I recently met a friend for lunch.

Six months ago, my husband and I were talking to our waitress about relocating to Atlanta from Chicago when she introduced herself as a fellow Chicagoan. The three of us enjoyed talking to each other so much that she called her husband to come join us at the restaurant. As fate would have it, the four of us ended up at the same place for New Years Eve. I assumed the basis of our friendship would be that we were both African American women from the Midwest transplanted in the South. But after the first time she and I went to lunch alone, I discovered we were both in desperate need of a local authentic friend. Neither of us had any patience for superficial relationships, so our conversations were deep and personal.

When I walked to the table that afternoon, I should have known something was up. My friend already had a glass of chardonnay sitting in front of her. We quickly hugged and then I ordered another one. The moment the waitress stepped away from the table, my friend took that deep girl-do-I have-something-to-tell-you breath.

“It’s confirmed,” she said.

“What’s confirmed?” I asked.

“He’s cheating.”

During previous conversation, she’d told me that she suspected her husband was seeing other women. So I wasn’t surprised at her assertion. But this time something was different. She was no longer musing about her suspicions. She seemed as if she were ready to act. I asked what happened. She explained that there had been a series of incidents – odd receipts for two, an unplanned business trip with a vague explanation about particulars, a guarded cell phone – all pointing to one conclusion. Of course, he denied her accusations. But she didn’t believe him. She could no longer continue to accept the way things had been or pretend his behavior didn’t exist. She felt foolish for allowing this to happen to her. It all made her feel worthless.

“I feel as if I don’t have anything to offer,” she explained. Though she is a wonderful artist, she felt her husband’s MBA had more value, especially since she never went to college.

As I listened to her question her personal value, I realized we weren’t that different.  I’d gone to college and had two masters’ degrees, but I’ve felt the same sense of inadequacy. Though I’d never experienced infidelity in my marriage, I knew exactly what she was talking about. My husband’s success has often left me feeling as if I have nothing to offer. I often felt abandoned and alone when his job took precedence over his evenings and weekends. I’d spent years trying to get him to commit to more time at home. We’d argue about what time he got home and his dedication to his career. He would respond by stating it wasn’t as bad I as I made it seem. He asserted that he was doing what he needed to do to maintain the lifestyle our family enjoyed. It was his version of the cheating man’s it’s-not-what-you-think.

The loneliness overwhelmed me. I wanted someone to share the highs and lows of the day with. I started to resent seeing him in the morning as he walked out the door, and then at night as he climbed in bed. I could no longer believed that once he got through the current project, things would be better or that his behavior was just a phase. In business, there will always be some phase to get through. I no longer had any interest in trying to convince him to do something different. Our relationship could not go on as it was. To put it simply, I believed my marriage was over.

But there was a catch. My husband and I had made a commitment to our selves and to God to stay together for life. So leaving wasn’t an option. And that felt like a life sentence. It seemed all I had to look forward to was years of unhappiness.

But in the midst of my anguish, it began to occur to me that what I was going through really wasn’t about my husband.

It was about how I valued myself.

I had to start taking care of myself. I had to find a way to be fulfilled outside my roles as a wife and mother. I asked myself: How do I meet my needs for value without looking to my relationship?  What other projects and relationships make me feel understood and valued?  What do I need to do to actively value myself?  I had used my husband as an excuse, as an easy out, instead taking responsibility for myself. And once I began to value myself, I wasn’t crushed by his inattention.

I wish I could say I immediately took up my mat and walked into my new life.  I continued to mourn the loss of what I thought should have been. But the seeds of possibility had been planted. I began to understand that the death of one idea doesn’t always mean the end. And though things are not exactly as I hoped, I could take who I am and create something new.

There is, of course, a lot more at stake with infidelity. The betrayal penetrates much deeper into the layers of relationship, making it difficult to trust again. But when we value ourselves, we will do what we need to do to begin again.

As my friend and I ended our lunch date, I shared my experience as a way to communicate that I understood where she was. I also suggested that if she felt better about herself, she’d know exactly what to do about her husband.  Because in both of our cases the real issue is how we feel about ourselves as women.

The conversation I had that afternoon was like so many conversations I’ve had over the years. Though specifics of my experience differ from my female friends, we all have a collective need to be loved, valued and understood. We understand that about each other. That is why our friendships with other women empower us.

The Keeping Room is about that commonality we share as women. It’s a place for the deep conversations we all need to grow into the women we were meant to be.