As I’ve dedicated myself to fully working through my betrayal trauma recovery, I’ve learned and grown so much. I truly feel that over the past year and a half I have been completely reborn and am an entirely different person. But this process is a journey. Inherent in epic undertakings, there are starts and stops. Sometimes we even take a few steps back. That’s all okay. Worthwhile endeavors lend themselves to a non-linear course. I think if I visually represented my process, it would appear like a meandering stream with many off-shooting tributaries. I often have experiences that remind me that I have much to still grasp and process. And sometimes the old Azalee gets in the way.

As part of my divorce decree, we agreed that I got to stay in the home for two years, mainly because we had a missionary out when we divorced. Of course, all along I’ve known a clock kept a countdown to the time where I would have to deal with the house. In January, a real estate agent reached out to me on LinkedIn and asked if I wanted to meet about my real estate goals. It felt like a gentle nudge from above. I agreed and met the agent at Starbucks and we had a lovely, surface-level chat.

Two weeks later, he came over to my house to give me an analysis. As he sat there in my kitchen, further explaining the market, I went into a full-on PTSD “freeze” mode—my brain unable to keep up with the basic things he explained. While we were married, my ex and I worked hard to pay off our home. We made a lot of sacrifices and it was with tremendous joy and pride that we made our final house payment. Now, as this agent explained how deeply into debt I would need to go in order to buy my own, paid off house in order to give half of the equity to a man who had already taken so much, my brain went into full spin out.

That night, as I lay in bed, I went back to a place I know all too well. Where I couldn’t sleep because my stomach churned and my head struggled to grasp the truth. Where I wept silently through the long night while everyone else slept. Where I got up to crawl through the next day feeling trashed and numb, wishing for nighttime, only to lie down to repeat the nightmare once again. That awful pattern repeated itself over and over the next few weeks.

Enter the old Azalee. I began to castigate myself for my reaction with thoughts such as: it’s just a house. A possession. When did you become so materialist? Just move. Why are you being so weird and dramatic? You knew this was coming. Get a grip.

Because, you see, old Azalee wasn’t so skilled in honoring pain. She lived with an addict for far too long and had embraced his blame-game explanation of events. Sometimes it was easier for the old me to accept that everything was indeed my fault than try to grasp who my husband truly was. But now I know better; it was time to take action. I purposefully stopped the circular thoughts and took some quiet time to think and feel. I talked to myself like I would a beloved friend. No, I wasn’t being weird nor dramatic. This is my home that I love. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to go into debt. This is about the precious safety and security of me and my daughters. This is a heartbreakingly expensive reminder that I once had what I thought was a stable and loving relationship and now I know I don’t. As I began to gain some clarity and kindness with myself, I realized that I was missing out on an opportunity to help others by not sharing something that on the surface seems so simple. I know there are many who are experiencing similar issues of grief, and you are not alone.

I won’t say that through the realization that I had failed to honor my pain that it is over. I acknowledge that losing a home is a big stressor, dogpiling on top of the betrayal from a man who I truly loved and supported with my whole being. It’s a lot and it is completely okay for me to feel abandoned, frightened, and traumatized. I have noticed that when I fail to honor my feelings, it is hard for me to connect with the Spirit. I’m too busy running myself down. As soon as I noticed and honored my pain, there flooded in the peace that even though I don’t know what is going to happen, I know I am going to be okay.