My friends and I have had a lot of coffee over this one. Kriscia inserted herself into my life; I did not insert myself into hers. After my husband’s first affair with her, I didn’t want to know her name. My contract wasn’t a contract with her; it was with him. He was the one who violated it. I didn’t know if she knew about me, our family, or our children. I knew nothing about what she had been told.
The second time, she infiltrated my family. So I said, “Welcome! I’ll announce your presence!”
I use her name to heal myself. The more I try not to mention her name, or to feel it, I hurt. My children and I are forced to say her name every day, if only in our heads. Soon, when my husband hits the lowest point I can imagine as a father — introducing my young children to Manrique’s wife — they will be obliged to say it for three days every two weeks.
It was my daughter who said to me, “I got Kriscia’d!” How appropriate. When I say, “I got Kriscia’d,” her name becomes a verb for heartache. Who or what is your Kriscia? Take your power back! Free someone else from having to say #IGotKrisciad!