Dear Bel, I’m having an affair and am going to cause so much hurt, but
don’t feel that I can or want to stop. I don’t feel much for my husband; we
very rarely have sex. We have girls of 7 and 5 and a boy of 2 who adore
their dad; he is a wonderful father and a decent man — worth so much more
than me. The thought of him with a loving partner makes me feel happy; the
thought of him alone and sad makes me feel mortified.
I adore my lover. He is single, affluent, very successful, and sex is
everything I ever dreamt of. He wants me to have his baby and live with him.
I didn’t think anyone would find me attractive enough to ask me out, not at
my age (36).
I’ve been a housewife for ten years and adore my children but hate my life
here with my husband, our house and the neighbourhood. The loneliness of it
all nearly drove me mad until I met this man. But I have no money, and no
real skills with which to find a job. So my new man would have to provide me
with a house and support me and my children. I’m not sure I want more
children . . . but with this man — perhaps.
Recently I ended the relationship. I cried in secret for a week and
couldn’t function. But he got in touch and I felt saved. When I’m not with
my lover all I can think about is him, but it’s so much better than my
previous empty life. How can a woman lucky enough to have three healthy
children say her life is empty? I don’t know what to do. I am so much in the
wrong.
Emily
You are in the grip of a terminal, doting passion — a hurricane that destroys
all in its path, and a necrotising sickness that consumes from within. How
can I condemn you when I fully understand that sort of sexual passion? But
though empathetic when people hanker for illicit intensity, I cannot
comprehend why they choose it at any price. I beg you not to confuse this
romantic, sexual thrill with love. Love is what your husband demonstrates in
putting up with his unhappy, cold and preoccupied wife.
If I feel sorry for you in your turmoil (which I do), I feel even sorrier for
him.
No words from another could judge you as harshly as you do yourself. It is you
who uses the word “wrong”. Who invokes the idea of comparative “worth”. Who
understands how, to the mothers of sick and dying children, your mooching
melancholy will seem shocking. All I can do is to lay out a few
possibilities, to help you decide where to go next. Sadly, a person in your
situation is usually as capable of rational thought as Anna Karenina was
when she ran off with Vronsky.
You describe your new man in terms that contrast with your husband. He is the
dream lover, loaded with money, status and sex. What chance has the everyday
affection of a mundane spouse? Flattered and aroused, you now deny the love
you must once have had for this decent human being you married. If I told
you that the heat dies down in time, would you believe me? Probably not.
The phrase “wants me to have his baby” is overlaid with masculine narcissism
and ownership. But imagining himself as a the Great Impregnator is a world
away from becoming a caring stepfather figure, and you don’t say whether
this sex god fancies the idea of three small children ricocheting around his
love nest, cramping his style. To be honest, when you portray yourself as
the helpless female who needs a home provided for her, and so on, I feel
frustrated. Here is a young, presumably educated woman in her thirties in
the 21st century, talking in terms that Jane Austen would have understood.
Never mind. Surely you have to discuss all this with your lover so that you
know exactly what he is offering. Insist that he is honest. And prepare for
disappointment.
Let us assume, for the purposes of argument, that your lover is willing to
take on you and your brood, at which point you will let your husband become
a wonderful father part-time. But surely such a good man deserves custody of
his children? You may find that he bares his teeth if you try to take them
away. And why shouldn’t he? I have no doubt that those three need their
father, that their place is in the home of the man who loves them. Why
should he relinquish them because you discovered the joys of sex? I see no
justice there.
You say you adore both the lover and your children, but you must stop to
distinguish between eros and a very different sort of love. And
choose. A mother’s love involves potential sacrifice and pain from the
moment the cord is cut (did you ever think otherwise?), in which case what
is best for them has to come first. If you were to manage to give up the
lover, banning all contact, you would certainly feel lost and miserable for
a couple of months. But all things pass. They do.
To some people I will sound like some Fifties moralist, but I’m not.
Frankly it wouldn’t bother me if you ruthlessly kept your boyfriend in a box
and took him out to play with every so often — while remaining competent,
caring and cheerful at home. Then you would be in control, instead of this
moping victim of guilt. Having said that, an age when people tried hard
(whenever possible) to stay together for the sake of the children doesn’t
seem so bad. Better than destroying your family for the sake of some bloke
you’ve met on the internet, or the arm-candy in the office whom you’ve known
five minutes.
A part of us is insane and likes to strut about on a stage declaiming rolling
lines half-learnt from 100 movies and books and songs, half-felt within our
human genes. Adults will always hurt each other. But once children are
involved I want to turn the house lights up high and say: “OK, performance
over.” You say you don’t feel much for your husband, yet your letter is full
of anguished affection for him. You admire his good qualities, see what a
great dad he is, and want him to be happy. At this point you can only
visualise him achieving that happiness with another woman, not with you,
because despite the flattery of your lover, your self-esteem is very low.
You also have to paint yourself as worthless to justify your actions. Which
is braver: to flee and destroy, or stay and build? What would happen if you
found the courage to confess, sitting down to talk about how you can change
this life that you dislike so much and recreate a future together? It might
be worth a try. That is, if you want to.
Dear Bel,
The husband of a friend of mine has been having an affair for the past six
months or so. I decided to keep quiet — she knows nothing, seems perfectly
happy, and is devoted to their two young children.
However, he is now proposing that they should sell their London home, buy
in the country and that she will live there, while he spends part of the
week in a small flat in London. She is planning to agree, which I think will
be a disaster. Should I tell her about the affair? How can I explain why I
didn’t do so sooner?
Sally
This is tough, for in keeping quiet you aid the deception, yet it is not
really your place to tell her. You don’t want to be the ill-fated bringer of
bad news, and this might be a short-lived fling. I agree that the move to
the country is a potential disaster, though she probably thinks it will be
idyllic.
He will be depositing her where convenient for him (this affair may continue
or he will have future flings) and she’s likely to be lonely and isolated —
especially if everything goes wrong. It seems to me that your next action
should be to tell this man you know about the affair. Would he think it odd
if you suggest a drink, because you’re near his workplace? Or just
accidentally bump into him and ask for a chat.
At this point you say how fond you are of his wife, and let him know your
misgivings about his behaviour and his plans. It may harm your relationship
with him, but does that matter?
You can even imply that unless he stops forcing through the rural plan you
will blow the whistle, and at that point you really mean it. This is called
blackmail, I believe.
DO YOU NEED ADVICE?
E-mail your problems to: bel.mooney@thetimes.co.uk or
write to her at: T2, 1 Pennington Street, London E98 1TT.
Please include your real name, but we will use a chosen pseudonym if you wish.
Detail such as your age is helpful. Bel Mooney reads all letters, but
regrets she cannot enter into personal correspondence
