HOPE AFTER HURT

Hurting Deeply. Healing Loudly. Rising Stronger.

Tag: relationships

  • Life Update

    Hey everyone,

    I’m sorry I’ve been so MIA these last few months — life has been a lot, in the best and hardest ways, and I finally feel ready to sit down and catch you all up.

    Let’s start with the good news… SURPRISE! We’re having another baby.
    This little one was a shock to us, but a very welcomed one. Another child was always something we envisioned for our family. Even after the betrayal, it was a topic we approached carefully and honestly, and we both agreed that expanding our family still felt right for us. My husband has grown so much over the past year, and watching him step up as a father in such meaningful ways has been healing for both of us. We’re excited for this next chapter and can’t wait to meet our new addition.

    With this beautiful news has also come a lot of emotional work for me.
    Pregnancy has been a major trigger in my healing journey. It was during my last pregnancy that my husband’s mental health declined and things began to change, so stepping into pregnancy again has brought some of those memories back to the surface. I’ve really had to ground myself in the present and remind myself that this is a different chapter, with a very different version of him — and of me.

    There have been moments where I’ve needed reassurance, and that’s okay. Sometimes he struggles with it because he feels like I’m “bringing it all back up” or “throwing it in his face,” which I’m not. I’ve explained to him that choosing to stay doesn’t mean pretending nothing happened — it means working together. Seeking reassurance isn’t about punishment; it’s about support. And healing sometimes requires exactly that.

    Around the same time we found out I was pregnant, both of my grandparents became unwell and ended up in the hospital. My Granddad was diagnosed with a nasty cancer, and my Grandmother contracted Influenza A. They spent two months in and out of hospital, and during that time I stepped into the role of supporting my Grandmother.

    Sadly, my Grandmother passed away, and the grief has been immeasurable.
    It’s been such a strange, heavy season — grieving someone I was incredibly close to while also growing a new life. It has been two months since her passing, and I wish I could say it has gotten easier, but it hasn’t. I think about her every day and dream about her almost every night. I know grief has no timeline, and I’m just trying to give myself grace as I move through it.

    I’m trusting that the universe only gives me what I can handle. And so far, 2025 has tested that theory — but it has also taught me so much about resilience, love, and choosing hope even when it feels heavy. I’m still here, stronger than ever, and doing my best to take life one moment at a time.

    I hope everyone has been doing okay, and that you’re continuing to rise beyond the betrayal,
    Sarah xx

  • When You Feel Like You’re Losing Your Mind: Gaslighting, Intuition, and the Truth We Know Deep Down

    I wish I knew I wasn’t crazy.

    When I first started suspecting something was wrong, I was in the thick of postnatal depression. I was sleep-deprived, emotionally raw, and navigating the complete upheaval that comes with caring for a newborn. I didn’t trust my body, let alone my mind. So when those quiet thoughts crept in — something’s not right… he’s not the same… could he be seeing someone else? — I silenced them.

    Because how could I trust myself when I could barely get through the day?

    What I now know, looking back, is that my instincts weren’t broken. They were trying to protect me. But I was living inside a storm of emotional manipulation that made it nearly impossible to hear my own voice.

    Every time I asked the hard questions, I was met with defensiveness.

    “You’re crazy.”
    “Are you cheating on me?”
    “Who are you sleeping with?”

    I started to believe him. I started to believe I was imagining things. That maybe I was broken. That maybe my anxiety was twisting reality. But it wasn’t.

    The truth is, gaslighting is real — and it’s one of the most common forms of emotional manipulation women face, especially when we begin to sense betrayal. It doesn’t always look like yelling or controlling behaviour. Sometimes it’s quiet, subtle, disguised as concern or denial. But it chips away at your reality, little by little, until you don’t know what’s real anymore.

    Looking back now, the signs were there:

    • His sharp defensiveness every time I asked a question.
    • The way the conversation always flipped back onto me.
    • The accusations that I must be the one cheating.
    • The way I constantly walked away feeling like I had done something wrong.

    But I was exhausted. I was running on empty. And when you’re just trying to survive motherhood, confrontation feels like one battle too many. So I stayed quiet. I swallowed my gut feelings. I tried to be the “understanding wife.”

    And yet, my instincts wouldn’t go away.

    I questioned him again and again over the space of almost a year. And every time, I was told I was crazy. Every time, I was made to feel guilty for even asking. And eventually, I started to believe that narrative — that I was unstable, hormonal, irrational. That the problem was me.

    Until the day someone else told me the truth.

    I still remember the moment I found out. It wasn’t him who confessed — it was someone who had found out and felt I deserved to know. And when the words were spoken, I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I didn’t fall to the floor like the movies show you.

    I felt relief.

    Relief that I wasn’t crazy.
    Relief that my instincts had been right.
    Relief that I could finally stop doubting myself.

    It was the most heartbreaking validation I’ve ever felt.

    Since then, I’ve made myself one promise: I will never again doubt my intuition.

    It’s not always loud. It doesn’t always come with flashing lights. But it knows. And when someone is working hard to make you question your own reality, it’s even more important to get quiet and listen.

    To any woman reading this — if your gut is telling you something is wrong, listen. You’re not crazy. You’re not overthinking. You’re not too sensitive. You’re picking up on things that someone else is working hard to hide.

    You deserve honesty. You deserve peace. And you deserve to trust yourself.

    Even in the darkest moments — especially in them — your intuition is not your enemy. It’s your guide.

    Let’s rise together,
    Sarah xx

  • Staying After Infidelity Isn’t Weak

    When someone finds out their partner has been unfaithful, the world often expects one reaction: Leave. Walk away. Be strong. Start over.

    But here’s the truth no one talks about enough: choosing to stay can be just as strong — if not stronger.

    Staying after betrayal isn’t about weakness, denial, or self-sacrifice. It’s about facing something that shattered your world and choosing, day by day, to see if it can be rebuilt. It’s waking up in the middle of the night with a broken heart and still choosing to stay. Not because it’s easy — but because healing, forgiveness, and love are worth exploring.

    It takes immense courage to sit with pain, to look it in the eye, and to say, “This doesn’t get to define me — or us.”

    The idea that staying after infidelity is “weak” is deeply unfair and overlooks the complexities of relationships and healing. It would have been easier to walk away, to leave all the pain behind, and start over with a clean slate. But I didn’t stay because it didn’t hurt. I didn’t stay because I forgot what happened. I didn’t stay because I forgave what happened. And I definitely didn’t stay because I’m weak.

    I stayed because I couldn’t watch 13 years go down the drain without a fight.
    I knew there was something here worth fighting for — even if it’s hard, even if it hurts, even if no one else understands.

    This kind of strength isn’t graceful or pretty.
    It’s not tied up with a neat little bow.
    It’s messy, real, painful — but deeply human.

    Staying doesn’t mean I’m naive or blind. I know my worth. I know I deserved better. I’m not scared of being alone. I stayed not because I’m afraid to lose someone — but because I believe in redemption. I believe people can change for the better. I believe in breaking cycles, in doing the work, in not letting generational hurt dictate the rest of my life.

    For some women, staying is the start of a deeper healing journey — one that’s complicated, raw, and deeply personal. It might mean putting boundaries in place, starting therapy, rebuilding trust one brick at a time, or even walking alongside a partner who is also committed to doing the work. And sometimes, staying isn’t forever — it’s a season of working it out before deciding what comes next.

    Staying doesn’t mean I’m constantly okay. I still hurt. I still question. I still cry. I’m still trying to rebuild something I didn’t break in the first place. But here’s the thing — in the middle of all that, I’ve also been rebuilding myself. I’ve learned how to stand in my worth. I’ve found my voice again. I’ve become someone I’m proud of.

    This experience — as devastating as it’s been — became a wake-up call.
    A reminder that no matter how hard you try to prevent it, sometimes shit things happen to good people.

    And when that happens, you don’t owe anyone an explanation for how you choose to survive.

    Whether you stay, leave, or are still figuring it all out — know this:
    You are not weak.
    You are not broken.
    You are rising — on your own terms.

    Lets rise together,
    Sarah xx

  • My Story of Infidelity

    In late December 2024, my world changed. I found out my husband—my partner of 13 years—was having an affair, we had a 15 month old child at the time. What made it worse was that the other woman wasn’t a stranger. She was someone I knew from his gym, someone I’d met multiple times. She was also a mother. 

    I’d questioned their relationship throughout the year, but I never had solid proof. Every time I brought it up, he denied it. Deep down, I sensed something was off. I knew there was an inappropriate relationship, but I didn’t realise the extent of it—or how long it had been going on. When I finally discovered the full truth, I was shattered.

    They had started talking when I was pregnant. He would ask if she was single, and even though she knew he had a pregnant wife, she kept engaging. They slept together for the first time when my son was just six weeks old, and the affair continued for the entire first year of his life.

    I had always told myself that if my husband ever cheated, I would leave. And in that split-second after finding out, that was my instinct—to run. But the decision wasn’t so clear-cut. Seven months later, we’re still together and committed to making things work.

    That first week after finding out, I barely slept. My mind was in overdrive. I couldn’t understand how he could do this to me. Or how she—another mother—could knowingly be part of it. I began questioning everything: Was our whole relationship a lie?

    I went through his phone, his socials, his notes, his photos—everything. I wanted the whole truth, no matter how much it hurt. I don’t know if it was the “right” thing to do, but it felt necessary. I believed that in order to heal, I needed to know it all.

    From the moment I told him I knew, he said he would do anything to fix it. He apologised endlessly. He said he didn’t want me to leave—but he’d understand if I did. We both agreed to start couples counselling, and within two weeks we had our first session.

    I already knew I wanted to try. I wanted to make it work—not just for our son, but for us. I also knew we couldn’t do it alone. The truth is, our marriage had actually been getting better. By the time I found out, the affair had ended almost six months earlier. I’d felt the shift in our relationship—it had been improving. That was a sign to me that we had a real shot. Before she entered the picture, we were good. And after she was gone, we were better.

    Not long after uncovering everything, I decided to speak to the other woman face to face. I needed to know that her version lined up with his. I needed the full story. That first conversation felt surface-level. She didn’t seem genuinely sorry—it felt more like she was defending herself, maybe even playing the victim.

    But the second time we met, months later, was different. That conversation was truly healing. She was remorseful. She owned her part. She seemed to be doing the work to grow, to make sure she never did something like this again. For a moment, I could see her as another human being—flawed, but trying. Some days, I still want to scream at her. Some days, the anger boils over. But I remind myself: hating her won’t heal me. It only keeps me stuck. And I want to move forward.

    After couples counselling, the ball was in his court. I was honest about what I needed. I laid out what I expected in our relationship, in our life, in our healing. I told him: either you can show up for this, or I’m out. And he did. He kept showing up. For months, it felt like we were making real progress. But deep down, I also felt stuck. 

    I realised I was pretending to be okay, avoiding the depths of my pain. Then one night, everything caught up to me. I spiralled into a very dark place—and the next day, I reached out for help. That moment was the beginning of my journey back to myself.

    It felt so unfair. Something awful happened to me, and yet I was the one who had to pick up the pieces. But there’s something strangely freeing about realising no one else is coming to save you. You are the only one who can pull yourself out of the darkness. You are the only one who can reclaim your identity.

    Individual counselling has changed everything for me. It helped me start prioritising myself, set healthy boundaries, and take back control. I’m not perfect. I’m still working through so much—in my marriage, in life, in my messy mind. But I finally feel like I’m healing.

    I have a lot left to unpack and I also have a lot to share.
    If you’re here, I hope you’ll stick around. This space—Hope After Hurt—is for anyone who’s ever been broken by betrayal, but still believes in rising.

    Let’s rise together.
    Sarah xx

  • Introducing Hope After Hurt

    Hi, I’m Sarah — and this is Hope After Hurt.

    I’m a 30-something woman, wife, and mum who never imagined I’d be writing these words.

    Seven months ago, I discovered my husband — my partner of 13 years — had been unfaithful. It was the kind of moment that splits your life in two: before and after. I was devastated. I always believed that if something like this ever happened, I would walk away. But when it actually did, my decision wasn’t so clear-cut.

    I chose to stay. 

    Not out of weakness, but out of strength — for my son, for myself, and for the life I still believed we could rebuild. Staying didn’t mean forgetting, and it definitely didn’t mean excusing. It meant choosing to face the pain head-on, to ask the hard questions, to do the inner work — not just to repair a marriage, but to reclaim me.

    Because the truth is, betrayal doesn’t just break your heart — it shatters your identity. Who am I now? What do I believe? What do I deserve? These are the questions I’ve been living.

    Hope After Hurt was born from a place of wanting to find purpose in the pain. I wanted a space where I could write honestly about healing after infidelity — the good, the brutal, the confusing. A place for women like me, who never thought they’d be here either.

    This is not a highlight reel. This is the in-between. The picking-up-the-pieces. The rediscovering of self-worth. The rebuilding of trust. The moments where you wonder if you’re strong enough — and the ones where you realise you already are.

    If you’re walking through betrayal, confusion, or heartbreak — I hope this space helps you feel seen. I don’t have all the answers, but I do believe in healing, in honest conversations, and in the power of women supporting women.

    Thanks for being here. You are not alone. 

    Let’s rise together,
    Sarah xx