There is a Trail That Leads to Healing After Betrayal

And it sure is hell isn’t a straight path

Betrayal is the deepest soul wound one can inflict on a loved one. At least, this has been my experience.

The day my then-husband of 32 years confessed his infidelity to me, my world exploded.

In times of stress, my fight/flight reaction is flight.

And flight I did. I ran from the therapist’s office and headed for the trails that had been my home for nearly three years.

We were the site hosts for a nature center, which meant we lived in the heart of the national forest with hiking trails right outside the door of our camper.

I had thought the time of our “tiny house” aka camper living would be a healing time for our marriage.

The fractures were there already. I had thought being in nature and having reduced living costs would help us heal the years of accumulated and unhealed stressful events.

But I was wrong. Things only got worse as he chose to turn away from me in an attempt to find happiness outside our marriage.

I had known about the emotional affair. And it made our living situation even more untenable. I felt contempt directed toward me the harder I tried to understand. I got my ass into therapy to figure out what I was doing wrong.

I pleaded with him to try marriage therapy. But the sessions seemed to be a waste of time. He stonewalled for most of the sessions.

Until Dec 7. He confessed in our therapy session. And it wasn’t just emotional this time.

He had been having a robust affair with his yoga instructor for several months. (Seriously? Can that be more cliche?) No wonder he didn’t want to talk. And I had been completely bamboozled.

I bolted from the office and went to the only place I knew to run to. My beloved trails. I ran and cried — but only after first stopping into the bathrooms we cleaned and maintained as part of our site host gig- to stuff my pocket with toilet paper to mop up the torrential tears. Fuck you, goddamn toilets. Part of the deal was I do this labor and it will help my marriage. I wanted to scream too but didn’t want to alert other people who might be on the trails.

My mind and body couldn’t grasp what had just taken place.

And even though I had had suspicions, they were simply unthinkable. My husband was a good man. He was just going through a hard time.

But my body knew this was deeper than a “hard time.” Fibromyalgia symptoms flared, and I was plagued with chronic diarrhea.

When he told me he wasn’t sure if he believed in marriage anymore, I rationalized he was re-evaluating his life and values and that all would be well. We’ll be better than ever and good for another 3 decades. We were going to be one of those old annoying married people offering advice to those young whippersnappers who don’t understand the value of commitment.

He just needs time. We’ll get through it.

Mount Butthole volcano begged to differ with my fantasy

I had been hurt and confused when he no longer wanted to do our daily hikes together. He had said something to the effect that “ he didn’t want to always do everything together.”

I could sense the resentment. But I gave space. And I learned to hike confidently alone. For this, I thank him. As a rape survivor, I have kept my world small to help me keep a sense of safety. Walking alone, much less hiking alone, produced major anxiety.

But I digress. Yeah, I probably leaned on him too much.

After the confession, I told him I was willing to keep working on things. I read stories of couples surviving infidelity to go on to a happier marriage.

Maybe THAT can be our story.

But his ambivalence seemed to grow. After several months of this, I filed for divorce. I think he was hoping I would. The shame he felt if he were to file was too great.

It has been over two years since we separated. 1 1/2 years since the divorced was finalized.

And I find myself back on the trails, reflecting on this time.

Now, if this was a Hallmark movie, I would recollect the amazing things that have happened and the glorious emotional freedom I’ve found. Hell, maybe I could grow new breasts in this script.

But this is not a Hallmark movie and the last few years have been anything but Hallmarky. And the scars have yet to be replaced with new, perkier ta-tas

The breast cancer diagnosis came 6 weeks after finalization. I would find myself sitting at the kitchen table, alone, ALONE, people, trying to take in the report staring at me from my computer screen: invasive ductal carcinoma.

Thankfully, loving friends rushed in around me. A nurse, a breast expert, spent nearly two hours on the phone with me, talking me off the ledge.

My dear friend jumped in his car to drive 2,000 miles to be with me.

Other friends sent me money, cards, words of encouragement.

I felt like the paralyzed man in the gospel story. His friends tried to carry him into the house so Jesus could heal him. But the house was too crowded. So, his friends ripped open the roof and lowered him in.

My friends ripped off the roof.

I was both lowered- and lifted into Love’s presence.

Other challenges since flying solo have been legion. I was and am continuing to learn how to support myself

I have worked hard over my lifetime but it has not been paid work. And now I am learning that the work I do is indeed worthy of renumeration. This has been a hard thing for me as a business woman because I did lots of volunteer work even before marriage.

I am learning to value myself and my work and as a result, my organizing and coaching business is growing.

Mental health takes a beating with cancer. (It comes free! with every order.) This is during treatment and, for me, more so after treatment. I imagine it’s similar to when someone dies and people surround you and bring you casseroles and then, a few weeks later, it’s crickets. (And rightly so! Life moves on.)

Hormone blockers, of course, contribute to this brain fog. It also magnifies depression tendencies. Ditto for ADHD symptoms, which I was diagnosed with last month. (And boy, does that explain a lot to me!)

So on and so forth. I am here on my trails. They comfort me. The wind caresses my face and reminds me of Love’s presence. The shrub oaks, gnarled and weather, remind me of resilience.

Make it stand out

Love is Everywhere. And nature provides the best healing balm.

Birds and flowers bring beauty’s healing balm. The fly dive bombing me reminds me that life has plenty of annoyances. And I am grateful for this reminder as well.

The challenges are still here. As are my friends who continue to love and support me.

And I am learning to say “thank you” to my was-band.

Thank you for the years that were good. Thank you for confessing. I really thought I was losing my mind and would have continued to second guess my decision to divorce if I had not known.

I am grateful that I got out when I did because I believe the stress was literally killing me. (And ditto for him as well.)

Our marriage was over. It’s dead, Jim.

Thank you for the miles we journeyed together on these trails.

And thank you, God/universe/creator/mystery, that I’m still here. Cancerfree. Zumba-ing. (I just turned that into a verb. Clever me.)

Carefully picking up speed as my mental health allows, and creating a new life of greater happiness, service and most importantly: learning to forgive and love deeper.

I return to the trails. Alone. But not alone.

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