Breaking Point: How Infidelity Became My Ticket to Freedom
Narcissists are notoriously bad at being faithful
Affairs can be devastatingly painful for those betrayed, but they can also serve as a powerful catalyst for someone to finally leave an abusive relationship.
Take me for example. During my tumultuous nine-year marriage to a woman that embodied a bitter cocktail of narcissistic and borderline personality traits, I tolerated all kinds of emotional and psychological abuse.
I endured her relentless cycle of idealization and devaluation, perpetuating a mind-bending brain fog through gaslighting. I found myself isolated from my family, friends, and support systems, vulnerable to her emotional manipulation for personal gain. I sustained her verbal abuse, delivered through insults and harsh language, aimed to belittle and control me. I felt my self-esteem chipping away under her regular criticism. I was strategically triangulated with others in her efforts to control and humiliate me. And the withdrawal of affection, accompanied by the silent treatment, became a regular and hurtful occurrence.
But it wasn’t until I discovered my wife’s proclivity for having extramarital affairs that I finally reached my breaking point and decided it was time to leave.
Betraying vibes
Narcissists are notoriously bad at being faithful. I recall the moment I learned that fact the hard way.
It was a Saturday morning like any other. I dropped my wife’s place of work for a quick chat, but finding her unavailable, I took a moment to catch up with one of her co-workers, who was also her close friend.
Typically, this individual was chatty and enjoyed our conversations, but that morning, I noticed a subtle shift in her demeanor— a betraying vibe that reverberated from the depths of her subconscious that seemed to speak aloud: I know a secret that I’m not supposed to tell.
And just like that, in the blink of an eye, I was hit with the undeniable feeling that my wife was having an affair.
Stranded in limbo
In the quiet of that evening, I confronted my wife and asked her if she was having an affair. As she responded with shock, denial, and incredulity, I carefully observed the micro-expressions on her face, as I attempted to reconcile the words coming out of her mouth.
Caught in the chaos between clarity and doubt, I found myself stranded, replaying past conversations and reliving events with her in my mind.
I recalled that one morning, during my commute to work, I received a random phone call from her with a probing question: “Michael, is there someone else?” I now wondered if that was a subtle admission that she was having an affair.
I found myself reflecting on our marriage. The numerous lunch plans with me she cancelled at the last minute due to “work,” the evenings and weekends she spent meeting with “clients” to accommodate their schedules, and her tendency to over-communicate the events of her day without being asked. I began to question if I had been projecting my fidelity and trustworthiness onto her all along.
The cold wave of realization
A few weeks later, still plagued by uncertainty, I found myself questioning her once more about the possibility of an affair. This time, however, her response was starkly different. She met my inquiry with a surge of hostility, her screams echoing through the house, loud enough for our children to hear. With a final, resounding stomp, she retreated to a spare bedroom, disappearing from sight and remaining silent for the rest of the evening.
Her reaction, in its raw and unfiltered form, was far from a denial. It was as if the cold, stony silence of the bedroom she retreated to was echoing back an answer, a confirmation of the bitter truth I had been dreading. She was indeed having an affair, and that realization hit me like a wave, cold and unforgiving.
And just like that, I made the choice to break free from my abuser.
