Survivors Blog: 

Vikki

The gift of grace to a guilty and shame-ridden soul is humbling. Once given, the receiver has the choice to cherish it and henceforth act in a way that expresses gratitude, or take advantage of it through a selfish entitlement that overlooks the sacrifice and kindness with which it was given. The grace that my husband has given me throughout recovery has been vital to the survival of our marriage. His ability to extend chance after chance for me to get better or do things right has been numerous, and has come at his own expense time and time again. Through each extension of grace, he has offered me trust that I haven't earned, and hope that has no basis in my past actions. He chances disappointment with each offering that is not taken, and then sadness when I waste these gifts in favor of my personal issues that seem so important to me at the time - more important than realizing what his gifts truly mean. Why do I let my anxiety, shame and pride win out in the face of these pure acts of love? Why can't I take the offerings as a chance that I did not deserve to heal our marriage? Why do I waste these precious gifts that he offers, even while fearing that one day his grace may run out? I believe it is because I feel so unworthy that I cannot not handle such pure acts. I feel deep, deep down that I do not deserve such kind treatment. And by some accounts, I don't. This is what is so incredible about my husband - he holds the line believing that I will continue progressing and that I will be able to tame my demons that are destroying our marriage. He believes in progress, not perfection. But when I give in to my shame and self-hatred, I am telling him that he is wrong about me - that I do not deserve grace from him. Instead of doing the hard work, I try to lower his expectations. Time and time again, my behavior shows it. It is a textbook self-fulfilling prophecy. And yet, amazingly, he still has a reservoir of grace he is willing to draw from. Grace has different meanings in our society today. It can be used as an adjective which describes someone's movement or poise as a thing of beauty. Used as a noun, which is defined as an unmerited gift given for regeneration and sanctification, it is still beautiful. Biblically, this gift is given to us by God. But humans possess this ability as well. We can give it freely to children or anyone who naively or innocently wrongs us. We can give it to people who have moderately offended us. What is truly miraculous though, is when we can extend grace selflessly to someone who has knowingly hurt us in a truly deep and painful way. This act speaks to our innate ability as humans to believe in love and hope, and is truly in the realm of the divine. My husband strives to live his life by these principles as much as humanly possible. He is thoughtful, caring, principled, centered, loyal, empathetic and loves deeply. He is wise, mature, and emotionally intelligent. By watching him move through his life and respond to his reality, I see a man who I can trust has my (and anyone he loves) best interests at heart. He knows and lives by the definition of love: putting another before yourself - always. He believes that love is a verb, not a noun, and something to never take for granted. Because of who he is at his core, I should trust that his reasons for giving me grace are pure and true. He truly sees something that is good in me, even when I can't see it. During our recovery, I have developed immense gratitude towards my husband for staying and fighting for us while enduring the absolute worst pain he has ever experienced. I have seen his mettle firsthand, and he is my hero. My gratitude, however, will not fix our marriage, and he cannot swoop in like Superman and save me and make everything alright. He does not have unconditional love or an endless supply of grace like God. He is not a martyr, and he must eventually do what he feels preserves and nourishes his soul. I believe that in the universe, all systems must be in balance or they cease to function as they are meant to. I see marriage as a system, and it too, cannot function and thrive when one person gives more than the other. I know that if I don't get out of my own way and start pulling my weight, our marriage cannot survive. The onus is on me to balance the scales. Reconciliation is not a right, nor is it guaranteed. It is a privilege that depends on my efforts and the good graces of my husband. I must not let these acts of grace go ignored. It's not his job to heal me. I am the rebuilder. I must choose him, our marriage, and the truth over my selfish ways, every time. I must return his grace anytime he is hurt, angry or flooding. I must show him that I can be liberated from my prison of self-preoccupation. Together, after the balance is returned, we can continue rebuilding something beautiful.

I have tailored the truth to my audience for as long as I can remember. And it started with peanuts. I attended a non-denominational Christian elementary school. One day when I was in the fourth grade, I had to stay in from recess for a reason I don't recall. To ease my pain and disappointment of missing out on the best part of the school day, my friend told me that I could have some of the peanuts she had in her lunch box. So, while the class was outside, I helped myself to some. However, I wasn't the only one who had to stay in that day. When two of my fellow sequestered classmates saw me snacking down on the tasty peanuts, they wanted some too. Now, my friend didn't give me permission to share with anyone else, but I decided, without much thought, that it would be ok if I did. Before I knew it, we had cleaned out my friend's stash. Upon returning from recess and realizing that all her peanuts were gone, my friend was rightfully angry. She told our teacher that I had eaten "all" her peanuts. I defended myself by saying that I did not eat "all" the peanuts, because the two other kids had some as well. So, the three of us were sent to the principal's office for stealing. I pleaded that I was innocent because my friend told me that I could have some - which was technically the truth. However, I did not stand up for the other two girls by admitting that I told them they could have some peanuts - as if they were mine to give - which made them also seem guilty of stealing, when they really weren't. We all three ended up being paddled, and I was left feeling that "the peanut incident" had been a great injustice to me. The takeaway for me was that I told the truth from my point of view - I did not eat all the peanuts - but it did not matter. I got punished anyway. What I didn't take away from the incident was the deception and betrayal that were at play in my personality when I was a mere 9 years old. I didn't see for many, many years that I betrayed my friend's trust when I gave away her peanuts. Yes, I had agreed to only eat some, not all, of her peanuts, but that didn't mean that I could then give the remainder to others, causing all of her peanuts to get eaten. In reality, it didn't matter whether I actually ate all the peanuts or allowed others to eat them all. She trusted me to make sure that there were some left for her. I also never realized that I had a duty to tell my teacher/ principal that I told the other two girls that they could have some, and that they did not actually steal them outright. They were innocent. They should have never been punished. By remaining silent and withholding information, I got them a paddling that they did not deserve. It was eye-opening, while reflecting on this past incident, to realize that a lot of my behavior hasn't really changed much since elementary school. Since then, I believed that the truth is fluid. It is mine to mold to fit my purposes. It should be spun in such a way as to avoid any negative emotional backlash. Honesty is moot unless it benefits me and the person I'm telling. I am conflict avoidant by nature - I hate being in the hot seat. I'm a pleaser - I want everyone to feel ok. Therefore, I started to devalue honesty and place more importance on my self-image. I controlled how I felt about myself by controlling how others felt about me. How I appeared to people and how much positivity they felt about me became paramount. I selectively used truth as one of many tools to get the outcome I wanted, instead of using it to reveal what I was responsible for. These ideas about the truth have led to deceptive and secretive behavior that has incredibly damaged my character. It follows then, that I have been a nightmare to be married to. I had the perfect storm of character flaws to be unfaithful. My infidelity occurred while my husband and I were dating. We were exclusive, but I chose to have a one-night stand. I told my husband right after it happened. I knew the consequences it would have, but I really didn't want to lose him. I also wanted to get credit for being honest. Selectively using pieces of truth to craft the outcome I wanted, I spun a story that would soften the blow and still have me telling my husband that I had sex with another man. I told him that the sex wasn't consensual - that I really didn't want to, but was forced. Truth, but tailored to my husband's feelings. He would be upset, but spared the worst. Actually, I was able to get sympathy from him, due to my convincing portrayal as a victim. With the affair put in this context, he was able to forgive me, and we went on to get married a short time later. When I finally did tell the whole truth to my husband 27 years later, I still could not see that it was the right thing to do. In theory I knew it was right, but in reality, the pain he experienced, fully knowing what had happened, was horrible. It was devastating. His world was turned upside down, and he no longer knew what to believe about the woman he married. He realized that our marriage had been built on a lie. Who he had become as a husband was built on a lie. I had deceived him wholly. His reaction was proof that the truth had, once again, caused bad things to happen. Since D-Day, I slowly realized that I needed to change my relationship with the truth if I wanted to stay in a relationship with my husband. Through AR, I learned that it was my actual actions that caused bad things to happen, not the telling of them. In the early days of recovery, however, I regressed. I went from soft truths and fibs of omission that were common for me, to outright bold face lies. I could not stand to feel the pain brought on by 'fessing up to behavior that did not fit into the false image that I had of myself or that would cause a negative reaction in my husband. I had trouble accepting that my actions were what was harmful. I had it backwards. I was too weak to take on the burden of the truth at that time. To mitigate, I would try to be perfect. I thought that if I didn't ever commit hurtful acts, I would never be in a position where I was compelled to lie. It's easy to take ownership of good behavior. After a deceptive incident, I would try to just be good, but of course I was doomed to fail. And I did - a lot. Eventually, I realized that I needed to take responsibility for my actions, no matter what they were. Since I was never going to be a perfect person, I needed to develop the character to tell the truth instead. If I honestly own my thoughts, feelings, and actions in my heart, telling the truth will be an extension of that ownership. Easier said than done, for someone who has a malleable relationship with honesty. I needed to learn to sit in reality and deal with it like a mature adult. Sadly, at 51, I didn't know how. To help me navigate this uncharted territory, I started thinking about whether my husband would approve of my actions - all of them. Even ones that seemed insignificant - like how I talked to the Starbucks girl if she got my order wrong. I couldn't use my fluctuating emotions as a guide. I could always excuse my own behavior and soften the effects of it with a lie. Doing this exercise helped, but I realized that I also needed someone whose character I trusted and whose integrity I respected to help lead me to new, transparent behavior. Someone to be my guide. My husband served as this guide, and I used his ability to live in the truth as a template to rebuild my dishonest character. He gave me this wonderful visual that really changed my perspective and helped me to integrate honesty more readily into my life. He helped me view the truth as something that exists outside of me. Truth is its own entity that just "is" - whether I like it or am comfortable with it; whether I regret it or am ashamed of it. It is there waiting for me to accept it and take it in my hands for what it means in reality. He suggested picturing it in my mind, looking like a "thought bubble" above my head. When my husband (or anyone) wants to know the truth so that he can better understand me and my actions, it is my duty as a wife, as a friend, as a fellow human being, to present it to him without expectations or strings attached. To present it without ego. I give him the whole "truth thought bubble package" in its entirety, because he can't get to it any other way. When I hand it to him, I must accept that once it is in his hands, he does with it as he sees fit. It is no longer solely in my keeping. If I tried to alter it or place requirements on it, the process just takes longer and hurts more. The truth doesn't need instructions. In his hands, the truth will find its own way to make sense to him. I can't possibly know how truth communicates itself to my husband in a way he can understand, but it does. It takes time, but truth finds a way to make all who want to hear it, understand what it is saying. All I can do is slow the process with distortions, or prevent the process by keeping it inside. It's really that easy, and that hard. Simply give my husband the truth and it will do all the work necessary for him to eventually understand, if he does the work to hear it. My job is to nurture and support him during this process. The thought bubble seems cartoonish, but it works for me amazingly well. When I think of telling the truth in this way, the abject fear of the repercussions - the pain caused by hurting my husband's feelings, ruining a date, making me look bad, or not pleasing and meeting expectations - is muted and more tolerable. I can do the right thing more often, which builds much-needed trust with my husband. I am far from being rigorously honest. I still struggle with deceptive thought patterns and wanting to please and not cause friction. But I have learned that if I want to be true to myself, I must start by telling the truth to my husband. It is so basic, and something I should have taken seriously starting in elementary school. I can't avoid the truth and be in a healthy relationship, and I can't be dishonest and be the woman of integrity that I strive to be. I am now learning that to believe, and live otherwise, is what is truly terrifying.

Recently, I started to view my infidelity through the lens of entitlement. Coming to the WHY of my affair has taken a lot of reflection that seemed right at the time, as I uncovered layer after layer of my numerous character flaws. Nothing ever sat well with me as to truly why I did what I did, though until one morning a thought hit me like a ton of bricks. I realized that I cheated on my husband not because I was broken, but because I felt I had the right to. I felt entitled to it. When I told my therapist about my revelation, she was hesitant to accept it. And I get why. In my day-to-day life, I do not interact with the world through a sense of entitlement. I don't expect to be treated differently from others because I think I am somehow special or better. I don't try to get away with not following the rules of acceptable social interactions. I am a law-abiding citizen. So, why did I do the exact opposite of these behaviors in my most personal and intimate relationship? To explore this topic further, I read a book by Dr. John Townsend called The Entitlement Cure. In it, I learned that entitlement is self-focused and blocks empathy... in a relationship, "the entitled person feels good and lives badly, while those around him/her feel bad," but live their lives better. After reading this book, the can of worms had been opened. I started to see that I have a sense of "toxic entitlement," and that it has permeated my 27-year marriage in how I treat my husband and in how I expect him to treat me. For me, it starts with the core belief that I should be judged on my intentions, not my actions. I start to feel exempt from responsibility for my actions, and focus solely on the morality of my intentions. I break promises and commitments to my husband because I fail to see that the follow-through is what is most important. I fail to understand why my husband feels alienated and angry at my lack of integrity within our marriage. When he doesn't agree with my distorted beliefs, I accuse him of being controlling, unaccepting and judgmental. I feel misunderstood, because his needs and expectations do not align with the view I hold of myself. I need him to see me as I do, to keep my fragile sense of self stable. Meanwhile, he feels dismissed and helpless in my cycle of self-centered excuses and rationalizations. We are at odds, because we are trying to relate to each other from two very different realities in the marriage. Relating this to my infidelity, my sense of entitlement gave me permission. I was able to act out and not think about the effects on my husband. As hard as this is to write, the truth is that his feelings never factored into my decision to be or not be unfaithful. I thought of myself as different or special enough that I could do what I wanted and somehow not be held accountable. Through a sense of entitlement, I could painlessly weave together the disconnection between how I positively viewed myself and my actual harmful actions. In my mind, I should have been able to act the way I wanted and, regardless of the consequences, not have to change my self-image. I was deluded, destroying any chance I had of being authentic in my marriage and sustaining my husband's trust. I needed to change. Through Affair Recovery, I have learned to identify and understand many of my past traumas, and how never addressing them led to a broken person with a broken view of reality. All my brokenness only made me more likely to cheat, but the final decision to act out was because I thought that I was special. Many people are broken and don't cheat, and most people know when they are about to cross a line that conflicts with their integrity. Understanding this dangerous sense of entitlement has been the puzzle piece that I have needed to truly enact change in myself and in my marriage. In my current work on healing entitlement, saying "I was wrong" has been unbelievably powerful. Realizing that everyone is wrong and a failure, at some point, has helped me to admit my failures and to take responsibility for them. I have had to shift my perception of relational reality away from one fueled by self-centeredness, to one that is fueled by compassion and empathy. We all are born with empathy, but to me, empathy is like a muscle. If you don't use it, you lose it. Honing my empathy skills and fighting to stay connected to my husband, no matter what relationship demon rears its ugly head, are crucial in my fight against the entitlement that has wreaked havoc on my marriage. Working on past issues that nurtured my sense of entitlement is also helpful. In my family of origin, I wasn't required to be diligent when things got tough and was often rewarded regardless of effort. Consequences for my actions were never concrete, and I grew up thinking that sometimes, 2 + 2 could equal 5. But at the end of the day, no matter where it came from, I chose entitlement and all the destruction that it caused. Now, I am learning to align my choices with having integrity and living in the truth. I am learning that I must accept myself, live humbly and take responsibility to make the necessary changes in my life that will lead me out of the self-absorbed trap called toxic entitlement. Harboring Hope registration opens monthly. Subscribe to be notified. Harboring Hope is our online course for betrayed spouses to heal after infidelity. It often sells out within a few short hours. Don't miss it! Subscribe to Registration Notifications!

A winning hand of victim cards would include a royal flush of blame, powerlessness, self-deception, self-pity, and fear. Hanging onto these victim cards has been a key reason that my husband and I have struggled during recovery. In fact, an Affair Recovery video I listened to recently said that the unfaithful playing the victim is the single most intolerable thing we can do in the healing process. But being a victim is an easy way for me to avoid responsibility for my actions. Being accountable is hard, uncomfortable and requires courage and vulnerability. Since I have shame and a false image to uphold, the choice is clear. When I am faced with the backlash of my actions, my go-to moves are to deny, blame, justify, minimize, and protect, protect, protect my fragile sense of self. To take accountability is terrifying, and I would rather not go there. While this way of thinking may seem like a safe win for me, it is actually a destructive, losing hand for my marriage. I played my hand one evening about 15 months into recovery. My husband and I were having a fun conversation, laughing and reminiscing, when my husband asked a seemingly innocuous question regarding what sex is like for a woman versus a man. Thinking nothing of it, I answered candidly. My answer, however, filled in a missing piece of information my husband had been seeking regarding my affair and triggered him. One moment we were happy, and then suddenly, his emotions were spiraling down. I felt instantly exposed and guilty from my accidental slip of the truth and our loss of connection. I panicked. I backpedaled (you misunderstood), I apologized for saying it wrong (so it wasn't my fault), I managed his emotions (so now you can't be upset). . . I fought the reality of the situation and ended up making it so much worse. I could have accepted that something I said hurt him, that it was no one's fault, and then tended to him in an understanding and caring way. Instead, I felt victimized by his flood of emotions and the fact that my truthful statement could have such dire and unexpected consequences. I railed at the unfairness of it all. I became indignant that he would treat me this way, that he didn't care how I felt. He was victimizing me and he ruined our good evening. What was really happening though, was that he was reliving how I had victimized him with my infidelity, and I missed this opportunity to show him empathy and help him feel safe when he was at the mercy of this unwanted pain. Find freedom and understanding with Hope for Healing for unfaithful spouses. Learn More Later, while still feeling sorry for myself, I posted on my Hope for Healing class wall. I retold the story with an added flourish of how wronged I was for speaking the truth - how being honest did not pay off like everyone says. I wanted sympathy. To cement my role as a victim even further, I continued with the "poor me" act during our next couples' counseling session. It was an award-winning victim portrayal, and our counselor suggested that my husband soften his response and change how he was expressing his pain to make it easier for ME. I really didn't do anything that bad to warrant the emotional distress that I was clearly in. Great advice I thought, but my husband didn't take it, and was even indignant and angry. "What about my feelings?" he said, "I am the wronged party here." He started to pull away in self-protection, and the new safety he had felt up to that point was severely damaged. Afterwards, because I did not take responsibility for how I acted, I was not able to reconcile with him on this topic. I did not realize that the horrible consequences from that conversation were not because I was at the mercy of honesty, but because I did not accept the reality of what was going on, leading me to fail at making it right. It was a selfish attempt to lessen my pain at his expense - a hard lesson in self deception versus the truth. As an unfaithful spouse, I am no victim. And I am never a victim of the truth. My journey through recovery has opened my eyes to how holding onto the victim cards has made my marriage go bust. I have started to realize how my victim thinking infiltrates many areas of my marriage and how it holds me back as an effective person. I now know that I have to first accept who I am to be able to take full responsibility for my actions. There can be no disconnect between me and my actions. My intentions are not actions. My accumulated actions are my being. I have also learned that for my husband to feel safe and even consider getting and staying close to me, I have to let him see me for who I am - the good and the bad - and then I have to let it go. Let go of my fear that the truth will send him running away. Let go of my perceived right to have my feelings dictate how he should feel and behave. Let go that no matter the intentions, the truth is in the actions. Maybe I couldn't have learned this any earlier in my journey, but I sure wish that I had. I have caused my husband more undue pain and have damaged the progress we have made in recovery by holding onto my victim cards. A victim can't be a healer, and I want to be a healer for my husband and be accountable for myself. I owe him that. For the first time in my life, I, as a victim, will fold. EMS Online Registration Opens Soon! Our Emergency Marital Seminar Online, better known as EMSO, isn’t a one-size-fits-all program for couples. Over decades of experience exclusively in the field of infidelity, our methodology has been honed to better serve couples as they address the betrayal, reconnect as partners and restore their lives. "Affair Recovery's EMS Online course literally saved our marriage from divorce. We had tried other professionals, which only led us to more pain in our marriage. It was a relief to find someone who understood our pain. It was comforting to know that others were feeling and thinking the same thoughts as us. We were not alone on this journey. Our marriage has been enriched by the valuable lessons we have learned through EMS Online." — K., Alabama. Click the button below and be reminded before registration opens. Subscribe to Registration Notifications!

The Insidiousness of Shame Shame: A Pervasive Cancer of the Soul Shame: Beginning to Break Free Facing my shame that has plagued me my whole life has been eye-opening for me. I am learning that past trauma that I had left unattended to created a place in my psyche for the pervasive destruction of shame to take hold, wreaking havoc on me and my marriage. I understand now that avoiding and ignoring my strong negative feelings did not make me strong or brave. My husband, like me, had no idea that my shame was the culprit for much of our disconnection through the years. I always felt guarded and unable to access a true sense of connection with my husband. I didn't let him truly see me, and kept secrets from him for years. Shame did not make me betray him, but it festered in me unattended, where I stuffed it down with my secrets. I erected a wall of falseness between us, a wall of pride, so that he would never know how truly bad I was. My unwillingness to be authentic kept us from true intimacy, leaving us both feeling like something was missing from our lives together. Controlling shame has been a process for me - I had to first find the source of the shame and start to deal with it; I had to tear down my false image and learn who I truly was; I had to forgive myself and start to believe that I have worth. I educated myself on what shame truly is and how it affects me personally and in my relationships. A quick Google search defines shame as: "painful feelings or the emotional distress that is caused by the consciousness of wrong behavior, shortcomings, disgrace or disrepute." But what this general definition does not include is how these feelings and distress are processed and ingrained into our thought patterns and behaviors. To learn this, I read books on shame (many recommended by Affair Recovery). A common theme running through the literature that I picked up was the difference between guilt (I did something bad) and shame (I am bad). Also, guilt can be healthy in reformation and restitution, but there is never any good or constructive shame. EMS Online Registration Opens Soon! Click below to be notified in advance. Subscribe Now! Learn More I started to discuss my feelings of shame with my therapist. I had been seeing my therapist for 10 years for anxiety and depression, but I never told her about the trauma from my youth, my betrayal of my husband or of other secrets that I was holding onto. My shame was so strong around these topics that I was going to take them to my grave and let therapy try and mend a much-guarded and groomed false self. Living within my false image had been harming my mental health, my husband, and my marriage. I was not being authentic or taking responsibility for who I truly was, or the real consequences of my actions. I was living superficially. I was allowing myself to engage in behaviors that weren't reflective of the good, principle-driven person I so longed to be. I was missing out on having true intimacy and a close connection with my husband, and I was depriving him of something that he had been wanting most desperately - the real me. Why was I fighting so hard to protect this shame-fueled persona? Was the false image I so relentlessly clung to really the person I wanted to be? What was I gaining by exhausting myself trying to defend my behavior? When I took an honest look inside, all my lies, defenses, justifications, minimizations, and denials started to sour in my mouth and burn my own ears as I said them aloud. I no longer wanted to let shame dictate who I was or how I acted. I no longer wanted shame to negatively affect my husband and my marriage. I wanted to finally take responsibility for myself and the effects of my actions. What eventually helped me the most was acknowledging and truly accepting that I am hurt and broken and in need of change. Once I did, I could hear my husband's feelings without falling into a spiral of self-hate. I could take responsibility for his anger and pain, because I caused it. He did not choose to have his world turned inside out. He did not choose to lose his belief in himself. He did not choose to lose his trust in me. I could stay in a place of empathy because I did this to him. I could put his best interest over my own - the opposite of when I put my interests and desires over his and betrayed him. The opposite of when he was calling out in despair for me in the ICU, and all I could hear was my own shameful self-loathing. I am still on my journey, and though I don't have any easy answers, I do know that I must fight shame at every turn - it is so ingrained in me. Staring it down, not hiding from it, and taking control of my inner narrative helps. So does having someone around me who knows my true value. Recognizing shame and getting on top of it has been one of the hardest things that I have ever had to do - I still struggle with shameful feelings, and find it difficult to forgive myself for the destruction I have caused. I hurt that it has taken me so long to face my shame, and that it took the betrayal of my husband to bring it to light. However, my husband's inexhaustible support, love, and empathy, and his decision to stay in our marriage have shown me that despite my horrible wrongs, I am a worthwhile human being with much to give. I have learned to trust and believe in his opinion of me, which has never been as harsh and critical as my own. He reflects to me the truth - that though I have done some very bad acts, I am worthy and have the power to make amends and to change these flaws within myself. I don't have to hide from them or pretend they don't exist, because they do not define me. Having humility over who I am and what I have done, but also extending myself compassion, will be my way out of shame. I am confident that, one day, I will finally be able to step into self-truth and eventual redemption. Continue Your Healing With EMS Online!. Registration Opens Soon. Our Emergency Marital Seminar Online, better known as EMSO, isn’t a one-size-fits-all program for couples. Over decades of experience exclusively in the field of infidelity, our methodology has been honed to better serve couples as they address the betrayal, reconnect as partners and restore their lives. "I would like to say thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for your ministry and the materials you have provided as part of EMSO and Married for Life. We, all five couples that started EMSO, have just completed the Married for Life 52-week course. We are now deciding what to study next as a group, as we so value the relationship we have together as couples. With God, with your materials and with each other, we have saved our marriages." — B. Minnesota | EMSO participant, March 2021. Spots fill up quickly, so you won't want to wait to register for EMSO! To learn when registration opens back up, click the button below. Subscribe to Registration Notifications!

The Insidiousness of Shame Shame: A Pervasive Cancer of the Soul Part 2: Coming Soon, October 15! This past March, about 13 months after our D-Day, my husband suffered a ruptured brain aneurysm that landed him in the ER for emergency surgery. After his surgery, he spent 14 days in the ICU fighting for his life. Brain aneurysms usually have no symptoms until they rupture, and when they do, the survival rate is less than 50%. Needless to say, those 14 days were a very scary time for him and for me. While he was in the ICU, my husband was struggling with immense physical pain, fear of his own mortality, uncertainty about any permanent damage, and protecting his family while feeling helpless. Worst of all, was the isolation of the COVID restrictions, which only allowed one visitor per day. During this time, he needed me to be there for him more than any other time in his life - to reassure him, to help him feel safe, to show him care and love. After a particularly scary setback a few days into his recovery, he was struggling and called me for reassurance and support. He told me that he was in a dark and scary place, and that he needed me to help with his feeling of isolation. Instead of responding to him and pulling him out of his despair, I took his request as an indictment that I was not being a good wife. His pleas for help hit me like a punch to the gut and I closed off, shut down and was completely useless to my husband. I couldn’t offer him anything but defensiveness and blame. Defensiveness by telling him that I was doing everything I could - which I wasn’t. Blame by telling him his requests were unfair to me and that he had unrealistic expectations- which he didn’t. As a result, we didn’t speak much for the last week of his hospital stay. He completed his stay in the ICU without the support he deserved. When we did speak on the phone, our conversations were cold and fraught with tension. When he finally overcame the immediate danger and returned home, there was a terrible distance between us. How could this happen? How could I not be there for my husband when he needed me the most? What blocked the good inside of me? How could I abandon him in his darkest hour? The answer to these questions lies in one word - SHAME. By spiraling into shame, I chose my feelings over the needs of my husband. I took his request for support as a judgement that I had not been doing enough. I therefore missed an incredible opportunity to show him who I could truly be, which would have strengthened his trust in me and forged closeness between us. Instead, I let my husband feel as if no one truly cared about him when he was most vulnerable. I let shame take the focus off him and put it on me. Shame is a pervasive cancer of the soul. When we experience shame, we store it as a trauma that changes the way we think about ourselves, and it permeates every corner of our lives. For me, I get stuck in the emotions that tell me that I am unredeemable, unworthy, not good enough. I am then unable to show empathy to others, because feeling shame keeps it all about me. I retreat into myself, abandoning the ones I love because of how their feelings make me feel. I become self-centered and am unable to experience true intimacy. How can I let someone get close to me when they will see how horrible I truly am? They will never truly accept me or love me. Intimacy is taken as a threat to my emotional safety, and results in a fight or flight type response that is not rational or relational. My shame is rooted in trauma from my youth that was never addressed. The emotional pain I experienced wasn't processed correctly, which allowed shame to take hold of my soul and fester. As I aged, it permeated through my whole personality kept alive by a constant barrage of negative self-talk and self-loathing. Instead of understanding that I felt bad because I was traumatized, I believed I was traumatized because I was bad. To lessen the pain, I created a false image where I could hide my stained soul from others. This false image felt safe, because I could be someone different, and I could control the narrative of who I wanted to present to others. I could keep secrets, justify my behaviors, deny and alter my reality. I could ignore my feelings and tell myself that I wasn't as bad as my shame told me I was. And anytime my image was threatened, I would defend it vehemently like it was life or death. Maintaining this false image all the time came at a great emotional cost. It was a full-time job. For me, the constant upkeep ultimately led to anxiety and depression. For my husband, it led to isolation, loneliness, and the feeling that he really didn't know who I was. After D-Day, my shame was particularly insidious. During conversations when my husband shared hurt and anger, I would defend and justify my behaviors in an attempt to keep up my image. When I became exhausted from maintaining my image, I would just shut down. I could not truly hear him or show him empathy because I would get overwhelmed with my own feelings of self-loathing. These shame-based behavior patterns were the reasons why I caused more damage to my husband during our infidelity conversations, why I abandoned him in the ICU, and why our recovery became stagnant. I was not taking responsibility for my actions because they did not fit the image that I had created to hide my shame. I was being selfish and making it about me, and I was hurting the man I loved. It became clear that we were never going to heal and move forward unless I could break free from my shame, destroy my false image and start living in the truth. For the first time in my life, I decided to face my shame head on. I resolved to work through my past trauma and finally shine a light on the dark abyss it had created in me. This first step on my journey through shame proved to be a turning point in my personal recovery, and would become the foundation that was essential for the beginning of our new marriage. Please visit us again on Friday, Oct. 15th for The Insidiousness of Shame Part 2: Beginning to Break Free! The easiest–and cheapest–way to start on this journey is to take our free First Steps Bootcamp. It's an online guide with 100+ pages of content and a full-length video of a mentor couple who was in as big of a mess as it can get. You'll take a big sigh of relief when you have a clear plan and learn that you're neither crazy nor alone in this journey, whichever side of the infidelity you find yourself on. Start the Free First Steps Bootcamp Now!