(Un) Faithful

Forward

For a long time I thought I would never share this story. It was too painful and I only cared about moving on from it. I felt shame and also a responsibility to protect the privacy of others. But this story belongs to me too, and the one thing I wished more than anything when I was going through the deep muck that ultimately led to my divorce, was to know just one other person that had a similar story. I wanted to be able to talk to one person that truly understood what my heart was going through and help me navigate.

Deep was the pain and grief I experienced during this season of my life. But, it uncovered a beautiful resiliency within that I never knew existed. I hope my story can inspire hope in someone else and let them know that they are not alone. I’m sharing my story in parts, in a series, over time. It is written how I experienced it- as I experienced it. 

Just Before

I had just landed in NYC from TN for a little work trip that I had extended to be able to spend time with my besties. My cell phone rings in my cab from the airport to Brooklyn where I was staying and it’s my husband on the other line.

“Hannah, did you just call me?”

“No, hunny, I didn’t”, I replied.

“That’s so strange. Hannah, I’m really freaked out right now because YOUR number just called me and when I picked up the phone, it was a robot voice that said they knew about me and his wife and if I hung up the phone, his first call would be to you to tell you everything.”

Long silent pause.

“Hannah. I’m sitting on the couch watching a Ken Burns documentary on the Civil War and sewing patches on my trumpet case. I’m really disturbed by this.”

A pit in my stomach stabbed deep. My gut ached. I pushed it away.

“Well,” I said, “Maybe it’s a student playing a really awful prank on you? Listen hunny, I don’t want you to worry about it. This is really strange but I’m not worried about it, so you shouldn’t be either.”

After a few more exchanges we hung up the phone and I continued to let what he told me sink in. I knew that strange call would at very least, store itself in the back of my mind. There were already a couple of other strange happenings stored back there from over the past 7+ years but that was just me being crazy. To this day, I have absolutely no clue who placed that call.

Over the next couple of days, he was atypically quiet. I was always in close touch with him throughout the day. Something wasn’t right. I called him and told him I was thinking about rebooking my flight to come home a day earlier. We weren’t exactly made of money and this normally would have gotten a push back response from him to not spend the extra money. But, I also needed to see a vacant commercial building in town before it got snatched up by another interested lessee. I was planning to expand my personal training studio and had been searching town for the perfect location. He gave me no pushback about getting a flight home a day early, so I booked it.

Crashing Down

I flew home the next day and asked him to meet me at the building I was interested in leasing so he could give me input. I noticed he seemed a little quiet and didn’t share my same excitement about the building, but I was also so distracted by the quick decision I needed to make regarding the building that I didn’t give it much thought. He left before me and headed to the house. I stayed behind with a few more questions I needed answered by the owner of the building.

When I got home, he wasn’t downstairs and I called out for him.

“I’m upstairs.” he said in a small voice.

I slowly walked up to the second floor and saw him sitting on one of our chairs with an incredible look of concern on his face.

“What’s wrong?” My heart sank immediately. This was obviously bad news.

Silence.

“What’s wrong?”

Silence.

“What’s wrong! Tell me what’s wrong!”

“Hannah, I’m sick.” he said. 

My head was spinning. He recently had a melanoma removed from his skin. Did he have cancer? Was he dying? What was that genetic heart condition that ran in his family that his mom kept telling him he needed to get genetic testing for? Was it that?

“What do you mean you’re sick?”

He didn’t speak.

“What is wrong!?”

“Hannah, I did a lot of research while you were gone and I think what I have is a sex addiction. I think I might be a sex addict and I’ve taken it too far. I’ve been unfaithful.”

“You’ve been unfaithful?” I repeated.

“Yes”, he said.

“With who?” I asked. I felt like all of the blood in my body had suddenly drained out of me and was puddled around my feet.

“More than one,” he explained.

“Multiple women? Who?” I was dizzy with confusion and could barely speak.

The next few minutes was a complete bombshell. The women he began to name were women I considered good friends. At each name I felt the knife twist deeper and deeper. Two of these women I spent time with regularly. We had them in our home for dinner many times. They were personal clients of mine at the studio. I invested time in supporting their health goals and building them up as strong women.

He confessed to a threesome with one of these girls and her best friend who I also met on many occasions. He admitted to sex with a women I didn’t know while he was on a trip for a gig. It was all so overwhelming.

After the confession he was quick to tell me that he had called our church Rector over the weekend and confided in him and was seeking counsel. He wanted to get better and he wanted our marriage to survive this. He told me that he had already reached out to a couple of therapists to try to get an appointment and his first SAA (Sex Addict Anonymous) meeting was Saturday. I understood now why he had been so distant those past few days I was in NY. He had been hard at work preparing his confession and getting things in order. He told me he understood if I needed him to leave- that he had somewhere to stay. I’m sure he repeatedly told me how sorry he was, but I honestly can’t remember that. I was too overwhelmed with trying to digest this new information.

“I need to take a walk.” I thought I would vomit.

I walked out of the house and as I began to walk around the neighborhood, I completely broke down. I crumbled to the ground hidden behind some trees and sobbed the deepest sob I’d ever sobbed. I was devastated. 

What Now?

I’m not an expert in zodiac signs but as a Taurus, I’ve always related to characteristics of a Taurus. Taurus are fiercely loyal. They are trustworthy and devoted. I can look back as far as elementary school and see the importance loyalty and trust have played in my friendships. I am the most loyal friend you will ever have and I’ve realized I have that expectation from others. This can be seen as part of the stubborn nature of Taurus. When someone proves themself disloyal, I can completely cut them out of my life. Rarely is there room for reconciliation. The damage has been done. Trust has been lost.

I always imagined that if I were to learn of a cheating partner, there would be no question. So long. Farewell. Auf Wiedersehen. BYE Felicia.

But marriages are complicated. And guided by my faith, I really meant those vows I spoke on our wedding day. He was my person- we were a family. The most important person in my world had betrayed me at the deepest level and shattered our marriage, and yet, my reaction surprised me. 

My immediate decisions following this discovery had everything to do with (I believe) that at this point, I’d read through The Meaning of Marriage three times. A book full of biblical principles and teachings on marriage, I was striving to model my marriage after it. An interesting side note is that I had asked my husband to read the book multiple times in the past, to no avail. One night, in bed, I just started reading excerpts from the book that I thought would be valuable help to strengthen our marriage.

I was also 10 months into my yoga teacher training where my learning was deep in becoming less reactive and staying patient, present, curious, and thoughtful. 

I walked back into the house and I told him I didn’t think it was a good idea for him to leave the house but he needed to stay upstairs in another room. I needed some time to process what I had just learned. 

For the next week he pretty much quarantined himself upstairs unless he needed to get food.  I would go upstairs from time to time to ask him questions I needed answers to.

“Where was I when this was happening?”, “How long did this go on?”. Every answer stabbed deeply but I needed the answers.

A couple days later, he shared that he found a therapist and that the therapist really wanted me to join the sessions if I would. He felt it was important if we wanted to save our marriage. I agreed. I wanted more than anything to be whole again with my husband. I wanted more than anything for the hurt and the pain to go away and for us to be happy. And so began our 18 month long work in therapy and in the home to heal and move forward.

READ PART TWO

R.I.P. DMX

When I was in high school, I bought a bootleg DMX CD from a flea market. I was so excited to take it home and listen to it. It was 2001 and his song “Party Up (Up In Here)” was a commercial hit, playing on the radio regularly. It was rare for me to buy CD’s because money was hard earned when I was a teenager but I loved DMX’s unique gruff voice and wanted to hear more.

I took that CD home and threw it in the player that afternoon and listened to song after song. My parents room was right next to mine and unbeknownst to me, my dad was taking a nap. The only thing that ever played at the house or on my dads car radio during trips to and from school, around town and on road trips was classical music and Rush Limbaugh. And I’m serious……nothing else.

So, DMX was obviously not my fathers cup of tea and when he heard the language blaring out of the speakers he was more than just a little bit bothered. I can’t remember if he knocked or just charged into the room but I clearly remember him lecturing me with deep disappointment that I would listen to “something like that”….”trash”. And then, I’m sure I got a sermon because I felt so guilty about buying the CD, that I actually broke it in half and threw it in the trash. After all, I didn’t want to disappoint my dad and I certainly didn’t want to disappoint GOD!

Looking back, I wonder if my dad had any curiosity about who DMX was and why his daughter wanted to listen to his music? And whether or not he should, instead of have a guttural reaction to what he heard coming out of the stereo, let her get an “unconventional” education from the stories DMX was sharing through his music.

DMX was born to teenage parents. His artist father left at an early age and his mother, along with a steady stream of boyfriends, beat and abused him throughout his childhood. He slept on the floor with roaches and mice. At 7, his aunt got him drunk. At 14, DMX started living on the streets. The first crime he committed was stealing a purse that netted him $1000. He used that money to buy his dog a leather collar and leash and himself a pair of shoes. DMX was a product of this traumatic childhood and a system that failed him and his family before that. It’s no doubt that it’s the trauma that led to the many demons he so aggressively fought throughout his life. Throughout it all- his faith was an important part and he never stopped trying to be a better person. His lyrics are often rooted deep in faith.

His music sheds light into the perpetual socioeconomic struggles disproportionately present in African American communities. They are his stories and the similar stories of struggle his African American brothers and sisters fight to overcome day in and day out. His music is an education for white America if we stop and listen.

DMX, under a new lens, I’m re-listening and re-learning through your music. I want to do better. I’m on a mission to be part of the solution and no longer part of the problem that ignorance allows.

R.I.P DMX……..

WHO WE BE

Uhh, yeah
Another one of those - this is for my nigga Q - down to earth joints
Rest in peace baby, you're not for me dawg

They don't knooow, who we beee
They don't knooow, who we beee

That's how many that don't know, they knew I could do it!
This goes out to my nigga Q - rest in peace baby
They still ain't ready...

What they don't know is!
The bullshit, the drama (uhh), the guns, the armour (what?)
The city, the farmer, the babies, the mama (what?!)
The projects, the drugs (uhh!), the children, the thugs
(Uhh!) The tears, the hugs, the love, the slugs (c'mon!)
The funerals, the wakes, the churches, the coffins (uhh!)
The heartbroken mothers, it happens, too often (why?!)
The problems, the things, we use, to solve 'em (what?!)
Yonkers, the Bronx (uhh!), Brooklyn, Harlem (c'mon!)
The hurt, the pain, the dirt, the rain (uhh!)
The jerk, the fame, the work, the game (uhh!)
The friends, the foes, the Benz, the hoes (what?!)
The studios, the shows, comes, and it goes (c'mon!)
The jealousy, the envy, the phony, the friendly (uh-huh!)
The one that gave 'em the slugs, the one that put 'em in me
(Whoo!) The snakes, the grass, too long, to see (uhh, uhh!)
The lawnmower, sittin, right next, to the tree (c'mon!)

What we seeing is!
The streets, the cops, the system, harrassment (uh-huh)
The options, get shot, go to jail, or getcha ass kicked
(Aight) The lawyers, the part, they are, of the puzzle (uh-huh)
The release, the warning, "Try not, to get in trouble" (damn!)
The snitches, the odds (uhh), probation, parole (what?!)
The new charge, the bail, the warrant, the hole (damn!)
The cell, the bus, the ride, up North (uh-huh)
The greens, the boots, the yard, these hearts (uhh!)
The fightin, the stabbin, the pullin, the grabbin (what?!)
The riot squad with the captain, nobody knows what happened
(What?!) The two years in a box, revenge, the plots (uhh!)
The twenty-three hours that's locked, the one hour that's not
(Uhh!) The silence, the dark, the mind, so fragile (aight!)
The wish, that the streets, would have took you, when they had you
(Damn) The days, the months, the years, dispair
One night on my knees, here it comes, the prayer

This here is all about!
My wife, my kids (uh-huh), the life that I live (uh-huh)
Through the night, I was his (uh-huh), it was right, but I did
(Uh-huh) My ups, and downs (uhh), my slips, my falls (uhh)
My trials and tribulations (uhh), my heart, my balls (uhh)
My mother, my father, I love 'em, I hate 'em (uhh!)
Wish God, I didn't have 'em, but I'm glad that he made 'em
(Uhh!) The roaches, the rats, the strays, the cats (what, what?!)
The guns, knives and bats, everytime we scrap
The hustlin, the dealin, the robbin, the stealin (uhh!)
The shit, hit the ceilin, little boy, with no feelin's
(Damn) The frustration, rage, trapped inside a cage
Got beatin's 'til the age, I carried a twelve gauge
(Aight!) Somebody stop me (please!), somebody come and get me
(What?!) Little did I know, that the Lord was ridin with me
The dark, the light (uhh), my heart (uhh), the fight (uhh)
The wrong (uhh!), the right (uhh!), it's gone (uhh!), aight?

Man listen
These motherfuckers don't know, who we are!
They don't know
They couldn't possibly fuckin know dawg
That's from the heart

Tradition!

In the opening song of the Broadway musical, Fiddler on the Roof, Tevye (the Pappa), explains the importance of tradition for keeping their community and faith strong. Tradition brought order and reassurance in a changing world around them.

I think part of what made us so resistant to breaking our traditions in this COVID 2020 world, is how much we subconsciously (or even consciously) rely on traditions to make us feel safe. As long as we have our traditions, we have some sense of control and normalcy in our lives. Traditions often hold our values, so I get the fight to hold tightly to our traditions, especially when we perceive someone or some institution is trying to take them away.

I craved tradition growing up because I believed we never held any in the Davis household. All the “normal” families I knew had strong traditions around holidays, church, birthdays and summer vacations. For us though, tradition was illusive. My parents are two of the most spontaneous people I know, even to this day. Tradition doesn’t always fit into a life of spontaneity. We never knew when, or even if, we would get a Christmas tree that year much less what Christmas Day would look like. I was never confident my birthday would even be remembered much less be celebrated in a traditional way. So on…..

My heart desired tradition more than I even realized. When I got married in 2012, one of the things that brought me most joy was joining a family that held traditions that I would now get to be a part of. This became one of the most devastating losses when I went through the divorce. I was not only grieving the loss of one whom I believed to be “my person”, I also found myself grieving all of the traditions we created together and the traditions I inherited when I joined his family.

The importance of tradition cannot be denied. Tradition can give us a sense of predictability in an uncertain world. It’s something we all needed more than anything in 2020. When this year called for so many of us to forgo or modify our long held traditions, reactions of deep sadness, anger, and resistance were warranted. But I’ve learned tradition is so much more than the predictable actions we perform to celebrate something. Traditions can evolve without sacrificing the values that are actually at the core of these traditions. When we allow our traditions to evolve and we remain flexible, we are less disappointed and less stressed!

As I look back at my childhood, I can truly say, that although our traditions didn’t look like the Jones’, my parents had a solid grasp on what really mattered. Jesus stayed the reason for the season, not the Christmas tree or the presents underneath. We Davis kids were celebrated and encouraged everyday, not just on our birthday. And not knowing when our next vacation would be, just made us really appreciate any surprising opportunity we had to travel.

---

I’m reminded of a conversation Christ had with the religious leaders concerning tradition:

Mark 7: 5-9

5 So the Pharisees and teachers of religious law asked him, “Why don’t your disciples follow our age-old tradition? They eat without first performing the hand-washing ceremony.”

6 Jesus replied, “You hypocrites! Isaiah was right when he prophesied about you, for he wrote,

‘These people honor me with their lips,

but their hearts are far from me.

7 Their worship is a farce,

for they teach man-made ideas as commands from God.’

8 For you ignore God’s law and substitute your own tradition.”

9 Then he said, “You skillfully sidestep God’s law in order to hold on to your own tradition. 10 For instance, Moses gave you this law from God: ‘Honor your father and mother,’ and ‘Anyone who speaks disrespectfully of father or mother must be put to death.’ 11 But you say it is all right for people to say to their parents, ‘Sorry, I can’t help you. For I have vowed to give to God what I would have given to you.’ 12 In this way, you let them disregard their needy parents. 13 And so you cancel the word of God in order to hand down your own tradition. And this is only one example among many others.”

A family friend invited the Davis kids over to carve pumpkins one year. This was never something we would have done at home. We didn’t celebrate Halloween- from what I understood, because costumes were too expensive and my mother didn’t want us collecting all that unhealthy candy.

Left to Right: Joseph, Hannah, Tarah, Abby, Rebekah

Indecent Proposal

“i’d rather be in charge.”- Hannah Davis

In May 2006 I graduated college and moved to NYC chasing dreams of becoming a professional actress. For as long as I can remember, this was my dream. At 5 years old, in my kindergarten play, I was cast as the Baby Bear in Goldilocks, and I was hooked on acting!

In retrospect, I really wasn’t a great actress. I never won a lead role in our high school productions, I was only ever cast in ensemble roles in college, and although I did land my first paid, professional acting job in college for an outdoor theatre company, summer stock theatre was hardly prestigious. But, I was stubborn and tenacious with my dream and I had an incredible passion for the entire process of theatre. I truly believed it was what i was meant to do, so there was no stopping me.

My very first NYC headshots at 21 years old. I was ready to land a very serious role!

I hit the ground running when I arrived to New York. I found a great photographer and got headshots, I subscribed to Backstage, an actors guide to castings and classes, and went to every audition I could possibly go to. I took classes with casting directors and made connections. In 2007, one of the acting classes I signed up for was a Soap Intensive instructed by, Bob Lambert, a casting director for All My Children. My scene partner was Michael Galante and I remember being so distracted by his obvious on-screen (and real life) beauty that I really never could get my lines right.

Much to my surprise, a month or two after I completed the class, I got a call from the casting offices of All My Children. They wanted to cast me as a bar patron. This would be a reoccurring extra role that could possibly turn into an Under 5. Under 5 just meant you would be a no name character that had 5 lines or less. So, it would be possible that I would be given a line like, “Hey there, buddy,” or “Wanna dance?”. The job as an extra paid very well and it allowed me to join AFTRA, the union for television actors, which is a milestone for any actor. This was MAJOR in my world. It may as well have been my big break. On my first visit to the ABC studios building, the doors to the elevator open and Whoopie Goldberg is inside on her way up to film The View. She was super friendly and greeted me with a smile and cracked a joke. I was on the same elevator as WHOOPIE!!!

We did A LOT of sitting around in the extras greenroom just waiting to film. One shoot, a wrangler came into the greenroom and asked me if I would like to help Walt Willy read lines. Walt Willy played the lead character, Jackson. Incredibly nervous and confused as to why in the world I was being asked, I agreed.

The wrangler led me to Walt’s dressing room and introduced us. We spent the next hour just chatting and not going over any lines of script. I was so nervous and slightly uncomfortable with the entire situation, that I really don’t remember much of our conversation. When it was time for him to go film, we said a goodbye and I went on my merry way back to greenroom to sit with all the other minions…..where I belonged.

Another day, another shoot, the request came again. “Walt would like to know if you are able to read lines with him?” I imagined answering no was not really an option, so apprehensively, I walked back to his dressing room, this time by myself. After a few minutes, I began to feel like I was on a date that I didn’t want to be on. I nervously laughed off flirty comments and tried to stay as elusive as possible. I became increasingly uncomfortable and felt trapped, not sure how to get out of the situation without offending this ABC soap opera star. As a polite Southern gal, you’re meant to be courteous in all situations. When you turn down advances from a guy who is being slightly inappropriate and creepy, it should always include an “I’m sorry”, a giggle, and a smile.

Walt continued his advances and told me he wanted to spend time with me “outside of here”. I got a little brave and pointed to the picture of his wife and child and said that I didn’t think THEY would agree that it would be a very good idea. He tried to convince me of their open relationship but I still turned him down as graciously as I possibly could. I left his dressing room sure I would never be hired again for another episode of All My Children. I was right. And just like that, my “big” television career was over.

Disheartened by what I thought I would have to do to get ahead as an actress, I decided I didn’t want to be a minion in a million begging to be cast anymore. I wanted to be “in charge”, helping make the decisions on which minions would be cast. So, I went after an internship with Jim Carnahan Casting, one of the leading casting directors in NYC for theatre and I got it. What I wouldn’t learn until later, is that the view from that side of the industry was hardly any better……

Cross Country (Dab)ble

“If you live off a man's compliments, you'll die from his criticism.” ― Cornelius Lindsey

I ran cross country my freshman and sophomore year of high school. My two older sisters, Abby and Tarah, were very good cross country athletes. I however, neither had the passion for it, nor the talent. 

I hated running in the NC summer heat and humidity. I hated how uncomfortable it felt to have my heart rate spike. Running was so boring and so unglamorous. It wasn’t like a sport where you make a big play and get crowd cheers and recognition. As the 4th child of six kids, it’s only natural to crave a little recognition.

My dad was an avid runner in his day and he wanted all of us kids to be great runners too. I don’t remember him forcing me to be on the team, it was just kind of expected. And because my two older sisters were so good (Abby got a college scholarship to run track and Tarah was always top 5), I felt the pressure to be just as good. 

I wasn’t good. And embarrassingly I didn’t even have honorable team ethics. Because I didn’t feel like my efforts mattered to the team, (if you didn’t place top 5, you weren’t earning the team any points), I did everything possible to try to get out of meets. Once, I faked an ankle injury mid race one rainy day so I didn’t have to keep running in the muck. I really hated not being good at something and when I wasn’t, I made excuses. This was true, too, for the 5 other sports I dabbled in through middle school and high school). I even feigned asthma to try to get out of being on the team but my dad just sent me to a physician to get an inhaler. I didn’t have asthma but I got an inhaler anyway. My race pace didn’t improve.

WHS Cross Country Team 1999-2000

One cross country practice as we were performing some core exercises, our Coach pointed me out to the rest of the team as an example of how to properly do the core exercises we were doing. I glowed from that recognition and as crazy as it may seem, it was in that moment that I recognized being strong as an accomplishment. I may not have been a good runner, but I was strong and had great form and that was pretty cool. Coach’s comment was a definitive compliment. Strong became something I wanted to explore more of and in my senior year of high school decided to enroll in a weight lifting class that would introduce me to strength training. 

I’ve struggled to love running my entire life and consider myself a seasonal runner- running only when the mood strikes or the weather is irresistible. I blame high school cross country for that. But, I’m grateful to have dabbled in the sport. It held that defining moment that led to my desire to build strength.