For two days after I listened to my husband order a bottle of wine to take to their room I was in a state that is hard to describe. Barbed wire ran through me like a grid, strengthening me and shredding me at the same time. I bounced from task to task – kids to school, close on the house, unpack, prepare to launch new business, story time, crying time – as if programmed to do so. But if you looked deep in my green eyes there was utter sadness. A girl lost. Fat tears waiting for an invitation to come out and bleed down my face.
But deeper inside, a part of me that must have been training for this moment was busy creating the post-pocket-call me. On that third day I sat under a full moon and spoke to the sky. I had limited options on how to move forward. There’s a right way and a destructive way, I thought, to deal with a cheating husband. Please let me know the right way. Please guide me, Man in the Moon.
The reply was loud and clear: WAKE UP!
I am not exaggerating for your entertainment when I tell you that I felt a surge of power beginning in my gut and radiating out my legs, arms, hands, head and every red hair that grows upon it. There was no end to the energy, and for all that radiated out so much came to rest in my core. After 30 minutes I had journeyed to the moon and back and landed in my chair on my lawn fully present, awake and alive in my body for the first time in years.
I had been stripped clean by the moon. I had no armor on anymore. No dull echo of denial thudded in my brain or my heart. I knew what was happening, and I knew why I created this perfect storm. I had two months to sort through my aches and pains, my strong suits and weaknesses, my desires for this life. I didn’t have to jump right in to fix this problem, like I would have attempted in the past. I could just sit in it. Not fear it, not loathe it, and not loathe him. (Her? Well, it would have felt fabulous to go all Uma Thurman on her, but at this time I didn’t know the Her.)
By day four I looked at that pocket call as a gift. I swear. I wasn’t being fooled anymore, although he tried valiantly to do so. My intuition was on high alert. Nothing was getting by me.
“When I’m not with you I’m not with anyone. There is no other girl.”
The words hit me in the face. My mind could make them believable, but they were empty. Flat. Nothing to grab onto. Like trying to catch fog.
Stunningly to me (although not to anyone who has studied infidelity) he was still lying. So I went on living. He walked through the door 56 days later, after a layover in Los Angeles to bang his mistress for the last time, and came face-to-face with a woman he had never seen before.
How could such an ugly experience result in a such a positive transformation that might have taken a lifetime to create? That pocket call might have destroyed the love I shared with him, but it landed me a new lover.