The Details Don’t Matter

When everything was exposed, it was like an explosion. Debris from the life I thought I knew went flying like shrapnel. And here’s the truth—every single detail was another shard of shrapnel lodged in my wound.

He would always say to me, ‘Shawnetta, the details don’t matter.’ And every single time, it sent me reeling—teetering right on the edge of rage. Who did he think he was? How dare he try to keep what was between him and them…between them. Like I was some outsider in my own marriage. As if my reality, my life, my sanity, weren’t tied up in the wreckage too. That thought alone sent fire through me—because who was he to decide what I could or couldn’t know? He owed me every answer I demanded, and nothing was off-limits in my mind.

But here’s the truth I had to face: The more details I demanded, the more damage I did to myself. Because you cannot unsee what you’ve seen. You cannot unhear what you’ve heard. Those bits and pieces don’t make healing easier—they embed themselves deeper, making the wound harder to close.

But our nature craves the details. We think if we can just know everything, then maybe we can control the pain. But the reality? Most of us don’t even have the capacity to process it. And even if we could—what would change? The offense still happened. Your heart is still broken. Your world is still upside down. And now, instead of moving forward, your healing process just got a lot more complicated.

For me, because some of the women were people I personally knew, the details cut even deeper. I could see their faces. I could hear their voices. Memories I once shared with them—because I thought they were my friends—kept replaying in my head. Then my mind would spiral: What memories of them is he replaying in his head?

I insisted on knowing every gritty and intimate thing...I didn’t care how vulgar or graphic. I demanded the details. I convinced myself that knowing would help me stay. But the very information I fought for became the very thing that haunted me. Was he doing me like he did them? Touching me like he did them? Telling me the same things he told them? “Loving” me like he was “loving” them? I couldn’t lay next to him without feeling like those women were between us, pushing me out of the space God ordained for me as his wife.

I threw out comforters, my favorite and most expensive one included. Demanded we get rid of our bed frame. Eventually bought a new mattress. I thought if I stripped away the reminders, I’d strip away the pain. But it never worked. Because the battlefield wasn’t in my bedroom—it was in my mind. And no matter how much I trashed, tossed, or replaced, the memories followed me under every sheet, into every sleepless night.

I made demands—some extreme, some unrealistic—thinking they would make me feel safe. But they didn’t bring safety. They brought obsession. Every time a demand wasn’t met perfectly, I spiraled. And for him, no matter what he did, it was never enough to “fix” what he broke. The truth? He couldn’t.

One of the most damaging demands I made was about love. I needed to know he loved me—but instead of letting him say it, I demanded silence. And when he did say it, I spit back that I was choosing not to love him (because I firmly believe that love is a choice and not some emotion that just takes over us). I thought that if I never heard ‘I love you,’ I couldn’t be lied to, couldn’t be played, couldn’t be vulnerable. But the truth? I was already wide open. We’d been married over 11 years. I had given him my life, my body, the very fabric of who I was. There was nothing left to guard—no shield to hide behind. My demands didn’t protect me. They just left our marriage hemorrhaging.

What I really needed was faith. Faith to trust beyond what I was seeing, beyond what I was imagining. Faith to trust God more than I trusted my husband.

God revealed something to me: I was letting the enemy win. He was using these women as weapons against me long after the affairs were over. One of them once said to me—with pride in her voice—that she knew she had been an “issue” in my marriage. She wanted to be a factor. She wanted me restless, doubting, broken. After all, he was supposed to leave me for her—or at least that’s what she told anyone in our church who would listen. So she lurked on my socials, left comments, taunted me, and waited like a predator convinced she could one day step into the life she swore belonged to her. But what she never understood is that the life she coveted wasn’t the one I was truly living.

And more than a decade later, I would still see her shadow, still lurking, still waiting for the right moment to strike.

Another texted me three years after my husband confessed and I had confronted her. All she said was that she was “praying for us.” But let’s be real—sometimes the people who once preyed on you don’t get to pray for you. It is probably the last thing on Earth you would want to happen. Still, her words sent me spiraling. It felt like an attack.

Meanwhile, my husband had compartmentalized and moved on. To him, it was over. He refused to give any of them—or what happened between them—a second thought. He truly wanted to move on and focus on healing our marriage.

But me? I was the one dragging them back in. I didn’t invite them into my marriage, but I gave them space there. I set a table for them at my pain. I handed them power and control—again and again—without even realizing I had become the one haunting myself with their shadows.

As unfair as it feels—because I didn’t cause this hurt, and you didn’t cause your hurt—the moving forward part? That part is on us.

And if God told you to stay—this is where the grind gets real. Don’t forget, He doesn’t call you to something without equipping you with the grace to carry it…even in a marriage that feels like it’s breaking you.

The Takeaway

Here’s the truth: God doesn’t always give us the details, and that’s His protection. He knows the details would destroy us, paralyze us, keep us stuck in replay instead of moving forward in healing. Sometimes, focusing on every detail of the betrayal, the loss, or the wound doesn’t bring clarity—it keeps us in captivity.

If your healing or your walk with God feels stagnant, maybe it’s because you’re still picking at the shrapnel instead of letting God close the wound.

The details don’t matter. The big picture does. And the big picture is this: the same God who allowed the exposure is the same God who will cover you in healing if you’ll let Him.

Every detail you cling to steals your peace, but God is quietly mending what you can’t see yet.

Your crown isn’t lost—it’s yours. Pick it up and wear it proud…until we meet again