I replied calmly. On the outside.
When Dave told me what was going on, I heard myself say, “I think we need help.” Measured. Reasonable. Composed.
Inside, I was a completely different person.
What did I do wrong? How do we survive this? I don’t want a divorce, but I don’t know who this man is right now.
The anger came next.
“You have to tell the kids. I’m not going to do it, but they have to know.”
And underneath the anger was the panic no one could see. “He just threw everything away, including me. My salary won’t cover the bills. What do I tell my boss? I work at a church.”
In the following days, I gradually lost more and more of my footing. When someone asked how I was doing, I couldn’t answer. My feelings ricocheted like a well-placed racquetball. The reverberation wrecked my soul. Everything I had counted on–my husband, my marriage, my sense of myself as a woman, my faith–felt simultaneously present and completely unreliable.
If that is where you are, please listen carefully.
Nothing is wrong with you.
Why do you feel crazy after his porn use?
Because something genuinely devastating happened.
Look at how the word “crazy” gets applied. Sometimes a woman uses it to describe herself: the chaos inside her that she can’t organize or explain. Sometimes it’s a word her husband has used, directly or indirectly, to make her question whether her response is proportionate.
What you are experiencing is not disproportionate to what happened. It is not a character flaw or a faith failure. Discovering that the person you trusted most has been living a hidden life doesn’t produce a measured, orderly response. It produces exactly the kind of internal chaos you feel.
Job described his feelings and experience after his world was destroyed by forces beyond his control.
“I cry out, ‘Help!’ but no one answers me. I protest, but there is no justice. God has blocked my way so I cannot move. He has plunged my path into darkness. He has stripped me of my honor and removed the crown from my head. He has demolished me on every side, and I am finished. He has uprooted my hope like a fallen tree.” Job 19:7-10 (NLT)
Job honestly expressed his pain and confusion. You can too.
The war inside you is real.
What makes this particular experience so disorienting is that it is not one feeling. It is many feelings, pulling in opposite directions, sometimes within the same hour.
The love and fury arrive together. You grieve the marriage you thought you had. You ache for comfort from the very person who caused your gaping wound.
I remember sitting in the car after Dave first told me when he reached over to hold my hand. He told me later he was terrified I would leave. In that moment, I pulled back. The man who had just shattered my world was trying to connect with me, and every cell in my body recoiled.
I wanted to get in the car and drive until the gas ran out. I didn’t care where the road took me.
Psalm 55:1-7 (NLT): “Listen to my prayer, O God. Do not ignore my cry for help! Please listen and answer me, for I am overwhelmed by my troubles. My enemies shout at me, making loud and wicked threats. They bring trouble on me and angrily hunt me down. My heart pounds in my chest. The terror of death assaults me. Fear and trembling overwhelm me, and I can’t stop shaking. Oh, that I had wings like a dove; then I would fly away and rest!”
Your desire to escape the pain and confusion is real. God understands that, too.
What the chaos is doing to you.
The disorientation goes deeper than emotion. It reaches into your body, mind, and soul simultaneously.
Mentally, your mind replays every conversation, searching for clues it missed. You wonder if your memory is accurate. Can you trust your perception about your life? Intuition feels unreliable, since it apparently failed to detect what was hidden. This is not paranoia.
Your mind is trying to make sense of information that contradicts everything you thought was true.
Physically, betrayal trauma produces real symptoms: disrupted sleep, changes in appetite, headaches, an inability to concentrate, a nervous system that cannot calm. I had no margin left. A small unexpected problem, the kind I would have handled without thinking a day before, could undo me completely.
Spiritually, the ground shifts in ways that take longer to recognize. For me, the disillusionment with Dave happened almost instantly. I couldn’t look at him without confusion and disgust. The disillusionment with God was harder to recognize. Sitting in my favorite chair, staring out the window, I realized I didn’t know how to pray. Not because I didn’t believe, but because I didn’t know what to say to God.
Psalm 42:9-10 (NLT): “O God my rock,” I cry, “Why have you forgotten me? Why must I wander around in grief, oppressed by my enemies?” Their taunts break my bones. They scoff, “Where is this God of yours?”
My heart cried out to God, while wondering if he was really there. This doubt isn’t a sign that you are spiritually weak. Your faith, like the rest of you, has been wounded.
The failure wound underneath it all.
One other thing that’s hard to admit. For many women, the discovery of a husband’s porn use doesn’t just produce grief and anger. It filets open older wounds, unhealed places this betrayal confirms in the worst possible way.
The pain of failure cut deep in my heart. His betrayal felt like proof of my deepest fear: I didn’t matter. I didn’t deserve to be loved and cherished like other women. That I wasn’t worthy of a solid marriage.
That is a lie. It was a lie before Dave told me what was happening, and it is a lie now. Lies prey upon the wounds in your heart. David cried the following psalm from a place of desperation, and God met him there.
Psalm 28:1-2 (NLT): “I pray to you, O Lord, my rock. Do not turn a deaf ear to me. For if you are silent, I might as well give up and die. Listen to my prayer for mercy as I cry out to you for help, as I lift my hands toward your holy sanctuary.”
Pour out your heart to God. He will meet you there too.
What helped me find my footing again.
It wasn’t a formula or five steps. It was the person who knew the truth and listened to my pain without judgment. I found hope through a counselor who understood betrayal trauma and could help me understand it too. My honest prayers, not the polished kind, but the kind that started with “God, I don’t know what to say to you right now.” And finally, time. More time than I thought it would take.
Psalm 77:1-3 (NLT): “I cry out to God; yes, I shout. Oh, that God would listen to me! When I was in deep trouble, I searched for the Lord. All night long I prayed, with hands lifted toward heaven, but my soul was not comforted. I think of God, and I moan, overwhelmed with longing for his help.”
The psalmist cried all night, deeply desiring God’s comfort. God heard his prayer and met him in his need (read the rest of the psalm).
Dear one, the question is not what’s wrong with you.
The question is what happened to you. What happened to you caused the confusion, contradictory thoughts, and overwhelmed feelings.
You are not crazy. You are wounded. And wounded people heal.
Psalm 28:7 (NLT): “The Lord is my strength and shield. I trust him with all my heart. He helps me, and my heart is filled with joy. I burst out in songs of thanksgiving.”
King David got there. You will too.
Healing starts with one honest conversation. Let’s talk.