I have a trash can and a baseball bat in the back yard. It’s quite nice to look at it. I can sip my coffee and look at it and smile. It’s my creation. Molded by my anger. As the events unfolded from his night with Miss A, crazy thoughts swirled in my head about their time together. It was quite consuming. The anger and rage that swelled in my soul and in the depths of my heart made it impossible to breathe. It was overwhelming, the anger that I felt. Anger from the hurt, from the betrayal and the loss of trust. Anger for my kids, anger for my life choices. I mean, I had married a cheater. A cheater! To think that his body was touching hers….made my blood boil. It is a feeling like no other. There are no words…but there is a baseball bat and a trashcan.
When I felt the anger rising in me, I would walk outside, without a word and literally beat the hell out of the trashcan. With everything in me I would pummel that plastic trash can until I could breathe again. It was exhilarating and quite the workout. I imagined the face of Satan, since I felt he was after my family. I felt like Satan had targeted me and wanted my family destroyed. I imagined my husband, betraying me, on her porch, in her backyard and why he made that decision. I groaned and yelled. One night the neighbors called to make sure we were okay…thinking we had lost our minds, when in fact, I had.
I used this bat and can for about 2 weeks, until my anger became more manageable. I probably should have used it more, since sometimes my kids witnessed my anger (not proud about that). It’s still in the backyard. A monument for him to see. So he can have a physical representation for what he did. I may need it again. The grief of betrayal can be a lot like the grief of death. It’s cyclical. It comes back around when you least expect it. Something, a word or object,may trigger it. I still need it there, to see from my small window over the sink. So while I sip my coffee in the early hours of the morning I can see how far God’s brought me.
Unfaithful: For Better or Worse 