Man, when that whole infidelity bomb dropped, my world just shattered. Seriously, it was like someone pulled the rug out from under me and everything I thought was real just… wasn’t. For a while there, I was just existing, not really living. It’s a real kick in the teeth, let me tell you.
The First Blow and the Mess After
I remember the day I found out. It’s burned into my brain. At first, it was just shock. Pure, unadulterated shock. I couldn’t process it. Then came the pain, a deep, aching thing I wouldn’t wish on anyone. And the anger? Oh, the anger was something else. I felt like a volcano, ready to erupt. I cried a lot. I yelled. I asked “why me?” about a million times. It’s a real rollercoaster, and you’re strapped in whether you like it or not.
Sleep? Forget about it. Eating? Barely. I was a wreck. I replayed everything in my head, searching for clues, for answers, for something I missed. That’s a dark path, full of self-blame and what-ifs. It’s easy to get lost there.
Deciding to Actually Do Something
After what felt like an eternity wallowing in that misery – and believe me, I gave myself permission to wallow for a bit, you kinda have to – I hit a point where I just couldn’t do it anymore. I looked at myself, really looked, and I didn’t like who I was becoming. This wasn’t me. I realized I had a choice: stay broken or start picking up the pieces. It wasn’t easy, that decision. Felt like climbing a mountain with no gear.
The first thing I did was accept that it happened. Sounds simple, right? It’s not. It’s about looking the ugly truth square in the face and not flinching. No more denial, no more wishing it away.
The Actual Steps I Took to Claw My Way Out
So, what did I actually do? Well, it wasn’t a neat, tidy process. It was messy. But here’s some of what I stumbled through:
- I let myself feel everything. The good, the bad, the incredibly ugly. If I needed to cry, I cried. If I was angry, I found safe ways to let it out – screaming into a pillow works wonders, by the way. Bottling it up just makes it fester.
- I talked. A lot. To a couple of trusted friends who wouldn’t just tell me what I wanted to hear. Just getting it out of my own head helped. Didn’t go for any fancy therapy, just raw, honest chats with people who cared.
- I focused on tiny, manageable things. Getting out of bed. Taking a shower. Making a meal. Small victories, you know? They add up.
- I started doing things for me again. Things I enjoyed before all this crap went down. For me, it was getting back into hiking, losing myself in music. Little by little, I started to remember who I was outside of that relationship.
- Distance. Crucial. I had to create space. Mentally, and in my case, physically too for a while. You can’t heal if you’re constantly picking at the wound.
And forgiveness? That was a tough nut to crack. For a long time, the idea made me sick. But eventually, I realized that holding onto all that bitterness and resentment was only hurting me. It was like carrying a backpack full of rocks everywhere I went. Forgiving wasn’t about letting them off the hook. It was about setting myself free. It took a long, long time, and it’s an ongoing thing some days, but it was key.
Where I Am Now
Look, moving on isn’t about forgetting. I don’t think you ever truly forget something like that. It changes you. But you can heal. You can rebuild. It’s a slow, painful crawl sometimes, not a sprint. There were days I slipped back, days the sadness hit me like a wave. But I kept putting one foot in front of the other.
Today? I’m doing okay. Genuinely okay. I’m stronger than I ever thought I could be. I learned a hell of a lot about myself, about resilience. Life threw me a massive curveball, but I didn’t let it strike me out. It’s a tough road, no doubt about it, but you absolutely can come out the other side. It just takes time, and a whole lot of being kind to yourself through the process.
