INFIDELITY
Conflicting Emotions
If you leave for your affair partner, is it really okay to be happy?
I’m behind the curve in watching the show Billions by Brian Koppelman, which chronicles the rise and fall of two near-sociopathic men in positions of power going at each other, guns blazing. It’s an amazing show. But, perhaps, the most fascinating character is Wendy Rhoades, a corporate life coach and therapist by day and BDSM dom by night. She’s a character of contrasts who never seems to have her eye off of the emotional core of either of the show’s leading men.
In one episode, Wendy offered an incredibly succinct assessment of emotional turbulence. One that struck a chord for me as I’ve recently been thinking of the years since I left my first (and ex) spouse, and married my affair partner (current spouse). In the scene, Wendy is discussing the death of a minor character, an inventor who died on the launch pad of an experimental rocket. She’s talking to Taylor, someone who admired this inventor even as they hedged funds against the success of the rocket business. With the rocket gone, and the inventor dead, the stock has plummeted, and Taylor is rich. But they’re not sure how to feel about it.
Well, Wendy’s dialogue to Taylor goes like this:
Wendy: “You lost a hero and were rewarded for it. These things are in conflict. But conflicting emotions require *we* resolve the conflict.”
Taylor: “Can they be resolved?”
Wendy: “One emotion has to prevail. Otherwise, you languish while the dispute carries on, and you miss opportunities.”
Anyone who’s been involved in an affair has likely gone through this kind of turmoil, the feeling of two emotions in conflict, and one needing to come out on top. And, if you’re an inherently good person in the midst of this sort of situation, then you’re wrestling with a lot of emotions. All of them duking it out.
I’ve been there. I have the notes (or pages of journal entries) to prove it. It’s euphoric. It’s dramatic. And it’s really messy. An affair (especially one rooted in an emotional connection) wreaks havoc with your feelings for your spouse. In my case, my marriage was always deeply flawed. But, back then, I was committed to trying my best to make it work.
See, when I first got married, I was the hero of that day. I made a promise to be a devoted husband in front of a woman I believed I loved. And, in that moment, I really did love her. I loved us. Not just that, either. I loved the idea of being married … of joining the ranks of the so-called adults of the world; it really appealed to my sense of answering a higher duty.
So, years later, when I realized I no longer loved her, it was a blow to my sense of reality. I felt horrible, as I had betrayed not just her but the many other people in our lives. At the same time, I couldn’t deny the reality of my feelings for my AP. It wasn’t just flash-in-the-pan flirtation. It wasn’t even sexual lust. Our friendship blossomed and became something much deeper. I didn’t want to believe the feelings were real, but they were.
I’ve been there. It’s euphoric. It’s dramatic. And it’s really messy.
In a real sense, I was feeling two emotions and both of them were in deep conflict. After my AP and I finally confided our mutual feelings for one another, and our affair turned physical, I made the decision to leave my marriage. I felt that leaving was the best course of action. Otherwise, I’d continue to be in this deep state of conflict. I was going to end up hurting someone either way. Turns out, I was also hurting myself, too.
The divorce meant I pretty much lost a hero … and that hero was me. But finding a new love in the affair meant I was rewarded for that loss. This paradox really fucked me up. How could I accept that I had turned away from and betrayed my ex, a woman with whom I had shared many good times and vowed to be loyal, while embracing new love with my AP?
For the first year or so of my second marriage, I did my best to enjoy the honeymoon phase. And it largely worked. But in the back of my mind, there was always this gnawing sense of shame. How did I have a right to be happy? Regardless of how good I felt with my AP, I had deeply hurt my ex and I felt bad about that. Like, really bad.
Over two years later, after the birth of my first child with my AP, I realized the depth of this dilemma. And the importance of committing to a decision. I had a new family and a new life, effectively. Yet, the more I dwelled on my feelings of being undeserving of them, the greater the chance that I’d lose them. As Wendy said, I would “miss an opportunity.”
At that point, I realized the futility of feeling bad about what I had done. It was over and, in choosing my AP over my ex, I had chosen to move forward in a new direction. I didn’t want to languish and stay stuck in this in-between anxiety anymore. It hasn’t all been smooth sailing since then. It took me a long time to truly forgive myself. But, recently, I was asked how I got together with my current spouse. And I was able to honestly admit that we started as an emotional affair that blossomed into true love. No shame or regret. Just the plain old truth.
Mind you, all of this has been a process. But a rewarding one, all the same. My AP is now my spouse and we’ve built a good life together, built on commitment to ourselves, each other and our family. In that, there has been a resolution.
