There I was, standing at the kitchen sink six years ago, scrubbing away at a stubborn stain that just wouldn’t budge. My hand went numb gripping that sponge, while my three kids — ages 4, 5, and 7 — hovered nearby, waiting for breakfast. I felt the tears streaming down my face transform into full-blown sobs, and I collapsed to the floor. Trying to be strong for them was tearing me apart.
The night before, my husband had confessed to an affair. And just like that, he left for work the next morning as if nothing had changed.
I was gripped with fear about the future. I hadn’t worked in over seven years, my little ones depended on me, and I felt like I had to hold it all together. But in my mind, the only thing that replayed was how I had failed him and our marriage.
We hadn’t been intimate in five months. I was just exhausted. And while I wasn’t the same adventurous partner I had been when we first tied the knot, he was still my person. I wanted to be with him. We were supposed to be enough for each other.
I blamed myself for letting things slip away. I kept denying him, thinking he felt the same about our relationship. I thought it was just a rough patch that we’d get through — if only I had a bit more time.
I carried the burden of his betrayal like a boulder on my chest for six long years. Friends and family urged me to stop blaming myself, reminding me that his choices were his alone.
It was so bad that even at my gynecologist’s office, after learning he’d been with a woman in her 20s, they couldn’t complete my exam because I was such an emotional mess. The doctor told me I had to let go of the blame for my own sanity, but I just couldn’t see past my shortcomings.
Months passed, and I’d find myself driving or brushing my daughter’s hair, haunted by thoughts of his affair. It was like I was intentionally walking on shards of glass, unable to escape the pain. I convinced myself I was unlovable and that I should just stick around because he was a good dad. The thought of splitting up our family terrified me.
But then, after countless dreary days, the fog began to lift.
I wasn’t the one cheating in our family car while I was out with friends. I wasn’t the one sneaking off to see her during the day while my husband juggled three kids at home. No, I was the one keeping our family together, cooking his favorite meals, and doing laundry — all while thinking we were merely experiencing a rough patch.
He was the one who betrayed our trust, not me. Once I realized this, the weight of the world lifted. I felt like I’d lost 180 pounds.
After finally ending our 15-year marriage and smashing all those paintings he brought home, I released the feelings of worthlessness. His affair didn’t define me, and I refused to let it shape my identity anymore.
Looking back, I see how his actions have made me stronger and brought me closer to myself. I forgave both him and myself, realizing I couldn’t hold on to anger if I wanted to embrace the beautiful life ahead of me. Holding onto resentment only kept me from moving on; he had already moved forward.
I wasn’t without my faults in our marriage, but I never sought solace elsewhere. I believed we would endure the trials of life together. The fact that it wasn’t enough for him made me feel like I wasn’t enough for anyone, which is simply untrue.
My Advice
So here’s my advice: if your partner cheats, don’t put yourself through the turmoil I did. Whether you stay or leave is your choice, but remember, infidelity is not your fault. Don’t waste years shaming yourself like I did. You can’t control someone else’s actions, and their decisions are theirs alone.
It’s not about you not being enough; it’s about them not being enough.
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Summary
I spent too many years allowing my husband’s infidelity to damage my self-worth. After realizing that his choices were about him, not me, I reclaimed my strength and moved on. If you find yourself in a similar situation, remember it’s not your fault, and you deserve to prioritize your happiness.