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The day after D-day things were the same everywhere else but not deep within me. The sun rose, the sun set. Coffee steamed, wine satisfied. But I couldn’t or wouldn’t see it.

The day after D-day, it seemed to me that the safety of the typical had violently rejected me. Or was it, I was rejecting it? For looking back with some clarity, I didn’t care if the sun rose or set. To my taste buds all coffee was bitter, all wine had turned to vinegar.

The day after D-day and every day forward I found that I must remind myself that I would survive the fact that infidelity had muscularly contracted against my understanding of reality. That it had violently pushed it out of the warm womb and through a haunting canal, creating in me, confusion and fear of the unknown.

The day after D-day I laid prone, all alone, no longer two as one, birthed by the truth of her lies.

The day after D-day my eyes were forced wide open to a blurry view of a new, unimaginable reality. An existence I had not agreed to. One in which, at 1st, I wailed against, wanting to return to what was. I flailed my arms and feet into the unfamiliar, unable to grasp my new reality nor able to run from it.

The day after D-day I couldn’t comprehend that there would come a willingness to give up the natural desire to return to the womb. That there would be a time when I would welcome my stumbles and falls. And despite the tears I’d embrace the drive to get up again and again and again. It was then and only then that I learned I could walk alone, or as two, upright with confidence.

The day after D-day is not the end of all days to come. There will be a day, whether one changes brands or not that once again the coffee will steam, and wine will satisfy.

The day after Dday is one of the worst IMO.

I wonder how people were able to function (if at all).

I remember DDay quite vividly. I remember cleanup the day after. Her cutting contact. Phone number changes and all the social media blocks. My way or the highway stuff.

I was awake for 44 hours after I found out.

I wonder how people were able to function (if at all).

Good question, The1stWife,

For me, it was "don’t panic" no "drastic lunging" just keep plodding with one foot in front of the other trusting there was a worthwhile destination at the end of the road.

The day after Dday was the worst. I was sitting in the floor of my bedroom crying and unable to do more than just breathe. Could barely function.

It was then I saw how cold and nasty my H could be.

He literally stepped over me and left to go to a BBQ. I was in no shape to leave the room but he showed he was disgusted with me for being so emotional.

Looking back he did not want to have any accountability for the situation— he expected me to just deal with it.

Typical cheater behavior!!!

And then a few days later he tells me he’s D me - he doesn’t want to be married. Because the OW doesn’t want to be the OW. Apparently she has "morals" and she’s expecting him to D me b/c he told her when they met he was "getting a D" b/c she wouldn’t go out with him b/c she doesn’t date married men.

Having to live with him knowing he despised me was the immediate aftermath of Dday. Typical midlife crisis btw.

[This message edited by The1stWife at 11:32 AM, Tuesday, September 30th]

Yeh, hard to describe that day. Dday was marked by stunned disbelief. Shock may be a good word. Dday +1 was when the pain started flooding in. Unuterable pain mingled with incipient rage. Then came the exhaustion. I talked about this elsewhere that though I had to continue to function in other spheres (work, parenting my kids, friendships, etc), it felt like slogging through a bog every day. So began one long, sad chapter in my life which ended almost a decade later (deeply regret trying "to make it work").

Thank God, I'm now light years away from those excruciatingly painful days and have built a beautiful marriage and family with a worthy woman.

That said, Dday +1? Catastrophic.

The day after Dday, I woke comfortable in my bed. For a second or two it felt like any other day. And then I remembered. It was liking finding out all over again. The tears, the pain, everything came flooding back. It was exactly how I woke up the day after my dad died.

The rest of the day was a roller coaster of pain, despair, numbness, and a whole fucked up variety of other emotions. Unlike the day after losing my dad, I still had to go to work, to function, to interact with people, take care of my kids. The pain was actually worse than losing my dad. He had been ill, had enjoyed his life to the fullest, and we knew what was coming. On Dday, I was blindsided and had to wrap my brain around the fact that the person I thought I knew had cruelly and deliberately betrayed me. That broke me.

Found out the night before at 9pm. Didn’t sleep a wink. Was in shock and went to school (I was a teacher) around 6am. I had no idea what to do. I was a zombie and my high school students knew something was off. I stayed half the day feigning a toothache (get this, I’d had a root canal the day before) and went home. I curled up in bed and called our daughter. I didn’t really cry till two days later. I lost 20 pounds in less than three weeks. Needless to say, my appetite was gone.

I was completely numb. I had tunnel vision. I still don’t know how I managed to go to school everyday and teach but I did.

My fwh has no idea the hell I went through.

[This message edited by crazycatlady at 6:23 PM, Thursday, October 2nd]

I might be the outlier here, but while I was in absolute shock, I also felt an overwhelming sense of relief. For the first time in 2 months, I could finally breathe — my gut had led me to the truth I was searching for. Strangely, I was relatively calm. I knew immediately that I wanted him out, and that’s exactly what I did — kicked his sorry ass out that night. If he wanted to be a pathetic liar and cheater, he was no longer doing that on my time.

I didn’t sleep a wink that first night, but the next day when I packed up all his things into garbage bags and left them outside for him to collect after work I felt like I was sending a clear message that I wasn’t going to fuck around and be played. As I walked through my house, I felt a strange sense of peace. In many ways, I could finally relax now that I wasn’t playing detective anymore. That night, I slept straight through — the best sleep I’d had in months, knowing that the lying, cheating POS was no longer contaminating my bed.