What’s the Next Step After Infidelity and Divorce?

and it’s actually more than a step

I just finished this movie on Netflix, “Dead in a Heartbeat.” It’s about a grieving father who takes revenge on a cardiac surgeon for the death of his son following a risky surgery. His plan? Implanting a bomb inside the pacemakers of the surgeon’s unsuspecting patients. The fait accompli comes later when the patient explodes from the inside out.

Driving a car? Boom! Monitoring children during school recess? Yep, the final bell just rang for that poor teacher.

One minute they’re just living life and then the next minute they are a July 4th spectacle.

Yeah. Sorta lame. Especially since my Spock tendencies offer me an inner narrative while watching such movies. NOT logical! That would NEVER happen! Nuh-uh, not even ever!

I must suspend my disbelief. As a committed over-thinker, this is no small task.

But this movie gave me a pause for a few reasons.

First, I could relate to the whole heart exploding thing. Because that is precisely what it felt like the day my then-husband confessed his infidelity after 32 years of marriage.

I knew our marriage was in trouble, but I had no idea it was in THAT much trouble. I knew about the previous emotional affair and naively thought that was the big issue that we would unpack in that day’s session with our marriage therapist. Hallelujah! We are FINALLY going to address this so we can move on and heal.

I was wrong. Oh, I was so wrong.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

The disclosure didn’t stop at the emotional affair. There was another woman. And it was the whole-enchilada affair.

On that day, December 7, my heart exploded. My very own Pearl Harbor, a day that will live in infamy. (“I knew you would make that connection,” he said with a wry smile.)

At that moment, time both spun and stood still. I couldn’t take it in. It was too much. I leapt from my chair and bolted for the woods. It felt like my physical body took over from my conscious control. The maelstrom of stress hormones that were just unleashed stirred up a primitive urge to flee from the threat.

And this very existential threat came from the man I had deeply loved for oh so many years. His actions placed a bomb in my heart.

And now the disclosure brought the explosion. Kaboom!

Just like in that cheesy movie. Only this was way worse. Because this was real. And unlike the movie where the blast radius was small and contained, this explosion affected so many others.

Our adult children. Our circle of friends. Extended family. And that’s just the relational damage.

For several months after the disclosure, I still wanted to work things out with him, even though we were separated. I committed to forgiveness and continued working with my therapist.

I think in reality, there was a part of me that was so terrified of divorce that I needed time to process the betrayal, so I hung in there, hoping we could move forward and start a new chapter. Staring into the beady eyes of divorce and its ramifications were yet another thing I would need to do. Really God? One thing at a time, please!

Yet I knew on a deep level, it was over. But I couldn’t admit it. On another day after the confession, he told me of his anguished confusion. He couldn’t decide who he loved more. The conflict was so difficult. Miss Yoga Pants or me — the woman who bore his children. Cleaned up his vomit when he was sick. Cheered him on through many a difficulty.

To illustrate the fuckery in my head, I felt a twinge of compassion for him. Aw, you poor dear. What can I do for you?

Then good sense slapped me upside the head. What the hell was I thinking?!

The thought startled me so much that I was further shocked to hear a new voice speaking. One I vaguely recognized. It was buried deep underneath the social and religious engineering that screamed accusations and reminded me of all my shortcomings and obligations to others, including being a long-suffering wife.

This voice was different. It was quiet. Not demanding. And the message was brief. Eh! What’s this you say? I felt like an old woman with an ear trumpet. Then I remembered. I knew this voice.

It was the voice of my true self. I had silenced it for oh-so-many years.

It whispered, “You deserve better.”

I filed for divorce shortly after that revelation. This marriage was irrevocably damaged.

And now it was time to dig in further into the next step: Forgiveness.

I knew it would be a process. But I knew it was the path I wanted. Not just for my own well-being, but especially for the kids as well.

The day the divorce was finalized was surreal. The papers arrived in the mail announcing it was a done deal. I had even made a “divorce playlist” of music in an attempt at gallows humor for this anticipated moment. (Btw, “Fuck you, Bitch,” by Wheeler Walker offers great catharsis.)

But there was no humor on that day. Just profound sadness. Mingled in with growing anxiety over a suspicious mammogram.

As part of my healing process, I told myself I was going to get back on track in taking care of my health and had a wellness visit to my doctor.

And now, it seemed a new page had been turned in the book entitled, “Theresa’s Nightmare.”

That chapter read: Theresa Has Breast Cancer.

The diagnosis was given 5 weeks after the divorce finalization.

Healing from the divorce would have to wait. It was time to earn a medical degree, specializing in oncology, in a few weeks’ time. Or so it felt.

Enough already!

The irony of breast cancer, something so close to my exploded heart, was not lost on me.

And back to that movie. The plot revolved around a man who took his grief and weaponized so he could inflict pain on others so they would feel what he felt.

What would I do with my pain and grief? Become bitter and pass my pain along to others?

And oh yeah, what about the cancer? There was no time to process. This was a time to just get through it.

As my “pink sisters” assured me, the anxiety settled down after all the testing was done and a treatment plan emerged.

Feeling like I could actually TAKE ACTION brought a sense of agency and hope. This was real, hands-on action. Let’s get this damn cancer OUT of my body and keep it from coming back.

After the double mastectomy (there was cancer in both breasts) word came back from pathology that I would need chemo too. I could have skipped chemo, but doing so would have doubled my risk of recurrence.

In a way, this diagnosis and treatment mirrored the inner process I was going through emotionally with the divorce.

The marriage developed a malignancy. It must be removed, divorce. Next, I must treat myself to prevent bitterness. I did this step (and continue to do so) with the help of loving family members and friends. I also had an angel appear during all this. His name is Tom. He was an old high school friend.

After the divorce, our deepening friendship turned romantic, despite the two thousand miles between us. (This is totally a Hallmark movie story to be told at another time.)

Tom rushed to my aid to be there for every step of the way during treatment. (I still tear up recalling this.) And as healing as his loving presence was to me, there was no bypassing the inner work I needed to do. (Especially since the former husband seemed to ghost me. I mean seriously. I know we were divorced but still… It was yet another nail in the coffin of our relationship and a reminder of the ongoing need to practice forgiveness.)

Feeling betrayed by my body was another area to practice forgiveness. I had to (and continue to) forgive myself for my role in the demise of my marriage. (I understand, however, it was entirely NOT my fault for the choices he made.) I must forgive life for being so fucking unfair.

Choosing the path of forgiveness hasn’t been easy at times. And it also doesn’t mean I white-wash or gloss over the anger when it arises. That too is an important step in healing: feeling all the feels.

But this practice has expanded into other areas. Forgiveness helps me to be a more gracious person. It spares me further rage and upset. It helps me become more authentic, because genuine forgiveness isn’t some airy-fairy concept that you can role play.

It’s funny. I thought that getting through betrayal, divorce and cancer would somehow conclude with a tidy bow on top and I just move on with life, new and improved and shiny. Maybe I would pen a bestseller on the lessons I’ve learned. Or take a celebratory cruise. Become a Buddhist. (I’d make a terrible one since I swat mosquitos with vengeance.)

Nah. As much as those things hold appeal, forgiveness is the great gift I’ve received. For myself. For others. And for my former spouse. I

Forgiveness is the big take away. It isn’t a double bar at the end of a music measure, it’s a repeat sign.

And I say it is a gift because it is not something I can conjure up on my own. The practice of forgiveness leaves behind a wake of grace that only expands. This is the only way I’ve found that allows me to heal from the unspeakable pain.

The scars will never go away. Both emotionally and physically. But like the Japanese art of Kintsugi, forgiveness is the gold that binds shattered pieces back to wholeness.

With even greater beauty than before. And unlike that movie, this is an ending I can live with.