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Abstract

n and now is anti-choice. She will vote to block another woman from having the same control that she had over her reproductive rights.I wrote in my last article that I recently attended a witch’s retreat. It couldn’t have gone more perfectly, considering I was in a house with a dozen other women I had never met. Before the event, I had several virtual sessions with the retreat leader and read every article she had written. I knew her philosophy and ethics regarding witchcraft, but at the end of the day, it was still a leap of faith.The retreat leader did not disappoint me with her determination to create a safe space for women to learn and explore the path of the witch. There were 13 of us. We all were of various ages, from 35 to 60, and came from diverse backgrounds. What we shared in common was that we embraced the path of a witch with pride. Unfortunately, it is a journey that often cannot be celebrated in the open because of stigma and fear. Therefore, to come together for five days with nothing on the agenda but to explore and delve into the ancient practices with like-minded souls was, no pun intended, pure heaven.There were no egos or cattiness. No one tried to one-up another with how much experience she had or how smart she was. I was comfortable almost immediately with this group of women.Every morning, we started the day with a healing circle. The goal was to get to know each other deeply. Therefore, when a person was speaking, crosstalk and feedback were discouraged. We were not to comment or advise in response to another person’s words while in the healing circle. The reasoning was to limit any perception of judgment or intrusion.You, the Wise and Gentle Reader, are probably not surprised that, every day, at least one person became tearful at their turn. The questions were deep and thought-provoking. Many experiences happen because of loss and grief. Crying among other group members can signal that you are in a safe place to release those pent-up feelings.One day, it was my turn.The question was, “What is one thing you wish others knew about you but they don’t.”At this particular moment, the question triggered me. I had memories flash in my head about how much I wanted my children to understand why I needed to divorce their father. They saw the bruises he put on me, but they still didn’t take sides. They stayed neutral for many years. There were times I couldn’t wrap my head around this. Here, I was working two to three jobs while their father was fired from one job after another. They joked about Dad’s temper and how funny it was when he would scream cu

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rse words when he mowed the lawn. Or point out the holes in the walls where he threw things. I felt as if I was in the twilight zone. This was normal to them.When he was removed from the home with a court order of protection, he told my children that I cheated on him and that I went bankrupt. He said he needed to tell them this so they could see he was vindicated.…and this was how I answered the question during the healing circle. Through sobs, I said that when people looked at me, I feared they saw a failure. A bankrupt slut that couldn’t get anything right. A woman that no one took the time to listen to her story. I felt I always had to fight to be heard. Because all anyone ever saw in me was that I cheated and went broke so that I could leave in the most pathetic way possible.One woman squeezed my hand afterward. Another hugged me. Later that evening, I sat with a few women and told them I felt ashamed about my confession earlier. Of course, no one was judgmental. One woman said she doesn’t look at cheating the same way as society does because every marriage has problems that are either worked out or the marriage ends. Another woman said she left a husband like mine, and I shouldn’t be embarrassed. Another one told me to own and make “bankrupt slut” my motto for success.They were sweet and kind, but later that evening, when I went to bed, I ruminated on my disclosure. I realized that, for the first time ever, I didn’t like being a cheater. I never cared before because I was too relieved that I had finally left my horrible marriage. But now, being around such vibrant and intelligent women, I didn’t want to be defined by that term. I felt self-conscious.Long ago, my affair was a crutch I leaned on—a support system I used to find freedom. And after the divorce was final, it still sat in the corner for a long time. It never bothered me. It was a symbol, in a sense—a memory of when someone was there for me. I don’t want to look at the crutch in the corner today. Maybe it is because of shame or embarrassment. Or maybe it’s as simple as that I no longer need it.<a href="https://readmedium.com/my-affair-saved-my-life-c2f7d8278dbe">https://readmedium.com/my-affair-saved-my-life-c2f7d8278dbe</a>______________________________________________Dear Medium Reader, if you enjoy my stories, please consider subscribing to get an email every time I publish. Unfortunately, if you follow a person, the algorithm doesn’t always cooperate in assisting you in finding that writer again. <a href="https://medium.com/@Tullia/subscribe">Click here to subscribe.</a></article></body>

It Was the First Time I Felt Ashamed About My Past Affair

“Hiding” by theglobalpanorama is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0. No changes were made.

“What we don’t need in the midst of struggle, is the shame for being human.” Brene Brown

I started processing the end of my affair through writing on Medium. I had never felt embarrassed about having an affair. Yet, I also never dismissed the difficult emotions and conflicting feelings that resulted from loving a married man. Why was I never ashamed before? Well, I’ve written extensively about my past trauma from a 27-year toxic marriage. It’s been five years since my divorce was final, and I am still fighting the demons from the long-term emotional abuse. I want to think that I would have eventually left my marriage without having an affair. However, I do not doubt that because of my affair, I left my husband when I did. Considering my husband’s emotional abuse directed towards me had eventually turned physical, I fully believe my affair saved my life.

Does that mean I approve of cheating? Absolutely not. But I cannot dismiss that such a scandalous act provoked a major life change. If I took wisdom from that experience and moved into a healthier version of myself, who am I to judge anyone who is currently struggling with their infidelity situation?

I have often written that an affair wakes a person up. You believe your affair is just an escape from a bad marriage, sexless marriage, boring marriage, abusive marriage, etc. Before you know it, the experience becomes a full head-on collision of everything wrong in your life. Some of us will grow, evolve, and become a better version of ourselves. Others stay stagnant, won’t face their demons, and let their affair continue perpetually. It is this second camp I have difficulty in understanding. It is our responsibility to ourselves and those we love to commit to continually learning how to reflect on our trials and tribulations. It isn’t just about finding the strength to endure. I am convinced now that I’m out of danger; it was all about finding my voice and higher purpose.

However, I’m not a hypocrite. I can’t claim that my affair transformed my life and then turn around and yell “Gutless Cheater!” to someone else. It reminds me of a girlfriend who had an abortion and now is anti-choice. She will vote to block another woman from having the same control that she had over her reproductive rights.

I wrote in my last article that I recently attended a witch’s retreat. It couldn’t have gone more perfectly, considering I was in a house with a dozen other women I had never met. Before the event, I had several virtual sessions with the retreat leader and read every article she had written. I knew her philosophy and ethics regarding witchcraft, but at the end of the day, it was still a leap of faith.

The retreat leader did not disappoint me with her determination to create a safe space for women to learn and explore the path of the witch. There were 13 of us. We all were of various ages, from 35 to 60, and came from diverse backgrounds. What we shared in common was that we embraced the path of a witch with pride. Unfortunately, it is a journey that often cannot be celebrated in the open because of stigma and fear. Therefore, to come together for five days with nothing on the agenda but to explore and delve into the ancient practices with like-minded souls was, no pun intended, pure heaven.

There were no egos or cattiness. No one tried to one-up another with how much experience she had or how smart she was. I was comfortable almost immediately with this group of women.

Every morning, we started the day with a healing circle. The goal was to get to know each other deeply. Therefore, when a person was speaking, crosstalk and feedback were discouraged. We were not to comment or advise in response to another person’s words while in the healing circle. The reasoning was to limit any perception of judgment or intrusion.

You, the Wise and Gentle Reader, are probably not surprised that, every day, at least one person became tearful at their turn. The questions were deep and thought-provoking. Many experiences happen because of loss and grief. Crying among other group members can signal that you are in a safe place to release those pent-up feelings.

One day, it was my turn.

The question was, “What is one thing you wish others knew about you but they don’t.”

At this particular moment, the question triggered me. I had memories flash in my head about how much I wanted my children to understand why I needed to divorce their father. They saw the bruises he put on me, but they still didn’t take sides. They stayed neutral for many years. There were times I couldn’t wrap my head around this. Here, I was working two to three jobs while their father was fired from one job after another. They joked about Dad’s temper and how funny it was when he would scream curse words when he mowed the lawn. Or point out the holes in the walls where he threw things. I felt as if I was in the twilight zone. This was normal to them.

When he was removed from the home with a court order of protection, he told my children that I cheated on him and that I went bankrupt. He said he needed to tell them this so they could see he was vindicated.

…and this was how I answered the question during the healing circle. Through sobs, I said that when people looked at me, I feared they saw a failure. A bankrupt slut that couldn’t get anything right. A woman that no one took the time to listen to her story. I felt I always had to fight to be heard. Because all anyone ever saw in me was that I cheated and went broke so that I could leave in the most pathetic way possible.

One woman squeezed my hand afterward. Another hugged me. Later that evening, I sat with a few women and told them I felt ashamed about my confession earlier. Of course, no one was judgmental. One woman said she doesn’t look at cheating the same way as society does because every marriage has problems that are either worked out or the marriage ends. Another woman said she left a husband like mine, and I shouldn’t be embarrassed. Another one told me to own and make “bankrupt slut” my motto for success.

They were sweet and kind, but later that evening, when I went to bed, I ruminated on my disclosure. I realized that, for the first time ever, I didn’t like being a cheater. I never cared before because I was too relieved that I had finally left my horrible marriage. But now, being around such vibrant and intelligent women, I didn’t want to be defined by that term. I felt self-conscious.

Long ago, my affair was a crutch I leaned on—a support system I used to find freedom. And after the divorce was final, it still sat in the corner for a long time. It never bothered me. It was a symbol, in a sense—a memory of when someone was there for me. I don’t want to look at the crutch in the corner today. Maybe it is because of shame or embarrassment. Or maybe it’s as simple as that I no longer need it.

https://readmedium.com/my-affair-saved-my-life-c2f7d8278dbe

______________________________________________

Dear Medium Reader, if you enjoy my stories, please consider subscribing to get an email every time I publish. Unfortunately, if you follow a person, the algorithm doesn’t always cooperate in assisting you in finding that writer again. Click here to subscribe.