Of all the seasons, autumn is by far my favorite. It’s the start of all good things: strolling through apple orchards, finding the perfect spot for our annual pumpkin patch photo—and I was there for every sweater-weather moment.
This season is so special to me, and that’s what made the betrayal hit even harder. To discover that during the time of year I loved most—when families come closer together—something unimaginably painful had occurred, felt like a knife to the heart. It felt like my season had been stolen from me—my memories, my dreams, and the safety of knowing that nothing (or no one) could ever come between me and my husband. And then, they did—and suddenly, everything felt tainted.
Here’s what I’ve learned about betrayal. It can’t be fixed. Ever. Even the most remorseful partner can’t take away the pain. It lives inside you, festering, ruminating, and occupying every inch of your mind. Even I, a master compartmentalizer, couldn’t contain the chaos and it showed in every area of my life.
Still, time marches on, regardless of whether you cry in the bathroom stall at work, or your child has a doctor’s appointment. You show up, even if you’re shaking inside.
But in the blink of an eye, it was pumpkin spice season again.
I can’t lie. That first apple picking outing since the betrayal was brutal. I simultaneously wanted to cling to my husband and pretend like nothing happened and then also hide his body in the corn maze. It all felt so…unfair. Unfair in having to deal with all this ickiness that had infested my mind and body while watching him laughing and playing with the kids as they picked Macoun apples.
So I did what I do best; I blocked it all out. I wanted to enjoy the leaves turning brilliant shades of burnt orange, the buttery scent of cider donuts that we would buy from this one farmstand near the orchard. I didn’t want anyone or anything to take that away from me. So I smiled, I posed for pics; my husband kissed me often and held my hand as we watched the kids climb onto the wagon for the hayride. It all felt perfect and I pretended that nothing had happened.
But something did happen. My life blew up—and I was completely blindsided by it.
And there was no apple that was going to make it all better.
After a few years of feeling this way, something had to give—starting with my sanity. It wasn’t that all was forgiven (far from it), but I didn’t want to hand over my power anymore. I deserved an awesome autumn, and no one was going to give it to me but me.
And so, I healed myself enough to fall in love with fall again. I found the perfect light for pumpkin patch photos, I soaked in the vibrant colored leaves on the trees in my yard. I kept our traditions going; we watched It’s The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, and baked Halloween sugar cookies.
I’d like to say that fall feels like it always did. It does…and it doesn’t. The difference is that I’m okay with it. I still love holding a bag full of freshly made apple cider doughnuts and eating them on the way home. And nothing beats the feeling you get when you go outside in the morning, and the air is crisp enough to make you consider going back inside for a jacket.
The secret, I think, is to find a way to honor your past without letting what happened poison your present—or sabotage your future. There are so many reasons to be joyful…and just as many to be miserable. What happened to you wasn’t right and there’s no justification in the world where you’re to blame for what they did to you. None. But don’t let what they did destroy you, because it will if you let it. It doesn’t mean you have to forgive them, but it does mean forgiving yourself for not seeing the signs, for not knowing, for staying longer than you might have. Forgive yourself, over and over again. Give yourself the grace and the mercy that was not given to you.
Because here’s the thing. Fall will come again. When it shows up on your doorstep, in a perfectly gorgeous golden autumn day, receive it with open arms. Thank the season for its constancy, for showing up year after year, and reminding you that even when the world felt like it had crumbled around you, it didn’t. YOU didn’t.
And then, it finally dawns on you: Fall isn’t just a season—it’s you. It’s the season of letting go, but also new beginnings. You, Friend, are that new beginning, whether you realize it or not.
So take a big bite of that apple, sip the cider, and be thankful for how far you’ve come, the resilience you never knew you had, the love you still hold—and for apples that taste even sweeter because you picked them yourself.
