Most people who have affairs, whatever their motivations, do not give adequate thought to the possible consequences. They’re in a hormonal and/or emotional state that is simply not conducive to rational thought. I worry that by saying I left my husband and ended up with my lover, people might think it was a blithe decision, and easy to do. It wasn’t. It sucked. It is difficult to express the extent to which it sucked, and will eventually suck for you if you have an affair, but I will try.
First, let’s start with the very concrete reality that most people who have affairs get caught, and YOU SHOULD ASSUME THAT YOU ARE NOT AN EXCEPTION. I didn’t get caught, but that’s really rare in the long term, and more a testament to my ex-husband’s self-involvement than to my keen intellect and considerable paranoia. DB got caught, and if you have an affair, you probably will, too. Having an affair requires a lot of attention to detail, and it’s almost impossible to be vigilant all the time. You will get lazy as you get into a routine, and that is when you will screw up. It only takes an absent-minded moment when you forget to secure your phone, or you get caught not being where you said you were. A suspicious and determined spouse will find out, and your spouse will get suspicious. You will not be acting normal.
Getting caught sucks. Quite unexpectly, you have to explain yourself, and you can’t possibly explain yourself. You suddenly see yourself through your spouse’s eyes, and it’s not a pretty picture. You have to deal with someone who is justifiably furious at you, who you have betrayed, someone with whom you have built a life and have a history, and you will feel enormously guilty and conflicted, no matter why you had the affair or what your relationship with your spouse was like. You will also have to deal with the consequences of their rage, which might include some pretty bad things, such as bolting across the country with your children, or draining your bank accounts, or humiliating you in front of friends, neighbors, colleagues, or even your own children. Unless you are a complete sociopath, the moment of getting caught is a horrible, shameful, pants-crappingly terrifying moment, beyond your worst imaginings.
It also sucks if you haven’t gotten caught (yet) and your affair partner gets caught. Suddenly, you have to face the fact that there is a real person on the other side, who is suffering because of a decision to which you were a party, and who has a hold over your affair partner that you do not. Until she found out what was going on, DB’s ex was almost a cardboard cutout in my mind. Afterward, she was a real person. A real person who was pissed off and had access to firearms, a real person might show up at my house or work, a real person who might call my spouse, a real person who had probably already learned quite a bit about me. But also a real person in pain.
Thankfully no bunnies were boiled in the course of this affair, but DB’s getting caught sucked. It was obviously far worse for him than for me, but if you care about the person you have an affair with, it’s important to consider how the implosion of his or her world will affect you. You will feel partly responsible for what is happening to your affair partner, and it is hard to support someone through the kind of fallout that is coming, especially when you are trying to navigate your own situation and figure out what to do. Your affair partner might lose custody of their children, not to mention money, reputation, professional credibility, and self-respect, to name a few things. Your affair partner might (possibly repeatedly, changing his/her mind back and forth) throw you under the bus and break your heart out of a desire for self-preservation, or to avoid breaking up his/her children’s household, or just from the paralyzing guilt of it all. DB didn’t do this to me, but in my darkest moments I feared he would and wouldn’t have even blamed him. That would have really sucked.
I’ve just scratched the surface here. Shall I go on?
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Saturday, July 24, 2010
The View From This Side
So, how does a nice girl become a fallen woman?
Are people who have affairs shallow, selfish sociopaths who are incapable of love, don’t feel guilt, and will fuck anything that moves? Some are. We all know people like that. It’s certainly easier to believe that everyone who strays is like that, especially if your spouse cheated. But even my ex-husband would tell you that I’m not like that.
At the other end of the spectrum, it would be far too easy to blame my ex for my actions. But my ex didn’t beat me. He didn’t cheat on me or call me names or belittle me publicly or privately or control my finances or molest our children. There were serious issues, and while those who know us tend to agree that I was right to leave him, and understand why I did so, he did not compel me to cheat on him. I chose to do that.
From my current perspective, I have learned that (a) almost anyone is capable of doing things they never thought they would ever do, given the right circumstances, and (b) having an affair is incredibly stressful for anyone with a conscience. If you do such a thing, there are some pretty powerful forces at work. No matter how you decide to resolve the situation, it’s important to understand what those forces were so that you can deal with them; otherwise you have wasted a lot of time and effort and soul-crushing guilt over nothing.
Look, I don’t expect hugs or warm fuzzies, nor do I expect pity for or absolution from the consequences my choices set into place. At the same time, I do maintain that I am not a bad person. I loved my ex-husband dearly. I took care of him, I cooked for him, I washed his underwear, I picked up his drycleaning, I listened to him and supported him, I was responsible with our money, I gave birth to his children, I tried to give him a comfortable, inviting home. I traveled with him, I had amazing adventures with him. I was a good wife. And I put up with a lot of crap. Crap that objective observers, including qualified mental health professionals, have deemed inordinate. I always assumed that I was doing this as quid pro quo – when I needed my ex to make sacrifices for me, he would do it. That never happened. It slowly broke my heart until finally it almost broke my sanity.
Why didn’t I try harder, or put my foot down sooner? Why didn’t I insist that we work things out in counseling? Why did I choose to start a new relationship rather than make the old one work? This is the truth. I was in denial over how bad things were. I was so busy trying to convince myself that I was happy, and the things I wasn’t happy about were my fault, and if I could just have a better attitude, there would be no problems. I remember the precise moment, long before DB came into my life, that I realized I didn’t enjoy having sex with my then-husband. I remember thinking that there was no way I could ever tell him, that this was going to be my life of quiet desperation, and that I had made my bed and would have to lie in it (literally). And then I felt horribly guilty and tried to pretend I hadn’t just thought any of that. I didn’t understand that the house was burning down until I fell in love with DB. And then it was too late.
That’s the honest truth. I didn’t manage to get my then-husband into counseling until I had no intention of working on the relationship anymore. There was nothing he could have done or said that would have (a) convinced me he could or would change the behaviors that were slowly killing me, or (b) made me willing to give DB up. So I left the marriage as quickly as courage and resources would allow. It sucked. It was horribly painful. But not even in the worst moments, like when my children were there to see the movers take my things away (my husband was supposed to have taken them somewhere but didn’t), with all the neighbors looking as I stood in my driveway and bawled, even then, I was not willing to stay. It felt then, and feels now, like a matter of survival, like running for my life.
Not everyone would do what I did. Some people might have been able to turn the situation around, to commit to counseling, to cut ties with their lover. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.
A mutual friend of mine and DB’s, upon learning what we had done, sent us both a scathing e-mail stating that we had done “bad and shameful things” and recommending that we cut off our relationship while we got our of our bad marriages, and only then would he be able to support us. Neither of us had actually requested his support; he just felt the need to volunteer his input. I haven’t been able to speak to him since. It’s not that I’m angry at him for judging me – I judge myself. It’s not that this wouldn’t be sound advice if it hadn’t been about a year too late, and if either DB or I had had any daily emotional support besides each other while going through the hell of divorce. But where I am is so far from this friend’s perspective that I just don’t have the words to speak to him, and don’t know if I ever will. It’s like trying to shout across the Grand Canyon at someone. You can’t convey any meaning, much less nuanced meaning, across a chasm that immense.
I’m not trying to justify myself. I’m just trying to give the view from this side.
Are people who have affairs shallow, selfish sociopaths who are incapable of love, don’t feel guilt, and will fuck anything that moves? Some are. We all know people like that. It’s certainly easier to believe that everyone who strays is like that, especially if your spouse cheated. But even my ex-husband would tell you that I’m not like that.
At the other end of the spectrum, it would be far too easy to blame my ex for my actions. But my ex didn’t beat me. He didn’t cheat on me or call me names or belittle me publicly or privately or control my finances or molest our children. There were serious issues, and while those who know us tend to agree that I was right to leave him, and understand why I did so, he did not compel me to cheat on him. I chose to do that.
From my current perspective, I have learned that (a) almost anyone is capable of doing things they never thought they would ever do, given the right circumstances, and (b) having an affair is incredibly stressful for anyone with a conscience. If you do such a thing, there are some pretty powerful forces at work. No matter how you decide to resolve the situation, it’s important to understand what those forces were so that you can deal with them; otherwise you have wasted a lot of time and effort and soul-crushing guilt over nothing.
Look, I don’t expect hugs or warm fuzzies, nor do I expect pity for or absolution from the consequences my choices set into place. At the same time, I do maintain that I am not a bad person. I loved my ex-husband dearly. I took care of him, I cooked for him, I washed his underwear, I picked up his drycleaning, I listened to him and supported him, I was responsible with our money, I gave birth to his children, I tried to give him a comfortable, inviting home. I traveled with him, I had amazing adventures with him. I was a good wife. And I put up with a lot of crap. Crap that objective observers, including qualified mental health professionals, have deemed inordinate. I always assumed that I was doing this as quid pro quo – when I needed my ex to make sacrifices for me, he would do it. That never happened. It slowly broke my heart until finally it almost broke my sanity.
Why didn’t I try harder, or put my foot down sooner? Why didn’t I insist that we work things out in counseling? Why did I choose to start a new relationship rather than make the old one work? This is the truth. I was in denial over how bad things were. I was so busy trying to convince myself that I was happy, and the things I wasn’t happy about were my fault, and if I could just have a better attitude, there would be no problems. I remember the precise moment, long before DB came into my life, that I realized I didn’t enjoy having sex with my then-husband. I remember thinking that there was no way I could ever tell him, that this was going to be my life of quiet desperation, and that I had made my bed and would have to lie in it (literally). And then I felt horribly guilty and tried to pretend I hadn’t just thought any of that. I didn’t understand that the house was burning down until I fell in love with DB. And then it was too late.
That’s the honest truth. I didn’t manage to get my then-husband into counseling until I had no intention of working on the relationship anymore. There was nothing he could have done or said that would have (a) convinced me he could or would change the behaviors that were slowly killing me, or (b) made me willing to give DB up. So I left the marriage as quickly as courage and resources would allow. It sucked. It was horribly painful. But not even in the worst moments, like when my children were there to see the movers take my things away (my husband was supposed to have taken them somewhere but didn’t), with all the neighbors looking as I stood in my driveway and bawled, even then, I was not willing to stay. It felt then, and feels now, like a matter of survival, like running for my life.
Not everyone would do what I did. Some people might have been able to turn the situation around, to commit to counseling, to cut ties with their lover. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.
A mutual friend of mine and DB’s, upon learning what we had done, sent us both a scathing e-mail stating that we had done “bad and shameful things” and recommending that we cut off our relationship while we got our of our bad marriages, and only then would he be able to support us. Neither of us had actually requested his support; he just felt the need to volunteer his input. I haven’t been able to speak to him since. It’s not that I’m angry at him for judging me – I judge myself. It’s not that this wouldn’t be sound advice if it hadn’t been about a year too late, and if either DB or I had had any daily emotional support besides each other while going through the hell of divorce. But where I am is so far from this friend’s perspective that I just don’t have the words to speak to him, and don’t know if I ever will. It’s like trying to shout across the Grand Canyon at someone. You can’t convey any meaning, much less nuanced meaning, across a chasm that immense.
I’m not trying to justify myself. I’m just trying to give the view from this side.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Can anything good come from talking about this?
I am a suburban mom from anywhere. I could be you, I could be your neighbor, I could be anyone. I love my children; I go to work; I take my kids to soccer practice; I abide by the speed limit; I pay my taxes; I recycle. I am a nice girl. I was raised by middle class, conservative, religious parents who have no idea about any of this. I wanted the things everyone wants: an attractive, intelligent spouse, a comfortable lifestyle, beautiful healthy children, security. I had just about convinced myself I had them, but on some level I knew I didn’t, and I had no idea what to do about it. I was honestly too busy, and too tired, and too depressed. I simply hoped that my angst would work itself out, and maybe someday I would again want my husband to touch me. It wasn’t looking good for the home team.
Then, by incremental degrees, I became involved in a relationship – first emotional and eventually physical - with a man I’d been in love with since college, who I’d worked very hard to put out of my mind over the years, but with whom I’d reconnected on Facebook (could I be more of a cliché?). This eventually led me to leave my husband and make a fresh start for myself. I am still madly in love with the other man (who I will call DB), and we are still together. My ex never knew about the affair; DB’s found out when he was in the process of leaving (Rule #1, a.k.a. the Tiger Rule: be careful with your cellphone). We are both awaiting pending divorces, and we want to get married when we can. We each have children from our prior relationships. It has been, as you can imagine, a trainwreck. And I would do it all over again if I had to, because it means I can be with DB and not face 50+ years of quiet desperation. It is worth it. I know that doesn’t make me look good.
I have debated with myself at great length over whether to start this blog. It’s not that I expect sympathy or kudos for talking about this. I did something I shouldn’t have done, and I got away with it (mostly). I haven’t had to suffer any consequences for my own actions except for the guilt and shame I have heaped on myself (considerable) and the loss of a couple of friendships. My divorce has brought considerable consequences for my children, but it was inevitable – I was going to get a divorce eventually anyway, or develop a drinking problem, or gain 500 pounds, or have a nervous breakdown. My marriage was that bad. My mistake was marrying my ex to begin with, or not realizing before we had children that I needed to RUN, screaming, AWAY. It was never, I know now, a matter of if we would divorce, but when and how.
That doesn’t make it right.
But I wonder, how many people have been here? How many people have faced and became unable to evade any longer the cold, hard truth that their marriages were and always had been doomed because experiencing something like this gave them a perspective they never would have otherwise had? It’s just not something you talk about. I, too, used to think that there was no excuse, you tried to work things out in your marriage, and if that didn’t work, after that, you got out of it, and then, only then, you figured out whether you should get involved in another relationship. That’s certainly the wisest course of action, and one I whole-heartedly endorse. It’s also easier said than done sometimes.
It’s a long, involved story, and an extremely complex subject. I can’t possibly tell it all, and say everything there is to say, with my first entry. I would note that there are online support groups for people in this situation, not to mention an excellent book (“When Good People Have Affairs: Inside the Hearts & Minds of People in Two Relationships
” by Mira Kirshenbaum).
For what it's worth, I didn't have an ongoing, indefinite affair, and I would not have done so. I also do not condone or recommend having an affair. I just happen to have had one, and I think I’m not the only person who never thought they would do such a thing, but did. If writing this can provide food for thought for someone in that situation, or provoke compassion and understanding from others for someone who is trying to navigate such a situation and figure out how to make it right, then it’s worth doing. If you want to judge me because it makes you feel better about having been wronged or having been tempted to cheat, or because it’s fun to bash on people you don’t know as an armchair sport, go ahead. Just remember that it’s easy to be self-righteous about something you’ve never experienced. I should know. And if you do experience it later, I’ll probably still be here, talking about it.
Peace,
TNG
Then, by incremental degrees, I became involved in a relationship – first emotional and eventually physical - with a man I’d been in love with since college, who I’d worked very hard to put out of my mind over the years, but with whom I’d reconnected on Facebook (could I be more of a cliché?). This eventually led me to leave my husband and make a fresh start for myself. I am still madly in love with the other man (who I will call DB), and we are still together. My ex never knew about the affair; DB’s found out when he was in the process of leaving (Rule #1, a.k.a. the Tiger Rule: be careful with your cellphone). We are both awaiting pending divorces, and we want to get married when we can. We each have children from our prior relationships. It has been, as you can imagine, a trainwreck. And I would do it all over again if I had to, because it means I can be with DB and not face 50+ years of quiet desperation. It is worth it. I know that doesn’t make me look good.
I have debated with myself at great length over whether to start this blog. It’s not that I expect sympathy or kudos for talking about this. I did something I shouldn’t have done, and I got away with it (mostly). I haven’t had to suffer any consequences for my own actions except for the guilt and shame I have heaped on myself (considerable) and the loss of a couple of friendships. My divorce has brought considerable consequences for my children, but it was inevitable – I was going to get a divorce eventually anyway, or develop a drinking problem, or gain 500 pounds, or have a nervous breakdown. My marriage was that bad. My mistake was marrying my ex to begin with, or not realizing before we had children that I needed to RUN, screaming, AWAY. It was never, I know now, a matter of if we would divorce, but when and how.
That doesn’t make it right.
But I wonder, how many people have been here? How many people have faced and became unable to evade any longer the cold, hard truth that their marriages were and always had been doomed because experiencing something like this gave them a perspective they never would have otherwise had? It’s just not something you talk about. I, too, used to think that there was no excuse, you tried to work things out in your marriage, and if that didn’t work, after that, you got out of it, and then, only then, you figured out whether you should get involved in another relationship. That’s certainly the wisest course of action, and one I whole-heartedly endorse. It’s also easier said than done sometimes.
It’s a long, involved story, and an extremely complex subject. I can’t possibly tell it all, and say everything there is to say, with my first entry. I would note that there are online support groups for people in this situation, not to mention an excellent book (“When Good People Have Affairs: Inside the Hearts & Minds of People in Two Relationships
” by Mira Kirshenbaum). For what it's worth, I didn't have an ongoing, indefinite affair, and I would not have done so. I also do not condone or recommend having an affair. I just happen to have had one, and I think I’m not the only person who never thought they would do such a thing, but did. If writing this can provide food for thought for someone in that situation, or provoke compassion and understanding from others for someone who is trying to navigate such a situation and figure out how to make it right, then it’s worth doing. If you want to judge me because it makes you feel better about having been wronged or having been tempted to cheat, or because it’s fun to bash on people you don’t know as an armchair sport, go ahead. Just remember that it’s easy to be self-righteous about something you’ve never experienced. I should know. And if you do experience it later, I’ll probably still be here, talking about it.
Peace,
TNG
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