Lawman, as a fellow Mormon, temple sealed, I feel your agony, yet I can’t even pretend to solve this for you. In my situation, even before his affair, my SAWH (after 22 years of a mostly happy marriage and 4 children) had told me he was an atheist.
While reeling from that, I failed to pick up on other signs. Actually, I picked up on them, but I failed to interpret them correctly. Anyway, I—like you—was initially desperate to save my M and to keep my children from a broken home. The night my two youngest were having b-day interviews with the Bishop, I sat in the car with one at a time, listening to my youngest cry while asking me why I had ever married his dad. Mind you, they knew nothing about the A; they only knew how I (and they) were being treated at home.
It had been six months of torture for all of us and it was time to reconsider saving the M. If it wasn’t a happy home, then what was I sacrificing my pride for? I’d do anything for my children, but I was no longer sure that staying married was the answer.
Days later, after we returned home from a restaurant meal for one of our birthday boys, my WH asked if we could “talk.” What a horrifying question! He handed me a box of tissues as I sat down in our room, and then he confessed to everything. He’d already done some initial research about how to try and reconcile. A good friend had told him to tell all, to allow me to cry, to answer questions, and to expect anger—among more advice I can’t remember.
But that monstrous night was the death of the alien my WH had been and the rebirth of the man he’d been most of our M. There were lots of struggles; there was still indecision on my part. Outwardly, I was all in to save my M; inwardly, I still questioned that decision. But I vowed to give it all I had AS LONG AS I WAS SAFE! I also went religiously to a non-Church-sponsored S-Anon group that was the perfect fit for me. Between that, my bff’s support, and my therapist (3 years of weekly therapy), I was able to heal, to strengthen myself, to return to the Temple (ironically, while I was worthy, I felt defiled by his actions), to divert small inheritance monies to a separate bank account, and to “get my ducks in a row”—basically, to prepare for worst case even though I was giving R a chance. I would never be caught flat-footed again.
So far, so good. Because—aside from the hellish 6 months—ours has been a happy home, our kids recovered far more quickly than I did (plus, they had the bonus of no D-Day). For them, every day in an intact home has been a blessing. Every time we sit together as a family, I’ve sent a quick thank you heavenward. When, together, we’ve watched our children excel, sent two on missions, traveled/vacationed as a family, married one off, I’ve felt incredibly grateful. My eyes are wide open. I will never trust him again. My naïveté no longer exists. Temple marriages can—and sometimes should—end.
Besides my children, here are some thoughts that contributed to my initial determination to remain married at all costs. As time passed, as the true betrayal costs were felt (not just the instinctive desire to save my M to a man I adored), some of these became more important; some less so:
I felt “mated for life” and sincerely believed being intimate with anyone else—ever—was out of the question.
I saw betrayal everywhere and no longer trusted anyone or anything. I lost faith in the fidelity of ALL men.
I truly believed my WH had loved me even during his A. He believed we’d grown apart; he believed we had little in common anymore. His was an exit affair. He felt starting over w/someone else, someone who knew from the beginning about his addiction, someone who had also left the Church, someone who spoke numbers like he did (not languages like I did), was bound to be more successful. He felt giving me a new chance to have an eternal marriage was the fair and right thing to do. He planned to get a job back in our home state (yours) and move us near family so I’d have a support system when he divorced me.
Basically, while much of that was typical betrayed and wayward thinking on our parts, it demonstrated to me that he did indeed love me as far as an addict is capable of loving someone else. It communicated his twisted concern and caring for me. It gave me hope that our marriage had the potential to be stronger.
Long story. Short message is that he never intended to be cruel and, in his own weird way, he tried to protect me. He lost sight of that at times while in the midst of his own worry and misery, but he never—for me—reached the point of no return or “no reconciliation.” It’s been rocky. It’s been rough. It’s also been rewarding. And if tomorrow were to bring another D-Day, I’d end us immediately while still being thankful for five extra years of “family.”
You have to make the decision that works for you, for your children, for your eternal family (mine will perhaps never again be forever—yours might still have a chance?), for your future. Your wounds, your scars, your lessons learned, your support system, your mind movies, your marriage length/quality, your personality-type—all may point to a completely different outcome. And it will be equally legit.
God bless! And hugs. RS
