The conversation promptly opened with a question that almost ruined my composure: "How did I know for sure that my then-husband was having an affair?" It wasn't that my friend wanted to know my answer. I've known this person's family history well enough to anticipate the direction her inquiry was going to take.
I listened as she poured out the details, that all-too predictable plot we normally see played out on nighttime soap, of her spouse keeping secrets and talking on the phone in hushed tones, of my friend fishing for signs of extramarital activity among his personal belongings, of heated arguments and the stony silence.
Here was a woman holding herself together --- a mother whose youngest child was a couple of months old, thinking of her own mother who fell ill just recently, recovering from an unexpected passing away of a sibling, at the same time struggling to stay in the marriage as well as keep the peace with in-laws within the confines of an extended household --- by the last few threads of her eroding sanity.
The stream of tears that was broken by sobs coming from her shaking body, however common as the story itself may be, struck a disturbingly familiar chord.
Recalling my own episode of dealing with the frustration, anger, and helplessness I felt when the love my ex used to have for me had gone cold, I could only offer some practical advice that would prevent the situation from turning her into a madwoman.
Turn to a marriage counselor? Why invite a witness to potential dead-ended discussions who might just assure them that when the husband tires himself of the affair, he will certainly find his way back into the arms of his persevering faithful legal wife?
Turn over some stones in the hope of exposing the identity and whereabout of the 'third party' involved? Why should she dig deeper when rodents would only hide themselves further in their burrow? All she would find was more dirt. I explained that a wife could not expect a husband to own up to his infidelity and surrender his prized mistress (while I mentally swore death to every home wrecker alive ).
When I sensed that my friend was reaching a critical point I persuaded her to heed to her self-preservation instinct, that is, literally move herself and her children away where she can buy enough time to carefully think through what she wants out of this mess while there's STILL a measure of control left.
It may not the most encouraging thing to say to her, I know, but her staying put could only disable the defenses she had left and reduce her to a martyr. That sort of assurance comes only from well-meaning sympathizers who think situations like these go away on their own.
In my version of the story, when I decided that I was far worth more than the regard my ex-husband was giving me, that I was MORE than HIS wife, I realized wanting out meant salvaging my damaged self-respect, which was crucial if I were to regain myself, as if it were like growing back the rest of me that was somehow lost in the union.
Betrayal is a B*TCH, indeed. But even if time can graciously allow a woman to learn to love again, there is much, much more required is she were to learn to love HERSELF all over again. But she must first believe that no man is ever worthy of occupying the center of her universe.
