I grabbed the oak serving table off the floor and began smashing it hysterically as I screamed and sobbed. Later, I was shocked that I was capable of such violent rage. After months of suspicion, inquiries and personal investigation on my part and years of lies and denial on his, Tom had finally admitted his guilt.
This ordained minister had lived a secret, perverted sexual life for some 20 years. Yes, the thousands of dollars of charges at "houses of ill repute" on secret charge accounts were his. Yes, the secret bank loan was to support what later was called a sex addiction. Yes, the missing, expensive camera equipment had been sold and spent on prostitutes.
Now What?
Like any death experience, my first reactions were shock and intense grief. I knew immediately that I had to get help. But who and where? And whom should I tell what? Should I get a divorce or legal separation? Protect myself financially? Was I at risk for a sexually-transmitted disease? I talked to a divorce attorney and took needed steps.
I talked with our adult children, all married and living away from home, as the mysterious secret charges pointed to something serious and probably sinister. I felt they needed to know because it would also affect their lives. I expected support. After all, I was the "innocent victim." Instead, they were angry at me for being angry at him.
I located a Christian counselor in our town, an Episcopal priest, and announced that I was going and hoped Tom would join me. He was furious. His only expressed concern was that someone might find out about him. He went but could not have been more uncooperative.
Reactions
I expected Tom to express remorse and repentance and to work toward reconciliation. Instead, the only emotion he displayed toward me was anger. I couldn't believe it! I didn't deserve this. I said so, and he would sometimes agree and admit that he was angry at himself, but that did not stop his negative responses toward me. I was the one who had caught and exposed him.
I felt rejected as a wife and female. I questioned my own attractiveness and mourned the loss of marital sexual union, for in recent years he had totally rejected me for his perverse pleasures, feigning health problems and impotence.
Before my discovery of his secret life, I rarely cried. Now, whenever I was not at work, the tears never stopped. As soon as I'd reach my car to drive home, and all weekend, the grief was overwhelming. I'd break down during phone calls from family and friends. Tom seemed to totally ignore my tears and grief. I could be crying, yet he would talk about mundane things as if everything were normal.
In Tom, our children saw only the loving, mild mannered father they had always known. Emotionally, they could not believe that he had lived a double life--one sordid and unfaithful to his marriage vows. They excused everything he did because he had had a difficult childhood. I should forgive, they said. (Years later, a married son asked my forgiveness after experiencing a brief indiscretion from his spouse.)
Searching for Help
I issued some ultimatums to Tom, including attendance at 12-step support groups for sex addicts and counseling. I, too, joined a support group for partners of sex addicts. I felt that I had entered a lurid, murky, evil world--one totally unknown to me, a virgin bride from a sheltered life. At each meeting, I felt as if I were being dragged through slime as I listened to others' stories.
After a few months, we left these groups, believing they were no longer helpful. I joined a co-dependent's 12-step program and continued with counseling. I read everything I could on the subject of sex addiction, trying to understand and find healing. I found several confession-type books by male "offenders" but nothing written by the "victims" and very little about them.
Thankfully, Tom had a job where he was out of town except on weekends. I dreaded his homecoming. I didn't want him around. He admitted he was wrong, that he had a problem, and that he didn't intend to hurt me but I never saw the remorse and repentance that I needed and felt was appropriate to the secret life he had.
Tom claimed he had the problem under control, although he refused to follow much of the advice of his counselor nor would he be part of a support group or be accountable to anyone. To this day, he has been more concerned about hiding his problem than finding healing.
Where Was God?
Where was God in all this? Much of the time, I didn't know. I stopped going to church for over a year. I could not bear to attend church with Tom, for he seemed like such a hypocrite to me. He had spent over 30 years in Christian ministry. He wouldn't go to church without me. He always wanted me with him except when he wanted sexual contacts.
As I look back over the six years since I smashed that table, God seems like the sun on stormy days--out there somewhere but blocked from view by the turbulence and pain in my life.
I studied forgiveness. Although I had taught and even written about it, I concluded that I did not know what it was. I'm still not sure. I learned much about what it was not. And, I'm convinced that when the hurt is grievous, Biblical forgiveness is an ongoing slow process, not the glib act many propound. I found great help in the writings of David Augsburger, professor at Fuller Theological Seminary. I learned much about repentance, forgiveness, and reconciliation from him.
Despite my romantic Cinderella attitudes about marriage, I learned long ago to find supportive relationships through caring friends and small groups. I am thankful for alone times. In fact, I had often felt more lonely with him than when alone.
I thank God for the magnificent writings of Frederick Buechner, which I discovered soon after learning of Tom's infidelity. In this description of his book, Telling Secrets, I read, "Secrets can kill. Telling secrets dissolves their power to hurt and spurs healing... with stunning speculations on the way God speaks through pain." On Good Friday after I learned the truth, I curled up on my sofa, in view of the woods where spring was escaping after winter's imprisonment, and read the entire book. I underlined and made comments on almost every page. I felt as if it were written just for me. At times I wept. At times I cried out, "Yes. Yes. Yes." or just wrote in the margins, as if it were a journal. I have felt like Buechner's expression, "God speaks through the hieroglyphics of the things that happen to us," for much of the time during these years as I tried to decipher God's leading through these puzzling, shocking events
Residuals
I felt and continue to feel so cheated. I'd saved sex for one man in marriage and expected to find fulfillment there. It was always incomplete, and for years I did not know why. Intellectually, I know his infidelity had nothing to do with me, anymore than alcoholism, gambling, substance abuse or other addictions are caused by addicts' spouses. But the emotional realization is often absent.
I wish I could end this article by saying that we lived happily ever after. But we have not and will not. He refuses to discuss the issue or be accountable in any way. He pretends nothing ever happened. Although I cannot say to him the words I love you, I care about him and try to treat him kindly--most of the time. When I occasionally dream of his death, I awaken in tears and am grief stricken. I value our mutual love and commitment to our children and grandchildren --the most important parts of our lives.
And so forth
I choose to remain in the marriage and preserve our family. That's not to say I have become selfless. I still take precautions to protect myself and expect him to keep the problem under control. Only God knows if he does. Once shattered, infidelity requires constant repair to restore and Tom is not willing to be part of this process. I lost the person I thought I married. Is he a good man with a bad problem? Or is he a bad man who does bad things? Is he lacking in character? How could he be so self-centered? The questions are never answered.
As in any death experience, time brings some healing. And, like any death, there will always be pain and a sense of loss. Rarely a day goes by without pangs that remind me of his infidelity. I still find myself frequently looking at him yearningly, asking silently, "How could you! How could you!" My feelings remain unspoken to him, for I've tired of his unresponsiveness and anger when I approach the subject. I can't change him--only me.
Publishing my Secret
I've thought of writing a book of my experiences, which might benefit those in my situation. It wouldn't be one of those books with complete solutions though but maybe it would help someone just to say, "I feel that way, too." Or, "Yes, it's O.K. to think that."
Since "it" happened, I've written much about my thoughts and feelings, but this is the first time anything has been published. It seems acceptable, even sometimes admirable, to acknowledge alcoholism and substance abuse but never sex addiction.
For Fidelity
From my experience, I feel compelled to get a little preachy about fidelity, for people always get hurt in its absence--both parties, whether caught or not. Sexual fidelity is a blessing God wants for all of us, I believe. It should be a commitment and intimacy that enriches our lives.
In her wonderful book For Fidelity Catherine Wallace writes, The blessing of sexual fidelity is a process. It is a discipline or a craft or an entire way of life. It is a spiritual practice grounded in the ultimate energies of erotic desire. It is crucial to achieving the best that our own sexuality can offer to each of us.
My prayer is that through this sharing of my brokenness, others may be a little more committed to fidelity or work a little harder toward healing from infidelity and the salvaging of marriage. I also continue to pray that God will keep moving me out of the shadows caused by infidelity toward something more like light.
The author wishes to remain anonymous to provide privacy for her family. Tom is a pseudonym and some facts were changed to provide anonymity.
She would be happy to correspond with or talk to anyone who wishes to contact her through FAW.