"It is confusing to be in relationships and not know where we stand... We have a right to be direct about how we define the relationship — what we want it to be. But relationships equal two people who have equal rights. The other person needs to be able to define the relationship to. We have a right to know, and ask. So do they. Honesty is the best policy...
"Information is a powerful tool, and having the information about what a particular relationship is — the boundaries and definitions of it — will empower us to take care of ourselves in it."
~Melody Beattie, The Language of Letting Go
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| Image credit: Photo by Lady Vic on Flickr Licensed under Creative Commons |
When my husband was nearing his bottom, becoming more and more wrapped up in his sexual addiction, I knew something was wrong, but I couldn't work out what it was. It was like being in some foggy half dream state being asked to complete a math problem; I'd get lost halfway through the columns of numbers and have to start again and the answer never came out right. I was lying in bed one morning, watching him get dressed for work as our infant son dozed. I had found a receipt recently for drinks at a hotel. I had asked him about it, and he explained it away, but still it didn't feel right; it worried me.
There was a question I needed to ask, but was frightened to ask. It was one of the possible answers to that problem I couldn't work out. I lay there for a long time, watching him, with the question sitting inside me, churning in my stomach and sticking in my throat. "Honey..." I started.
"Yes?" he said, but my chest was tight with anxiety. The question burned hot but wouldn't come out.
"I love you," I said weakly.
"I love you, too," he replied.
I had to ask. I really had to ask. So several long moments later, I repeated, "Honey?"
"Yes?" he said again.
"I... Do you really love me?" This wasn't really the question, but I still couldn't get it out.
"Of course I do, babe. Why do you even ask?"
"It's just... I... I mean I feel... Something feels..." I fumbled. "I'm just wondering... if there's someone else... Are you interested in someone else? Are you... Are you in love with someone else?" There it was. I said it.
"No, of course not," he responded, his back toward me, digging through his drawers for socks. Well, that settled it, didn't it? Still...
"Honey, can you look this way and tell me again? I can't see your face and I..."
He walked to the side of the bed and cradled my face gently in his hands and his eyes held mine as he said, "I love you and I would never hurt you. There is no one else. You're the only one I love and the only one I want." I could see it and feel it — love radiating from his eyes and pouring through his touch — this was true. How could I ever have thought that my loving husband, of all people, could be having an affair?
Yet he was, even then. And soon everything came crashing down, all the more hurtful for the lie that only delayed the fall.
When I met my (future) husband, I was already in a committed relationship with someone else. I could tell that Mark was attracted to me. He didn't hide it, and I liked that. I could feel him in the room, near me, even when my back was turned to him, as if he were electrically charged. As Mark and I grew closer, he crept into my dreams and fantasies. I craved him, obsessively, but I didn't want to hurt or lose my boyfriend either. So I struggled — for months, for a year — with the illusion of control: with the thought I could keep Mark safely locked up in my thoughts and confine our relationship to a flirtatious friendship and with the thought that my relationship to my boyfriend could change. As long as Mark and I didn't say the words, everything was ok, right?
Then one night Mark broke through my neat lie to myself when he told me he had fallen in love with me, and I knew that all those fantasies were within reach. I knew I had to talk to my boyfriend about it. I sat next to him on his bed the next day and said, "Mark told me he's in love with me."
"Well," my boyfriend said, "I need to know. Do you love Mark? Do you want to go out with him?"
I considered for a moment. I knew what the honest answer was, "Yes. Yes, I love him. Yes, I want him. Yes, I want to run to him right now and consume him." But I knew that answer would mean the end of my relationship with my boyfriend. So, I looked at him and said, "No. Of course not. I want to be right here."
Yet I wasn't, even then. And within months everything came crashing down, all the more hurtful for the lie that only delayed the fall.
This post was originally published at The Second Road on August 23, 2009.
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