What My Fixation with an Imaginary Affair Really Means
My boyfriend isn’t cheating on me. Why was I disappointed instead of relieved?
A few weeks ago, my boyfriend and I met up for drinks with one of his work friends. He was about to begin a rotation at a neighboring hospital, working under a new attending doctor and his co-worker had ALL the gossip on her.
Let’s call her Dr. X.
Now Dr. X sounded like quite the lady. The dirty talkin’ hospital vixen, who took “work appropriate” as a mere suggestion. When my boyfriend returned home after his first day working with her, I wanted all the details. To my curious delight, he confirmed that the rumors were true! Dr. X was definitely a flirt, definitely a fox, and definitely brought up the topic of German porn.
Interessant, ja?
The next few weeks I found myself thinking more and more about his time with Dr. X. But these weren’t just casual musings. I was beginning to fabricate a torrid affair between them. In my mind they had tumbles in the on call room (thanks Grey’s Anatomy) and in fancy hotel rooms she put on her husband’s AMEX.
And the odd thing was, for me this wasn’t a fear: it was a fantasy.
I secretly hoping my boyfriend was sleeping with another woman. I had imagined, in detail, the exact logistics of their affair and was LOVING it.
Now let’s be real: I don’t actually want my boyfriend to be cheating on me. For one thing, I have an ego like a Christmas tree ornament: fragile & inflated. But here’s what made the fantasy so confusing to me:
I wasn't aroused by the thought of my boyfriend with another woman — I was relieved.
It was the kind of fantasy people have about winning the lottery or discovering they actually don’t have to take the LSAT to get into law school. These ridiculous wishes that eradicate tremendous pressure.
But why the hell was I relieved at the thought of him sleeping with Dr. X?
I love him. A lot. And we’re pretty damn happy together. But the truth is we have very different histories and are very different people.
For starters, he’s a nice guy. Not in a backhanded, wool over the eyes way, but the kind that results from being well adjusted, genuinely kind and secure in himself. It’s INCREDIBLY irritating.
My history isn’t so smooth. In past, I’ve had a penchant for drama and excitement that often blended with recklessness. But it wasn't all whirlwind nights in Madrid with French winemakers. Sometimes it was finding out the sexy Nietzsche scholar you were shacking up with had a secret German family and now it’s back to sleeping in your car. Or worse. I found a way to sabotage most of my long term serious relationships, and yes, I wasn’t always faithful.
But why are our differing histories important?
Two reasons: JEALOUSY and FEAR.
Let’s start with jealousy:
As absurd as it sounds, I’m jealous that my boyfriend is a good person.
I’m jealous of his kindness. His trust. His ability to navigate the world with healthy self esteem and love me without conditions or pretense.
It reminds me of all the times I’ve acted unscrupulously to accrue some invisible currency for self preservation. It triggers the nagging voice in the back of my head that tells me I’m a bad person, depite the work I’ve done on myself and and my commitment to change. It confirms my self loating.
The fantasy that my boyfriend is cheating on me lets me exist in a space where I’m the injured party.
I should note that this conclusion came solely from an uncomfortable and honest look into myself. It was not backed by experts or academic resources and while I have had the privilege of being in therapy in the past, I’m currently just taking one day at a time, solo.
All this is to say, take the conclusions with a grain of salt. This was a lesson I learned about myself that may or not ring true with you. It’s possible you fantasize about a partner cheating just because you just find it hot. Or scary. Or suspicious. And all of that’s ok. And valid.
But here’s the conclusion I came to about myself: I needed to be the victim in this situation.
I remember the ways my past therapist had explained elements of “playing the victim” — to elicit sympathy, to manipulate, influence or control. But there was one other way she brought up that rang true with this situation: to clear my conscience.
In my mind, if my boyfriend was cheating on me it would prove that he was as imperfect as I am and I could finally feel worthy.
Now this, of course, is bananas.
And kind of gross. AND highlights some issues that I really need to work on if I’m going to continue a healthy adult existence.
For one thing, these feelings are seeped in self pity. Yeah, I haven’t been perfect, so what? I have regrets, but who doesn't? I’m not in some moral olympics with my partner and to constantly compare myself to him keeps me stunted in the adolescent headspace that caused my bad behavior in the first place.
I don’t have to feel guilty for being loved. I don’t have to hate myself for making mistakes.
What would my life look like if I replaced my self hatred for self love? I probably wouldn't be imagining my boyfriend railing Dr. X in a MRI machine, that’s for sure.
Now for the fear:
From the moment we met, my boyfriend and I have had a very special connection. For the first time I’m having very real conversations with another person about forever. About marriage. About kids. About the future we’ll build together.
And I know I should want these things. I do want these things. But there’s a part of me that’s scared I’m not cut out for it.
Alongside that is the fear I’ll never have another erotic adventure with a stranger, or cat and mouse seduction, or any of the other escapades that used to make me feel so alive.
I’m afraid that I’m leaving behind a part of myself that I came to identify with.
By taking the time to examine why the thought of my boyfriend cheating on me was so compelling I acknowledged the truth of what actually scares me about our relationship. And as shameful as it first felt to admit, I’m terrified that a life with someone I love and trust — a life with the person who is my best friend — somehow won’t be enough.
So if my boyfriend was cheating on me I could walk away scot-free. I could gracefully exit our relationship without ever having to admit the shameful truth that I have other desires and may always wonder what else could have been. I get to keep on being my 20's self.
Plus, his transgression would add to the narrative that my life is exciting. I could continue to bask in a tawdry whirlpool of drama.
Or I could just grow up.
And that’s not to say that people who don’t adhere to monogamy or traditional marriages are some how childish — that’s not what I mean at all.
What I’m saying is that in MY case it’s not so much about wanting to sleep with other people, but accepting the fact that I’ve reached a different stage of my life. Again, not an easy thing to come to terms with.
I think we all create ideas of ourselves, especially when that idea is congruent with the life we’re currently living. Maybe at some stage we’re reckless, worldly vamps. Then…we’re not.
Through 30+ years on this planet (several of them in therapy) I’ve learned that one of the groovy things about life is how we constantly evolve and can be so many different versions of ourselves. But sometimes we’re so invested in our former identity that a natural change can be mistaken for a compromise.
I don’t want to make that mistake.
Deep down I know I’m ready for this relationship. I’m ready to be loved and the secret wish for an easy way out is just another form of self sabotage. And I need to let go of that.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned from this who debacle it’s this:
My life doesn't have to be dramatic to have value.
It doesn't have to implode to be interesting. I don’t need my boyfriend to meticulously cut off Dr. X’s curve hugging scrubs with a scapel after all…no matter how hot it would be.
