A colleague of my boss and mine, was tragically killed overseas yesterday.
I know his first wife, and that was how I was informed about his death so quickly. The second wife is also critically injured, and the three children – the eldest boy, my friend’s – were also hurt to varying degrees. My friend is flying out now.
This was a case of second wife was the other woman.
I know it is not nice, but he was a shit. Both personally and professionally. And my boss discussed with me how hard it will be for the first wife.
And told me about her mother’s dearest friend, whose first husband died a year or so ago. He cheated on her decades ago, and married his AP. She remarried eventually, but her mother says it is only since the first husband died – at 80 – that her friend is truly herself again. The peace and joy has returned.
Gulp.
I looked at my boss, and she looked at me (her fiance cheated on her years ago, she eventually left him before any nuptials, thankfully) and she said, without me EVER having said anything in the last year to her, “this is what it’s like to be cheated on, eh? This is what you feel, not that you want Rog dead, but that you learn how to live with the pain, right? It becomes a painful scar, eventually. But there is always deep pain, deep loss, deep grief. You just hide it better, huh?”
Holy fuck!
Not many get that. And I don’t talk to ANYONE anymore – my ‘healed’ facade is complete – except here, to three betrayed bloggers I have met online, and, VERY, VERY occasionally, to my two betrayed wife friends a bit IRL.
Saying – I kid you not – “this is you and Norm. He loved you so much. I can totally see this happening with you guys one day.”
Aw. Hell. No!
You don’t get to fuck around, break a good woman’s heart, and then, when it all goes pear shaped with the home wrecker, have your friends cheer him on when he comes back around. Hey, it sounds cute and all.
But no.
And then, our other friend did this.
Well, the small town gossip train is on…
She drove over to BG’s town yesterday with an old friend, Suzie, who is a family friend of Roger’s family.
Took her into the club – early on a beautiful sunny Tuesday, WTF – to check BG out! Jeepers. Like an animal in a cage, peered at. Ugh.
I got a Snapchat video of Suzie – an older woman – from J, nodding lasciviously,and telling me loudly that she approves, “very good looking man, Paula. Impressed. He’s a keeper right there.”
BG had no idea. Neither did I! No wonder we kept our whole relationship (as such) on the DL for so long! I’m trying to see it as ‘supportive.’
When in reality, it feels very stalkerish and kind of judgemental.
Don’t Lose Hope posted a very good, very timely reminder about forgiveness, and the rush society places on betrayed spouses to “forgive,” and “move on.”
She makes some great points. Well reasoned. Well researched (as always) and informative.
I particularly latched onto the comments and information about attachment styles, as per attachment theory, mine is a secure attachment style, Roger’s anxious. As DLH writes;
I’m not saying that forgiveness should never be a goal. But we should take it off the plate initially. This is a very serious wound, and it should not be minimized. And we need to let the partner express the pain they feel – without the slightest pressure to say that they’ll forgive.
There’s lots of evidence to back this viewpoint up. Here’s what the research findings seem to indicate:
Relationship betrayal is one of the worst forms of betrayal out there. When we enter into a committed long-term intimate relationship, we generally form an attachment bond with that person (the kind of bond that a child forms with their parent.) This is one of the strongest, closest, most primitive and most trusting forms of human bond there is.
Thus, when we form an attachment bond to someone, we are making ourselves vulnerable to that person. Essentially, we are saying “I am going to trust myself and my physical, mental and emotional well-being to you – because I think you’re a safe person who loves me, who cares about me, and who would never deliberately hurt or harm me.
So you can see why damaging this trust is devastating.
The deeper [and longer] the damage the longer the time it will take to recover from these very deep wounds.
The brain and body are closely intertwined. They’re wired to protect us from being harmed again so they hold the painful memories when we’ve been traumatised. Hence, we’re not going to recover in a few weeks or months. In fact, your body and your brain will resist moving on. This is seen in the way that we become sensitized to triggers that remind us of the painful event(s). This is an automatic process which occurs subconsciously.
I can’t stress this enough. That, as sensible-but-traumatised betrayeds, we move to protect ourselves.
Roger keeping in contact with Leanne, refusing to change his phone number, and then fucking her again, two years after he ‘finished(???)’ with her…well, that understandably made me extremely sad, nervous and anxious. His actions were not following his words. He did not seek help nor information at any stage, about what he chose for us.
That was all on me.
The person who was loyal and faithful.
When I eventually did drag him to a couples therapist (hmm, he was so excited to help us heal from what he did, lol) it astounded me how unaware he was of his own shit!
This man, who faked emotional intelligence so well to me for around 25 years at that stage…
Yeah. So, I’m the bad guy. The one who was lied to for thirty years. The one who bonded securely to the man I loved. Just like I was taught to by the way I was loved as a child. The one I am still struggling to ‘unbond’ from!
He fucked up.
Then kept fucking up.
Then had zero qualms about leaving me for a woman he’d been talking to – the latest in a long, secret queue of online women – for THREE WEEKS!
I was driving to work today, considering that.
I’ve known BG for over 16 months now. And there is NO WAY I feel that intimate with him yet.
I know the intimacy is growing nicely. He’s kind, attentive, and let’s me into his emotional and professional turmoil, like no other is. I don’t think he has ever really let anyone see his self doubt to this extent before. I’m kind of amazed at his outer bravado when close friends ask how things are going.
Apparently, in front of them, all is tickety-boo.
Not what he confides in me!
And I understand that. He has to remain professional, and project business confidence, not just for him, but for the business itself. He expresses his gratitude that I am here, and will listen, often. Says he has never had that. Whereas, I tell him that is a big part of any intimate partnership. A safe place to vent. A safe place to land, if you will.
He also worries he is burdening me, or being negative. I don’t see it that way. I see it as part of his problem solving process. He usually bounces back with a strategy once he has talked it through with me.
Anyway, I digress. The unfairness of Rog just cutting and running never gets old.
And, with his anxious attachment style, I shouldn’t be surprised. He ejected himself, and clung, barnacle-like, to the first passing ship full of Trinkets, that slowed down enough for him to latch on.
All of the other online women had enough good sense and self preservation to keep sailing past. And that without necessarily knowing he had a partner and kids, as Trinket so obviously did when she visited my fucking home before I knew about her!!!
Not the needy widow. She’d take him.
I’ll never forget her telling me that my anguish was my own fault. Because I decided to stay with him. More victim blaming.
When SHE herself stayed with a serial cheat who just kept doing it. Jesus.
Hey bitch, this was my damn partner of thirty years, the father of my children, the man who promised me he’d love and protect me forever. The man who promised he’d wait for me. That he would be honest with me after lying and cheating. That there would be no more cheating. That we would sit down and have the conversation if either of us couldn’t carry on with the healing journey.
After HIS biggest affair.
That there would be no overlaps. That being single was healthier than seeking approval ego stroking and sex from randoms.
The reason I still lived with him was because I was operating on all of those promises! To be the other woman, and have the gall to tell the wife to move on, when you have decided it’s okay to fuck and plan a fucking future with an obviously taken man, whose partner made the effort to tell you he’s a liar, and DEFINITELY NOT single. FFS. 🤦♀️🤦♀️🤦♀️
You’ve gotta be kidding me, right?
Anyway, anger. It still comes in waves. Yes, I get on with my life. But yeah, it still rises at times.
Attachment theory is big. I see the loving and respectful way BG talks about, spends time with, and treats his Mum. I see his disgust and disdain for his cheating father. I saw Roger denigrate and disrespect his parents. Ignore his dying mother. The way he still pretty much dismisses his elderly Dad. He’s an annoyance now. I know his Dad is far from perfect, and did annoy the hell out of Rog as we farmed with them next door. But he has tried to be a good father. Patience. Tolerance. Respect.
Please.
The injustice of him galloping off, his heart intact, in fact, more in love with someone else than he ever loved me? While I wrestle and writhe with a broken heart?
That’s the emotional pain that never lessens.
That’s the pull of the scalpel blade at night. I fought it hard last night. My 21 year old slept with me, her anxiety peaking a little. And I quietly paced at 2am, finally taking a drowsy type of antihistamine to quell my intensely itchy skin and get me some sleep, to stop my self harm thoughts from escalating further. I just wanted the emotional pain to lessen. And the cutting does that (since the radiotherapy, I suffer badly, especially at night, from phantom skin itchiness.)
And I try so hard not to do that anymore. I saw BG lazily, absent mindedly, tracing the scars with his fingers at the weekend, and hope he never asks.
Because then, my brokenness will be fully exposed. He knows I’m broken. But thinks I’m strong-but-soft. Forgiving. Resilient.
Waikikipepper linked a great TedTalk about what I call emotional masks – the front we put up in public, least we upset anyone – in a comment on my last post. Thank you, my friend!
I recommend watching it. It illustrates what happens to us when we squish this stuff down.
I know, because I must have done that about my rape, about my “in love” parents’ unexpected divorce. About Roger fucking Leanne after we had just been together about a month. About him visiting prostitutes. About him taking his cheating ex girlfriend to our holiday home overnight…
I just squished. And forced it all into the “it doesn’t mean anything” box.
Stomping on the lid, willing it to stay shut.
Susan David’s discussion about emotional courage – talking about, acknowledging our true emotions, rather than stuffing them away in the dark – illustrates to me, the difficulty society as a whole has with the deep, deep tearing grief of (multiple) betrayal that leads to divorce.
It’s a grief we are not allowed to wear in public.
We “get over it,” okay???
I had this conversation with my friend, L, yesterday. We have another mutual friend whose husband cheated and she gets it. Us two who have now had multiple betrayals are separated or separating. The other friend was wiped out by her husband’s affair, and acknowledges how his cheating changed her.
Changed them.
Forever.
He did a huge amount of work on himself, and so far, they seem to be coping.
But she says she will walk if he does it again. Fully supports and understands us.
My boss’s husband, Nigel, just came in and had a chat.
He’s 50 today and feeling philosophical, I guess.
We got chatting about insomnia. And he asked how I operate on so little sleep (while I have a can of Red Bull on my desk, whoops!)
He’s struggling with two nights of poor sleep. I explained that for ten years I have operated on 3 to 4.5 hours.
He asked why.
I took a deep breath, and answered honestly.
“Ever since I discovered Roger was cheating on me.”
He knows my history, looked at me, swore, and said “so, forgive me for asking. But why did you stay with him? You are such an amazing, kick arse, capable, attractive, intelligent woman. I can’t imagine why you put up with his shit!”
I said, “good question. I love him. And I hate that I do. It’s very complicated. I was so, so surprised I stayed. It has links with trauma, Battered Wife Syndrome, etc. Too hard to go into my years of therapy here! Lol.”
He just looked at me, dumbfounded.
“Honestly, I don’t know why you did. I met someone the other day, who knew you, and he said what I’ve heard from others over the years, ‘oh, Roger (Surname’s) partner. Awesome! She’s fantastic. Does everything, she is the driving force there. His reason for any success. The kind of woman who makes a man.’ And I said, no, not his partner anymore. He buggered off and left her for some widow down the line. Kept cheating on her. She runs our business, too. She’s a machine.”
Then he talked about a dinner he and his wife took us to about three years ago. And said, “he was such a dick that night. Just wanted to argue with everyone.”
Yeah. I remember. He did this a LOT the last couple of years. My friend, PJ, was gutted when he did it at his place, too. Another dear friend talked about Roger’s pissy attitude at things, also. It was so unpleasant.
And a bit embarrassing.
No wonder he buggered off where no one knows him.
And, Wow!
Then he said, “but you’re sorted now, right? Over him and his shit?”
Um, no. I told him, you just get better at the front. You never fully get over it. You just learn to weave the trauma into your story. I’m still completely heartbroken. I’m far more wary. Far more cautious. Far less trusting. The walls are much, much higher. This has changed me.
There you go. Some of my reasons for such heartache. I tried so very, very hard. And as I told Nigel, “I just always felt not good enough. No matter what I did, he kept making me feel worthless. I’ve learned that because I was a recent rape survivor and so young when I met him, he formed all these deep neural pathways that I actively manage daily, to try to keep going.”
I was talking to BG the other day about how grateful and privileged I feel to have him share his beautiful friends with me.
He looked at me, and said, “they’re your friends, too.”
I was so touched by that. A group of men, who first met as 12 and 13 year old boys as boarders at high school. Still very tight knit, in their mid 50s. Their wives and partners. Their children. A bunch of good eggs.
Last night, his best mate, his wife, his parents and youngest daughter all came for dinner. BG was working, so asked me to entertain. I popped over and chatted away to them as they ate. Nikki, his mate’s wife, is just a true gem. The second wife, and mother of the youngest two of his five, she arrived on the scene some time after Marty’s first wife cheated on him, leaving him with three young children to raise.
Nikki stepped in and they all adore her. For good reason. She’s delicious, worldly, funny, loving….
She had a girlfriend, Caro, with her. And started to try to introduce me. I was quite surprised, as she stammered and struggled with words.
What am I? Who am I? Where do I fit?
BG just says, “my lovely partner, Paula.”
As do his male friends. Nikki stammered through, “um, what, um, the person, um, BG’s seeing,” eventually settling on, “BG’s … girlfriend.”
The term our children and myself used, completely innocently – joking, oh, what a laugh, eh? – about Roger’s relationship with Leanne. Those 18 months I genuinely believed she was “just a friend.” FML.
His girlfriend.
🤮🤮🤮
If only we knew.
Of course, Nikki had no idea. She knows nothing of my history. I’m just the woman her friend is currently seeing.
I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s “girlfriend.” I’ve been a partner. The boy I loved before Roger, I can’t even remember how we referred to each other? I’m pretty sure we just addressed and referred to each other by our names, “this is Paula. This is Iain.”
I dunno. Girlfriend is ruined for me.
And I’m 51! Not a girl!
Pedantics. I know. But Trinket can be his girlfriend. I’ve no doubt she will eventually be his wife.
And I’m glad neither of those terms were ever used for me, with Rog.
A Canadian New Zealander, with a retro/country vibe to her image and music.
Billboard recently released this single, You Were Mine, and the whole before and after speaks to me about grief. That line in the sands of time.
Tami explains, “So, this song is for anyone who measures time against a deep loss of love that was an integral part of the fabric that makes up your life.”
Tearing at the fabric.
Go figure.
Before, when I thought he loved me more than it was possible to love another human.
And after. When I realised that was just me. I projected my deep love onto him, thinking he must feel the same way.
God. What an idiot.
But what a powerful song, the audio is embedded in the link (Tami withdrew the video, feeling the fiery nature of it was insensitive to those affected by the current Australian bushfires.)
Sorted. Has a great team, coping incredibly well, doing 300 to 400 covers on weekend nights, as well as lunches.
Now, his bar team are having a moment. Thought he’d sorted it. But a resignation.
I’ve talked to punters and club members. They are really happy with how things are going. Food, bar, music, gaming, financials, etc.
I feel he is taking it all very personally. I get it. I feel personally responsible if any of my work team are unhappy, too. And he’s a people pleaser, a lifetime in hospitality, and caring for all his friends, family, etc. It’s who he is. Resignations feel personal. And he berates himself. “I’m just a bad manager, if he’s so unhappy, I should have done more of xyz.”
Doing life is hard.
Resignations do feel personal when you have tried to address and reassure. This staff member started as a cleaner a couple of years ago, and has a senior, 2IC position now, on the bar team.
He wanted more. And BG asked him to be patient, that more is not immediately available. When he was rostered on one night, (NYE! A busy night in any bar!) He had a hissy fit and tendered his resignation.
But hid it, under a till, FFS. It was only discovered last week. How gutless. And as I pointed out, demonstrates he is not yet mature enough (23) for a management position.
BG is disappointed. He has nurtured this young guy. But, I tried to point out to him, he isn’t able to offer anything more right now, and the guy has demonstrated – and now underlined – that he isn’t there yet. Let him go, and let’s see what he can get that is better.
Small towns. They are interesting. Three resignations this summer, and BG feels people will be pointing fingers. My, outsider looking in, feeling is that I fully understand his stress, but these people were not prepared to be team players, despite BG explaining clearly what he could and could not offer. All three had had recent pay rises. He hasn’t had one in three years, preferring to pass on any excess to his staff.
I bought gourmet ice cream last week and popped it in his freezer. He loves ice cream, and therefore never buys it for himself, as he’d sit and eat an entire tub. He asked me if he could have some.
I laughed loudly, and got him a spoon. Saying, “you don’t have to ask my permission, darling.”
He looked at me, and said, “I’m sorry. I had someone in my life I always had to ask permission from. In fact, every woman I’ve ever been with has been that way. Which is why I’m so intrigued by you. You’ve been mistreated, lied to, cheated on and abused, and yet, you just give and give. That is so incredibly special, and I’m not sure I deserve it.”
I am still trying to convince him that he deserves good things. He’s a kind, caring, funny man, who deserves some good, after all he puts out in the universe. You wanna see this guy with all 8 of his great nephews and niece yesterday. His sister, her three kids (45, 41 and 39) showed up with the grandchildren. Seven boys, 14 years old down to 2, and one 4 year old girl. Completely hilarious as we fed and entertained them at the club, including a bit of a dance with Paula to the band as they started up.
All stuff I tried to keep my mind occupied by, so I didn’t have the mind movies of Trinket giving Rog an expert birthday BJ after a lovely dinner out somewhere.
(Guess I still saw those images, huh?🤮)
So, he woke this morning – after a night of much loud sleep talking – his baby blues boring into me.
“Apart from you, my life sucks!”
I made him a coffee, some toast with my home extracted honey on it (my bees made that!) And sent him into the office to compile the email he’s been composing in his head all night.
One of his exes has her son staying with us tonight. He’s here for a surf lifesaving competition. I think Colleen was really more of a friend with benefits situation than a full on partner. I’ve met her a couple of times. Nice enough girl, quite a lot younger than me. Her boy is about 13, I think. Just making him up a bed now.
Roger’s best mate’s youngest kiddo is here, at the beach this weekend. Her older half sister is my first god daughter, love these kids. And I promised her I’d take her to brunch. She’s a bit of a sneaky, wild child, at 15. Causing some family anxiety. I am just trying to be an outside of the loop (these days – I can’t help that her mother is an awful verbally abusive drunk of a person) adult she can trust if she ever needs an ear, or a safe space/any help. Better go do my thing. I will never hold children responsible for the sins of their parents. This family were a huge part of my life for thirty years. I celebrated marriages, births, and commiserated with divorces and pain. The fact that her parents couldn’t reciprocate, well, that’s not on her. I’m still very, very close with her aunt, and she keeps me informed about the kids, and I keep up with the girls, especially.
The movie about the Fox news Roger Ailes sexual harassment period.
It isn’t something that we really cared about that much down here. Entertainment/news sex scandals just kinda seem like par for the course, I’m afraid. The #MeToo movement is hugely important, please don’t get me wrong. It just seemed so incredibly backward to me, that the US was still having this conversation in the 2010s!
But, the movie had a line in it, at the conclusion, where the Margot Robbie character (a composite of the younger women Ailes sexually harrassed) talked about how the experience affected her, going forward. How she wondered what she did wrong?
All of that, what did I do wrong?
The same questions I asked my innocent self after brutal rape.
The same questions I asked myself after I was cheated on.
What did I do wrong?
Was it what I wore?
Did I not do enough?
Was I too sexy/not sexy enough?
How did I make him cheat on me?
Did I look like I “wanted to be” raped/cheated on?
Ugh, so, so many questions and ways to blame me for what happened. For what the two men who have hurt me the most in the world, made my carry throughout my life. One, I only knew as a friend of a friend. Seemed nice enough.
Until he ripped my body apart.
The other, seems like the nicest guy in the world.
And I fell madly in love with him, and adored him for three decades. Lord, I loved him so damn much. Stupid girl. But I also saw a hardness, a bullish determination to always be right, start to emerge as he aged. It is there now in my dealings with him. And friends have recently mentioned it to me as well.
I guess that is part of why I related to He-Total’s post about how having any dealings with your ex affects you in such deep, embodied ways. I freak out when I see him. When I know he’s going to have to be dealt with. I feel nauseous and want to faint. When he was around for D’s birthday, I tried to tell myself I was cool. But reality meant that BG kind of took over the capable part for me as I fluffed and goofed a bit until I found my feet as the host. Ugh. I used to be so together.
Or so I thought!
Victim blaming and shaming is one of the hardest parts of betrayal and rape, that I deal with on the daily. They contribute massively to my PTSD. My trauma that lingers.
It pisses me right off that this is what I am left with after being the good girl, doing all that right, loyal, loving, honest things.
But hey. This is reality.
And, to cheer me up, BG has asked me to come to Queenstown with him on what is supposed to be a boys’ golf trip.
He won’t bore me with that part of it, but wants me to join him at the end of the week with the boys for a few days, and we can hang out a bit longer afterwards as well.
Sounds awful!
This boy. He was coming over tonight, but his sister has just announced she is on her way to see him. Which is fine, as I have promised to drive my goddaughter over there, to meet her Mum, my old BFF, J, tomorrow morning. BG says he is pleased I’m coming, as he was pretty blown away by our last bit of goodbye sex! It ruined him for yesterday and today. And wanted to know if I have always been this sexually adventurous.
Um, yep.
I like sex.
Like, a whole lot!
And when I lost my libido after Roger cheated, I was devastated. Utterly griefstriken.
So glad I’m back.
So glad I have someone to trust with that.
Someone I love my body with. Seriously! I am the most body confident I have EVER been. I walk around naked all the time with him. And he was pretty excited the other day as I leaned over the basin, cleaning my teeth, and he came to feel my bum before we went out, that I wasn’t wearing any knickers. He ran his hand, gently up my skirt to make sure, not believing what he felt as he ran his hands over my skirt, and winked when his hand came away wet. “You’re so bad!”
He says it’s 50 plus year old women. That he’s been with two, and we are both sexually on fire. I just giggled and said, “um, not what most of my friends say. Most are struggling with dryness, skin thinning and a lowered libido. I don’t seem to have hit that problem yet…”
I honestly thought my sexuality had been ruined.
Firstly, rape. I was so damn scared of men ripping me again.
Then I was utterly terrified after Roger cheated, of contracting more diseases. Frightened of where his penis had been. Where it was possibly still straying…
Thankfully, I get to be my true self again, and have a very, VERY appreciative partner, who makes me feel sexy after Rog made me feel old, fat, ugly, stupid and worthless.
Thank you universe, for allowing BG to give me a second chance after I did a runner!
Tearing at the Fabric 