illicit affairs
I’ve spent the better part of the last decade in love with a married man.
Or the worse part, I guess would be a more accurate descriptor.
This isn’t where I convince you to feel sorry for me, the other woman. This isn’t me trying to explain how he told me they were going to get a divorce; separate bedrooms, separate floors … separated.
Maybe they were, maybe they weren’t. I believed what I wanted to believe.
I believed what he told me.
That I was his soulmate, the woman of his dreams, too good to be true, the love of his life.
He told me all the things my husband never told me.
I believed myself when I told him he was my best friend, my twin flame, the best thing to ever happen to me, the love of my life.
We wanted each other to make our lives make sense.
I said yes, knowing the facts. I tried to give him everything I had, but he didn’t want it; and he didn’t want to leave her, so he didn’t … he left me.
Love is complicated. Relationships are messy. Marriage is a contract that everyone I know has broken the rules of in some way.
Affairs are rarely as simple as sex.
We want to been seen, loved, recognized in another person’s eyes. It’s not uncommon for those things to fade over time.
Some of the best people I know have cheated on their husbands, kissed a friend at a party, flirted a little too hard, secretly messaged someone online, lied to their wives.
Emotional affairs can be even more hurtful than physical ones.
Before we immediately judge someone for cheating we need to look deeply into ourselves and see where we’ve done something similar.
Give each other some grace then give ourselves even more.
It would be incredible if we fell in love at eighteen, got married, had babies and never looked for anyone or anything outside of our relationship. That is rarely the reality. We’re human, we grow, we evolve, we change in ways we could have never expected.
We fall in and out of love.
I fell in love with a married man. I begged, pleaded, wished on every eyelash, shooting star, and 11:11 on the microwave for the universe to let me have him. The universe is no dummy. It didn’t give me what I wanted, because I wasn’t meant to have it.
It took me seven sad years to stop trying to strong arm my destiny.
Not without a fight … I eventually let him go.
I fell out of love with someone I would have bet the ranch on never falling out of love with. Someone I wanted to marry. Someone I was willing to risk it all for.
Now, I love him in a new way; in a way that’s healthy for me. In a no contact way.
When I close my eyes my brain still says his name, but now I follow it up with
I hope you’re happy, healthy, and having the best life.
I send a new wish out into the universe.
If you want to live a miserable life — fall in love with someone that refuses to be with you. If you want to never feel good enough — date a married man. If you want to be lonelier than you’ve ever been — be the other woman.
I’ve had to forgive myself because I am the only one who can. I forgive him because I can’t harbor hatred in my heart.
I forgive you too.
Relationships are complicated and people are complex. It is rarely black and white.
I learned a long time ago to never judge anyone unless you’ve walked exactly in their shoes (which you never will).
May this relationship be a mirror for what you need to learn and see.
You are so worth of love. Sending it to you.
When I was a little more reckless (and before I was married) I was the wrecking ball for one marriage and one live-in relationship. In both cases I was told “we’re already separating/roommates” and in both cases dude had no idea. I was younger, more impulsive/destructive and would be lying if I said there wasn’t a thrill to it, and there is something exciting (and also stressful) about knowing the guy knows who you are and having to watch your back everywhere you go, etc.
But once I grew as a person I stopped attracting these types. It’s like the lesson kept presenting itself until I figured it out, and I’m a slow learner.