Back From Betrayal
Katie Kramer, RN/Life Coach/Author
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Sex Addiction and Single Parenting

10/22/2014

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How do we pick up the pieces after the shock of betrayal, and tend to ourselves and to the needs of our children?

Because we must.

My kids were just one, three and five (2 still in diapers!) when their father’s story was disclosed, and I couldn’t imagine raising three little ones on my own. My husband was a fun, loving, and responsible father, often when I was the parent who looked chaotic and distressed.

How the hell was I going to make it without him? 

I had just received a devastating blow to my marriage, my womanhood, my psyche, and I was grieving...hard. But I had three young babies to tend to, so my daily mantra as I got out of bed was simply: "breathe."

It's what I repeated to myself over and over again over many, many months. Then I just did what needed to be done: I fed the kids, changed the diapers, went to the park, shopped for food. I slept, grieved, rested, repeat.

I cried…a lot, and wrote out my feelings of hurt, betrayal and rage on anything I could find: napkins, notebooks, sticky notes. I had to unleash the rage that kept boiling over without taking it out on my kids.

It was damned difficult to pull off.

So I sought out every bit of assistance I could find: friends who would help with childcare, a counselor who could help me sort out my thoughts, a church group that could help me understand my higher purpose, and a 12-step group that helped me understand the addiction that had unraveled my family and our life in a single blow.

And bit by tiny bit, it all began working. Something began making sense, and I began feeling better. I could see the light at the end of the tunnel—if not for an intact family, than for an intact mother who could raise her three kids alone.

And what I began to understand over the weeks and months after that fateful afternoon was that I had been a single parent for much longer than I’d realized. My husband had merely been trying to connect with our family as a father and husband while his addiction raged on, undetected. He wasn’t really there, though. He couldn’t connect with me as his wife, and he wasn’t properly engaging with our babies. He was going through the motions of diapering, feeding, reading, and talking to the kids and to me while his addiction had his rapt attention.

After many months outside of our relationship, we were more than just surviving. My kids were adapting quickly to our new realities: a dad who left our family, a new place to call home, and a Mom who was blossoming. Blessings along the way—the support of family and friends, a shoulder to lean on, money received from out of nowhere—helped me stay afloat, and gave me the nudge I needed to move on.

And long before I figured out how I was going to make it, I realized that I was.

The heart-wrenching days became less heart-wrenching and our daily routine began to take on a new flavor. I was no longer consumed with just breathing, but with living. I started to reconnect with friends—the kids and mine—and began rebuilding a new life, minus one member.

And lo and behold, 18 years later, we have all survived single parenthood, fairly intact and unscathed. That is the miracle. Not that we survived, but that we all seem to be pretty much okay.

Bumps and scratches? Yes. Bitterness, anger, depression? Hell, no.

My hope for you is that you can find the same peace, and begin to build a better life for yourself and your family—whether you stay with your addict partner or not.
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When Life Falls Apart

10/9/2014

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When Life (As You Know It) Falls Apart *

I sat at the dining room table eating lunch with my friend, a tense knot forming in my stomach. “Something weird is about to happen,” I blurted as I picked at my Taco Bell lunch. “Something feels really funny”.

When Jack came home from work that evening, he left his jacket on, pacing around the house as if he had somewhere to go or some important news to report. I was working in the study, watching him pace back and forth down the hallway in front of me. “Jack, what’s wrong?” I asked.

No answer.

My heart raced, my body felt hot; I tried not to panic. Then out of my mouth tumbled, “Jack, have you had an affair?”

I felt faint as he walked away, guilt and shame etched on his face. I bolted after him into our bedroom, and when he turned to face me, his body was rigid, his shoulders squared. His eyes darted back and forth toward the wall behind me. He wouldn’t make eye contact with me as he stood frozen in place.

I reached out to him, looking to find some answers in his vacant gaze. I tugged on his shirt—crying, pleading, begging. He pulled away from my grasp and told me that he didn’t want to be with me anymore, and he could no longer live in our home. He didn’t admit to an affair, he only defended why he wasn’t staying.

He leaned against our bathroom counter, his arms folded, and glared at me with a smirk as I paced around our bedroom, crying and demanding answers. I was falling apart, not understanding the sudden turn of events. Jack, an affair? (My gut told me that he had had an affair, and since he didn’t deny it, I knew it was true).

How could that happen? He had shown me for almost eleven years how devoted he was to me, how committed he was to us and to our family.

I begged for an explanation, a hug, anything. Jack never budged from his protective stance, and he offered nothing—no words, no explanation, no comfort. He almost looked pleased with the idea of hurting me.

I was surprised to be so panic-stricken. I hadn’t felt in love with Jack for a while, and I had been waiting for something to happen to make me want to leave. This was the perfect opportunity, yet I panicked.

Why wasn’t I relieved about this?


My worst nightmare was playing out before me. Maybe I didn’t want to leave. Maybe I did love him. Maybe I was just nuts, not appreciating all I had with him.

But now as I stood before him, I did not recognize Jack. He scared me and I suddenly felt unsafe in his presence. I paced around our bedroom, sobs wracking my body.

What the hell am I going to do?


* An excerpt from “Coming Through With Grace”.

To read more (here). 



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    Author

    After being raised in the mid-west, I migrated south for high school (with a year in Brazil) and college, and ventured west for a long marriage (and later, divorce)...and eventually landed in the northwest--my real home. Sigh. 

    I am a Teacher, Healer, Single Mother, Nurse, Coach, Columnist, Artist, Author, Traveler, Motivator...eager to share myself with you. 

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