Trapped On a Roller Coaster
This woman’s experience touches on so many of the themes we’ve recently covered, I thought it was worth sharing with you. If I could sit in a group with you, I think there’s a lot we could discuss about her story. —Tim
It’s been a year since D-Day.
Twenty years ago, my husband had an affair. I knew something had happened, but he lied, denied, and refused to talk about it. Eventually, we separated after I heard the dreaded line: “I love you, but I’m not in love with you.”
A month later, he came back. He told me he loved me, missed me, missed our family, and wanted us home. He was sorry, he said, and would make it up to me. And so, I went back. I loved him. I wanted my family intact. We had two little kids, and honestly, I didn’t know any better. Everything was swept under the rug.
Fast forward to last year: I was struggling with depression and began counseling. Eventually, I admitted that the “unknowns” from all those years ago still weighed heavily on me. After several failed attempts to talk with my husband, he finally confessed.
And what I thought I knew wasn’t the truth.
There had been two women at different workplaces—one affair lasted two months, the other ten. The second was what triggered our separation. When I left, he realized he wanted his family and pulled me back.
I actually thanked him for finally being honest. But then, a week later, when I asked if there was anything else, he admitted to more: another six-month affair and a one-night stand, both after our supposed “reconciliation.” I even got pregnant during one of those affairs.
So here I am, 18 years later, trying to make sense of this.
He says he “can’t remember” details now. He claims that when our third child was born, it was a wake-up call. He grew up, realized what he had to lose, and that he’s been faithful ever since.
But the problem is this: when I look at him, I realize I never really knew him. He’s lied to me for most of our marriage. He insists the lies were only about this “one thing,” but I know better. Lies of this scale seep into everything.
Over the last year, I’ve also learned things I never knew about him. His father was unfaithful. He himself was sexually abused as a child by a sitter. His dad even made him an accomplice of sorts, sitting in the car while his father visited other women. As a boy, he just thought he had been sexualized too early. Only recently has he recognized it as abuse. For him, putting the pieces together has been healing. For the first time, I see genuine remorse.
But is it enough?
After all these years of lies, of building a life I believed was real but wasn’t—I finally have answers, but I can’t let go of how he lied, even when I thanked him for being “honest.” I can’t get past the fact that he asked me to come home and then betrayed me again. I had told him back then: I will not do this again. And yet, here I am.
I can’t shake the feeling that he got away with it. Again.
I’m furious with myself. How did I not see it? Why did I settle? Why did I ignore my gut? My choices were stolen. If I had known the truth then, I would have lived my life so differently. Instead, I let him draw me back in, and he paid no real consequences. I gave him no reason to fear doing it again.
And yet, here’s the maddening part: life today looks like what we hoped for back then. We’re financially secure. We’re emotionally closer than we’ve ever been. We still have a good sex life.
So why am I still so stuck?
I know I’m rambling, but I needed to spit it out. I’m still in individual counseling. He has joined me a few times but refuses to go on his own. He believes he “straightened up” years ago, and there’s no need to dig into the past.
But me? I feel trapped on a rollercoaster I never wanted to ride.
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