Tag: healing

How Bright Is the Room?

Yesterday, I attended a webinar called Sobriety, Safety, and Healing After Betrayal with Dr. Jake Porter. There was so much good information shared, but one idea really stayed with me.

Dr. Porter compared sobriety to a light switch. It’s either on or off. But safety is more like a dimmer switch. The light switch can be on, but if the dimmer is all the way down at zero, there still isn’t any light. This explains how my husband can be sober but I can still be searching for emotional safety.

That made me think about how I communicate what I’m feeling. It is okay to say, “I don’t feel safe,” but it may be more helpful to say, “I feel less safe than I did yesterday,” or, “I feel safer than I did last week.”

When I think about safety on a scale from zero to ten, I can see how the number can move up and down during the healing process, and probably throughout the rest of life. Something my husband does may move me toward feeling safer, while something else may move me back down again. Feeling safer doesn’t mean trust has been completely restored, and feeling less safe doesn’t mean every bit of progress has been lost.

I’ve also been thinking about how a marriage is a lot like a house. A house has different rooms, and in this house every room has its own light switch and dimmer. In the same way, there are different rooms within a marriage. I may feel a seven in one room and only a two in another. I may feel fairly safe with my husband in one area while still feeling very unsafe with him in another. I want to be very clear that I am not speaking about physical safety. That should always be at a 10.

Looking at safety this way is also helping me understand where I need boundaries. If the safety in one room is at a seven, I may not need as many boundaries there. But if another room is at a two, then I need to look carefully at what boundaries I need in that area.

When my husband and I were talking about this, he pointed out that the boundary scale almost works in the opposite direction from the safety scale. If my safety is at a two, I may need a level eight boundary. If my safety is at a nine, I may need only a level one boundary. The less safe I feel in a particular room, the stronger my boundaries may need to be there.

Those boundaries are not meant to punish my husband or control him. They help protect me in the places where safety and trust have not yet been rebuilt. As safety grows through rigorous honesty, transparency, vulnerability, humility, and changed behavior, some of those boundaries may be able to change too.

Communicating where I am in each room can give my husband a more honest picture of how his choices are affecting my sense of safety. I’m not responsible for managing how he feels about the number, and I don’t have to tell him how to fix it. I am giving him an honest picture of where the light is growing brighter and where the room is still dark.

There was a lot of good information in the webinar, but the part about the dimmer switch really stuck with me. It helped me see that safety is not something I either have or don’t have. It can move up and down a little at a time. Maybe it is because I’m an electrician’s wife, but thinking about safety this way gives me a clearer way to understand and express what I am feeling, both to myself and to my husband.

-Aimee
September 17, 2026

Even the Smallest Thread

I am currently in the messy middle of healing from betrayal and infidelity. Some days I can see how far God has brought me. Other days I still feel like I am standing in the middle of all the damage trying to understand what happened and what comes next. Healing has not looked the way I thought it would.

I think I expected there would be a point where I would feel better and then just keep moving forward. But it has not been like that. There have been good days and hard days. There have been days when I have felt peaceful and days when something small has brought all the pain back again.

One thing God has really been showing me lately is that this suffering has not been wasted. There were times when I felt like I was barely hanging on by a thread. I did not feel strong. I did not feel rooted. I did not feel anchored. I just felt like I was trying to make it through the day.

Looking back now, I can see that even in those really dark moments, there was still a tiny thread connecting me to Jesus. Deep down, I think I knew I needed Him. I knew I could not do this on my own. But I had not fully laid everything down at the foot of the cross yet. I was still trying to carry too much. I was trying to understand everything. I was trying to figure out what I was supposed to do. I was trying to manage my emotions and the healing process. And, if I am honest, I was also trying to manage my husband and his recovery. I wanted to know what the outcome was going to be. I wanted to know if everything was going to be okay. I wanted to know if all of this pain was going to lead somewhere.

But God has been teaching me that I cannot carry all of that. I cannot control another person. I cannot make someone change. I cannot force healing. I can tell the truth. I can make healthy choices. I can listen for God’s direction. But I cannot control the outcome.

When I finally reached the point where I stopped trying to carry everything myself and truly turned toward God, that connection started growing stronger. John 15:5 says: “I am the vine; you are the branches.” I have read that verse many times, but it means something different to me now.

A branch cannot live on its own. It cannot produce fruit by trying harder. It has to stay connected to the vine. I think I have spent a lot of my life trying harder. Trying to be strong. Trying to fix things. Trying to earn love. Trying to hold everything together.

But Jesus does not ask me to do any of that on my own. He asks me to remain in Him. I can honestly look back now and see how staying connected to Jesus has slowly changed me and started producing fruit in my life again. I am learning to trust God more. I am learning to surrender things I cannot control. I am learning that my worth is not determined by someone else’s choices. I am learning that peace does not come from knowing how everything will turn out. It comes from knowing that God will be with me no matter how it turns out.

That does not mean I always feel strong. Sometimes I still feel like I am barely holding on. Sometimes my prayers are short. Sometimes all I can say is, “Jesus, help me.”

But even that matters. Even that is still a connection. Even that is still turning toward Him.

I think there are times when we believe our faith has to be big and strong for God to meet us. But maybe sometimes faith is just a tiny thread. Maybe it is simply saying His name. Maybe it is opening the Bible when we do not feel like reading. Maybe it is choosing to pray when we do not know what to say. Maybe it is trusting that He is still there, even when we cannot feel Him.

If you feel like you are barely holding on right now, keep holding onto Jesus. You do not have to pretend you are stronger than you are. You do not have to have all the answers. You do not have to know how the story is going to end. Just keep turning toward Him.

Looking back, I can see that the thread was never as fragile as it felt. It was holding me to Jesus. And Jesus was holding me too. Even the smallest thread matters.

-Aimee

Between His Shoulders

There are certain Bible verses that stay with you through different seasons of your life. For me, one of those verses is Deuteronomy 33:12: “The one the Lord loves rests between His shoulders.” I first held onto that verse after my daughter Melanie died when she was just 18 years old, waiting for a double lung transplant that wasn’t meant to be. I pictured myself riding piggyback on God’s back. My arms were around Him, my head was resting on His upper back between His shoulders, and He was carrying me because I did not have the strength to keep walking on my own.

That picture brought me so much comfort. I was not trying to be strong. I was not trying to figure everything out. I was just being carried.

That image has stayed with me through so many hard things since then. Through losing my daughter Rosie 22 months after her double lung transplant. Through learning about my husband’s addiction. Through learning about his infidelity. Through the night before our Full Therapeutic Disclosure, when I knew I might hear things that would hurt me deeply and change the way I remembered parts of my life. That night, this verse came back to me again.

I did not know what I was going to hear the next day, but I knew I needed to hear the truth. I also knew that the same God who carried me when Melanie and Rosie died would carry me through this too. I do not understand why my life has included so much loss. I do not understand why I had to bury two daughters and then walk through betrayal trauma. Maybe I will understand someday. Maybe when I get to Heaven, I will not even need the answers anymore.

But I do know that God has never asked me to carry any of it by myself. He has carried me when I could not walk. He has held me when I felt like I was falling apart. He has stayed close when I did not know what to pray or even what to think.

When I think about everything I want to write here, this is where it begins. Not with betrayal. Not with grief. Not even with healing. It begins with God carrying me.

This blog is about what God has done in my life through the hardest things I have ever walked through. It is about learning to trust Him when I do not understand. It is about becoming rooted and anchored in Him when everything around me feels uncertain. And it is about resting between His shoulders when I do not have the strength to take another step.

-Aimee