My heart was full of joy as I rested on the swing in the quiet, serene setting of our porch overlooking the trees below. My husband sat next to me. I texted a friend, laughing with her about her burnt dinner through “LOLs” and smiley emojis. There was a moment of peace and lightness—bliss, even. I had no idea my world was about to come crashing down.
The Truth Revealed
It was the day before our 20th wedding anniversary. Earlier that year, we’d taken a special trip to celebrate, and it had felt wonderful. But then he turned to me and said, “I need to talk to you about something important.” His tone immediately unsettled me. That’s when he revealed that for over 20 years, he had been struggling with a secret sexual addiction—pornography and mental infidelity that I had never known about.
I was blindsided. I had truly believed we had a strong marriage, even one that others admired. I thought I was deeply cherished. That belief fed something deep inside me—the longing to be loved and secure.
In that initial moment, I stayed surprisingly composed. I think I was in shock. But as the hours and days passed, the weight of what he shared began to settle in. The grief came in waves.
It meant that for 20 years, the foundation I thought we were standing on was something different. It meant the man I saw as my protector and best friend had, in many ways, not been protecting me at all. Suddenly, he didn’t feel safe. He felt like a stranger—and even a threat to the sense of security I had built my life upon.
A Pain Like No Other
It’s difficult to describe that kind of pain unless you’ve lived it. It feels like falling with no ground in sight. Like drowning in sorrow, desperately reaching for something to hold onto—people, reassurance, anything that might make the spinning stop. But when a drowning person clings to others, they sometimes pull those people under too. That only leads to more heartbreak and more feelings of abandonment.
As I began to process and grieve, I found myself faced with hard truths—ones that God gently revealed through my time in the Hope Redefined Support Group and later at the Redeemed Hope Retreat. I realized I had long carried a fear of rejection and insecurity, rooted in my past. I had placed too much of my sense of worth and safety in my husband. When he no longer felt safe, everything crumbled.
Unchanging Security
What I’m learning—and still learning—is that my true anchor is Jesus. Only He can carry the weight of my need to be fully seen, loved, and secure. No human being was meant to carry that responsibility.
Like a boat held steady by its anchor, our souls need a steadying point. Jesus is that for us. His love, value, and acceptance are unchanging, even when everything else feels uncertain.
The Hope Redefined Support Group met me in the depths of this unwanted journey. It was a place where I could be honest, where others truly understood, and where hope slowly began to take root again. The Redeemed Hope Retreat deepened that experience, offering me a space to continue healing and reconnect with God in deeper ways.
I can’t say the journey is finished. Healing isn’t linear, and I still have days of grief and wrestling. But I am not walking alone. And though this road is one I never wanted to travel, I’m staying tethered to the One who walks it with me—my Heavenly Father.
I am grateful for the ministry of Hope Redefined and the women who walk beside others in these dark places. Thank you, Lyschel, and the entire team, for creating a space where hope can begin again.
~written by a Hope Redefined Community Member