Tearing at the Fabric

Of the space-time continuum


Vice versa

I know Trinket played the hurt card.

That was like magical shit to Rog! Oh, another damsel in distress. He loves a good rescue.

Because every time I think about how devastated I still am at their treachery, limping along with my broken heart, I know Trinket will play that violin about her dead, cheating husband….poor sausage. If I feel this, she can trump it, right?

The difference is, I have never, nor WILL I ever, cheat with a partnered person. I would never cause this agony, this damage, to another human being.

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Abuse. On an international scale.

The story of the Ukraine.

The Ukraine & Russia crisis In simple terms for those that have no idea what is going on.

-Ukraine used to be in an abusive relationship with Russia, feeding him, letting him use her car & giving him whatever he asked for until she built up the confidence to call it quits back in 1991

-Since then Ukraine has been working on herself, becoming a strong independent woman with help from friends like France, America, Poland etc. offering her support, loaning her money, & helping her find her way.

-Ukraine has been enjoying being single for 30 years & looking forward to continuing to grow & create new friendships.

-Now Russia being the toxic Ex that it is wants her back, and doesn’t want her meeting new people or creating any new relationships.

-A couple of weeks ago Russia started sitting in the front of Ukraine’s house & when her friends ask him what was he doing there, he said “Oh nothing, just getting a little bit of exercise in, that’s all.”

-After her friends told her that Russia was potentially getting ready to do something bad to her, he said “They’re lying, they just want you to be scared of me & that’s not what it is”

-Yesterday Russia broke into Ukraine’s house, beating her up & “taking advantage” of her while on Livestream & daring any of her friends to do something about it.


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Trust. Broken.

Don’t Lose Hope writes insightful, informed, empathetic posts about recovering from betrayal trauma.


One of the saddest parts about it all, about what the man I loved so much chose for me, is the permanence of my inability to trust anyone now.

His lies, his deception, his repeating the damaging behaviour, whilst promising he’d never hurt me again, promising me forever, utterly destroyed my ability to trust.

Including trusting myself. My own judgement. I’m a fool, so don’t listen to me, okay?

DLH’s words that resonated especially strongly for me:

“Your one lie drags all your truth under suspicion.”

Intentional deception always changes how we feel about an individual we had once trusted and loved. Why? Because it strikes at the heart of that person’s character.

Think about it … Why would we trust someone who puts their own needs first, and pretends that they are different from the way they really are? And when ‘the rubber meets the road’ they are not dependable (at least that’s what we’ve learned from our experience with them).

I agree. And when he doubled down, telling me he’d wait forever, begged me not to leave him, all while busy chatting to literally dozens of women, tens of thousands of text messages found on his phone after the final DDay, auditioning them to replace me in my own story…that showed me how he “loves.” How much value to place on his seductive words. It kills me that I so desperately wanted to believe him.

That I was still so stupid.

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Deeper and deeper

BG and I had the most intense, open and honest talk yet.

He came over after lunch, and after he got his hair cut at his favourite barber’s (who is in my town) we went for a drink and to the movies.

It was only the second time we have ever seen a movie at the cinema together! How crazy is that? Pandemic feels.

Home, I cooked a fabulous fish dinner, and we went to bed together early.

And he talked. Unprompted. Like never before.

He is trying to ensure that I know what I’m taking on, am truly fully informed. He is very worried I will be missing out on the kind of sex life I was used to. He is really worried there is something broken in him. He mentioned that this was a family trait. His middle sister didn’t like having sex much, and her marriage ended. He has assumed maybe his mother didn’t, and was that why his dad was a serial cheater.

I corrected him quickly. “Don’t ever assume someone cheats because their partner doesn’t provide enough sex!!! Cheating is a character problem. Not a sex problem! We had a lot, and high quality sex. He didn’t cheat because I withheld sex. Or was unadventurous. He cheated because he believed he was entitled to. I met your dad. I’m pretty sure he just did it because he could. Not because he was necessarily seeking more sex. Maybe you seek a variety of women? Different bodies? Etc.”

He denied that vehemently. “No! Not in any way! You are fantastic. Adventurous, sexy, willing, forgiving. I couldn’t – and never have – find anyone like you. I’m just worried that I will never be enough. Never give you the pleasure you deserve.”


I have reiterated regularly, lovingly, that sex is not a deal-breaker. I love fucking. I love when we make love. Yes. I’d like more. But. The MOST important thing is, EVERYTHING else is really, really good. He’s kind. Attentive. Loving. Funny. Respectful. Hard working. Adores me. Wants to be with me. Including when his friends are around. He doesn’t feel I am stopping him from doing anything. He loves my positive, can do attitude.

But we have a lot less sex than I have, and have wanted. My entire adult life. I was pursued, wanted, and felt very much that Roger was insatiable about me.

Spoiler alert.

It wasn’t me.

It was sex he wanted. Not me.


I told BG that. Carefully. “I hope this isn’t scary, but I had someone with whom sex was a giant focus, and I thought we were so compatible. See how well that turned out? I don’t see this as a deal breaker. Every relationship has strengths and weaknesses. Have you noticed that I haven’t torn your clothes off recently? I don’t want you to feel pressure. I love you for your little kisses, big hugs, hand holding (we sleep entwined, and he puts his arm under my pillow, for me to hold his hand, we sleep holding hands, and it’s sweet as hell!) For your interest and attention to what is happening in my life. For your care for my friends and family…for being an equal partner. For so many reasons.

Then, uncharacteristically, he shared something about Chrissy and him.

He is mostly very respectful of the women he has had past relationships with. I love that.

This is where the self blame comes in.

Out of almost nowhere, he shared, “with Chrissy, we were always drunk.” He had previously told me once that he discovered after she moved in with him, that she had a drinking problem.

But he wasn’t blaming her here. “A lifetime in hospitality, pubs, clubs, you get drunk, and find someone to sleep with. It’s pretty awful babe. Half the time you don’t even really remember if it was any good. That is my fucked up relationship with sex. I have known for years that it’s not healthy. But I found someone I cared about, and our sex life wasn’t healthy even then. With you, it feels much more like it should. But I’m so worried you are not getting what you need..what you deserve. And if we move in together, that frustration will be more than now. I don’t want to ruin your life.”

Oh lord! I almost laughed.

Babe, my life was messed up by too much sex! His, with other people!

I can’t really put into words how this conversation went. How it made me feel. How it gave me deeper insight and trust for this man. When you are well into your 50s, and trying to rebuild after being dumped, your life and trust annihilated for another woman, after at least a decade of serial cheating and mindfuckery by your person, you don’t have that level of trust ever again. I don’t have the bond I had with Rog.

Or thought I had.

But, him telling me his sexual fears, was really, really vulnerable. And I am blown away really. That he trusted me enough to do that. Because sex is seen as such a masculine “must have.” Admitting otherwise opens you up to the possibility of ridicule and rejection.

I started to say that there are other ways we can be intimate. Other ways that we can “get off.” To be honest, I was talking about me. But he recoiled. “I don’t want any other ways.” I left it there.

I am a highly sexual person.

I have a million tricks up my sleeve. And I admit I have held back with him. I told him this, earlier. That I can be pretty wild. I can do loads of solo stuff. He can either be involved. Be a spectator. Or I understand if he doesn’t feel that is good for him. But I can play, with him or without his presence, without any expectations from him to “perform!”

I think he finds that all a bit challenging. Toxic masculinity has informed his thinking. That men are supposed to want more, and more kinky sex, than women. That simply isn’t the case! I wanted more kink from Rog, too, and he has a very high libido, but admitted his tastes were more vanilla than mine.

Sex is a much more complicated beast than I ever fully anticipated. I kinda just assumed if you fell in love, it should somehow magically line up? It doesn’t work that way. I constantly think about him, his dimples, his body, what I want to do to and with him. Apparently that isn’t everyone! Who knew???


It doesn’t happen in a vacuum


Telling people to forgive, for themselves, is so toxic.

It puts unbearable pressure on a chump.

It’s really a toxic positivity trope. Love and light to all.

When your heart is shattered, and you’ve “failed” at everything, it’s just another failure.

I can’t begin to tell you how that not good enough narrative nearly killed me.

I’d failed.

I’d failed to ensure I picked a faithful partner in life.

I’d failed in my direct communications with him, that cheating was a deal breaker. That having unprotected sex with anyone who wasn’t me was life threatening, and would be damaging to my mental health.

I’d failed in my direct communication with him that explained the effects of a cheating father on their children.

I’d failed to be sexy enough. Clever enough. Engaging enough. Hard working enough. Pretty enough. Thin enough. Rich enough.


Anything enough.

And I put everything I had into this being a success. I sacrificed myself to be “enough.”

Then, his best mate’s cunt of a second, cheating wife told me I can’t have been very good at sex.


I have to laugh. I mean, we had a very fulfilling sex life, really great sex, most days of the week, for the first 22 years, then several (five?) more years of the highly addictive hysterical bonding – hot, sweaty, sensual, fucking awesome sex everywhere, all the time. There were some challenges later, when I got a bad startle response to being touched. I went numb. I sought help from a sex therapist. But we still had periods of really great sex. Anyway, any problems I had, from the trauma of his dick being inside a dirty, diseased whore, and relived rape trauma, were long after she told me that Roger cheated on me because I must be crap in the sack!

And she and best mate mostly shagged about once a month. Lol. I almost choked on my laughter when she told me I was shit in bed.

I was triggered about this when discussing with my eldest the movie she was off to. The Worst Person in the World. It wasn’t the content so much, but the title. As soon as I read it, a picture of that bitch was clearly in front of me.

During wreckonciliation, that woman was the Queen of Putdowns. Our failure, our “whoopsie” of an eighteen month long affair by my beloved, with a mutual friend was a source of enormous schadenfreude to her. Oh, we are so much BETTER than Norm and Paula! Teehee!

I can’t begin to tell you the things she did. The things she said.

Her own husband, on Team Norm, called her out a few times, “stop being such a cunt, Norm broke Paula’s heart!”

The night she lured me to join her and a bunch of friends, just a month into the utter hell of Roger living with me, making love with me, but openly running off to fuck his Trinket. He’d driven off to her, and I was curled on the bathroom floor in the foetal position, sobbing my heart out, ugly crying, snot everywhere, when her and my BFF called me, asking me to join them.

And on my arrival at the wine bar, proceeded to drunkenly scream at me, disparaging and insulting me, while her friends physically protected me, and dragged her out into the street – yep, that happened🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️ – that was it.

She was the second person I ever unfriended on social media. After my abusive, narcissistic, alcoholic brother. It’s not a thing I take lightly.

And no. I don’t forgive her.

As much as I don’t forgive Rog.

As much as I will never understand, much less forgive a nasty woman who dates a partnered man, knowing he would fuck her, then drive back home to fuck that partner, even after that loyal partner tells her to her face that she never got the memo after thirty years of love and partnership, that apparently he was single!!!


And that’s okay.

I don’t have to twist myself in a million shapes to “forgive.” I accept. That is enough.

Some things really are genuinely unforgivable.

And you do more damage trying to forgive. Because that will make everything alright. Right?

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BG is self isolating.

That’s okay.

But man, I have an itchy back!

These are the times being alone are hard 😜!

Where is that long stick?

Seriously though. I’m all good. But I do realise that although we have a totally different dynamic to the passionate one that I knew, that BG and I are good. I do miss him. That’s a fabulous sign. It’s hard. So damn hard.

Because, I see him. He’s a really good guy. He’s tried really hard to be kind, to be himself. Not just with me. This is who he is. His friends told me that from the beginning.

But he’s not who I loved.

And that’s not fair. It’s Soooo hard to explain. I genuinely love this guy.

But my stupid fucking fairytale ended. Or rather, never actually existed. And it’s hard to match that bullshit!

I work really hard to appreciate how sweet, how fun, how caring this manwhohasneverhadawife is.

Because he really is.

And let go of the selfish lie of a man I was with.

Because he treated me as an option. An accessory. A labour unit.

It’s pretty insane. To have not detached.

I have cried at work both days this week. In private. Lots of pain. Lots of memories. Lots of unrequited love.

I realise I’m in a transition again. Trying to kick off again. Reinvent my life.


There’s a new professional direction. But it’s going to be a drawn out process. All year before I can really get my teeth in.

And a man who wants to give everything he knows up.

To be with me. To combine our lives. It’s scary.

And completely humbling.

And my girl melted my heart today. It’s her birthday next month. She invited us both to come.


And this man I know.

I mean WTF? How lovely is that? I was thinking it was cool she asked me. Never even thought about BG. After all, she’s her Dad’s girl.

I know it makes no sense. But I still feel weird about a new man around my kiddos. I know it’s wrong. But my loyalty, my bond, my dedication to my family means I don’t “get” that they are welcoming and accepting of thismanwhoisnottheirfather.

It’s so weird.

Because I loved the man who married my Mum.

The difference is, my father was sorry. Embarrassed. Admitted he was a lying, cheating man who broke my mother’s heart.

Roger blames me. Hates me. Pretends I never existed. Denies I loved him with every inch of my being.

For thirty fucking years. Total adoration.


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Going through the motions

An old friend, J, and I caught up recently.

This person still sees Roger. Their partner is a friend of his. So, they have spent time with Trinket.

J has refrained from mentioning Trinket at all. But this time, she said, “Paula, they are just settling. He couldn’t fix what he did to you, so he went shopping, and got her. She’s frumpy. She has no zhooosh. Yeah, she’s a nice enough person, but she’s just a bit meh. Nothing wrong with her, but nothing going on there at all. He has totally settled. It has aged him. They have zero chemistry to see. Just an old couple, going through the motions, not like you two were.”

I know.

I know what he did. He ran. And stuck to the first vagina that let him stay. He couldn’t do the work. It’s infuriating.

The easy-ness of her means they stay together. Nothing to fight about. Just ride into boring old age. Yay!

Because, the reality is, usually relationships that start as affairs are up against it.

Especially with a known cheater. They have high rates of attrition.

“And around 75% of the marriages that start as affairs end in divorce. Considering only 5 to 7% of affair relationships lead to marriage, that’s a grim statistic for couples hoping their affairs will last forever.”

I think Roger and Trinket will buck this trend. For several reasons. Number one being that they have convinced each other that they didn’t cheat on me! 😆🤦‍♂️.

I know! WTAF???

Secondly, Rog is a charmer. Despite knowing he’s a cheater, she is loved up by his attention. She had a cheater, so his cheating is familiar. Tolerable. At least he’s nice to her when he’s with her, right? She has no backbone. Is happy to be with another cheater. Happy to be a homewrecker. Totally worth it.

But, J’s comments resonated. She says he isn’t as into Trinket as he was me (appeared to be! I corrected her.) She thinks he has settled. Isn’t really in love with Trinket. Just “comfortable.”


“Foster also found that throughout all three studies, the poached partners reported more dysfunction. Overall, these partners reported more dissatisfaction with the relationship, less commitment, and less investment in their partner. Furthermore, those who were in a “poached” relationship reported more interest in romantic alternatives, thought higher of their potential romantic alternatives, and engaged in higher rates of infidelity than other study participants. After all, previous studies have found that if someone cheats once, they are 3.5 times more likely to cheat again.”

Another friend remarked about online photos about the physical unattractiveness of them (Trinket and her children.) I’m not allowed to comment on such shallow things. But well, yeah. It is confronting. No question. For my kids and myself to have just been replaced by a bunch of, well, rednecks. 😱🤷‍♀️🙊

Anyway, just meandering thoughts. It never goes away. I keep busy. Distraction. Focus on the future. The good things. The things I am building.

But, this is always there. That utter frustration at being thrown under the bus without a single look back. Thirty years. Of what? Of nothing. Of not ever speaking to the person who was your everything.

So weird. Such a permanent, painful ache.

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Still a bit broken


This is real.

My experience of the deep grief, the brokenness that remains, is not unusual. I’m not a fuck up.

People who love long and hard, we are broken by disloyal, lying, cheating endings.

That is all.

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You didn’t deserve this

I’ve had my ass kicked this weekend.

In my third laser hair removal treatment on my legs.

I’ve done bikini line, armpits, face. All fine. All successful.

But this has killed me. First was fine. Second was awful, I developed a really itchy rash/hives. And blamed a moisturiser I wore.

This time is worse. I’ve had a serious allergic reaction and am on antihistamines and topical hydrocortisone cream. I want to rip my skin off.

And I have slept.

And slept.

And slept.

Wiped out.

I am allergic to self tanners. Same reaction.

I had planned a big road trip. BG is away on a lads’ weekend.

But I’m totally buggered.

And sleeping, resting, I’ve dreamed. Reflected on those dreams. Yeah, ruminated.

One thing I recalled was Roger telling me that I was an amazing partner. That I did everything right.

That I never deserved what he did.

(But hey! Who would have???)

But he is so right. I have been a very good partner. I worked really hard. I loved him completely. I gave myself to him.

Even after he totally disrespected and broke me. I kept trying.

For eight. More. Years.

I searched for healing. I tried to heal myself, to heal us. I tried so hard to engage him in “our” healing, to get him to reflect on who he is, how he allowed himself to knowingly break my heart and expose me to disease, ridicule, and self loathing.

I completed two degrees, searching for meaning. Self esteem. Healing.

He said it.

You never deserved this, my Snooks.



So do it again.

This time with a broken betrayed. Whom I was apparently supposed to like, and bond with over commonalities.

He knew exactly what he’d targeted. A broken, betrayed widow, who would lap up his love bombing, who would buy his faux remorse.