Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


Sexual health

I’m still a bit of a kid when it comes to dealing with sex. I had only ever made love with one man, into my 50s.

My “life” (hahahaha) partner, Rog.

He gave me two STIs. One turned nasty on me years later, and I have had to deal with a serious cervical cancer diagnosis, surgery and radiotherapy.

After earlier procedures that cauterised my cervix, scraping abnormal cells off it.

I’m one of the lucky ones. I have done well since.

And today, I got notice that I will be called up for a Covid vaccine in late July.


I get to jump the queue a bit, because I am still considered immuno-compromised.

Anyway, it brought up so much of my “stuff” getting that text.

Stuff about my attitude to sexual health.

It was started, and sealed, in my teens. Growing up in the AIDS era (shit, sex could KILL you!) My Dad was shoved out of the closet, and I feared for my mother’s life. I was sure I was NEVER going to put myself at risk. No sex until I was in love, and deeply committed. Sure it was with a person who would never put me at risk.

I discussed this ad nauseum with Roger. I always had condoms in the house, “just in case there is ever a fuck up, don’t EVER put me at risk, kay?”

Anyway, so that didn’t happen.

As Chump Lady explains, we all need to have the Awkward STD Conversation (ASTDC)

“An aside — if you’re dating and sleeping with people, you NEED to endure the ASTDC. Do it for several reasons — a) to inform your partner about your state of health and b) assess their character. Are they doing the same for you? Are they cavalier about your health? Their own health? Are they considerate? Careful? Will they assume that all responsibility for birth control belongs to you? (Jerk) Or do they carry condoms and aren’t afraid to use them?”

I was pretty impressed with BG. He showed me a clean, recent STI screen, very early in the piece. He never asked for mine! Eeeek. He took me at my word that I had only been with one man, ever. I did disclose the HPV strain I had. And that he was not faithful. So I was an at risk partner, but had been screened and got six monthly smears.

This is what I imagined being a grown up was. Being sensible about sex and potential risks, both to and from peoole you might have sex with.

But Roger never used condoms with Leanne. I can’t imagine he did with Trinket either. He wouldn’t say. Which means “no, I am not using condoms, while I sleep with (at least) two women simultaneously.

With my research coming into focus again lately, I revisited my acknowledgements. My dedication to Rog aside, I re-read the opening paragraph of both my thesis itself (earlier post) but also, my acknowledgements.

And my heart cracked a bit further. I can’t read further on, about my love standing by me as I undertook this massive project. Ugh. Bastard.

But these words. I had no idea he waa still cheating. Shopping for an easy out. Instead, I felt this was my healing document. Fucker…

“Embarking on academic research is always a giant personal challenge. I
will be forever grateful I took it up. Delving into a topic that has left deeply
personal tracks on my own identity was always going to add to, and uncover
layers of emotional wounds, but also point to the human capacity for healing
and the formation of beautiful scars. More importantly, it presented an
opportunity that would help give voice to those who have survived, and
flourished since, the rupture to their relationships and homes.”

I thought I was starting to unfurl from the pain. I visualised an incredible blooming of us. I’d beaten the infidelity demon.


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Good one, Facebook

I got a friend suggestion today that pissed me off.


I have never interacted with her, or stalked her online in years. Not since my darling Roger fucked her again, two years after their eighteen month long affair “was over.”

Yeah, right. Sure it was.

Anyway, I clicked ignore or whatever it is you do to stop it coming up again.

And it led me back to that wonderful 2013 article from the New York Times, Great Betrayals. It’s a hallmark of my recovery journey from the treachery of a life wasted with a covert serial cheater.

I mostly get along okay in life.

But the scar is enormous, and there isn’t a day goes by that isn’t affected by the mindfuck of what he did. I truly loved and bonded with him. Thirty years, my entire adult life, was shaped by being his partner. I have moments every single day when my heart drops out from underneath me, with memories of how close and tender we were.

He felt like my safe harbour.

I do miss that.

He was never safe. That is absolutely heartbreaking.

I no longer have a safe harbour. It’s just me.

Me to keep me safe. Me to know the truth of my life. I don’t share who I am in anywhere near the way I did. I thought he was doing that with me, too.

Nope. Secrets and lies. He never loved me. God, that is so damn sad. He was just my absolute heart. Loved him with every part of my being.

So very many secrets and lies. How did he keep track of them all? I can’t imagine the things he did, but couldn’t share with me. I would rush home excitedly, bursting to share my highs – and yeah, lows – with him.

Not him.

It still completely amazes me that outwardly normal people do that.

And that is the really hard load to bear. The permanence of what he chose. He gets to gallop away, with a seemingly clear conscience. I battle carefully with the load.

I had a dream last night, that he came to me, like he used to be. He genuinely apologised for fucking it all up. For making me sick. For doubting who I am. Who I’ve always been, the red haired, green-eyed girl who always adored him. He tried to make it right.

In real life, I hope I never have to ever see him again. My heart does backflips if I do. It’s so crazy!

And the opening lines of my Masters thesis, dedicated to him (ugh) are from the poem, Did You Not See? By Jean Elizabeth Ward.

Look what he threw away.

For what a friend who recently met Trinket hilariously described as the budget version of me. Quite mean. I was shocked at their description. But, older, dumber, mousy, still red haired. He got a handmaid.

Or, my son’s words, “more submissive admin person.”

It shouldn’t hurt.

But it does. That ache. The grief of loss.

Even when you trust that they suck.

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Some of the intricacies of trauma

One of the things that really played with my mind was the unknown sexual behaviour that Roger was having, and how that intersected with my fears surrounding consent, and my violent rape.

Rog was the only man I had ever trusted enough to be sexual with.

But, I started working out that he had defiled my body and mind far worse than my rapist ever did.

Not disclosing is sexual abuse. It causes deep trauma.

And, as I processed it, after the hysterical bonding wore off, I started to go numb.

I mean, really numb. I couldn’t feel anything.

This progressed to some startle reactions if he touched me.

When Rog touched my skin, it always ended up being sexual. We had enormous sexual chemistry.

So, once the trauma hit me full on, I jumped if he touched me. It was scary.

And distressing.

I WANTED to be sexual. But my body was recoiling in fear.

I actually thought for a while that I was ruined. That he’d stolen my sexuality. That I might never feel sensual or sexual ever again.

Thankfully, I came right. The problem now is that I am insatiable! Not ideal when you live alone!

And poor BG. He probably fears my arrival, lol.


A list of the things he didn’t do to help me heal

A list of what to do to help the person you cheated on heal from your treachery, by LBH.

Every time I see advice to cheaters, who profess their sorrow, confusion and apologies for having affairs, about what they should do to help with healing, I just see a shopping list of the things Roger refused to do to help me heal.

And he then growled at me for not “letting it go.”

How could I?

He was not proving his dedication, trustworthiness, or genuine remorse.

He never read anything about affairs. Why they happen. What to do when your betrayed is crumpled on the floor on agony. How to find a counsellor. I went to dozens of therapy appointments (because I was the one with the problem, right?) He didn’t change his number or block her. He still took his phone to the toilet. He didn’t make me feel safe anywhere.

Two to ten years.

Read that again!

TWO to TEN years.

That is normal when you have been betrayed by your person. Your love. Your life. The person you trusted more than any other human.

It takes two to ten years to heal. I can’t emphasize that enough. A long, supposedly loving partnership. An awful trust explosion. My friendships. My homes. They were all tainted. I trusted no one. It takes a LONG time to heal from that shit.

He was lying to me whilst online shopping for a new wife appliance. He fucked the original AP again two years into wreckovery. He was chatting to women online for at least two years prior to my thesis submission – the research and hard work of which, felt like healing to me. I still can’t get over how many damn text messages there were when I went through his phone bill, for just that year. Eight months. Over twelve thousand. To just about half a dozen numbers. His harem of women. I’d hate to think what other apps he was using. I imagine the dating apps themselves, and I know WhatsApp was the weapon of choice with Trinket. It is mind blowing.

I just had a wee cry in the office bathroom. Recalling my poor youngest’s ordeal.

Going to visit him for the first time. After not speaking to him for over a year after she witnessed the fallout of him knocking me unconscious at home, and his open emotional abuse and eventual discard of his most loyal supporter, me. She agreed to go see him.

With the proviso that his AP cunt was not there.

She’d been there all day, and he started cooking dinner (he cooks???!!!)

Then, he said, something along the lines of cuntface will be here shortly.

She told me she then picked up her car keys and said, okay, I’m driving home then.

He had tried to bulldoze over her boundary.

He ended up calling that whore and turning her around, she was halfway to his house.

I mean, did Trinket not then think, hang on, these kids know I’m a whore? Shit, he’s lied to me.


This is who I loved. A man who made his own rules up. He’d bring people home all the time. I just dealt with it, put some extra veggies on, etc.

They were almost always women, especially when the kids were young. I just thought he was friends with them. I have platonic male friends.

Ugh. See, mirroring my own values onto him.

I can’t stress enough how debilitating him cheating AGAIN was. It was FAR worse this time. I mean, the first discovery seemed awful. But there was shock involved. And it’s almost a case of, oh, he didn’t know how much this would hurt me.

Doing it again was just downright abusive and cruel. He knew damn well how much it would hurt. How hard I fought to heal from what he did. Nothing to do with me. His choices destroyed me.

Just as,this commenter puts it…


A good person

I spent close to ten years being told I was a bit of a bitch. Basically, the trauma from being cheated on, getting two STIs, Roger, my love, but now an exposed cheater, still being in touch with his AP, my supposed childhood/lifetime friend – I was struggling with all of this information – made me question him more than I ever had.

That made me a bitch.


Trying to protect myself, my body, my heart, made me a terrible person.

It’s from the Cheater’s Playbook. Idolise. Devalue. Discard.

The Mindfuck Only Has Three Channels.



Self pity.

So, when I started enforcing boundaries, trying to play catch up with Roger’s galloping infidelities, got blindsided and broken hearted all over again when he started secretly dating yet another AP (Trinket, ugh) I was villified.

A bad person.

That shit sticks.

In your psyche.

To other people’s perception of who you are.

I have people I have had to very painfully let go of, because of how I was portrayed as the bad guy.

The unforgiving bitch.

They didn’t live with the mindfuckery. Rog was a nice guy, okay? They don’t know he cheated before Leanne.

With an ex.

With a hooker.

With a bunch of people during my first pregnancy.

Et cetera.

They don’t know he was online dating for two years, while promising me I was his one and only. (Neither did I!!!) They didn’t keep getting their heart broken by the person they adored and had trusted implicitly to NEVER hurt them. To always have their back.

It hurt SO, so, so much to let those long, seemingly (to me!) deep friendships go.

But they were amputations that were required for my wellbeing.

Because of this, I had started to wonder if I was an awful person.

I became introverted. After having been somewhat extroverted most of my life.

I felt worthless, and wondered why I was struggling so badly with what he did.

I wondered if I was a bad person.

I was so very down on myself. My failure. I couldn’t keep “that nice guy” from fucking other women.

They don’t know the extent of the mindfuckery. What he really did.

But yesterday, BG and I were chatting about a few things. It was a great weekend. He’s on a health kick, and it is doing him a lot of good. His energy levels are up, and he’s remaining positive in his stressful job situation. It’s lovely to see.

He had asked me if I would come and chat with his friend, and lawyer, Maree.

He has been well advised by her, and it has made him a bit jumpy. Basically, I’ve tied up all my assets, in legally protected trusts, my children as beneficiaries, and a company, of which I am the sole director and own 100% of the shares. This was all set up before I met him, so is not relationship property. Going forward, I need to protect my children, and myself, from him leaving me and taking half my assets. I’ve done that.

But from his point of view, if we are to go forward together, he basically ends up looking like a tenant, if we share my house, for example. What about his input? Sharing expenses. Repairs and maintenance? Etc.

What about his assets and retirement? He is slightly older than me, but my Mum was 12 years younger than her second husband, and predeceased him by about 10 years. I know not to assume!

It would be shit if I died, and my kids sold everything from under him.

Equally shit if he sold their inheritance and ran off with the money.

And what if I left him? And he wasted years of his life, supporting/growing my assets? Or vice versa.

It’s considerably less complicated that he has no children.

But I do.

Anyway, it was a great chat. I’m not going to meet with Maree in a professional capacity. I have my own legal advice. It would not be the right thing to do. But we had drinks and nibbles with her (as friends) yesterday afternoon. I was aware she was kinda scoping me out a bit more. Questions like, “so, you’re still splitting your time here and there? Not living together yet?” And questions about my kids, their sporting history (hers were also rep hockey players, one son is in the Olympic squad at the moment.) What the kids do for livings, etc. BG was oblivious to the gentle interrogation. I know Maree is looking out for her friend. They’ve known each other 40+ years. He got royally fucked over by the last woman he loved.

Anyway, he has basically said he’ll check it over again this week, and sign. We kinda don’t need a contracting out agreement in some ways. But I feel better having addressed it, and we’ve had very robust discussions. I explained that it was my lawyer who was drafting it to protect me, and up to his to suggest changes, if any, to protect him.

He’s wary of having been played for four years by Chrissy, losing ground because she was playing him. I understand his fear.

Anyway, during the weekend, after I cleaned out his fridge, did his laundry and washed his floors, while he was at work, and in front of Maree, he told me that I am the kindest, most generous, strongest, most loving, but most of all GOOD person he has ever had the pleasure to be dating.

Maree told a story about seeing my car at his place a couple of times, right at the beginning of us carefully and secretly seeing each other. Those first months, where we kept each other on the downlow. Didn’t tell anyone about our little secret trysts.

Maree hit him up one day, “you got a new squeeze? Same car a few times, looks like a chick car. You hiding her?”

He hugged me to him and said to her, “had to keep her a secret, to make sure I had secured her! Didn’t want anyone to cut my lunch!” And roared his deep laugh.

This morning, as I was leaving, early, he got up, and squeezed me hard as I was moisturising in the bathroom mirror. It was the first time I’ve really “seen” us together, faces touching, both looking in the mirror, him holding me tightly. We’re a damn good looking couple! Who knew??? How did this happen to my life???

Then he turned to kiss me hard.


I’m so damn lucky.

I’m a good person.

He’s melting me completely at the moment. It’s wonderful.

But crazy scary!


So sweet?

Am at BG’s friends, Andy and Imogen’s house.

It’s been a big day.

BG won the big golf matchplay trophy, after we drove further up north to watch his 12 year old godson play football this morning. I drove said godson home afterwards when the big boys headed off to play golf, buying him an icecream and bag of lollies (BG always buys him a bag of lollies when he visits, so I carried the treat tradition on.)

All this, waking early to hit the road. I had about an hour’s sleep. Partly a debilitating headache. Partly a hell of a lot of sleep talk by BG. He was at it all night long.

On the way up, he asked me what he says. I always tell him I know all his secrets now.

Of course, most of it is gibberish. But sometimes things make sense. He cracks me up. Checking on me in his sleep. Asking staff to do things. That kind of thing.

Imogen heard he sleep talked. BG is her favourite friend. She really loves him. And said to me, “awww, he’s so sweet. You two are the damn cutest, I can’t bear it.”

Also, he got chatty on the road. And asked about my first pregnancy. About me discovering I was pregnant when I was in the UK.

And I explained that I was pretty much single. Roger had sorta dumped me. But we were writing to each other most days, and phoning when we could afford it. There was a lot of supposed care. He was my best friend. And telling him I was pregnant with his child was hard. I had already worked out that I would come home and Mum and her husband had offered to help me.

BG hadn’t heard that before.

I said, he asked me to come back, that should have been a red flag🚩. But I thought I did due diligence. I said there was no way I was coming home to him, when he asked me to, unless it was ME he wanted. Not the convenient mother and baby package. He needed to feel he couldn’t live without me in his life.

I didn’t need him. But I did always love him. He promised me he had never stopped loving me, just thought I needed to travel before life got too serious. So he pushed me out there.



Then BG said something quite interesting. He said he and his sisters grew up a bit loveless. That their view on love was jaded. That none had been successful in love. None had prioritised it. He hadn’t. He wished he was different.

I found that comment intriguing. Because, I know a fair bit about his past. Relationship-wise. And would agree. He wasn’t that excited about love. He never fell in love. Until his late 40s. That ended in heartbreak and her cheating on him.

But he’s the sweetest. He is loving. I just said, “that is an interesting thing to think about yourself. You have very loving relationships with family and friends. Really close, fun, caring friendships. You care about people. You treat me really well. You don’t SAY it much. But I FEEL loved and treasured. Valued.”

He was taken aback. He thinks he doesn’t love well. But says he feels he hit the jackpot in meeting me. Falling in love in his 50s, and with by far his best match. That he’s punching above his weight grade with me.

I beg to differ.

I think I’m so lucky.


Well, there goes that plan…


I’m on the immuno-compromised list, for an early Covid vaccine.

We have been very slow rolling this out in New Zealand.

I guess, with no community transmission for a very, very long time (NZ has basically been Covid-free, except for cases locked down in mandatory MIQ for two weeks on arrival into the country,) we are a long way down the list of the supply chain!

Then, there was a massive Ransomware hit on the local District Health Board (DHB) computer system a few weeks ago. This was chaotic, surgeries and clinics cancelled, no one knew what the hell was going on! I’m so glad I wasn’t in radiotherapy now, as that was also cancelled for a few weeks. So concerning.

I am now just over three years since completing my surgery and radiation treatment for cervical cancer. I am in remission, but not considered “safe” for another two years. My bloods do still tend to go up and down a bit more than is perfect, but I am generally in good health.

But it has meant that the roll out of the vaccination program in my region has been further delayed, ugh.

Anyway, I don’t mind that I am not yet vaccinated, I’d rather they got to the aged population faster! My Dad is 77, and not yet had his first jab, as not yet available to him. He had a rough year last year, with renal problems, and pneumonia, with four long hospital stays, culminating on the removal of a kidney, finally. He’s done really well since, bounced right back, he’s generally a fairly youthful, healthy and active 77 year old.

I had planned to fly to Brisbane, see my son for a few days, then up to my uncle and aunt near the Whitsundays, and up to Cairns, and out, for a week to ten days in August, before our breeding season got underway, and work got crazy again, but I have now been advised to just sit patiently. To not travel. Damn!

New Zealand and Australia opened a quarantine-free travel bubble recently, and it seemed an ideal plan. However, New South Wales has had an outbreak, and a traveller wandered around Wellington last weekend, before realising they were Covid positive. Welly has just gone into a Level 2 lockdown. This is Lockdown Lite, with restrictions and guidelines, but no stay in place mandate other than that you are not to leave the region during this perioid. Just for 72 hours, to see how much damage was done, and to try to contain any outbreak.

BG’s sister, the one I haven’t met in person, just group chats and Zoom calls, because she lives in Sydney, is due to fly in on the 8th. To surprise their mother for her 87th birthday, on the 12th. That is now looking sticky. There is a no quarantine-free travel status for people from NSW for at least 72 hours. They are having a pretty big flare up of the Delta strain over there. Bugger!

It’s kinda weird. His other sister rang me this morning, to firm up plans. It’s quite funny how this always falls to women! I have only been a part of this family for a short period, but she is already using me to prompt him – he hasn’t responded to her email (it is the club’s AGM tonight, and he’s frantic.) She was insisting I come, and stay with her and her partner, we have the large bedroom earmarked apparently, with middle sister relegated to the smaller room – if she can even come now – what a laugh! I was under the impression that they wanted sibling and Mum time, as there are some personal things to be discussed, about her care. Robyn laughed, and said, “bugger that, you’re part of the family!” Um, that is really nice, but it really isn’t my place to say anything, just support and back them up in the decisions they make together regarding my sweet, new mother-in-law’s wellbeing.

I sometimes look at my new life, and think, wow!

How did I get here?

Who are these really loving, funny people?

None of the conflict that was in the previous family I came to via a relationship. The two sisters made our life very difficult in the last eleven years Roger and I were together. It was honestly the saddest thing, losing those people. Those nieces and nephew. I was so heartbroken. I loved them, but had to be very loyal to Rog when there was a huge family conflict. It was horrific.

These three genuinely like each other, and will fight you if you hurt one or the other of them. It’s interesting that there is a nine year spread of ages, and they are still great mates. And are easily in agreement about their mother’s care. They bonded hard over the disgust in their father’s long, three decade long secret affair, and eventual discard of their by then aged mother. And then her health challenges and how to help her have a good quality of life. Selling their family home and ploughing the funds into her retirement village serviced apartment and ongoing care. They work together to help her, financially, taking her to health appointments, etc. I just love this so much! Kindest people, but really real, down to earth, with great senses of humour. They are the epitome of the close “Westie” family, lol.

So, damn. Still won’t get to catch up with my Mum’s only sibling.

Oh, and how weird is this? BG’s mother’s birthday is the same date my mother died. It will be twenty years in a few weeks! Her name is my middle name, and BG’s family name is very similar to Roger, and my children’s family name! He remarked on it the other day. I already knew, and was a bit creeped out, but BG’s surname contains Roger’s surname, with letters in the same order! BG said, eww, that is pretty weird, you’d think you would have avoided me!

I laughed, and said, hey, I didn’t even know your surname when we first started out! I was (and still am, lol) saved as Paula (my town’s name) in his phone!

Which is lucky. Be awful to be talking to the other Paula by mistake, right?

The Other Girl. It’s not a great joke anymore. The kids and I thought it was hilarious when we (stupidly, without a damn clue) referred to Leanne, as “Dad’s girlfriend.” That still makes my skin crawl, and everything in my body cringe and tighten. How stupid were we???

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French Film Festival

It’s that time of the year.

Time to go see some interesting French films in my nearby city.

Yay! Love a good foreign film or five!

My youngest lives there, and we are planning on seeing one tomorrow night – opening night of the festival – after work. The choices are … as usual, ones that contain themes about cheating.


But, to be honest, I can do that now. Last year I couldn’t (and literally couldn’t because it was cancelled due to Covid) so there is some progress. It still hurts a whole lot, but it’s bearable, and I can appreciate the “art” of the movie makers better, and not personalise the pain, The movie is Appearances.

I have been a VERY latecomer to The Handmaid’s Tale. I knew I couldn’t watch a story about female oppression, the themes of female jealousy, etc, until now, even though I totally love Elisabeth Moss! I started last week, and have binged most nights. It speaks to me in so many ways, and I can totally see the frustration of ALL the female characters. Atwood is a genius, and the series is well made and terribly scary. I can see it was the right choice for me not to watch it earlier in my healing journey! Especially as we are supposed to be invested in Moss’s character, June (and I am) but at the end of the day, she started the story out as an AP.

Luke was married to somebody else when they met.

And that wee fact is skated over, at least where I’m up to, in the first half of the second series. I’ll bet anything, it comes up, even briefly, further down the line.

That said, cheating is accepted, and glossed over by society. So maybe it won’t ever be addressed.

I dunno. It just seems like this pain is ignored, and cheaters get away with it all. Ride off into the sunset, leaving deep scars on the betrayed, and live happily ever after.

I have to keep addressing my low self esteem in having beem dumped after decades of work and love…

I’m okay. But sick of it. Just wanna be as relatively carefree as I once was.

You sure don’t know how good peace is, until you have none.

Today, I’m tired of the constant mindfulness, the cheery exterior. I just wanna go home and fall into bed. I can’t, as it was a frost this morning, and I couldn’t shift my stock before work, as the grass was still icy. I fed silage instead, and will shift them tonight, and wash and vacuum my wee car as I’ve promised to lend it to my favourite client for a couple of days. She’s the one from Rog and Trinket’s region who volunteered to punch them for me, lol. She is bringing her horsetruck up for a couple of days, and needs a wee runaround.

Tomorrow will be better. I need sleep.

And love. It will be awesome to hug my baby tomorrow ❤

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A life. Together

We’ve walked a life together before, me and you.
You planned our first date, meticulously.
You were nervous opening that door.
When we laughed, danced, connected, so early in this life’s journey.
You reached for my hand and love started there.
We’ve walked a sweet journey before, me and you.
When you decided that love was enough for the rest of your life.
You secretly cried as you watched me blossom under your gaze.
I was bursting with happiness to be yours, that we had forever to share.
We walked together towards your car, from the arrivals lounge, my body ripe with our child, together,
People cheered on our love.
We’ve walked a lot of ground, for so long, me and you.
As they wheeled me down the hall from passing out in the shower after she finally came, raw, stitched, bleeding and hurting,
And you wheeled our first baby to the car, to the first home we’d share as a family of three.
Her chest listing up and down, trusting in our love she’d be secure.
We’ve walked some journeys before, me and you.
Me raw and bleeding again. You bursting with happiness again.
You held him tightly, as we became a family of four.
He was born into perfection, a special partnership, a home, a family.

We walked that path again. A longer one this time. Another special girl arrived. You were bored by now. 34 hours was too long. She made us complete.

When we thought we were, just you and I.
We’ve walked a journey before, me and you.
So you’ll be prepared when we walk our last.
I carry the weight of our moments and memories and journeys walked before.
When it was declared no more moments or memories, just assets black and white.
I’m heavier walking out, you’re lighter walking away. To her.
She waited with champagne. Everything you both planned finally came true.
And, one day, if you’re brave enough, you’ll tell her, you’ve walked that journey before.


Question of the day

The support boards.


The same questions are asked in a myriad of ways.

Some know they were in average-to-worse marriages. But still expected, and gave, fidelity, honesty, hard work.

Then there are those of us who believed we were with our best friends, the people we loved more than any other human. Yes, I love my kids, fiercely. But I chose Rog. Absolutely adored and treasured him, and what we had together. I got the children I was lucky enough to get. I thought he was forever. Children grow up and live their lives. So I put everything into him. Into us. We had a lifetime to enjoy each other, right?

He treated me pretty well, mostly. We laughed a lot. We had great chemistry. Great, REALLY great sex. Loads of fun together.

This was asked of us betrayed…

I have a question for anyone in here that discovered their ex’s “secret life.” I’ve read several posts where you were completely blindsided and had no idea. I believe this can happen. Did they treat you really well and if you hadn’t found the evidence you would have continued on in your relationship thinking everything was going great? How do you explain such a split in personality? Be it random individuals or a full blown affair how did they hide that part so well? How hard was it to leave when you believed everything was great? ❤️❤️

I am still in some kind of shock. I truly believed we were great together. I never wanted anyone else. His words told me that he was the same.

It was never true. And those thirty years were wasted on an undeserving, ungrateful, unloving man. And the absolute worst part is, I still love who I thought he was. While he plays house with another woman who believes he loves her. That he was waiting for her, and her alone. Just as much as I believed him, too. Fuck, it hurts so much.

It’s utterly heartbreaking.

And I’ve just got my period. Pretty heavily. I still can’t believe that after a lifetime of having six periods ever until he left me, with cervical cancer, that this is happening to my body. Ick.