parts of our marriage. As the weight of all he has done stretched the fabric of everything I cherished about our relationship, I could feel the ripping and tearing and we have just begun to sew the pieces back together. The strength that I thought was there, wasn’t and many times still isn’t. I know it is stronger than it was a year ago, and it will continue to become stronger as we both heal, but things will truly never be the same as they were before, because before, was a lie.
When Blue Eyes’ brother died, I posted some comments on Facebook about the pain I was feeling. My good and wise friend, Dee (someone who knows a thing or two about loss and grief), responded with this quote by Rose Kennedy, a lady who has also known the deep pain of loss:
It has been said, ‘time heals all wounds.’ I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.
We are a sum of all the things that happen to us, and how we handle those things, in our life. I know both Blue Eyes and I have made a tremendous amount of progress. Reading my own words I can feel the pain of my wounds when they were but one year old. They were more open and raw and they caused me much more angst, and pain, anxiety, and fear. There is space now between the pain. Some of that scar tissue perhaps, is filling the void and allowing me to grow and gain wisdom from what has happened. I am slowly, surely, taking back my life. I know there will always be scars and I know those scars represent who I am. I own those fucking scars. Bring on 2016! I’m ready.
try not to cry on my rainbow 
I see peacefulness in your words and am happy for you. Wishing you a rainbow ending…. As a wise woman once said ” My marriage does not define me or my life”.
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Thank you for your kind words. I do appreciate them.
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You’ve made such amazing progress. A great reminder that our individual healing is separate from the marriage and our husband’s healing. It gives me hope to see at least one example of a couple that not only survives an affair, but thrives. Thanks for sharing.
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Thanks for the kind words. We are still both very much working on all of it but it does feel nice to be able to see quantifiable progress. xxx
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I love how Kat beautifully expresses herself in her blog. It is what first attracted me. Here is someone writing about her painful journey with such feeling and clarity and expressing it so well.
I think we need to look back and reflect on where we were and where we are now. It makes going forward more purposeful. I am so grateful for the bloggers and their stories and the compassion we have here. Thank you so much Kat. Xxxx
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Thank you, CF. The journey is painful, but we’re conquering it! I love you too!!! 😘
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I wonder what your marriage will look like in 20 years? I don’t want to minimise anything that has happened or is happening, but it is a very interesting journey you’re on. I think if you’re able to look back on your posts somewhat dispassionately it is worth doing to remind yourself where you are now compared to where you are now X X X
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Well, owlie, I hope in 20 years, more than anything, that both my husband and I will have mastered handling the general stress of life. I do believe all of this will be a distant memory buried deep in the scar tissue. I do think I am finally at a point where I can look back and somewhat objectively take stock in where I’ve been and quantify the progress I have made. It’s more enlightening than painful reading all those words. I honestly can’t believe people take the time to read all my words, but I so needed this blog to get it all out of me. Looking back from the future, I will always be thankful for this venue, for the space to expel the pain, and for the people who have come here to figuratively hold my hand. ♥️
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You’re very articulate kat, it’s absolutely no surprise whatsoever that people come to your blog. You very clearly describe what a lot of us are going through.
I wish I had discovered this blogging community when I first discovered the affair, it is a definite bright spot in what could otherwise have been wholly dark. X
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I hope in 20 years the 4 of us will be sitting on rocking chairs at the beach house reminiscing about only the good times. Loving you always.
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I hope so too! It sounds glorious to me. xoxo ♥️
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I think this is a great post
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Thank you very much.
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I appreciated reading your post, it is helpful for me at least to see the other side of addiction. I wish you well in your journey!
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Thanks for visiting. It has been a hellish journey so far, but one I am committed to taking with my husband. There are lots of good times mixed with the challenges. I admire your courage. Thanks also for the well wishes, and I send many back to you!
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This was beautifully written and so hope filled. Hoping you get so much more of your life back this year!
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Me too, and you, and you, and you. I hope we all get back all the good things life has to offer. We deserve it. ❤
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Rose also said “after a storm, the birds sing. Why shouldn’t we?”
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She was a pretty cool lady. Singing is good for the soul. I was just singing Jolly Holiday with a full on Dick Van Dyke fake accent while making Blue Eyes dinner. He thinks I am a nut ball. Actually, I am a nut ball, but I do love to sing. Can’t really carry a proper tune, but I just don’t care. ❤ 🙂
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Loser said that he always liked it when I hummed while I was ironing. Don’t iron anymore and don’t hum 😦
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Well, if you are not humming, I hope you are full on singing then! 🎶🎼💖
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Nah….I don’t do either anymore. Maybe some day I’ll get my “voice” back.
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So good to read that you’re feeling a positive change in your life during the past year. It’s inspiring to read. Thanks for sharing.
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I write it all out, the good, the bad, the ugly as I like to call it. As time marches on, I am definitely seeing positive changes in me, him, and therefore, our marriage. It has not been easy. Thank you for your kind comment.
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Writing can be very therapeutically, can’t it? I know it is for me, letting out stuff that otherwise I probably wouldn’t tell . The ugly though, it’s hard to write about – much more that the bad. But I guess it’s needed, and reading your story, it definitively pays off.
Keep on writing 🙂
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Whoa.. it’s hard to go back there.. I rarely ever go back.. until I see a catchy title of mine and it’s so painful sometimes..especially when I wanted to die..
I don’t know about progress.. but I do know I’ve always loved your posts.. whether good or bad and I sometimes read and look for your posts because your position on staying with Blue Eyes inspires me to look at myself more.. and that trying to save my family because I love it so darn much isn’t such a stupid idea 🙂 ❤
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I rarely ever go back there either, NH. Sometimes I do when someone likes or comments on an old post. Before replying to a comment, I usually go back and read the post again. Whoa, sometimes I cannot even believe it was me writing all that. I don’t want to go back there. It was so painful. I am glad you can find some kind of inspiration from what I would have previously called a mess. We are doing better. And trying to save your family is not a stupid idea, but the best idea is making sure you are doing what is right and healthy for you. They need a happy, healthy mama. Just keep writing it out, like you do, making sense of what seems to not make sense at all. It is a sucky journey, but it’s ours. xoxo ❤
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