I pursued answers to questions for over a year. I thought that having answers would help put a stop to the obsessive thoughts and feelings I had about everything. In reality, having answers only made way for me to ruminate even more. My mind took the details he gave me, that I asked for, and went into overdrive. More questions surfaced, the obsession to find out more became all consuming, and eventually, I was spending more time with his affair than I was with all the other things I claim matter to me. The pursuit of information, of understanding exactly what happened, that process made me sick. I became withdrawn, angry, off task and miserable. I became a living monument to his infidelity.
If I learned anything from this experience it's this: You can not un-do what you discover. You can not un-learn what you're told. Getting the answers to your questions will not alter or diminish the fact that your spouse betrayed you. Whatever answers you get will not change the past. We think we want those details when actually what we really want is for our spouse to refute that any of it happened in the first place. I kept thinking, "He's going to eventually say something that's going to eradicate my pain and fears -- he's going to say the thing that will make all this not true." Or I'd think this, "My questions are going to make him realize he really doesn't want me and he'll see attempting reconciliation is all wrong. I mean, if he's going to eventually separate from me (because that's what he was doing with his affair,) then let's just do that and be done with all this. Surely, he's still in the fog and just doesn't know it! My questions will uncover the truth!" In reality, the answers to my questions, all the details simply confirmed the betrayal happened and I found myself reliving DDay all over again. Our Q&A sessions just sent me into deeper despair.
Do I regret asking the questions? Not at all. Do I regret the answers? Absolutely. Was it bad? Yes, it perpetuated the devastation. Did the questions stop? Nope - if anything, I came up with more questions. But hindsight shows me that there was something more important happening in those moments than disclosure and honesty. It was in the telling of the details that I was finally allowed to enter this other world that he intentionally kept from me. His willingness to let me in, to finally allow me to see all that he had kept from me, well, that was critical to altering my perspective on the whole situation. Getting answers wasn't what I really wanted. What I wanted was to reconnect to him, to matter to him, to be valued by him. The key, however, was remaining calm, attentive and compassionate. For a long while there, it seemed that whenever he attempted to answer my questions, I would either flip out, sink further into despair or retreat from him. And that just reiterated for him that answering questions was a huge mistake. He would then be more reluctant to open up to me in an attempt to stave off another shit storm. I guess I don't blame him. So I'd say that the process was indeed critical, but not nearly as critical as my response.
I suppose what I really wanted from him was not a play by play so much, but a true indication that he got how totally wrong the whole thing was on every level. If I sensed for a second that he had any ounce of positive feeling from the affair, I was ready to bolt - and most of the time, I did. For me, there was something about his candor, his level of disgust and shame, his ownership of it all, his disappointment in himself, his self-understanding, all of it, that helped me move from hurt to compassion. At some point this second year of R, when we were in an intense Q&A session, he said, "There is nothing good about any of it. I try not to think about the affair, that time in our lives, the way I thought and behaved, because it's so disappointing, it's so counter to who I want to be. I don't want to be the person I was then. I was so disconnected from everything. I was lost and fucked up. And I didn't just betray you and my family, I betrayed myself. My actions have left a permanent dark spot on my soul. And that's not even the worst of it. My actions destroyed the one thing that mattered to me and deeply hurt and forever altered the one person who matters the most to me. And there's absolutely nothing I can do to change any of it. And I would if I could, but I can't." I cannot tell you how critical this was for me to hear. Way more important than what hotel they stayed in. It was huge.
But I would add that my response was just as critical. As he said this to me (and he's been saying pieces of this all along,) I was moved. I was moved away from fear and hurt. I was moved toward him with overwhelming love. With great care and feeling, I held him as tenderly, compassionately, and lovingly as I could and didn't say a word. I think it was in that moment that I accepted that this had happened. There was nothing else to say and no more questions to ask.
You'll read a lot of posts on SI about how the Wayward has to do the lion's share of work. Answer questions, show remorse, figure out why and how they chose to cross the line. And that's very true. I feel extremely fortunate that my fWH is doing all these things. But the BS response to all of that is just as critical. There's been a massive disconnect and it takes both people, with great courage, to reach out and start reconnecting. Hardest thing I've ever done. But I can't imagine it happening any other way and being at this point in recovery.