The First 30 Days After Discovering an Affair: A Survival Guide
My name is Heather. I embarked on a journey of recovery at the tender age of 21. 25 years later and 46 years old, I write about emotional sobriety in the messy middle years of recovery, how to truly begin a path to self-love, how to reclaim intimacy & connection, the art of adult friendships, personal & spiritual growth, and how we become the most authentic & aligned versions of ourselves.
My story is a staying story after an affair. That does not mean yours should be or has to be.
I openly share my experiences with the goal of empowering other women to get still. To listen for what the body, mind, and soul already know. I provide a framework in my eBook - After Betrayal: Should I Stay or Should I Go? For meeting their decision with acceptance and resolve. I outlined my entire personal journey in the hopes that my story will help another woman feel less alone. If my words can help just one woman while she is in the height of her world spinning on its axis, then my mission is complete.
No matter whether we stay or go, there is work to do. I get into the nitty-gritty of the work that I had to do as an individual. And the work WE had to do together to reinvent our relationship.
The first 24 hours were, first and foremost, a shock to my system. Part of me felt disbelief. How dare they? How dare he! Another part of me felt strangely relieved that the truth was finally out.
To be rigorously honest, I felt somewhat empowered to become vindictive, because now I GET to play the victim. I never once considered getting back at him. No ‘eye for an eye or tooth for a tooth’ thing here.
However, I did have a skewed relationship with wanting the world to view me as this poor, sweet, and perfectly kind woman who was deeply damaged by the disrespect and selfishness of others.
Sympathy is a currency called attention. Empathy is different. I wasn’t looking for the soft & empty space of empathy which allows for things to ‘just be and unfold naturally’.
I was looking for sympathy. Sympathy is louder. Sympathy doesn’t translate to owning any personal responsibility. Pity, and the people who can inspire it in others, are more powerful than we realize. Especially when we are the ones still participating in that ego-centric loop.
But, above all, I felt heartbreakingly sad. I was crushed. My soul was bleeding (if that is even a thing, sure felt like it). My heart not only hurt in the proverbial sense, but I could also feel it twisting & shattering in the physical sense.
Our son was just a baby. We had just moved in with his mom (or were about to like THAT weekend that I found out) because we were essentially starting over financially.
Rebuilding. Little did I know that the rebuilding would entail the entire structure of our lives and marriage. The world I thought I lived in was a faulty illusion. A glasshouse.
I quit eating. I never eat during grief or intense stress. That’s something I still struggle with today.
If I was functioning at all, it was on straight adrenaline and resentment.
If you’re reading this and you’re in those first brutal days or weeks after finding out, I want you to know something:
What you’re feeling is normal. All of it. The shock. The strange relief. The vindictiveness. The sadness. Not eating. Or overeating. The running on fumes. You’re not crazy. You’re surviving.
The Worst Advice I Got
The worst advice I got in the beginning came from two different sides of the same coin. His “side” immediately jumped into the forget and forgive " camp. Other people told me to leave and do it NOW! Some said, “This is who he is. He’ll never change.”
Others silently thought, we knew this would happen.
Nobody said what I actually needed to hear. You don’t have to decide anything right now. Everyone wanted me to pick a side. Forgive or leave. Stay or go.
But the first 30 days? That’s not necessarily decision time.
That’s survival time. In my experience.
What Actually Kept Me Alive
Oddly enough, crying kept me alive. It was at least a physical response to my world folding in on itself.
Staying close to female friends who loved me no matter what and who kept their advice to a minimum, offering it only when I begged, kept me grounded.
I leaned into my spiritual practices as best I could. I showed up to 12-step meetings. I journaled. I yelled and cried. In some moments, I even laughed. Those moments were a gift. All of them.
And our sweet baby and his precious baby eyes kept me tethered to this life.
I showed up for life’s normal responsibilities. Sometimes. Other times, I didn’t. I truly allowed myself to grieve, to rest, to fall apart. Some days I genuinely could not remember how I made it from morning to night. I’d hit the pillow and think, how did I get here?
Connection with my tribe, beginning therapy, the fellowship, and the smallest bit of willingness to keep working the steps is what survival looked like.
Not pretty. And not strong. Just showing up when I could and allowing myself to fall apart when I couldn’t.
The Mistakes I Made (And What I Wish I’d Done Differently)
I wish I hadn’t immediately stepped into the role of vindicated victim.
Early on, it was natural to focus entirely on their actions. But I didn’t allow even a sliver of space to acknowledge that my intuition had already warned me, and I said “I do” despite my internal warning systems raging silently.
I do not want to twist this. The decision to cheat was his. Full stop.
Nothing I did caused that.
And also, because more than one thing can be true, I eventually had to meet the parts of myself that had become cold, closed off, entitled, emotionally distant, and reserved sexually. Among other things that I had to admit and then subsequently work on.
That reckoning came later. Much later. I sincerely wish I hadn’t wished death on her.
It felt SO much easier to place all of my rage at her feet rather than at the head of the man still in our bed.
Here’s the complicated truth:
She ultimately did me the greatest service by telling the truth. She knew exactly what it would cost her socially and emotionally. She chose honesty when he couldn’t or wouldn’t.
Much later, after genuine amends were made on all sides, we were able to become friends again. Even share meals! More on this later. There are SO many important moments that led up to these events coming to pass.
Years later, she stepped in front of an Amtrak and ended her life. I carry guilt about that to this day. Even though rationally I know her death wasn’t about me. There’s that sneaky ego again.
Those ugly thoughts from the first 30 days can’t be taken back.
I will write more about this later as well. I am excited to outline a sacred process of forgiveness that I completed before her untimely passing.
So much power and empowerment live in this part of the story that it would honestly be a disservice if it was not a standalone piece.
What I Wish Someone Had Told Me
If I could tell myself one thing during those first 30 days, it would be this:
THIS IS NOT ABOUT YOU.
It’s not about being pretty enough.
Sexual enough.
Good enough.
This is about deeply rooted beliefs, wounds, and defects within two other human beings. You are collateral damage. Not the cause nor the reason.
This truth doesn’t soothe the pain immediately. I know that. With every fiber of my being — I know.
But it doesn't matter later.
And I would tell myself this too:
Healing this will take time. There will be setbacks. But the result will be worth it.
The Questions I Asked My Partner That Helped (And the Ones That Didn’t)
Helpful questions sounded like:
- What do you truly want?
- Will you go to counseling?
- Will you do the internal work that it will take to heal your own defects?
- What does marriage actually mean to you?
I go into much greater detail in my eBook on both sets of questions.
Unhelpful questions were the ones chasing reassurance or details:
- Asking for explicit sexual information.
- Constantly seeking validation of my worth.
- Having sex when I didn’t want to just to keep him close.
- Trying to make his behavior about whether he loved our kids or me.
Love had nothing to do with it.
And labeling him as sexually deviant or broken didn’t help either.
He wasn’t wrong for having desires.
He was wrong for how he handled it.
How I Protected My Sobriety
I protected my sobriety by telling my sponsor the truth. Even when it hurt. Especially when it hurt. By continuing to suit up and show up even when I didn’t want to. Especially when I didn’t want to. By staying in service. By utilizing therapy as a supplement, not a replacement. By reading spiritual literature. By journaling. And more!
My sobriety was the one thing no one could take from me. And that mattered more than anything.
Why I Didn’t Decide Right Away
Deep down, I knew I didn’t want to leave. I knew I wanted it to work.
That knowing didn’t come from fear or denial. It came quietly, firmly, calmly. The same way intuition has always spoken to me.
I also knew that making a permanent decision in the first 30 days would not be aligned with who I am.
When people pushed me to choose, I learned to say:
“I’m not making permanent decisions during temporary pain. I’ll know when I know.”
What Survival Actually Meant
Survival meant:
- I’m still here
- I’m still sober
- I haven’t made decisions I can’t undo
Some days, that was enough. Actually, more than enough!
If You’re in the First 30 Days
You don’t have to decide today. You don’t have to forgive yet. You don’t have to leave yet. You don’t have to know yet. Your only job is to survive. To breathe. To cry. To ask for help. To protect your sobriety if you’re in recovery. To let people love you. The decision will come.
But not today.
Today, you just need to make it to your head hitting the pillow tonight. And if you can do that? You’re doing it right.
Love,
Heather
PS - If this essay resonated, you can find my books here.
They explore similar themes around emotional sobriety, boundaries, and coming home to yourself.
