My Husband Cheated. What I Did About It May Surprise You

I never resisted the urge to talk to my husband about his affair, even when probing him for some obscure detail for the 37th time. He wanted to disclose in broad strokes to lessen the pain for me, but I needed to know exactly what had happened. I needed the when, where and why, so I knew exactly what I was attempting to heal from. Though excruciating for him, he understood I needed to process his betrayal in depth and repeatedly until one day, I just didn’t.

I learned my husband’s decision to be unfaithful had nothing to do with me, but everything to do with him and what was going on between his two ears. Cheating is the easy way to cope with anxieties, and the hard way, all at the same time.

As we attempted to stay together, some aftershocks and triggers caused us, at times, to backslide in our healing and recovery. 

But because my husband fully owned his actions and did not make excuses or assign blame, what followed was a period of peace and calm — allowing us to clear the rubble and build a more solid foundation for our future.

We are not defined by our mistakes, more so by what we do after. Because of how my husband conducted himself after his affair, I have tremendous hope that he won’t betray me again. That he’ll make better, more constructive choices for dealing with discord.

I’m not sure if my trust will ever be restored. For me, once trust is broken, it’s no longer a renewable resource. But hope is a fraternal twin to trust and can assuredly take its place when needed. It can be hard to tell them apart.

There are no guarantees for any of our hopes and desires if we choose to stay. There’s a dreadful sense of uncertainty that makes us second-guess our choice. We want to know for sure that our marriage will make it, that staying and working hard on it will be worth it. But certainty and life are at odds with each other. All we can do is our best and hope for the same.

“Once a cheater, always a cheater,” is something the ignorant say. My husband regrets his infidelity the full amount. I can see the honest pain in his eyes when he revisits the choice he made, I can feel the heavy shame he still carries around. 

We each healed and evolved through the trauma of infidelity to develop a new and improved sense of self. If you and your partner are both all-in, it can happen that way. I was able to arrive at a sacred, safe and protected place in my marriage even while hating the way I got there. 

Eight years later, my husband and I have each owned our role in the eroding of our marriage. Rather than play the zero-sum blame game, we worked to bond again by fixing what was broken — in ourselves and in each other. Because — hear me clearly, here — though I’ll never condone cheating and I’ll never own any part of his choice, a long-term, monogamous marriage is so hard, it’s a wonder anyone can do it well.

We’ve both been terrible at it at times, in differently destructive ways. Once the deep work was done and we were satisfied with our level of healing, it was extremely unhelpful to bring up the past. You’ll want to. You’ll feel certain you need to, that you’re justified in doing so. And you’ll be right, just not helpful.

Instead, we can take the unchangeable past and let it inform our future. One of my best, unexpected takeaways from the nightmare of infidelity is that through staying and recovering together, I’ve come to know I can be on my own as well. I would survive and flourish on a solo path.

A bonus byproduct of rebuilding my marriage is that I, too, came out the other side rebuilt. My marriage isn’t what makes me feel steady, whole or protected; my sense of self does. Though I did the right thing for me by staying and getting the results I was hoping for, I’ve also realized I’ll be better than fine should I ever find myself on my own. And so will you.

AARP essays share a point of view in the author’s voice, drawn from expertise or experience, and do not necessarily reflect the views of AARP.