Affairs often start because one person, or both, in the marriage are unhappy. Photo / 123rf
Even if you “get away with” infidelity, heartache happens, as one married father describes.
When I got married at our local church in 2008, I was certain I’d remain faithful forever. My wife Sarah and I had three boys in quick succession. Our youngest was born with a disability that brought untold stress and worry but we’d always pulled together. Our sex life wasn’t earth-shattering after kids but whose was? I took my responsibilities as a husband and father of three seriously. I’d always been incredibly judgmental about men who cheated.
The first time I saw Anna, a married yoga and SEN teacher, she was heavily pregnant and grappling with a toddler at the local swimming pool. We moved in the same circles. She lived nearby, our kids were the same age and I sometimes played golf with her IT consultant husband Adam and other dads. Over the next few years, I started looking forward to the small exchanges I had with Anna at judo or rugby or the cricket club.
Once you’re married with children, your social life shrinks to school quiz nights, Christmas parties, birthday dinners. Life was predictable but seeing Anna was exciting. The kids would run off to play and out of all the other parents there, I was drawn to her. Conversation flowed and we’d always have a laugh, sharing the same offbeat sense of humour. When you fancy someone, you crave their attention and I was flattered when she gave it to me. Then, when we joined the same tennis club (and, yes, it helped that neither of our partners played), we got closer.
I know it sounds suburban but one summer’s evening, after some heated flirting at a tennis club gathering, I kissed her under a streetlamp in full view of passersby. When she reciprocated, it changed everything.
The next morning I got a text from her saying, “Thanks for walking me home, sorry I was a bit worse for wear”. I scrutinised the message a hundred times: was it a mistake? Was I too lecherous? Had she told Adam? I replied with a laughing emoji. Then there was a tortuous week of silence.
The next time we met at tennis there was a horrible awkwardness. I suggested a quick drink at a pub where we wouldn’t know anyone. We gulped down cheap wine and agreed it shouldn’t have happened. But during the next few weeks I was glued to my phone, constantly checking if she was “online” or “typing”. We used neutral tennis terms – “Should we book a court?” – and archived each other’s message for safety.
After six weeks of sexually charged build-up, we eventually made a plan – booking a motel for an afternoon. We told ourselves we’d “get it out of our system” and move on. We knew it was wrong but, naively, I thought it might work. Admittedly, the sex wasn’t the longest. But far from being able to put the whole thing behind us, it intensified. We started using Kik, an anonymous messaging service, and the texts became both romantic and explicit. We’d “bump into” each other in the supermarket and the park with our kids; the tiniest finger touch was electrifying.
Over the next seven months, we only had sex nine times (three in the car, like teenagers). I’d never felt this besotted, not even in the early days with Sarah. I’d fallen in love. I wish I could say that I was racked with guilt for betraying my wife but at that time I wasn’t thinking normally. I didn’t want to leave her but I wasn’t thinking straight. My parents are traditional and Christian and I’m not sure I could ever have walked out on my marriage. Nor was Anna pledging to leave her young family. I had dark daydreams that something would happen to our partners and we’d be free to be together. I am aware how sick that sounds.
Then one evening it came out. I was having a drink with my closest university friend – my Best Man – and I announced I wanted to leave Sarah.
“You absolute p**ck,” was his blunt response. He reeled off what I already deep down knew, that I couldn’t leave lovely, loyal Sarah with three young kids, one of whom had special needs. I’d lose the house I’d slogged for, and the respect of my parents and everyone else. I’d have to move town. “You’ve got too much to lose,” he said. “Get a grip and end it.”
He’d burst my bubble, and he was – of course – right.
He verbalised what I’d known in the back of my head all along. Realising I would eventually have to end it, I wrote Anna a long message explaining exactly why I couldn’t carry on. Then deleted it. We met once more in a car park. Anna cried but I was cold.
I couldn’t face climbing into bed with Sarah that night after the break-up. I took a bottle of whisky to the spare room and just cried.
I was so floored I even briefly thought of telling Sarah everything. But instead I went through the motions of family life and work. Like a moping teenager, I sent Anna one final email with all the songs that made me think of her, then I quit tennis and started walking the dog for miles a day. I avoided anywhere Anna might be; driving past the motel genuinely gave me physical heart pains. I stayed up drinking at night, avoiding sex with Sarah.
It felt like the colour had gone from my life. I realise this is how everyone feels after a break-up, but I’d never had it before. I wasn’t equipped for all the intense emotions. And pretending everything was fine was so hard.
It took a long, painful time before life reverted to how it was before the affair. That was four years ago now, and it helped when Anna’s family moved. Some late nights, I still look at her social media.
Sarah, thank God, never found out. I was so depressed for a while we ended up having relationship counselling. In secret, I had private therapy too – I needed to talk about Anna. The stomach-churning guilt about my behaviour came much later, only once I’d got out of my own head a bit. When one of the boys called me the “best daddy”, or when we all gathered to clap as our youngest graduated from the local primary, I’d watch Sarah, the proud devoted mum and wonder how on earth I could have ever thought about letting her down. That’s something I have to live with.
Despite all heady excitement, I’d never have another affair. It felt like the biggest tragedy of my life and it nearly broke me.
As told to Susanna Galton
It’s estimated that one in five people in the UK have committed adultery, but the effects can be devastating and unpredictable, warns Relate sex and relationship therapist Natasha Silverman.
“The most common reason couples come to me for therapy is following an affair. This may not be out in the open even, but one person will admit in an individual session. Sometimes the fling has fizzled out and sometimes it’s still ongoing. Normally I can tell within minutes of meeting couples whether they’re likely to patch things. Relate isn’t in the business of trying to make couples for the sake of it. If one person no longer wants to be in the marriage it would be wrong to try and convince them otherwise. Often our work is about helping them separate well.”
There are many reasons why someone cheats but rarely is a marriage entirely happy when affairs begin. Often a third party fills a person’s needs in a different way, and it’s more about how that third person makes the adulterer feel about themselves that is the intoxicating thing. Perhaps they’ve been able to tap into feelings of playfulness or being less inhibited that they haven’t experienced since their youth, such as shared love of sport or going to gigs again. People change over time and so do their needs and desires. This is human nature.
When an affair happens, it’s not usually because one person – the adulterer – is unhappy. Generally, there are two unhappy people in the marriage.
If two people are determined to get their marriage back on track, it’s entirely possible.
But it will involve tough conversations and work to rewrite their relationship in a way that’s fulfilling for both parties. The motivation for both straying and staying needs to be honestly confronted.
Some people use affairs compulsively to soothe their negative emotions. A couple can come in and the wife, for example, believes there’s been one other woman. It becomes apparent there’s actually been a stream of affairs or sex workers and their partner has been chronically unfaithful. This is generally more difficult.
People can feel deeply lonely in marriage. It’s easy, particularly with men, to blame it all on sex but often that’s not the case. They may end up pursuing sex outside their marriage because they’re not equipped with the vocabulary to say “I’m not feeling connected to you right now”, or “I miss you”. They can crave intimacy and want to feel seen and heard. Many women can talk honestly with friends, in a way men don’t, which can drive an affair.
The injured party naturally assumes it’s happened because they are less sexy, or lacking in some way. It generally isn’t anything to do with it.
Irrespective of whether the affair was discovered, guilt is a normal, healthy response to hurting somebody – and means you’re not a psychopath! The problem is when guilt tips into shame. Shame can be a huge issue for many men and it’s dangerous, yet we are all human and flawed and make mistakes. If you’re struggling with shame – if you hate yourself and it’s affecting eating, sleeping or work – or you’re drinking too much or using other addictive mechanisms, get support. Know you are not a bad human. If you possibly can, confide in one trusted person and have a bag packed so if you feel overwhelmed you escape for a night to talk. If you don’t have an appropriate friend, see a therapist.
It’s not socially acceptable to dwell in misery when an affair ends but it’s useful to recognise that you were in a relationship for a reason: it was fulfilling some kind of need, you’d built a connection and now it’s gone. Feeling sadness, pain and some depression is all completely valid, even if it’s done in private.
Only you can decide whether to be honest or if you can live with the truth and don’t wish to hurt them. Or perhaps they found out.
The best way to deal with it is to tell them about it in one session, rather than drip-feeding hurtful things over time. Stick to the facts. Who it happened with and how long it went on. Allow them one session to ask things they want to know. Never go into details about sexual positions or songs you listened to or places you visited as it will give them something to hurt about for years. If they are really nagging for details say it’s not to withhold information but to protect them. Say if they really want to know, ask again in half an hour. They might realise they don’t. A therapist can really help.
"I do feel kind of stuck. And I feel like a lot of people feel that way."