Accepting the challenge from one of the bloggers I love and wish I heard more of “Being Her”
i stumbled across this movie earlier this year and i wasn’t prepared for how much of it resonated or how it would make me feel. or rather, how much it set off some reflective moments.
for those that leave me anonymous notes or messages, yes. i get it. i am the other woman. i am cheating on my husband. he, a serial cheater, is cheating on his bride (as he calls her). judge me if you must. trust me. i get it. believe it or not, i was “the wife”. i still am the wife, but one with a different perspective and filters born from experience. i was the self-righteous and judgmental one, the one that swore i would kick my husband to the curb if he ever cheated on me, the one that would judge others very harshly if they were the cheater or even worse, pass judgment on the cheated on spouse (regardless of gender) if they chose to stay in the marriage. and then i discovered darling husbands first affair. 4-months after our marriage. actually, i didn’t discover it, as much as it was thrust upon me.
we had been married 4-months, and he was away on a guys weekend skiing up in whistler b.c. i checked the mail and was surprised to find a box addressed to me, but wrapped in wedding gift wrap. and the gift? copies of emails between my husband and a co-worker over the course of the year before we were married. and of course a letter from her to me; telling me that she was sending me the proof of their relationship in the hopes that i would do the “honorable” thing and let him leave the marriage to find true happiness with her. that she felt sorry for me, marrying someone i knew wasn’t in love with me or attracted to me. i remember throwing up and trembling as i read each and every email and wondered how in the hell did i miss all of the signs? were there signs? as soon as he called me to say good-night and heard my voice he knew something was wrong. i told him what i received and he hung up. 4 hours later he walked through the front door and we decided to try. to figure out what went wrong and whether or not we could survive this. we did. for 7 years, we went to counseling, we worked together, yes, all three of us and we moved on. or so i thought.
even after that transgression, i was still the self righteous wife. only my closest friend knew of the affair, not even my family. i was even more indignant when i heard, read or learned of other’s infidelities. i was outspoken when talking about kicking a cheating spouse out. and then the bottom fell out of my world. by then we had a small toddler, a daughter that was born a preemie and a fighter from her first breath. and clearly, the apple of my darling husband’s eye. we were a little family, we were both working in career’s we enjoyed and i was 4-years in at a company i had found my calling and my home. i was on fire and thriving and i had a great partnership with darling husband. or so i thought.
i missed the signs, and there were plenty, that i wasn’t home enough. that i wasn’t co-parenting enough. that i wasn’t paying enough attention to us or him. of course i can say that in hindsight but i digress. he fell in love. this time it was love. it wasn’t just sex with a colleague. he made plans, they made plans. plans that included my young child, our young child a blended family. and suddenly, gone was the self righteous bitch of a woman in her place was this person with a different filter and perspective. a woman that not only wasn’t ready to kick her husband to the curb, but was ready to fight to keep the marriage together. which started with me admitting to my part in his unhappiness and seeking counseling to understand my own issues. i blamed her, rudy, the other woman for all of it. i called her all of the usual names; slut, whore, home wrecker, cunt you name it, i am sure i said it. of course, it didn’t help that she was a single gal.
we put together a parenting plan, we found him a 2-bedroom apartment so that our daughter would have her own room in both homes. all that was left to do was to have the mediator file the paperwork. i was devastated. i was angry. i was exhausted. and then he couldn’t do it. he couldn’t go through with it. he didn’t want to do it to our daughter. he gave up his shot at happiness because he felt it was the right thing to do. at the time, i was ecstatic. i was willing to overlook the fact that darling husband was staying because of our child and not because of us. i believed it would be enough.
flash forward 9-years. i was wrong. we are stronger in many ways, good companions. we now have two kids and our daughter will be headed off to college. i don’t know if it’s age or that space in time during one’s mid-life where suddenly i realized that my body is my body and i am indeed a sexual being. that my husbands open and vocal dissatisfaction with my body type, plus size, and his own preference for very petite and slender women is his own issue. not mine. and i realized that i likely stopped my darling husband from being truly happy. by being with someone he really loved and was attracted to…
after years and months of dialogue, discussion and tears, so many tears, of asking darling husband to meet me half-way. to attend counseling together. to find a way to change the way things were-all to which he politely refused. i decided to seek the physical intimacy and sexual satisfaction outside of my marriage. not with the intent of ending my relationship but as a way to stay in it.
yes. i know what i am. i know what i am. i am a wife. i am *the* wife. i am the other woman. i am me.
it’s a very rare thing when he shares a picture with me. he likes to tease me and tell me that i can find him on the internet (it’s true) but i freely admit that i wish he would take a selfie or send me a picture of his face. yes, of course i have memorized every damn thing about him but there is something about him sending me a picture that sends me each and every time. it’s been a while. so when he sent a mail with the subject line: here’s a new one…i literally gasped out loud when his cerulean blue eyes jumped off the screen at me. the eyes that move me and render me speechless.
i was instantly wet. and my heart felt warm. dammit. i miss him. but now i have a picture saved to a secure drive and posted here to look at.
you know, it’s hard for me to transition back into my real every day life when i don’t know when i am going to see him again. in real life, in person, in the same breathing space. these past few months the transition really was much easier. but now it’s been a few months since we’ve seen each other in real life and the holidays are tough. to get time to interact even virtually, as expected as we are both in marriages with children, family obligations etc. I get it.
just because i get it doesn’t mean it doesn’t twinge. just because we do not talk about changing our situation or ever loving each outside of the mutual admiration society we have, doesn’t mean that i don’t miss him or have an ache around what we are.
just some musings…
I’ve been silent for a while. Not because I have nothing to say, but because I have too much to say. I miss him desperately, and the holidays don’t help, because he is genuinely a family man. The traditions of the holidays (American holidays for those that follow from outside of the U.S.) are core to who he is and how he and his bride have raised their children.
To those of you that sit in judgment, I completely understand, your doubts and your judgment. Really I do, remember, until the spring of 2012, I was the wife. I am still a wife. But you know what I mean, I was one of those self-righteous, indignant people that could throw rocks and sit in judgment. And yes, at his foundation, while he is a serial cheater, he is a family man. A very involved and good father. One that not only provides for his family, but extended family and friends. And because of that, he goes dark around the holidays…from the week before Thanksgiving until Christmas he is pulled in some many directions, just as I am and while I know it, and I know he’s thinking of me, it doesn’t make it any easier.
After last Thanksgiving/Christmas-I have found that if I stay away from all social media and the places on the Internet we frequent together (Tumblr, Skype, GChat, Gmail etc.) while it doesn’t hurt less, I am less likely to dwell on our lack of contact. This year has proven to be challenging which is problematic given it’s only the day after Thanksgiving.
The Holidays have always been a big deal to me, the connection, the sentiments, the music, the movies…all of it. And this year, this year I am finding it even more of an emotional pull on me than before. Is it because I am another year older? Perhaps. Is it because I am going through these unknown medical challenges with a surgery pending? Maybe. I think it’s because I love him. And while I understand that we are not able to spend any of this time together, in real life, I long to. I long to shop for the perfect gift for him. To wrap myself around his body and feel safe, sexy, content. I yearn to tell him how grateful I am to have him in my life and how much I love him. With no expectation.
a follower asked me why i’m still with my husband besides the kids. you know, truthfully, if you asked me the question prior to meeting “him” it would have been easier for me to answer. dh is a good man, a sexy, smart and decent man. yes, even with the two affairs. the first about 4 years into our relationship with a mutual co-worker that I loathe to this day, and the second, the one that almost ended us, the one that i wonder if he should have followed his heart, was 12-years ago. i digress.
dh and i are good companions, partners and we are very good at the you and me against the world thing. but now, now i don’t know that i could give the same answer. i still love him. he is a good man, a sexy man, a smart man and a good dad. we haven’t been good companions as of late. the stresses of work, the division of our duties with the kids requiring us to divide and conquer, his career stresses and demands take so much out of him that even the simplest of pleasures we shared, which aren’t even physical ones at that, are almost non existent. sometimes talking to “him” is hard because he and his bride (he has a habit of calling his wife his “lovely bride” in public, on facebook etc. ) have a good relationship. mind you, i don’t ask specifics, but he doesn’t talk bad about her at all and expresses concern when she’s been ill or has stresses in her life. so when i hear about his plans for the weekend or know that the drive in the sports car was with her it hurts. not because it isn’t me but because i wish i had that at home too. sometimes but not much and not often and not in a very long time. *sigh*
additionally, now, knowing him, loving him, being wanted by him i have realized how much is missing in my life. how much my therapist has been so accurate over the years about accepting what is as what i deserve instead of seeing that what is doesn’t have to be. or does it? i do wonder if weekends, when we don’t typically see one another, would be easier if i felt like dh and i were partners, went out on dates, something?!
that’s all
*sigh* how could I refuse? It was my opportunity to sleep with him, if even for a moment. he was warm, not hot and sweaty but warm, snuggly warm, after the shower he had dried off, turned on the tv and hunkered down whilst I dried my hair. not out of vanity but practicality. I can’t get sick, and sleeping with wet hair in a cool room tends to give me a cold. There he was, dozing, and sexy as hell. Peaceful, no stress lines around his eyes, but relaxed and breathing. I giggled as I turn the tv down, low enough not to be a distraction but loud enough to ensure we don’t fall asleep completely.
Oh I was tempted, trust me. He stirred as I climbed in next to him and as if on instinct, he rolled to his left side and scooped me up into him. warm, fuzzy, snuggly. his breathing starts to slow and deepen and I close my eyes, enjoying the sensation around me and the way I fit. As if I was meant to fit just like that into him. My eyes start to flutter shut and I go to match my breathing with his when I realize that not only is his heart beat slow, steady, but his lung capacity must be incredible as I can’t match him breath for breath. I stop trying and instead, I allow myself to listen to the way he breathes, the snoring that tells me has fallen asleep, truly asleep and off I went.
Suddenly I wake, disappointed as I realized he is stirring and surprised to see that 45-minutes have flown on by. My heart is beating fast, not wanting this moment to end. This nap. As if he knows what I’m thinking, he kisses my neck as he says “shh baby, so sleepy, let’s just snuggle a bit more” and he nuzzles my neck making my nipples instantly respond and the moisture spring forward between my legs. “m’kay…” is my only response as I settle back into him and close my eyes. Willing myself not to cry from the happiness inside that confirms what I suspected, I am indeed in love with him. I want to sleep with him. Naked. Warm. Entangled. Willing myself to cry from the heartbreak of reality that he will never be mine. Not this way. Not entirely. Not unless he’s willing to acknowledge that life is messy, life is not planned and life has a way of showing us what is what in unexpected way.
And so I lay back and close my eyes for those remaining moments in which my life makes sense. if even for a moment.
is me is really me 