It’s been nine months since I let the whole world in on my once “deep dark secret.” The very thing I once believed would destroy me ended up being one of the most powerful stories of recovery I can offer others who are in the thick of their own mess.
I never had to share it with anyone aside from my husband E. Certainly I never had to put it all out there publicly for anyone to consume. But I chose to… with enormous consideration. I want to tell you why.
Not sure what I’m referring to? Infidelity. In my marriage. By me. That resulted in a disturbing mental health crisis. All shared publicly for the first time ever in the beginning chapters of Soul Care to Save Your Life.
Before I tell you why I shared it, let me answer a common question I’ve received.
No, I don’t regret it. Sure, there have been a handful of cruel, outrageous, and ridiculous comments made online by strangers trolls. But the majority of readers — whether they’ve followed me for years or not and whether they share the same faith beliefs as me or not — have responded with overwhelming grace and gratitude.
Many saw a piece of themselves in my story, and felt compassion. While their shortcomings and moments of messing up might differ entirely from mine, no one is without flaws and failures. It’s what makes us all… human.
Have you ever thought about why people are attracted to a good comeback story? Why we’re more interested in listening to someone who has been through something hard in their life rather than someone who has never really endured suffering of any kind? Or why you’ll binge the social media content of a widow who lost her husband while raising three small kids even though every post makes you cry and there are lighthearted hair tutorials you could watch instead? (Tell me I’m not alone on this last one.)
It’s because redemption stories are relatable and help us see potential in others and ourselves. They cultivate solidarity and make us feel like we aren’t alone or crazy. Connecting through the vulnerable, tragic parts of our stories is true connection because it’s beyond the surface; it’s raw and it gets to matters of the heart.
The decision to reveal such an embarrassing, once deeply shameful part of mine and E’s story was not difficult for us.
We always knew we would share it… someday. The important questions were when and how? They are important to discern when sharing anything vulnerable with great risk. Like I said in Chapter 6 of SCTSYL: "Wisdom withholds for the right person(s), place, and time."
‘When’ is a big one. Is this a fresh wound? Would the response of others change your decision and/or feelings towards it? Is your motivation to ruin someone’s reputation? Do you feel bitter when you think about it? If you answer yes to any of these questions, it’s probably too soon.
I don’t believe time heals all wounds, but what we do in the time we give ourselves can foster healing. E and I were years removed and confident that no matter how anyone responded we were secure in our decision to repair and rebuild the marriage we have.
‘How’ is crucial. When revealing tender parts of your past, you don’t want to feel pressured or be under the influence of any substance. Going into it flippantly is a recipe for disaster. Instead, handling questions like “What parts of this story are going to be necessary and helpful to share?” is a way to approach it sensitively. Telling the truth doesn’t require telling every detail. Revealing more than is needed can do more harm than good.
Thankfully, we had really great therapists and a Spiritual Director who guided us on the path to telling our friends and family. We could not have done this as smoothly without their help. And I had an amazing editor (Stephanie Smith, who writes Slant Letter) shepherd me through the telling of it all wisely and appropriately in my book. I cannot stress the importance of inviting counsel into your life enough!
So, why did I choose to tell the world that I was unfaithful?
I knew there had to be other people struggling the same way I was once. Both with the addiction itself, and the aftermath of making a massive mistake. I wanted to say what I wished had been said to me…
“You aren’t a horrible person. You still have a life worth living. I got through this. You will too. Even better news — you actually won’t have this struggle forever. You will experience freedom and healing.”
I also tried really hard to write about doing the inner work that I’d become so passionate about without sharing the very thing that led me to it—and that was impossible. I needed to share the valley before I could shout from the mountain top.
My favorite people are the ones who sometimes say aloud the thing everyone is thinking but no one is brave enough to say, or who unashamedly feed their kids McDonalds, or who wear pajama pants to the grocery store. Why? Because they are real. Yet, I have this internal nudge to present myself as perfect to others. I want them to think I’m put together, serving up home-cooked dinners every night, and always in a pleasant mood. (My husband and any kid who’s lived under my roof will humble me real quick on those.) One day it hit me: I would rather be disliked altogether than someone’s favorite person when I’m really just putting on a facade. And because of who my favorite people are, maybe - just maybe - I, in all of my dysfunction and chaos and weirdness, could be someone’s favorite person. And that would hold real meaning.
Hiding our humanity and trying to project an image of perfection just makes us vague, fake, and uninteresting. As I came to accept this part of my past as a truth of who I’ve been and who I am, I grew in my graciousness towards others. And sharing it felt like the kindest gift I could offer.
So why did I share something terrifying and embarrassing when I was not obligated?
Call me crazy, but I wanted to.
I knew that I had nothing to lose. My worth was untouchable. I was truly free.
A radical way of living that’s available to all of us.
Love & a Carmel Apple Spice,
Manda
Reflection Q’s for you:
Carefully consider which parts of your humanity are hiding under the table that would benefit others if you allowed them to show up at your seat?
What if the next time you sat down, you laid them on the table before a few people you trust who love you?
How could you connect on a deeper and truer level with others by letting your weakness and aches be known?
Do you feel free? Why or why not?