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Let’s begin with the hard truth: there is nothing you can do to erase the pain. You cannot “wish it away” or pretend it never happened. Adultery wounds at the deepest level of human intimacy. It is frustrating, surreal, helpless, and despairing. God designed marriage so that a man and woman would come together and become one flesh (Genesis 2:24-25). When that covenant is entered rightly, the two are no longer separate individuals but a unified whole. The only thing that should break that bond is death itself.
And death is always tragic. It is like an amputation—the sudden, violent removal of something that was meant to remain. Imagine the amputee who instinctively reaches to scratch a leg, only to remember that it is gone. That moment of realization is unbearably awful, a reminder that things will never be the same. That is what death communicates: finality, separation, and the irreversibility of loss. This darkness is why the grief of a surviving spouse is so profound. They mourn the radical division of their one-flesh union, torn apart by death’s intrusion. But this picture also helps us grasp the intricate complexity of adultery. Adultery, too, is a tearing—a violent separation of the one-flesh bond. Yet it differs from death in one significant way: it lacks finality. A spouse may die, but the adulterer lives on. He or she may even join themselves to another “flesh,” compounding the wound by creating a counterfeit union while leaving behind devastation.
This complexity is what makes adultery so excruciating. It is not just the loss of trust, not just the betrayal of a covenant, but the daily awareness that the person who once pledged themselves to you has chosen to break away. Unlike death, where grief can eventually settle into acceptance, adultery remains open-ended. The wound lingers, the betrayal endures, and the pain presses itself into the soul again and again. Adultery was never God’s design. It runs contrary to His holiness, His plan for marriage, and His moral law. It should not be this way. But when it does happen, the effect is life-altering. The dawning realization that your marriage has been violated is a watershed moment. Life will never be quite the same again. The question is not whether it will change you, but how.
When adultery strikes, one of the greatest battles will not be with your spouse but with your own heart. The victim of adultery must be vigilant, for the mind is capable of running in directions it was never meant to go. Thoughts can spiral into dark alleys, multiplying fears and creating scenarios that may or may not be true. The pain is compounded by mystery—so many questions with so few answers. And whenever mystery hangs over us, the heart is prone to wander into speculation. Sleepless nights often follow: Why did they do it? Where did they go? When did it start? Where was I when it happened? Why didn’t I see it? And perhaps the most piercing question of all: Did my wife enjoy being with him?
Such questions are natural, but they are also dangerous. They feed insecurity, awaken jealousy, and intensify fear. A person will suffer in proportion to their vulnerability to insecurity. The more insecure the heart, the more frantic, anxious, and inconsolable the nights will be. Conversely, the more rooted a person is in the Lord, the more they will be able to rest in God’s sovereign authorship of their story—even this chapter of deep pain. Adultery is a crucible that forces the starkest of contrasts: fear or faith. One direction leads to the pit of despair, endlessly circling the unanswerable mysteries of betrayal. The other presses deeper into God, clinging to Him when nothing else makes sense. Make no mistake: how you survive adultery will be determined not by how many answers you find but by how firmly you hold to the God who promises never to leave you or forsake you.
It is essential to remember this truth: God is in your situation. He was not asleep, distracted, or preoccupied with other matters when adultery touched your marriage. The God of the Bible does not look away. He never abandons His children in their darkest hour. To think otherwise is to let pain distort theology. And yet, adultery will tempt you to drift from God at the very moment you need Him most. For reasons that remain hidden in this life, God has allowed you to walk through this valley. He will not explain all the whys and hows, because if He did, your trust might shift from Him to the explanation itself. If you could see the entire blueprint of your suffering, you might rest in the plan instead of the Planner. That is not faith.
Faith means trusting Him when the waters are high and the path makes no sense. Christ called Peter out of the boat to walk on water without giving him a manual or a safety net (Matthew 14:29). He simply said, Come. When Peter faltered, it was not because the water changed but because his faith wavered (Matthew 14:31). The same Christ is calling you now. He is asking you to do the impossible—to trust Him in the wreckage of betrayal.
Why? Because He wants to prove that He alone is worthy of worship. He wants you to know Him not merely as a distant Savior but as the present Son of God who meets you in the storm (Matthew 14:33). Like Peter, you must walk toward Him, not away from Him. Though you did not cause this storm, you are in it—and you must decide which direction to turn. Let Him take your hand. Let Him restore your soul. Your survival does not hinge on whether your spouse repents or whether you ever get every answer you crave. It hinges on whether you will trust the Lord who walks with you in the fire, the Lord who heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds (Psalm 147:3).
Here are some things I have experienced personally and observed while walking with others through the wreckage of adultery. None of these reflections is complete or exhaustive—this is an chapter, not a full book—but I trust the Father will use these words to steady your heart and press you closer to Christ. Survival is not about eliminating the pain; it is about learning to walk with God through it.
Don’t skim past this question. Everything I’ve said so far about faith comes to a head right here. When you’re living in the aftermath of adultery, trust in God isn’t a one-time decision; it is a daily, sometimes hourly, battle. You may feel stable one day, only to wake the next day, overwhelmed by grief. The pain ebbs and flows, but your need for faith never stops.
You’ll need God’s grace when:
In those spontaneous, unguarded moments, the wound reopens, and despair rushes in. Your only refuge will be the empowering grace of God that reorients your mind around hope. My appeal to you is simple: renew your faith in God every day. Ask Him for help. Invite others to pray with you and for you.
No amount of tears or effort will make the pain disappear quickly. Adultery doesn’t work that way. One of your fiercest enemies will be time, because time seems to crawl when your soul is in anguish. Every day feels longer than it should, and healing seems impossibly far away. But this is exactly where you must anchor your soul: God is at work even when you can’t see it. He is using time, slow as it feels, to accomplish His purposes. Your job is not to fast-forward the process but to keep believing while you wait. I’m not asking if you will stop hurting if you believe. You won’t—at least not immediately. I’m asking if you will keep believing through the hurt. Faith that endures in the furnace is the very faith God honors and sustains.
Yes, Jesus acknowledged adultery as grounds for divorce (Matthew 19:3–9). But that does not mean divorce is required. Be very careful before you make life-altering decisions in the fog of trauma. Divorce may seem like a clean escape, but it rarely heals the soul. Often, it simply trades one set of sorrows for another. Remember, the entire Bible is a story of reconciliation. God had every right to “take the escape clause” and start over with humanity after our rebellion, but He didn’t. He wrote redemption into the very fabric of history. Before you play the divorce card, give God time. Seek wise counsel. Let Him write His story in ways you may not yet imagine.
When you’ve been betrayed, the temptation to retaliate is strong. Revenge can come in many forms: cold anger, vindictive words, or even pursuing adultery to “make things even.” Don’t fall into that trap. Sin never heals sin. Paul reminds us that the way of Christ is humility and grace (Philippians 2:3-5). Extend grace to the guilty spouse not because they deserve it, but because you have tasted the undeserved grace of God (Romans 5:8). Revenge will only harden your heart; grace can keep you tender enough to heal.
Some betrayed spouses press their partners for every detail of the adultery. They think knowing will help them understand or regain control. But in reality, too much detail often deepens the wound. Yes, there are facts you may need to know for accountability or repentance. But guard against unnecessary curiosity. If you know less, you will not have to battle against reliving images and memories that were never meant to be in your mind. Sometimes the most merciful choice is to stop asking questions.
One of the hidden dangers in surviving adultery is discovering how much your identity has been tied to your marriage. If you cannot recover your spiritual footing without your marriage intact, it may be that your marriage has become an idol. Adultery is devastating, but it is not the end of your world. Christ is your life (Colossians 3:4). Your spouse is not your savior. If you find that you cannot regain balance apart from them, let this season expose where you have placed your hope. Then shift that hope back to the only One who cannot be shaken.
You were never meant to walk through adultery alone. Self-reliance will fail you here. The pain is too heavy, and the temptations too strong. You need a body of believers who can remind you of the truth, pray with you when you cannot pray for yourself, and hold you accountable when despair tempts you to sin. Isolation is one of the enemy’s greatest weapons. The church—imperfect though it is—was designed by God to walk with you in suffering. Find a faithful community and lean on them.
I experienced the devastation of adultery in 1988. It was a long and painful season, one that stretched my soul in ways I could never have imagined. But looking back, I can honestly say I would not trade what God taught me in the furnace of betrayal. Like David, I found myself cast down, unable to get back up (Psalm 42:5). Like a sheep rolled onto its back, I was helpless. But the Shepherd was there. He lifted me, stumbled steps and all, and carried me through. I would never choose to go back. But I would never want to lose what God did in me during that time either. Every resource I’ve produced since has been born out of that crucible. God was not wasting my pain; He was redeeming it.
As Paul said, we are afflicted but not crushed, struck down but not destroyed, carrying in our bodies the death of Jesus so that His life might be revealed in us (2 Corinthians 4:7-10). That is how you survive adultery—not by erasing the pain but by discovering God’s power in it.
Don’t walk alone. Don’t numb the pain with sin. Don’t let despair silence your hope. Press into Christ, bring trusted people into your life, and let God turn the ashes of adultery into something redemptive for His glory and your good.
Rick launched the Life Over Coffee global training network in 2008 to bring hope and help for you and others by creating resources that spark conversations for transformation. His primary responsibilities are resource creation and leadership development, which he does through speaking, writing, podcasting, and educating.
In 1990 he earned a BA in Theology and, in 1991, a BS in Education. In 1993, he received his ordination into Christian ministry, and in 2000 he graduated with an MA in Counseling from The Master’s University. In 2006 he was recognized as a Fellow of the Association of Certified Biblical Counselors (ACBC).
