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[Autumns Genevieve]

Next month I will have been married for 11 years. Of those 11 years, I have been cheating for over 8. My husband doesn’t know, and recently - 4 days ago - my affair ended. We’ve ended it before, but for the first time, I don’t have any desire to go back. I am able to face the feelings of just missing the idea of him, head on, without feeling like I need to be involved with him. For me, this is a huge revelation. I feel like, finally, it is over.

 

I started cheating because I realized my husband was having an affair with his assistant, who was also my friend. I purposely looked for someone to get my husband back. I was young, stupid, naive, and had no idea what I was about to do to my life. My husband and I’d only been married two years when I was pregnant with our third child. Our son was a twin, and his twin sister had recently died in the womb. We had two other children, a toddler boy and an infant daughter, and our toddler was violently ill for several months. Our life, needless to say, was completely excrutiating, difficult, painful and we drifted apart. The OW in my husband’s case was easy. She had been attracted to him since before he met me, and it only took one off-limits conversation before they were in bed together.

 

I don’t blame her or him more than the other, but equally. After our youngest child was born, and we were over the hardest part, I began to see all of the signs that he was involved with another woman. Rather than divorce him at the tender age of 23 with three babies to take care of, I decided to have my own affair. So that’s what I did. I, stupidly, thought affairs were only about sex. So I looked for a partner in crime wherever I thought sex would be present. I found him in an online chat room about sex. I was trying to learn how to be a vixen, to drive my husband insane with jealousy for what he was doing to me. Instead, I met B, the man who I would fall in love with, and jeopardize my entire happiness with.

 

Four years after my husband’s affair began, I caught him online with her. I’d been trying to catch him red-handed for years. I could never get the right proof. Oh, I’d accuse him, scream, cry and make threats, but I never had concrete proof, and his deal with his OW was to never, ever, admit to anything, as she was married, too. Finally, the summer of 2002, I caught him. Online, I set the settings to save his personal instant messages with her, where they were having online sex. I printed out everything and finally confronted him and her. It was a mess. Like hell on earth. And all the while, I kept B pushed way back into the background, so my husband would not know what I was doing. I realized when I caught my husband four years into his affair - three into mine - that I really wasn’t cheating to get him back. I was cheating for me, and I liked it.

 

By three years, in 2002, B and I had progressed from a strictly sexual relationship (online and by phone - we never had any physical contact, not that there wasn’t a want for it) to a romantic one. He, like me, was married, but we were different. He was 25 years my senior, married for a number of years, with one child, a boy. When I met him, his son was in junior high, and his wife, a teacher, had already retired and spent her days doing geneaology. I could see no reason for his need to cheat, and thought it was me, that I was special and unique. I met him in an online sex chat room as I wrote above, and we continued our sexual trysts privately by email or by phone. He was always loving and sweet, the epitome of a Southern man. Polite. Considerate. There were times when he would send me gifts - not always romantic things that I would have to hide or make an excuse about, but thoughtful things that he knew I would love, and would not be asked about.

 

We always had the deal that we would part if the other only had to say the words, “Please don’t contact me and I won’t contact you.” It was our deal written in blood. For eight years, through moves and kids and families and holidays and tragedies, neither of us said those words. We said others, plenty of times. “Get away from me,” “I need space,” “I can’t do this right now”, but we never said the one phrase that we both knew would end our relationship.

 

The years progressed. My husband and I remained married, and I honestly can write here that I never stopped loving my husband. Unlike me, he remained faithful after his affair, and only once learned of my indiscretions, but stood steadfast in his belief that he deserved it for what he’d done. I, wickedly and shamefully, let him believe that, but I also lied when he asked me to end it. I lied when I said I would, because I never did. I couldn’t, because I was so in love with B.

 

How does an affair go on for eight years? We just made a separate life, together. We talked every day on the phone or via email. We shared our lives, exchanged photos of our families and what we were doing. When we bought a new house, or boat, or plane, we helped the other pick them out. We talked about financial planning and our futures, worried over our children together. We sent one another anniversary gifts - extravagant floral arrangements, gifts - always on the anniversary of the day we met. We talked on the cell phone on those days in front of our friends, exclaiming, “Happy Anniversary, sweetheart!” and never gave it a second thought. Throughout all of this, we talked about making love and wanting to be with one another, but neither of us would take the necessary step to making it happen. I just never could bring myself, and I must admit how cheap and stupid I felt talking about it, but not being able to do it. I think now, he never pushed me because he knew of the complications a physical affair would bring, and ours was already so intense. The distance between our selves did nothing to quench the feelings we had. I moved from the South to the North, and he remained in the South, but we were living a life together, as odd as it sounds.

 

And then I realized it was all utter bull****.

 

 

He never lied to me, and I always believed he was faithful to me. He was just the kind of person that would rather just tell the truth about something, than lie. As far as I know, in his ever-growing distant relationship with his wife, it never came up. Or, if it did, I would not be surprised to know that she knows I exist, and chooses to ignore it. You must understand, southerners are different. Women of a higher social class will tolerate their husband’s indiscretions, just as a husband will truly give his heart to another woman and not think twice about it. In my case, it was almost the same, but I could not bear the thought of my husband sleeping with this girl he chose. I did not know to expect my feelings on it, however. And B’s wife, I believe, knew all along about him and another woman. And he never led me to believe anything I felt was untrue. So when I told him I loved him, and he said it to me, I believed him. When he told me that he’d never felt so close to anyone else, I believed him. And, when we talked about being together someday, I believed him when he said he would wait until my children were grown, and I could leave my husband.

 

And then, a few weeks ago, I began to feel myself slip from his grasp. You see, he always possessed me. I never possessed him. Two years ago, we discussed being together right then, and he told me he couldn’t remarry again, because he hated being married. No matter what I said, it made no difference. Also, he didn’t want the “complication” of my three children, all grade school age at that time. I just couldn’t accept this, but I went along, thinking he would change his mind. I never tried to change it for him, unless you count just doing everything in my power to be “perfect” so that he would see his mistake. The problem is, he never saw it.

 

In my own marriage, things were improving greatly. My husband was doing well in his career, we’d just bought a beautiful new home, and we were getting along better than we ever had. In fact, I began to look at my husband with new eyes. But I was still, very, very attached to B. It was as if I were enslaved to him with my heart, and he dangled the keys to my freedom before my eyes. I just cannot put into words how attached I was to him. I even, at times, began to resent him for it.

 

And then, a terrible thing happened. Two weeks ago, I had a seizure because of a side effect of a new medication I’d just started, for a thyroid disorder. My husband was out of town on business, and I spent the night in the hospital. It was a horrific event, and like everything of this nature, my first thought was to find B, tell him what had happened so that he could comfort me. I needed my husband, but I wanted B. When I returned home from the hospital, I emailed B to tell him what had happened. He replied with genuine shock and sorrow, but there was a very big piece missing. He did not respond to my need for comfort, and he always had in the past, or so I thought. I snuck around people who were here, present in body and soul, to make sure I was ok, to email a person who wanted nothing to do with the messy part of the emotional fallout of something of this nature.

 

Over the course of the next several days, the whole time being in contact with him, and his generic “take it easy” and “just rest” meanderings, I began to feel the wool lifted from my eyes. In the past, I would catch a glimpse of his gentility, his “burden” of being a decent man, but I always shut my eyes to it, because it was so disturbing. My favorite author wrote about one of her characters in a book, and it so fits B: “.....a privelged, dusty people who have refined the skill of disguising their elitism and arrogance beneathe a heavy aura of burden, as if it is so damn hard to be them.” I remembered his racist jokes, his poking fun of the poor, but in such a gentile way, as if it was his cross to bear. All of these things I would never put up with in my life from anyone, much less someone I loved, I condoned and tollerated with B. I remembered his handling of me and my thoughts, as if I were a simplistic, stupid girl who knew nothing of the world or matters of the heart. His soft laughter at something I’d said, as if I were pitiful and pathetic, but just too damn cute to toss aside. I honestly began to see images of myself, pinned naked, struggling, under him, as he tried to shush me, a tiger’s grin on his face, and stick his dick in my mouth to keep me from talking. It was as if I were a toy, a part of his expansive collections, like everything in his life. I could see him liking me so much better if I would just be quiet and lay still.

 

Worse, I began to relive all of our conversations, many of which I spent my entire time telling him how special he was to me, how much he meant to me, that I was his, and he never, ever, replied with the same vigor. He was skilled at calling me his “girl” - an affection I adored; he would go at great lengths to have me believe I was his soulmate because of the little things he said. How we were connected on a non-verbal plane, and could always tune into one another effortlessly. How he would never find another woman, when I would playfully tell him he needed a mistress (God, I was so sick and demented), and he would tell me, no, he could never find another me. He would just wait, because perfection could not be duplicated. He gave me all of these verbal gems, but he never gave himself. I began to feel handled and used.

 

Believing our relationship would stand the test of time, I brought this all to his attention four days ago, and in a very courteous way, without being hurtful, or blaming or ugly, and with throwing in several comments of how much I loved him, adored him, etc., asked him to make it all better for me. That I was feeling hurt, ignored, and I needed him. If he were consumed with something, I understood. But I needed to know it was still he and I. I needed to hear him tell me that we were ok, and nothing had changed. I just needed, in plain english, him to validate me. I needed one simple thing, and I asked him nicely, plainly, and lovingly to do it.

 

I can’t begin to explain the gut kick I felt when I opened his note. In his southern gentility, heavily burdened “political” persona, he explained that he always felt he’d done more than necessary “with” me, and would I turn my sharp, “ascerbic” tongue on my own faults, as I’d so easily done to him? Then he went on to say that I tipped the scales in my favor all of these years in such a way because I’d always been likeable. He didn’t like me now, however. Now, after my note, that was “gone” and he had no further use for me. He would not be angry with me, as he’d never been, and would appreciate my not contacting him further, as he tried to rebuild his life without me in it. He hoped I would happy, and he wished me luck.

 

Southern men.

 

In the past, when we would part, I would just feel rage. Passionate rage, and I would tear things up, delete email accounts seconds after talking with him, rip pages out of my address book, throw away jewelry he’d given me. And then, minutes later, I would ache for him again. I’d always be the one to leave him, feeling guilty and wanting less complications in my life, and he would always, almost amusingly, say to me, “Ok, I respect your decision”, as if he knew I would be back. And I would. Every single time. I would be back in only a day. Perhaps a week. Once, I think, a couple of months.

 

And yet, this time, last Friday, to be exact, I read his words, and I didn’t feel rage boiling up inside of me. I wrote him my own farewell letter, and basically, decided to say the things I’d never said to him before, because he would never tollerate my speaking up against him in the past. I told him, plainly, without emotion, that I was finally seeing what a waste of my life this had become. That he was afraid of women like myself, those who would not be tamed forever by his stupid little rules and blood pacts. I was terribly sarcastic, but not hateful. I told him how disappointing his little note was, and how much of man he really wasn’t. That I would be happier without his complications in my life, and how he’d just made the biggest mistake of his life, but that I wouldn’t be the one to undo it for him. I felt good about my words and, most importantly, I felt that they were genuine. And that was not a familiar feeling when it came to B.

 

The days since, I’ve thought about him less and less, but I knew, with the work week, when we usually talked and caught up on the weekend activities, I would begin to miss him. And I do. Sort of. I miss the habit of emailing him, planning our next phone call. I miss the comfort of his understanding me so well, and his all-seeing eye about myself. I don’t really miss him, as much as I miss the idea of him. There will be triggers for another year that I will have to get through. I don’t know how I can do it alone, without some form of support. The only two people in my life that know he still exists for me is my priest, and a girlfriend who will never tell, but who does not want to know anything else about it, because she really (platonically) likes my husband.

 

I don’t know what it takes to get over an eight year affair. That’s why I’m here. I don’t want to spend any time grieving over him, because he truly wasn’t worth having me. I want to spend more of my efforts learning to be faithful again, to one man. I want it to be my husband. But I also know, I just know, I am going to be dealing with this “ending” for a long time, and I want to be smart about it. I want to know when something is going to trigger, and what I can do to side-step it. I want to know what is normal in the process of extracting someone from your life. And I also want to know what to do in the event that he contacts me again. I don’t think he will, but he’s never been without me not falling all over myself to win him back. I think at some point, he will become desperate, if anything just to see what has happened to me, and he will contact me. Platonically, generically, and then just wait for me to take the bait. He would never come back with declarations of love and affection; he would only “check in” with me, and wait for me to bring it up, and then let me come crawling back. I won’t do it, though. I’m so done, it’s not even funny.

 

I knew I was done with him when I didn’t throw a huge tantrum and get completely crazy. I cried only once, and that was more than 24 hours later, privately, in bed as I was trying to go to sleep. I haven’t cried since, and I don’t feel like I will. I also waited until Monday to delete my email account that he would use to write me. I’d been telling myself all weekend that he might write, and then I would get angry with my own thoughts, and say, “I don’t want him to write!” Deleting my account this morning was like giving myself full control over my own life. It was, as crazy as this sounds, liberating. And, I also know, that this is still new, and I might stumble badly. I try to keep myself out of situations that were always a backdrop for writing or calling him. When I get nostalgic, I try to change activities to keep my mind off of him. I just hope that I won’t do this forever. I don’t want to continue having these “drop in” thoughts about him. I know it’s over for me, and I know I want better for my life.

 

But do I regret him? No, I suppose not. He taught me alot about myself, and the limits I have. I now know what I look like groveling. I know what I look like madly in love. I know what I look like as a liar, and I know what I look like as a thief. I know what I look like as a petulant catholic, and I know what I look like as an absent mother. What I’ve forgotten is how I look like as a honest, strong, and happy woman. I’ve forgotten what a content wife looks like. I’ve forgotten what it looks like when I look in my mirror and see someone I don’t hate, looking back. I’ve forgotten what it is to make love to my husband, and not think of someone else, but only of him. I’ve forgotten what it means to be loved, and be in love.

 

It’s those things that hold more promise for me now, than he does. I don’t hope he’ll be back. I hope he’ll stay away, and let me have my life. But I know, realistically, logically, I know, it won’t be easy carving out my life without him.

[whichwayisup]

Does your husband know it's over? Is his affair over with the OW?

 

You say you love your husband, and he probably loves you...So hopefully in time, with the help of marriage counselling you two can rebuild that trust which is missing, and honestly try your best to make it work.

 

Seems you both replaced what you needed most from eachother by turning to other people...

 

Keep talking to your husband, forget the OM, he is in the past now.

[alphamale]

i can't read all that. is there a synopsis?

[Autumns Genevieve]

Does your husband know it's over? Is his affair over with the OW?

 

You say you love your husband, and he probably loves you...So hopefully in time, with the help of marriage counselling you two can rebuild that trust which is missing, and honestly try your best to make it work.

 

Seems you both replaced what you needed most from eachother by turning to other people...

 

Keep talking to your husband, forget the OM, he is in the past now.

 

My husband has been under the impression that it's been over for a long time. His affair with the OW was over four years ago. It's just taken me awhile to catch up.

 

What you point out is true; I'm just completely relieved that in my heart of hearts, I know coming back to my husband was the right thing for me to do, and I know he loves me. I just never would let him love me, partly because I blamed myself for his affair.

 

We're doing good. That's another reason why I wanted to find a support group for people dealing with infedelity. I don't pass judgement on anyone here, but for me, I need to keep the realities of being unfaithful right before me until I can be trusted on my own. But for my husband and I - we're doing good.

 

Maybe that's why it finally ended with the OM; I started falling in love with my husband again. I know, for him, he has made a compete turnaround after his affair, and has been nothing less than supportive, loving, and nurturing. I just was a jerk for a long time, dealing with my own issues.

[Joelle]

Thank you for sharing that, AG. I'm not an OW or BS, but for some reason, your story resonates with me. My best to you.

[will2power]

GA, nice to meet you and thanks for sharing. I think that the fact that you are falling in love with your husband again is going to help you move from B a lot faster.

 

Focus on the good of your H. It sounds like he's redeemed himself.

 

As for advice, I don't know if I have any good ones, but I can share with you my thoughts. I came to a realization yesterday. I want to be with a man that I look up to. I want to be with a man who I feel is smarter than me. I want a man who will accept me for who I am and who I can accept as he is. In short, I can only love someone I respect. I think that is why I'm so over my stbxh. I have lost respect for him officially last week. He was denegrating me and acting all self righteous.

 

I think from reading your post (unlike Alpha, I read it all), I can tell that you have lost respect for your xMM. I think that you lost the hope of ever having a future with him a few years ago when he told you he would never remarry. So what happened last Friday was just the straw that broke the camel's back. Maslow has a heirarchy of needs. Your xMM has failed miserably at meeting any of it. Good riddance, eh? Who needs that kind of burden? You certainly don't.

 

I am very happy to hear that you are falling in love with your H. Congrats and have a happy future with him.

 

W2P

[NoIDidn't]

GA

 

Wow. Just....wow. Your honesty is humbling. Really.

 

I think you should get a good counsellor. Go alone. Without your H. He is going to notice that you are a little, or a lot, down and withdrawn. That's where the counsellor comes in.

 

After about a year or so with IC alone, THEN consider MC. Do the self work first.

 

 

BTW - I positively despise the ways of the southern too. Unfortunately, I am also a southerner, but only by birth. LOL.

[Autumns Genevieve]

GA

 

BTW - I positively despise the ways of the southern too. Unfortunately, I am also a southerner, but only by birth. LOL.

 

Ha. I grew up in the South, but was born in Hawaii - weird deal - and I really and truly love the South. I just get so sick of that whole, "Woe is me, I do declare!" Scarlett O'Hara thing. The men are worse than the women, I think.

 

But the real thing that pisses me off, especially with B, is someone using that "face" to hide their real intentions from someone that loves them. That hacks me in a major way. It's an excuse, a lie, a two-faced person. Total BS. That's why it made me so mad with him. He used it as a way to keep from being real.

 

Coward.

[Island Girl]

Your honesty is remarkable. So clearly you do take on your resposibility in all that happened. That is the hardest step, that first one where you own up to what you did without pointing fingers at everyone else.

 

You should find someone to talk to. A counselor possibly who can just be there to listen.

 

He didn't deserve all the energy and effort he got from you. I am glad you are through letting him suck it out of you. He sounds like a truly unfeeling generic selfish a$$! He sounds like my father actually! He is just like that too. Wow, are you better off!

 

Good luck as you embark on your new journey. Glad you are here.