The checkered tiles were cold and hard against my knees. My hands shook uncontrollably as I struggled to uncap the lid of my prescription pills. Tears streamed down my cheeks, and my sobs echoed through the bathroom. I had failed. And worse still, I disgraced my family. I knew ending my life would be as devastating as the reasons that brought me to it, but I didn’t care. I was guilty of doing things I swore I would never do and only wanted to stop my pain. But as I sat there staring down at the pills in my hand, thoughts of my daughters began to flood my mind and weaken my resolve. A random “thinking of you” text lit up my cellphone and gave me pause.
Looking back on that day, it’s hard to imagine I lived what most thought was an idyllic and enviable life. I was a beloved teacher in my hometown with a mile-long waiting list. Everyone wanted their children in my class, and no matter where I went, everyone seemed to know me. Kids waved and shouted my name while their parents cornered me, angling for an in. I must admit I enjoyed the small-town celebrity. Being a well-liked and highly-respected teacher was a big part of my identity, along with being married to a police officer. Who could be luckier? I was a teacher and a cop’s wife. I had two beautiful daughters and we lived in a lovely home—everything I needed to perpetuate the façade.
I met my husband during my freshman year of college. We were walking across campus when he suddenly stopped and asked me if I would go with him to the dance. Without missing a beat, and to my surprise, I agreed. From that day, he literally swept me off my feet and showered me with love and affection. Joey was charming and spontaneous and I enjoyed every second in his company. Despite our whirlwind romance, I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t admit to seeing some red flags along the way. I often wondered how he could be so kind and patient with me but lose his temper so quickly with others, like the waitress he berated for taking too long with our order or the elderly man he nearly ran off the road for not driving fast enough.
As time went on, he continued to blindside me with his questionable behavior. I wasn’t necessarily the jealous kind, but his wandering eye and overly affectionate exchanges with other women always caught me off guard. I remember standing on the sidelines watching his too-close-for-my-comfort conversations with female friends that bordered on inappropriate and fueled my growing insecurities. But inasmuch as his behavior troubled me, I never had the courage to say anything about it. In fact, I found every reason to look the other way. In my naivete, I had convinced myself that getting married would end his antics and be the start of our new fairytale life together.
Not long after we married, the fairytale turned into a nightmare. While I wasn’t foolish enough to think the honeymoon would last forever, almost overnight I went from being the center of his universe to the last thing on his mind. If he wasn’t hanging out all night drinking with his friends, he was away on hunting trips or spending endless hours working on his truck. When I finally mustered up the courage to tell him I felt more like an afterthought than his wife, he dismissed my concerns and called me every name in the book. I learned early on to bury my feelings, knowing that any talk about my needs and his shortcomings was a risky proposition. He would either confront our issues and do better or deny them and ramp up my pain. He always chose the latter.
Weeks would elapse without him breathing a single word to me. Pretending I didn’t exist was my punishment for daring to want more. In the face of his cruel indifference, I still yearned for him to glance my way, to reach over and touch me, to pull me into his arms and tell me he was sorry and wanted to give us a second chance. Not a day went by without me clinging to that hope, even as he grew colder and more detached. To end the maddening silence, I would go out of my way to start a conversation with him, to be complimentary and kind, to make him feel special—anything to be seen and heard and to keep from losing my mind.
Even my body began to self-destruct as I endured a series of painful back surgeries over the next several years. I remember one day, out of necessity, asking him to help me change my bandages. When he readily agreed, I felt a glimmer of hope as his hands moved across the small of my back and down my waist. I reveled in his touch and imagined that in my brokenness he took pity on me. My heart raced at the thought of it, and the knots in my back began to slowly unwind until he abruptly stood up and said: “You should really start working out. You’d feel better if you lost all that weight.” My knees buckled, and I nearly fell to the floor. Not even the twenty-seven staples lining my back kept him from kicking me while I was down.
My closest friends with whom I confided never understood why I didn’t leave my husband. They didn’t understand that the pressure to stay in an unhappy marriage was not unusual in my faith. Getting a divorce was out of the question unless there was an extreme circumstance, like domestic violence. Mental abuse clearly didn’t count. In fact, I spent countless Sundays listening to sermons on forgiving your spouse for their shortcomings, only seeing the good in them, and enduring to the end. Being a devout church member, I listened intently, resolving to forgive my husband and fight for our marriage. No matter how miserable I was, I would never falter in my faith or do anything to tarnish our image.
That’s precisely why no one was prepared for the shockwaves that spread through town when word of my affair got out. It all began after my kids were fast asleep and my husband left for work. To fill my lonely nights, I would play my favorite word game online. Most of the time, I played against random opponents, and we all enjoyed the good-hearted trash talk and sidebar conversations as we competed for the highest score. Hunter found it amusing that he almost always beat me, the high school English teacher and self-proclaimed Words With Friends expert. He had a great sense of humor and loved to rub it in. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I purposely let him win or that I spent my days thinking about him, wondering if he looked as good in person as he made me feel in secret.
Long after our word game ended and the other players signed off, Hunter and I would hang out in the chat room and talk for hours on end. Like me, Hunter felt stuck in a distant and unhappy marriage but didn’t have the courage to leave. He told me that our late-night talks made him feel alive again and that he had an immediate and inexplicable connection even without seeing me in person. I also felt irresistibly drawn to Hunter, and after so many years of being neglected and ignored, I relished his attention. Unlike Joey, Hunter was complimentary, thoughtful, and kind. He said he admired my work as a teacher and was impressed with how I persevered through multiple surgeries. He said he couldn’t understand why my husband treated me so poorly and that I deserved better.
Hearing that melted my heart. Instead of listening to the alarm bells going off in my head, I secretly made arrangements to see him in person. When we finally met, he was everything I had dreamed of and more. Being with him made me feel whole. My self-confidence began to recover from the years of verbal abuse, and I started to see myself the way I was, not how Joey made me feel. I was important, talented, smart, capable, and beautiful. While I would like to say my affair was purely emotional, that would be a lie. I knew that sleeping with Hunter was wrong, but his love was intoxicating. After crawling through the desert devoid of food and water with Joey, Hunter became my oasis.
Eventually, the immense pleasure I experienced with Hunter was replaced with tremendous guilt. I hated myself for cheating and that it took having an affair for me to find my worth at the expense of others. It wasn’t long before my affair was discovered and news of it reverberated throughout my community. The scandal destroyed my husband and turned my kids against me. I was excommunicated from my church and instantly alienated from my family and friends. Most people who found out were utterly shocked. They had no idea my marriage was in trouble, and they never thought I was capable of having an affair. The enormity of my shame made me want to run as far away from Utah as possible. But Utah was my home. It was where my kids were from, and I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving them, even if our relationship was now strained.
After the initial shock subsided, Joey came home one day and decided he wanted to work on our marriage. Despite the pain and public humiliation, the very real possibility of losing me made him want to give us a second chance. We began going to counseling, and in a surprising turn of events, he took me to the place he had first proposed to me and asked for my hand again in marriage. I knew the road to healing would be long, but I was willing to cut all ties with Hunter and recommit my life to Joey. Unfortunately, shortly after reconciling, Joey stopped going to counseling and found every opportunity to throw the affair in my face. He simply could not get past it. I had done the unthinkable. The unforgivable. The worst thing I had ever done. No matter what I tried to do to make it right, there was no coming back from my affair.
I eventually moved out of our family home. While I felt a sense of freedom and peace at times, the pain was crippling. There were weeks I couldn’t get out of bed. How could I live with myself after having an affair? Was it worth living at all? A church elder reached out to me while I was in the grips of my anguish and assured me that I had walked the path of repentance and that God had forgiven me. He reminded me that the only thing left was forgiving myself. I was grateful for his call, but I still couldn’t forgive myself—which is why I found myself on the bathroom floor counting out enough prescription pills to take my own life. Were it not for the images of my daughters along with that text from my sister-in-law, I probably wouldn’t be alive today.
After hearing of my suicide attempt, my father called me and said, “Miriam, put down the shovel. You’ve done all you can. Stop digging!” He always had a ton of wisdom tucked away for hard times like this, and he was right. Reliving my past mistakes would not help me create new ways to move forward. As crazy as it sounds, I wrote this saying on a big piece of paper and taped it to my bathroom mirror. I had to repeat it to myself, like a mantra, every morning: Put Down The Shovel. I decided to stop wallowing in the worst thing I had ever done and start taking baby steps forward.
Once my divorce was finalized, I began to see my therapist weekly. She challenged me to look at this new chapter of my life like I would approach building a new house. She said: “You have burned your house to the ground. Only ash is left. But you have an opportunity, if you want it, to design and build a new house. You need to be willing to examine every little piece of what you put into your house. Nothing goes into the new design unless it is authentically you. Don’t build this house with a fear of judgment from others in the back of your mind. You’ve learned a lot about yourself from burning your house down. Have the courage to build this new one on an entirely new foundation.”
At the age of 47, I found myself starting all over again. My therapist’s advice inspired me to begin the process of rebuilding my life, brick by brick. It wasn’t always easy, and it took longer than I expected, but the following hard-won lessons gave me the sea legs I needed to build my new home:
1. Ask Yourself Hard Questions: I spent a lot of time blaming my husband for my unhappy marriage. There’s no question in my mind that he was unkind to me, that I suffered through years of emotional abuse and neglect. But I never took the time to examine why I allowed myself to be treated so poorly. Why didn’t I speak up sooner? Why was I so willing to perpetuate the façade? Why didn’t I heed the warning signs before getting married? The point is, while I do not excuse his behavior, I had to take a good, hard look at the role I played in our relationship and use those answers to help reshape my thinking and rebuild my life.
2. Embrace the Pain: The pain from my divorce was excruciating. I remember talking to my divorced friends and asking them, “When will the pain stop?” From the moment I woke up to the moment I went to bed, there was not one second of reprieve. Even my dreams were painful. I needed some idea of when it would stop hurting so much. Pain is a persuasive teacher with a mind of its own. I learned that driving around with the radio blasting to escape my pain didn’t work because a song would inevitably come on that left me in tears on the side of the road. Bottom line: I couldn’t run from my pain like I tried to run from my unhappy marriage. If I ever intended to get through it, I had to face it head-on.
3. Put the Shovel Down. After asking yourself the hard questions and embracing the pain, put the shovel down. I spent way too many nights agonizing over the choices I made and the consequences that came from them. I should have prayed more. I should have been more patient. I should have been more vocal. I should never have cheated. Listen to me when I tell you—you will drive yourself insane trying to dig yourself out of a hole. No matter how embarrassed or ashamed I felt, I couldn’t go back and change the sequence of events that became my life story. The sooner I learned to accept that, the better I began to feel.
4. Rise From Your Ashes: Divorce is like a death and the loss you suffer is real. However, eventually, you must rise from the ashes. Set a time limit for the day you plan to get up and walk away from the remains. Even if you don’t live up to it—keep trying. Also, get to know the grief cycle. If you can anticipate what you’ll experience as you grieve, you’ll be better prepared to navigate the flood of emotions. It will likely be very messy. I spent a lot of time letting rage flow through my entire body, and it did nothing but make me physically sick and only stalled the process. I needed to release the anger to move through the grieving process and begin to heal.
5. Write a Goodbye Letter: As a way of turning the page into the next chapter of my life, I decided to write a goodbye letter to the dark years of my past. I wrote down, uncensored, everything that needed walking papers: the harsh words, the loneliness and neglect, the fear of judgment, and the shame of my affair. I ended my letter, however, by focusing on the memories I wanted to take with me into my new life: the love my husband and I once shared, the memories of having my children, and the fun times we did have as a family. As bad as things were, I could not discount the good from my past, and most especially, I didn’t want to carry any bitterness into the future.
6. Learn Who Your Real Friends Are: I was surprised at how many “friends” disappeared after my divorce. I felt like Hester Prynne walking around with the infamous scarlet letter blazing across my chest. Friends should stick with you through thick and thin, not leave you high and dry when you’re at your lowest. Although I was deeply hurt and disappointed by several people who claimed to be my “so-called” friend, I was better off without them in the long run. One of my best suggestions when rebuilding your life is to be very intentional and selective about who you allow into your circle.
7. Assemble Your Tribe. Create whatever support systems you need to get through this time in your life. Whether it’s your close girlfriends, a divorce support group, prayer partners, a trained therapist—or all of the above, assembling your tribe allows you to have a sounding board, a shoulder to cry on, and the tools needed to rebuild your life. There are excellent websites such as verywellmind.com and psychologytoday.com that can help you find support groups and trained therapists in your area or online, in addition to providing other helpful resources.
8. Consider a Change of Scenery. I knew my growth would begin to flourish once I lived somewhere that was not a constant reminder of my previous life. Although moving after my divorce felt daunting at first—especially since I was starting from scratch in my mid-forties, it was essential for my sense of well-being to make new connections and form new memories in an entirely new location.
9. Make Yourself A Priority. I have been teaching my students about self-care for years. Ironically, I was never really good at putting it into practice in my own life. I found that it was critical for my survival during this time. Even something small like setting a bubble bath or treating myself to a massage made a world of difference. You must show yourself love, especially when you don’t think you’re worthy of it.
10. Forgive Yourself: After years of keeping up appearances, it was time for me to start keeping it real. I realized that learning to forgive myself was so difficult because I had a hard time accepting what I had done. Little Miss Perfect had to look at herself in the mirror and admit she wasn’t so perfect after all. Only then could I begin to forgive myself. Not only that, but learning to forgive myself made me see just how self-righteous I had been. Before my affair I thought I would never make so many poor choices, and I was dismissive of people who did. Well, there’s nothing like falling flat on your face to see that you’re no better than the people you judged and in no less need of forgiveness.
Today I’m in the healthiest place I have ever been in my life. After burning my metaphorical house to the ground, by God’s grace I have built a new foundation. I have found my voice, restored my relationship with my daughters, and I am in a loving, wholesome relationship. I am no longer defined by the worst thing I have ever done or defeated by the shame. And while I’d like to think I’ll never say “I would never” again, this one thing I know—were it not for the gift of forgiveness and the grace to receive it, I would never have come this far.
Miriam Anderson lives in Utah with her two daughters and two cats. In addition to graduating from the school of hard knocks, she has a Master of Education and a Bachelor of Science degree in English and Sociology, respectively. For the last 24 years, she has taught high school English full-time and is an adjunct professor at several universities. Additionally, she is a writer, editor, and instructional designer. Mariam loves to volunteer, and you can often find her coaching community softball, working with local 4-H groups, or tutoring struggling students. Her greatest joy is watching her daughters thrive and achieve their goals. Everything about her life involves empowering people to live their best lives. She shares her story so that other women who feel they have done the unthinkable can find hope, healing, and a new beginning.
If you or someone you know is struggling with depression, thoughts of suicide, or just need someone to talk to, please seek help by calling the National Suicide Prevention hotline by dialing 988.