But unlike my mom’s death, when I experienced sudden loss with my husband's betrayal, there was no fanfare. There was no gathering of the welldoers. There were no flowers of solace, or meals of consolation; No unique gifts as a memorial of the life once lived.

I started brushing my teeth as he launched himself out of our bed and made a bee-line for the closet. I then grabbed the closest thing within arms distance for a blanket, a slightly wet beach towel, and beat him to the laundry pile that had gathered on the closet ground and now acted as my pillow.

Today I faced a really harsh reality. I. don't. think. I. will. ever. trust. again. I became aware that I still have an intense hyperawareness of everything he does. I really hate to admit this. A lot. Like, if I don't say it our loud, maybe it won't be so true. It revels my brokenness, it tarnishes my public persona of having overcome the betrayal.

It was Christmas 1978. I don’t know what I had received, but it sure as heck wasn’t a Barbie. Regardless of who tells the story, the photo really says it all. I was more than disappointed. I was down right ticked off.

For years, I tried “to count” as a bonus mom. I tried tirelessly to be as fair as possible and keep things “even.” I worked, strove, stressed, cried, and, at times, felt crushed at my inability to create an atmosphere that communicated that our family, like their mom’s, was a “real” family too.

You find yourself saying, “But we have come so far. Why now?” Maybe you feel like you have been disqualified and all the hard work was for nothing. It can certainly feel that way.

In order to achieve something we are—rather than fix something we are not—we must discover who we are, how we are wired, and what makes us tick. If we don’t do this, our goals will lead us to make changes based on standards that others have set for us or unrealistic goals we have set for ourselves.

I never intended to lose my identity, but there is a reason it is so cliche'. It became one of the easiest and most satisfying things to surrender.

I have rarely spoken to a single soul who didn’t say, “This process was life-changing and transformational.”

Unfortunately, healing from betrayal rarely comes with a milestone chart that indicates the collective opinion of professionals, so we can measure our progress.

The more life threw at me, the less effective my camouflage became. I came to a crisis of faith when I discovered my husband's sex addiction.

I am envious of the old me that exuded joy and was fun. The old me, who's false beliefs were so deeply hidden, she could live with naivety; Oblivious to what drove her to ALWAYS. BE. HAPPY.

As it turned out, 'new season, new view' meant something entirely different. With unwavering confirmation, we moved 147 miles away, near Portland, Oregon, to work for Pure Desire.

The reality is, no one gives two chalupas about my double chin; At least those that matter. And despite my survival lie, no one finds value in my looks.

The door to OR 3 opened, the bed was put into reverse, then backed into a room that was full of intimidating equipment. It was then, that I made eye contact with the patient.

My emotions are working against me today. I am feeling paralyzed by my lack of control over, well, just about everything in my life right now, and it is inhibiting my ability to move freely through life.

The last one left the house. We immediately dead bolted the door, stripped down to nothing, made a sign that said, “Empty nesting in progress…enter at your own risk” and then promptly sighed with relief. We were done raising children. Sort of.