I am not sure if you care to hear from me, or indeed if you even know who I am. I’m the woman your husband left you for. And I am deeply sorry, on so many levels.
When I met him, he was in an open relationship with permission to play and “get his needs met,” because you no longer wanted to have sex with him. You wanted things “don’t ask don’t tell” because you didn’t like the details. I don’t know if this is true.
When I met him, he said if your comfort levels changed at all about the open relationship, it would be game over for non-monogamy and he would stop dating outside partners. I do not believe this to be true, given what eventually happened and that he disclosed other infidelities he committed during his marriage to you.
When I met him, he spun me a tale of being neglected at home, living with you as a friend and roommate without any passion. He told me that you two once went to a party and the hostess put her hand on his shoulder — and he flinched, because it had been so long since he had been touched. I do not know if this is true.
When I met him, he was turning 41 and I was 23.
Within days of meeting him, he told me he had never felt this way about anyone, and that he realized he wanted to be with me forever, that we were fated to be together. Within a month, we had matching tattoos and promise rings and we’d exchanged short words about how much we meant to each other. And because I was only 23, and because I was in a dying relationship myself, and because I want to save people who feel broken, I fell for it all.
And I am so sorry.
I waited for him. I believed we were destined for each other.
Your husband told me he wanted to be with me but just needed time to end your marriage with the least amount of pain for you. He said he owed it to you. He said so many things about how cold you were to him, how you were disgusted by sex with him, how you used to want children with him but one day told him “Not with you,” when he asked if you still wanted kids.
He told me he had given up on his health and on ever hoping for a better relationship because he had no reason to hope for anything more.
He told me he once yelled at you over buying the wrong kind of printer paper.
He told me he finally decided your marriage was over when you suggested letting one of the cats live outside. (That cat still pees on everything). When I once yelled at this cat for peeing on a curtain I had JUST put on the floor while I reinstalled the curtain rod, he told me I reminded him of you. He said it just to hurt me. Comparing me to you was immensely effective in controlling my behavior.
He used to watch me cry, while I wondered if he’d ever really be with me, wondering how long I could possibly wait for him. Wondering why I was doing this to myself. But I waited because we were MEANT to be together.
When I finally packed up all his things and told him to call me when he got divorced, he told me that if I was with anyone else while I waited for him, we couldn’t be together. And wouldn’t you know it, I continued to wait for him. He told me he needed to see how my story ended and he couldn’t bear to not be a part of it.
I waited for him for two years.
I moved into your home the day before your divorce was final. I told him that he’d never have to feel alone in that house again. Little did I know that I’d be the one feeling alone in that house.
Despite our passionate affair, once I moved in, the sex all but stopped. Always with good reason — stress about the divorce, stress about his job, not sleeping well, not feeling well. Always a good reason. And I couldn’t help but wonder, if he needed an open relationship to get his needs met so badly, why is it that once he had a partner with a sex drive, he no longer wanted sex? It took me many years to learn that the needs he had were not sexual. They were control, power, and adoration.
I want you to know that none of it was your fault. Whatever parts of his story were true — if you were cold, distant, and lonely at home, it was not because of some failing on your part. You were not a bad wife. You are not a bad person. He did not cheat because of you.
You were tired. So you started doing things for yourself. You started running and losing weight. You found things that made you happy, outside of him. He did not like this. He did not like it when I did it either. When I cut my sugar intake, he’d buy me a candy bar. When I wanted to run longer races, he insisted I see a doctor for a physical despite never having a running injury.
When you stopped worshiping him, he went and found outside supply for his needs. He found many women in the meantime, but then he found me. And I’m sorry for both of us that he did.
He told me on many occasions that I talked too much about my exes. He said this to me so many times that I actually started keeping notes on how often I mentioned them. And it turns out that I really didn’t talk about exes much… but he did. Because of how much he built up insecurity around exes, I always felt compared to them when he did discuss them. If me talking about exes was a bad thing, why wasn’t it bad for him to do? It must have been something inherently wrong with me, right?
If he did this to you too, I’m sorry. If you knew about me and he used me to rattle your security and confidence, I’m sorry. If he talked about his infidelities or past lovers or any other outside partners to keep you under control, I am sorry. You are not someone who can be controlled. You are strong.
I am sure it hurt immensely when he ended your marriage. You were together for over 13 years. He was everything to you. You didn’t understand why he was discarding you. But that’s what it was. The cycle of psychological abuse includes this pattern: idealize, devalue, discard. When you met, it was all rainbows and sunshine, right? And then over time your confidence was degraded, you had to try harder to keep him happy, and somehow his happiness ended up hinging on whether or not you were chipper and pleased to serve him, I bet.
(Did he refuse to eat what you cooked if you prepared food while upset?)
I imagine that having a few outside partners helped him get a fresh hit of adoration now and then, and he was happy enough to go home to you. But I was a gooey caramel-filled chocolate bar for him, the perfect storm of insecurity, childhood trauma, a need for validation, and an eagerness to do whatever anyone wanted because I was too afraid to say no and lose somebody. He knew if he got me he could have me forever. And so you were sacrificed, because you no longer doled out worship. He didn’t deserve that adoration — he never did.
I spent over six years with him, almost seven.
I tried to leave once. I told him he was manipulative and abusive. He feigned shock, cried with me, apologized deeply and profusely for not only treating me that way but also not noticing how unhappy I had become. He promised change. Nothing changed.
Two years later I left for real. And his story about me is not the truth. Which makes me understand that his stories about you are probably also not the truth.
I’m sorry I believed him.
I am sorry I was part of your pain.
But I am not sorry you got away.
Republished by the author. Original piece here.