“Who is this woman, wearing my clothes, and using my body?”
My former husband and I were in Atlanta, Georgia for the weekend sleeping in on a Sunday morning. I had gotten an audition for a commercial casting company the day before, and we decided to make the most of the opportunity and stay over. We got a babysitter, and booked a room at the towering Peachtree Plaza. The view of the Atlanta skyline was magnificent that night. Instead of a wall and a window, it was floor to ceiling, wall-to-wall and all windows. The lights were bright and twinkle-y against the deep tar backdrop and I didn’t get much sleep for wanting to look at them, dive into them, no really drown myself in them.
The bright morning sun streaming in from behind the thick curtains invaded my dark hideaway. I was having a difficult time removing myself from what they call their “Heavenly Bed.” We had eaten a huge breakfast of bacon, eggs, and blueberry pancakes, served to us in the room, and climbed back under the poof of linens to take in a couple more hours before leaving the much needed comfort. It made my troubles feel distant and was too lovely an escape to let go of quickly.
There was a movie on with Harrison Ford and Kristin Scott Thomas called Random Hearts. The spouses of these two characters had been having an affair, and they were killed in a plane crash seated next to one another. Left with gaping holes of truths and lies to sort out and they became involved in the process. Kristin, in an intimate moment with Harrison, asked the unsettling question,
“Who is this woman, wearing my clothes, and using my body?”
That moment my ex-husband leaned in and asked,
“Is that how you feel?”
My thoughts were a flood of contradicting emotions. I so identified with the words she spoke, but at the same time I’d never felt more in touch and honest with myself in all my life. I simply said, “Yes,” and wrapped myself tighter, hiding under the sheets.
My affair began in the spring of 2003, just a few months before the trip to Atlanta, and I couldn’t have imagined the brutal road ahead. I can’t pinpoint the day or the exact moment that I made my decision. I just know that I did. I drew a line in the sand and crossed it knowing that things would change from that moment on.
I’ve devoured many books and much scripture on my soul-searching since then, and one of the first was Sheila Walsh’s book Honestly. It was one source of comfort to me throughout this terrible time in my life. Within those powerful pages of heart-healing encouragement, she included a quote that helped me began to understand my desperate attempt. And it said,
“When the pain of remaining the same is greater than the pain of change, you’ll change.”
Change is what I cried out for my entire marriage, and change is absolutely what I got.
