It is hard to think straight when violently slapped across the face by a spouse’s infidelity. To me, it just doesn’t make sense. How could anyone, especially the one person I loved and trusted most in this world, ever conclude that cheating was a legitimate option.
In my case, in trying to fill in the voids of all the "whys" and "hows" I started to tell myself stories based on my imaginations and reasonings.
I told myself things like:
She mustn’t love me!
Her partner must be smarter than me!
He clearly must be a better lover than me!
And most undoubtably he must be more attractive than me!
My wife must secretly despise me! Maybe, even hate me!
I am a failure as a husband!
I am a failure of a man!
In the eyes of my wife, I have no value!
In my eyes I have no value!
I’ve been kicked to the curb!
I will never trust again!
I will never love or be loved again!
The list goes far beyond the few listed above. It all made perfect sense to me for if those things were not true, she would not have sought out the sexual affections of two other men.
For those who are unfamiliar with my situation I’ll keep it simple. This all happened 43 years ago and then again 33 years ago. Though my wife and I did reconcile to the point of having a very successful and loving marriage, those stories I told myself snuggled themselves dormant, into the creases of my mind. Then, without incident, a little less than a year ago, burst out of their lairs and crushed me.
Why now?
Because a new story formed that had not crossed my mind in previous years: My two children that I love with my entire being and raised to be kind, thoughtful and loving adults may not be genetically mine! (Either way, they will always be my kids.) But it still stung me to the core.
Okay, okay, I know, what is the point of this post? It is to say that all the previous stories I had made up and told myself as if true, have proven to be false. So, though extremely unfair, suffering cannot be avoided, but in my case, I suffered far deeper and longer than I needed to because of the stories I had told myself.
(The newest story, however, is the only one that I will never fully be confident that I know the truth. My only option is to accept what is, is. Even in the darkness of not knowing, I can live happily for I know either way my love for children will not suffer.)
So, to my point. My suggestion is to be as suspicious of the stories you might be telling yourself as you are suspicious of your wayward spouse. What I learned was that I got over the affairs decades ago but am only now working through and dismissing the stories I told myself.
Asterisk
