Why cheating is a bad idea.
In the end, it doesn't matter what you think cheating is.
Whether it's talking on the phone, phone sex, flirting, kissing, groping in the office supply closet, lunch with someone of the opposite sex your SO doesn't know about; actual sex with someone of the opposite (or same!) sex your SO doesn't know about. Whether you didn't think it was serious, or it was. Whether you thought you were just friends, or it was more than that. It doesn't matter what you thought. It doesn't matter what your intentions were. It doesn't matter if you thought it was harmless, or that you thought you were doing them a favor, or if you were doing it for revenge or spite.
All that will matter is that your relationship has irrecovably changed. And you are no longer a loving couple, but "I" and "You" (and not in the Thurber sense, either; more like the Hawthorne Scarlet A sense), and one of you feels inadequate and the other feels selfish and horrible for hurting the other, and nothing will ever, ever be the same.
Because now there's this fact between you: one of you, for whatever reason, did something. Whatever it was. With someone else. And it wasn't cool. You didn't have an agreement. You didn't have permission. You didn't talk about it. You didn't even hint there was a problem, if there was one, or that anything was missing.
And that fact will cancel out all the trust and innocence of your relationship, and it will be weeks, months, years before even a semblance of that can be regained. Every argument you have after that will circle back to that fact, as inescapable as the truth you couldn't tell.
You'll see the ugly mess for what it was: a cry for attention, a need for excitement. A selfish desire for something you thought you couldn't/weren't/shouldn't get at home. A self-fulfilling prophecy that you aren't worth the love you have. Or that you married the wrong person. Or whatever Dr. Phil fill-in-the-blank psychobabble you attribute to what is plain selfishness and stupidity. You'll look in the mirror and see what a selfish prat you've been.
And when the person you love, your husband, your wife, comes into the mirror with you, to hug you from behind, you won't be able to look them in the eye anymore. Becuase you're afraid of what you'll see there. You've hurt someone you vowed to love and honor, and you didn't. For some reason, you couldn't.
If you're lucky, they'll forgive you. You might go to therapy, couples counseling. You may even only discuss it on occasion when you have the inevitable arguments -- you're still married after all, and arguments are a given. You might discuss is every day for the next five years. You might not talk about it at all. In fact, you might not talk about anything at all again.
In the end, no matter what passion or thrill or excitement you felt, it all turns to shit in the end, and you're left with less than what you began with: a relationship with a problem, and you with something you need to work through. And this time, you don't have them next to you to help.
In the end, you're alone.
Whether it's talking on the phone, phone sex, flirting, kissing, groping in the office supply closet, lunch with someone of the opposite sex your SO doesn't know about; actual sex with someone of the opposite (or same!) sex your SO doesn't know about. Whether you didn't think it was serious, or it was. Whether you thought you were just friends, or it was more than that. It doesn't matter what you thought. It doesn't matter what your intentions were. It doesn't matter if you thought it was harmless, or that you thought you were doing them a favor, or if you were doing it for revenge or spite.
All that will matter is that your relationship has irrecovably changed. And you are no longer a loving couple, but "I" and "You" (and not in the Thurber sense, either; more like the Hawthorne Scarlet A sense), and one of you feels inadequate and the other feels selfish and horrible for hurting the other, and nothing will ever, ever be the same.
Because now there's this fact between you: one of you, for whatever reason, did something. Whatever it was. With someone else. And it wasn't cool. You didn't have an agreement. You didn't have permission. You didn't talk about it. You didn't even hint there was a problem, if there was one, or that anything was missing.
And that fact will cancel out all the trust and innocence of your relationship, and it will be weeks, months, years before even a semblance of that can be regained. Every argument you have after that will circle back to that fact, as inescapable as the truth you couldn't tell.
You'll see the ugly mess for what it was: a cry for attention, a need for excitement. A selfish desire for something you thought you couldn't/weren't/shouldn't get at home. A self-fulfilling prophecy that you aren't worth the love you have. Or that you married the wrong person. Or whatever Dr. Phil fill-in-the-blank psychobabble you attribute to what is plain selfishness and stupidity. You'll look in the mirror and see what a selfish prat you've been.
And when the person you love, your husband, your wife, comes into the mirror with you, to hug you from behind, you won't be able to look them in the eye anymore. Becuase you're afraid of what you'll see there. You've hurt someone you vowed to love and honor, and you didn't. For some reason, you couldn't.
If you're lucky, they'll forgive you. You might go to therapy, couples counseling. You may even only discuss it on occasion when you have the inevitable arguments -- you're still married after all, and arguments are a given. You might discuss is every day for the next five years. You might not talk about it at all. In fact, you might not talk about anything at all again.
In the end, no matter what passion or thrill or excitement you felt, it all turns to shit in the end, and you're left with less than what you began with: a relationship with a problem, and you with something you need to work through. And this time, you don't have them next to you to help.
In the end, you're alone.
posted by Gina at 8:59 AM
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