April 13th: Wedding #3.

April 13 is my wedding anniversary. It isn't my marriage anymore, but the date is still an anniversary. My body holds the memory, no matter how hard my brain attempts to deflect the day. Intentional forgetfulness collides with somatic recollections on April 13.

The anniversary is a part of my story. It is a part of how I became a more whole me. I'd like to share a piece of it with you. There are 4 powerful moments surrounding the date, April 13, that are clear pivots in my life.

Pivot #1: Friday, April 13, 2001 Standing on the early morning beach, toes dug into cool sand, I inhaled salty air as the sun christened the landscape. Light orange wings of sunshine spread beacons of warmth wide in front of me, attempting to wrap me in comforting support. The sky was clear other than a few wispy clouds mimicking my heart flutters.

Oh, how I wanted this new life.

The number 13 was an important number to him- he wore it like a beacon of strength around his neck on a thick, gold chain. When we met, I asked what the necklace meant. He shared the importance of tradition and his Italian heritage, as it relates to #13. It wasn’t a “devil’s” charm but rather, a fond memory of his family as it had been generationally passed down.

Thus, it seemed natural that when we agreed to marry, we chose sunrise on the magic day of April 13, 2001. It also happened to be Good Friday, and, of course, Friday the 13th. The symbolism was fabulous. A new start for a new life begins with a new day, combined with Christ’s fulfillment of prophecy. And we even snuck in the embrace of his Italian heritage. God’s blessing, right?

He was my third husband and to say I carried shame about not being able to hold 2 previous marriages together was an understatement. I wore a scarlet “D” on my chest. The fact that he would have me at the ripe old age of 30 was a miracle. God brought me my knight in shining armor.

Pivot #2: April 13, 2017 16 years later.

My marriage disintegrated at the end of 2016. I filed for divorce in January 2017. I spiraled into a depression filled with nightmares and haunting memories from his admissions of egregious behaviors during our marriage. Desperation, rather than introspection, led me, on April 13, 2017, to the office of a woman who saved me from my hemorrhaging marriage and soul. She looked at me after I hesitantly shared my story and said, “It makes perfect sense that you feel pulverized.” Knowing that she accepted me, understood me, and supported me enveloped me with the soft tendrils of comfort I craved. She unleashed the courage I needed to begin the staggering task of stitching together the gaping lesions from another matrimonial disaster. I found validation.

Pivot #3: April 13, 2019 18 years later.

I took the scary step to fly solo to a conference. I didn't know anyone at the conference and I felt destabilized because I wasn't exactly sure who I was. My eyes were hollow from hours in courtrooms. The stress caused copious sleepless nights which vaporized any perception of strength I believed I possessed. I barely recognized myself. I felt like I was clawing my way through survival.

The last day of the conference was on April 13, 2019, the day of what would have been my 18th wedding anniversary. The conference concluded with a well-known Christian author who specialized in relationships. Unfortunately, what he told a room of women who had experienced infidelity in their marriages was blasphemy.

As he continued his dialogue, I felt triggered (well, repulsed) by his speech and desperately wanted to leave, but I couldn't slink away from the session. I had parked myself right up front, in the middle of the room, and if I wanted to leave, everyone would see me. If I stood to leave, I was about 10 feet from him, and there was NO WAY he would miss my departure. But my stomach was in knots, and I knew what he was saying was dead wrong. I couldn't stand to listen to him. So, I dug up every ounce of courage I had, packed my backpack, stood up, and walked out hoping I didn't trip or stumble on the way. I gotta be honest, it did help that the woman sitting next me also left. And more women came after we left. We had a room full of women who felt the same way I did! Three days earlier, I didn't know anyone. This day, I sat with women who I referred to as my tribe. They heard me; they understood my language. We all knew betrayal trauma. That day, I found courage.

Pivot #4: Friday, January 13, 2023. 22 years later.

This Friday the 13th represented my grit for survival. I completed 500 hours of Pilates that day. I started Pilates because I needed something. I couldn’t afford therapy, but I knew, deep in my core (Get it? Core? Pilates is about strengthening your core!), I had to find a way to preserve my body for my children. It wasn't even about me! The first class was a blend of my body contorting into hilarious positions combined with an inner dialogue of, “Thank God no one is watching me…” And finally, after 500 mentally, physically, and soulfully challenging hours, I was pretty darn good. I found power.

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It is critical we remember and honor our accomplishments: the times we see ourselves pivot and take that next first step.

Celebrate your first steps like a toddler's first step.

It takes a lot of work for the first step a toddler takes. They have to:

• balance on chubby, uneven feet

• flair flabby arms out wide for balance

• focus on thighs contracting

• lift one foot a smidge

• cautiously shift weight backward onto the unstable foot

• at the same time leverage body weight forward so the first foot moves in front of the back foot.

• And on top of it all, keep standing.

  
  

That’s a lot of work for ONE LITTLE STEP. First steps require intentional focus.

I want to jump for joy when you take that first step and learn how to stand!

Give yourself the gift to celebrate them too.

For more information on healing through betrayal trauma, you can find us at

www.coachinghope4u.com.

If you are looking at the possibility of divorce after betrayal, please visit our space created just for you at www.notacasserolewidow.com