157. When the Marriage Doesn’t Survive Infidelity

Sometimes, despite your best efforts, the marriage doesn’t survive infidelity. If you’re standing in the aftermath, grieving the loss of your relationship and facing a life you never planned, this episode is for you. You’re not alone, and you’re not broken. This part of your story is painful, yes, but it’s not the end.

In this powerful episode, I speak directly to those navigating separation after infidelity. I share insights into emotional detachment, identity loss, and how to begin rebuilding when your future feels blank.

Whether you’re just surviving or seeking clarity, you’ll gain practical tools and compassionate guidance to help you step forward, one breath at a time.

Key Takeaways:

• Understand why “execution mode” is a coping mechanism and why healing requires more than just getting by.

• Explore how grief shows up in small, everyday moments after separation and what to do with it.

• Learn how to anchor yourself in the present and gently reconnect with your sense of self.

• Discover how to separate fact from the painful narratives you may be telling yourself.

• Reframe the blank canvas of your future as a place of choice, healing, and self-reinvention.

💬 Reflection Questions:

Have you found yourself stuck in survival mode after betrayal?

Connect with Luke:

• Website: www.lifecoachluke.com

• Instagram: @mylifecoachluke

• Email: luke@lifecoachluke.com

Join the After the Affair community at www.facebook.com/groups/aftertheaffaircommunity

Episode Transcript:

The After The Affair podcast with me Luke Shillings is here to help you process, decide and move forward on purpose following infidelity. Together we'll explore what's required to rebuild trust not only in yourself but also with others. Whether you stay or leave I can help and no matter what your story there will be something here for you.

Let's go. Hello, welcome, welcome back you're listening to the After The Affair podcast with me Luke Shillings and you're listening to episode number 157. Sometimes the marriage doesn't make it through.

The betrayal happens, the attempts to rebuild, they just don't land and suddenly you're standing in a life that looks nothing like the one you pictured. It's an incredibly disorientating place to be because on the one hand the betrayal itself has already kind of upended your world. That alone is a grief that is like no other.

I've had people say that their experience of betrayal was equally as painful, maybe in some cases even more painful than the loss of a child. I still find that quite difficult to them but I've heard it multiple times and this is not about ranking levels of discomfort and things that happen in the world but just to highlight what impact betrayal is capable of having on an individual. But then on top of that the marriage that can end itself too and it's like the second earthquake has just hit just when you were starting to get your footing again.

So that's when the really big questions start to really creep in. It's the what now and notice. Notice how that question isn't just about logistics.

It's not just where am I going to live or how do I co-parent or how do I manage finances on my own. They're real and somewhat urgent questions for sure but beneath them the real what now is about identity. Who am I if I'm no longer their partner? What does life look like without a future I've built in my head for years maybe even decades? It can feel like standing in front of a blank canvas that you never asked for and some days that can feel somewhat liberating, full of possibility even.

Others it feels absolutely terrifying because you didn't plan it. You didn't choose this and you'd give anything right now to go back to the picture you thought you were painting before it all fell apart. For many betrayed spouses separation means stepping into a life that you never planned for.

One day you thought you knew how the story was supposed to go. I've genuinely thought I knew what the next 10 years of my life looked like and all of a sudden you're managing the household on your own, juggling jobs, you're raising children, you're dealing with the admin of life that never seems to end. You don't know what tomorrow looks like.

The daily responsibilities can feel absolutely relentless and here's what often happens. You slip into what I call execution mode. We wake up, we get the kids ready, we pay the bills, we make sure there's food in the fridge, maybe we fix the leaky tap or chase up paperwork.

Tick, tick, tick. It's like you're running a one-person company where the only job is to keep things functioning. Now that executive execution mode has its purpose.

It can give you a sense of control at a time when so much feels out of control but it also keeps you on the surface. Every waking moment is filled with logistics so there's no space to actually sit with what's going on underneath. The grief, the anger, the loneliness, the sheer exhaustion of it all.

It's a bit like running a marathon and telling yourself I'll breathe properly when I've reached the finish line but sure you might be able to keep moving for a while but eventually without pausing to breathe you will collapse. Healing is that breath. It's the slowing down, making space, allowing yourself to feel what's actually there even if it is just for a moment.

And I want you to notice something. You may already be performing miracles. Honestly the people around you might look at you and what you are doing and say I don't know how you are managing all of this and they're right.

It is a lot. You are carrying so much. But survival isn't the same as healing.

Keeping the plate spinning is one thing. Creating space to actually breathe, process and rebuild yourself, that's something completely different. And it's that second part that's so easy to get lost, to forget about, particularly when you're stuck in that executive execution mode.

Another piece that almost always shows up here is loneliness. And I don't just mean the loneliness of not having a partner physically in the house, although that is absolutely real enough. I'm talking about the everyday moments that suddenly feel hollow, empty.

It's the end of a long day when something funny or frustrating happens and there isn't anyone waiting on the sofa to share it with. It's the birthday where I suddenly realise that you're the one organising your own cake because there's nobody else to hand that job to. It's those little almost invisible moments, the shared glance across the table, the debrief before bed, the did you see that when something silly happens on the TV.

Those small moments, when they're gone, are what deepen the grief. Because you're not only mourning the marriage itself, you're mourning the we, the shared identity, the sense of being somebody's person and of having them be yours. Now friends of course can step in, family can step in and thank goodness that they do.

Those people can be absolute lifelines. But most of you listening will know what I mean when I say it. It rarely feels the same.

It doesn't replace the intimacy of having that one person who feels like home. And yet, and I think this is pretty important, hidden in that loneliness is also a quiet strength. Because every time you get through one of those evenings, every time you handle something that you thought you couldn't, you are proving to yourself something powerful within you.

That you can stand on your own two feet. Even when it feels like the ground has been pulled away, you are still here. You are still moving forward.

That doesn't erase the loneliness. It doesn't mean you won't still crave that sense of we. But it does mean you begin to build a new kind of trust.

No longer in your partner this time though. This time it's within you. When a marriage ends the future can feel terrifyingly blank.

For years you may have had a map. However imperfect that might have been of what came next. Holidays, children growing up, retirement and now that map is gone.

At first that blank canvas feels like the worst possible thing in the world. But over time it can become something else. It is a canvas.

It is blank. It is a place where you can begin to draw, experiment, create. It doesn't mean it's easy.

Practical constraints still exist. Children, finances, work. But even within those constraints there's choice.

There's agency and recognising that can be profoundly liberating. Many betrayed spouses that I work with, I see them wrestle with self-blame when the marriage ends. Maybe if I'd shown up differently this wouldn't have happened.

But the truth is you could have been the most attentive, loving, selfless partner in the world. And your spouse still had other options. Cheating is always a choice.

Leaving is always a choice. And those choices never rest on your shoulders. Yes there is always value in reflecting in how we've shown up, of course.

And learning from that for the future? Yeah, why not? But don't confuse reflection with blame. Reflection builds, blame erodes. Something I often share with clients is that you're made up of different parts.

Many different parts. Think of them almost like voices around the table. There's the part of you that's terrified of being hurt again.

The one that says, never again. I can't survive this twice. Then there's the part that longs for love, that still wants connection, still hopes for a future when you're not alone.

There's a part that just wants to get through the day, pay the bills, cook dinner, hold it together for the kids. And sometimes one of those parts, usually the loudest or most frightened, takes over. It's in those moments it feels like that part is the whole of you.

Like you're nothing but fear, or nothing but grief, or nothing but exhaustion. But the truth is, you're more than that. You are not just the loudest voice in the room.

Your job isn't to silence the part that's hurting. It's not to tell it to shut up or shove it in a corner. Your job is to recognise it, to soothe it, to let it know that it's not alone, and to remind it that it's also not the whole of you.

I often use this example. Imagine a frightened animal, maybe a rescue dog that's been mistreated. You don't demand it behave differently straight away.

You don't tell it to get over itself. You sit with it. You let it learn that your presence is safe.

You give it time. You let it edge closer on its terms. The wounded part of you works exactly the same way.

They don't need punishment, and they don't need to be exiled. They need patience. They need compassion.

And over time, with care, they can begin to soften, to trust again, to heal. One practical way to do this is to check in with yourself, just once a day. Pause for a moment, take a breath, and ask, which part of me is speaking loudest right now? Write it down if you can.

That simple act of noticing just creates space. It helps you remember that this is just one part of you, not the whole story. And from that space, you get to choose how to respond.

So what now? Well, maybe a few ideas just to ground yourself as you step into this new chapter. Little moments matter. Healing doesn't happen on retreats or in therapy rooms.

It happens in a quiet coffee, a 30-second breath, a scribble in your journal, listening to some music, a hot bath with candles, a gentle walk in the woods. Then maybe you can anchor yourself, but do it daily. Make it a practise, even if it is just short and quick.

You know, whether that is journaling, a thought download, a morning walk, sitting in silence for two minutes, finding a ritual that reconnects you with yourself. Some of the simple tools that I often recommend are the who am I, where am I, what am I doing? So for example, I'm Luke Shillings. I'm sat in my chair at my desk in my office with my headphones on in front of my microphone, and I am recording episode number 157 of the After The Affair podcast.

It's the simple things that just bring us straight back to where we are right now. Another useful tool is to really begin to separate fact from story. The fact might be the marriage has ended, yet the story might be I'll never be okay again.

One is immovable. It is true. It is factually true that maybe your marriage has come to an end and you are getting divorced or you are divorced.

That's not really changeable. It's something that's happened in the past and we can't undo it. We can't go back and change it.

The other one, however, the I'll never be okay again, that's got a bit of room for manoeuvre. That's got some flexibility. That might feel very true as you sit here today, but that does not have to be your truth.

And then, again, something I've spoken about numerous times before is noticing your progress. Healing is often invisible in the moment. You don't even see it.

But if you really look back over a period of time, maybe three months, six months, a year, you'll see how far you've come. And it's in that stopping and pausing and noticing the progress you've made that gives you the confidence and it reminds you that you are moving in the right direction, which is easy to miss if you don't check. So if you're standing in this place right now, you betrayed, separated and facing an unknown future.

I want you to hear this. Your story is not over. This is a chapter in your book that you perhaps didn't ask for.

But it's by no means the end. Your canvas is blank. Yes.

But that also means it's open. And what comes next can be something new, something meaningful, and something that is fully yours. Thank you, as always, for listening to this episode of the podcast.

If you'd like some support in navigating this stage, you can reach me at Luke at LifeCoachLuke.com or you can find me on Instagram at my Life Coach Luke. I'd love to hear from you. Until next time, take care of yourself and I'll speak to you all next week.