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L evi,

Another therapy love letter. I’ve written a few at this point and I've tried reading them out loud with the therapist. You have no idea how awful it feels, listening to your own voice as you broadcast your feelings to someone who you’ve paid to listen to you. But hey, here goes.

I’ve been sitting with these thoughts for awhile now, unsure how to put them into words. I’ve realized through therapy that I don’t need the perfect ones. I just need the honest ones.

When everything shattered between us, I thought I had shattered, too.

There were days I could barely breathe, and nights I wanted to scream but didn’t have the strength.

Between work and the kids, I simply felt like an empty shell and I’ll be honest, there were moments I didn’t know if I could ever look at you again without feeling the pain of what you did.

But the day you walked in and asked if we could start over, if we could try again, something stirred in me. It felt like hope, and it scared me.

While you were working tirelessly to show up for me, to prove yourself, I sought refuge with a community online.

I found a group of women and men who had walked through the same storm and I listened to both sides.

I spent sleepless nights reading through their D-Day stories, sitting with their pain and then I found a forum that talked about being whole after infidelity.

I let you prove that you had changed. Working together in tandem to heal each other and understand that the needs of our relationship would change greatly.

For the first time, I didn’t feel alone.

I read stories of devastation, but also of strength, resilience, and hope.

I started to realize that I didn’t have to let what happened define me.

I’ve learned I’m stronger than I ever gave myself credit for.

I’ve learned I’m allowed to hurt and to heal.

I’m not broken and I can rebuild myself on my own. Or, if I choose to, with you.

You’ve shown up, Levi. You didn’t disappear into shame or excuses.

You didn’t just say the right things. God Levi, you did the hard things for my benefit and I am so grateful for that.

You let me cry without rushing me. You let me rage without trying to fix it.

You held space for my pain. Every time I’ve needed reassurance, even when I’ve asked a hundred times, you’ve offered it without hesitation or judgement because you know exactly what you did to me.

I can see it in the shame that lights your eyes, and the way your tone breaks.

So, here’s where I stand: I am proud of myself and I am proud of you.

We are both choosing, every day, to lean in when it would be easier to run.

You once broke my heart and now you’re part of the reason it’s healing.

This isn’t a letter of forgiveness, or of forgetting.

It’s not a bow tied around a broken story.

It’s a chapter, a real, honest, messy, brave chapter in something that still might be worth saving .

I’m strong on my own. I’ve proven that in my own ways but as I sit here, I realize too that I believe I can be strong with you too.

– Sloane