I can relate to the struggles you are having in this situation. My perspective is shaped by a personal story that highlights why I could never see a betrayer than anything other than the bad guy.
Growing up, my father worked away three to five days a week. This left my mother juggling part-time work and the immense responsibility of raising three kids on her own. When the news of his infidelity came to light, we were all still young, but our hearts ached for her. We witnessed her struggle, the palpable sadness that seeped into our home's corners. Though she fought to shield us from her heartache, her pain was inescapable—like a shadow that lingered even in moments of laughter.
Years later, after the dust settled from that storm, I found myself questioning why my mother had even attempted to reconcile with him. For a few years, she held onto the hope of change, but he merely became a master at concealing his wrongdoings. I was baffled. How could she continue to extend an olive branch to someone who had caused her so much suffering? How could she act as if he were anything other than the enemy?
In a moment of vulnerability, I asked her, "How can you genuinely wish someone who stabbed you in the back a good day as they leave for work? How can you celebrate their successes? How can you want them to thrive in life after all they’ve done?"
Her answer surprised me: "You don’t just think about the betrayal all the time."
For her, perhaps that was true, but for me, I couldn't escape it. I would think of the betrayal all the time. I couldn’t fathom wishing him well or rejoicing in his achievements. The anger and hurt loomed too large in my heart. Betrayal is the deepest of cuts. It's for very good reason that Dante kept the center of hell for those who betray.
If I found myself in your shoes, I would seek to cut ties as much as possible. To be honest, if it weren’t for the kids, I might even actively hope she had a terrible life. But ultimately, my aim would be to get her out of your mind—much like I've learned to do with others who drifted in and out of my life. Including my father.
Reconciliation may be a path some take, but I’ve come to understand that it’s not a journey everyone can—or should—embark on. Ultimately some people can take the disrespect, forgive and move forward. But others, the likes of me (and perhaps you), would never be able to see the person as anything other than the enemy.
All of this is to say, I have no advice for you other than to say, I relate. I'm not religious but I truly feel thankful I don't have kids with a cheater. I fear what it would drive me to do. In all likelihood, I'd be an absent father, unable to bring myself to be around my own children as it would mean communicating with their mother. So the fact you are where you are, places you a moral rung above myself.
[This message edited by DRSOOLERS at 10:05 AM, Thursday, April 24th]