Last year, I published a book called The Rescue You Program: How to Improve Your Life and Reinvent Your Love after an Affair, this being a personal experience for me. The affair in my marriage happened four years ago, but I can recall the emotional roller coaster I rode as if I was on it yesterday. The first chapter in my book, Shock and Circumstance, is led by this song lyric:
” . . . this sweet madness, oh this glorious sadness, that brings me to my knees.” –Angel by Sarah McLachlan
Oh, that song. It was in my ear often back then and it still showers peace over my heart when I hear it now. In the immediate aftermath of an affair, when you’ve realized that everything that was, isn’t, anymore . . . It’s tragic and there is grief. Since my own experience, I have learned to love grief. It is your body’s natural cleansing and it washes over you as you mourn the loss of something. It can be beautiful and transformational.
For several months after I published, I heard no reader feedback. My book still remains review-less on Amazon.com. I told myself, “No news is good news,” but frankly, I had no idea how people were feeling about The Rescue You Program. Until recently. Comments and emails started crawling in, and they’re coming from real-life readers in real-life situations.
When I receive a Rescue You reader comment, fireworks go off in my heart. I write back, saying more than I probably should. I tell them “great work,” and “what a traumatic time for you,” and “I’m so proud,” and “all the best.” But what I feel–what I’d say if it could get the whole message across would be:
I love you so much.
First of all, I’m thrilled and thankful that people read my book. That, in itself, fills my heart. However, the fact that these women contact me? Well, I’m honored beyond words. I often compare people who face difficult life struggles with the caterpillar-butterfly transformation. Did you know that when a caterpillar enters a cocoon, it doesn’t simply sprout wings? Instead, the caterpillar dissolves into sticky liquid form and then rebuilds itself as a butterfly. I can close my eyes and know that feeling–that liquid form-feeling. It’s vulnerable, sweet, and the absolute truth.
When readers write to me, I know that in a matter of long months, or short years, they will hardly recognize that old, caterpillar-self of theirs. They’ll think, when I was a caterpillar, I never even knew butterflies existed! But the one thing us butterflies will never, ever forget? The sweet madness of our cocoon and the glorious sadness of the transformation.
Love . . . in liquid form.