The Night Of The Tornado: The Disclosure That Changed Everything

I’ll always remember the day my whole world came crashing. It was May 28th, 2019, and we had our first real weather threat of the year. A larger tornado was traveling across the side of the state I lived in and was making its way to the area just south of us. It was close enough that we decided to make it an evening of hanging out in the basement. The kids were actually having a really good time. Their favorite blankets and stuffed animals all piled up on top of them in the back of a closet. That storm wasn’t just outside; it hit inside our home, too. I had no warning of what was coming.

My husband was distant, and I suppose I just assumed it was due to general anxiety over the weather. I continued with my routine and would often go upstairs to look out the windows or step out onto the deck. Weather like this is thrilling for me. There is a buzz in the air that makes me feel energized and alert. We knew it would pass before bedtime as they always do. After maybe two hours, we went back up to finish the evening out like any other night.

Even as I write this, I can feel it again, my hands tingling and going numb, like my body remembers before my mind can fully process.

In my bedroom, I had two sitting chairs, and he sat across from me. What he said is a blur to me. I don’t remember much about the conversation except two things: he confessed he had been “relapsing,” and it felt like an explosion of shrapnel inside my brain, every memory, every belief about my marriage, splintering in midair. Everything I thought was real was suddenly up for questioning. I have no idea what I said or what I was feeling beyond anger.

Then I did what all betrayed spouses do in a frantic effort to gain safety; I controlled. I made rules and demands for how things would proceed from now on. That night began the painful process of disclosure in marriage, what felt like a slow leak of devastating truth.

To fix the pain, I shut him out. I had to. He wasn’t emotionally safe, and neither was I. In betrayal trauma recovery, creating distance is often the only way to begin the recovery process. I think if I’m really honest with myself, I knew it was over. In the days that followed, I felt grief the most when I realized I might never know what it’s like to be held by him again or to laugh in the kitchen while we make dinner together. Yet, I was so desperate for him to make it right. Why wouldn’t he? He loved me, right?

There was a battle with betrayal trauma in my marriage for a very long time. I don’t know marriage without this, but the hard part was that I thought healing had occurred. So the biggest betrayal was really my own denial.

It wasn’t but three years earlier that I let my husband know I couldn’t live like we were. Living in a marriage affected by unaddressed porn addiction was incredibly painful. I longed for a marriage that had intimacy and connection. While I believed him when he said he didn’t use porn anymore. Still, I had a disconnected and isolated spouse. We deserved so much more.

I got informed. I wanted to understand what recovery meant. Then I felt bold. I asked God to show me the way and give me the resources so we could finally be what we were meant to be for each other. So, I set a boundary, but it came across more like an ultimatum due to my frustration. I couldn’t live like this anymore, and I didn't know how to get out of this space of dysfunction any other way.

It wasn’t long after this that we sat together across from a therapist who was also a sex addiction specialist.

So, now, during the trickle disclosure on the night of the tornado, I realized he was forcing me to hold a boundary that I had established almost three years prior. I could not be married to a porn addict who didn’t take their recovery seriously. He knew my line, yet he didn’t do the right thing. This is why I was angry. I felt like such a fool, and because he was a ministry leader, I also felt embarrassed. I had to step away to begin healing from betrayal and reclaiming my emotional safety. I couldn’t support him anymore. For years, I walked alongside him as we figured it all out. I was holding him back and preventing my own healing as well. I just wanted to find all the tiny shrapnel pieces that represented my life with this man and bring them back together. To rebuild. My children, ministry, friends, home, and our experiences will bring us back together in healing and restoration.

Like a tornado, it builds up, and when the atmosphere is just right, it takes shape. It carves a path in the earth and doesn’t discriminate. Neither does betrayal trauma. It carves deep wounds that only take time to heal. The scars will always remain as a reminder of what happened. What you do with those scars matters most. Will you hold on to the trauma, or will you allow yourself to heal from it? Healing isn’t easy, and it does take time. Now I look back on that evening with a deep sense of sadness.

No one ever knows when disaster will strike, and that’s the beauty of destruction. If you knew it was coming, you wouldn’t succumb to it in a way that you truly learn from it. You don’t get to choose when betrayal strikes, but you do get to choose what you do next. The road to healing is long, but it begins when you stop running from the rubble and start rebuilding from it.