Posts Tagged ‘unfaithful husbands’

I must be beginning to heal … or, at least for today I’ve managed to work up a good head of indignation at the betrayal that has brought the end of my marriage.

One reason for breaking our family, out of the very few that my husband has managed to share with me, is that I was working too hard and not paying enough attention to him. 

Now, even though I could have some empathy for that as a reason to begin to distance oneself from a spouse, I can’t fathom that process happening without some discussion, but there was nary a word from Mark other than the occasional complaint that my dinner was getting cold as I was trying to post or that I wasn’t paid nearly enough for the number of hours I dedicated to my work.

If this work I poured so much of my soul into was without soul, if, perhaps, I was consumed by fluctuating money markets or with attending constantly to a process designed to grow more and more money for myself in an endless game of greed, I might also have some compassion for a mate who felt ignored by aggressive avarice.

The fact is, however, that through the adoption of our children I became a passionate advocate for international adoption. The millions of children without  families in the world are for the most part a voiceless lot, and given that there are no few people in the world very vocal about seeing to keeping these kids sentenced to a short life of misery under a banner misleading reading “Cultural Genocide” or something equally shortsighted or self indulgent, lending my efforts to remind that there are other sides to that coin with miraculous results seemed an effort worth pursuing and pursuing vigorously.

I personally know of a dozen kids who have wonderful families now whose shift from hopeless forever to chances and opportunities and love can be directly traced to my work.

I’m not trying to pull any “Saint” shirt on over my head with this, but it sure does piss me off that my husband, father to our two Cambodian-born children, has taken my work, my passion for the world’s orphans, my dedication, and turned it into an excuse for leaving our family for the Blow Job Queen of Trashland … fat face, big tits and all.

I think this just might mean I’m getting better.

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It isn’t simply that I am eating misery, and little else, for breakfast, lunch and dinner these days, but also that it is eating me.


From the moment I gain consciousness in the morning, the awareness that the fact that the life I had been living so happily is over, gone for good, forces itself down my neck and I snack on that revolting bile in a day-long venture in hell. I keep waiting for it to slack off, but that hasn’t started happening yet, and although somedays are less densely packed with anguish and anxiety, many come with the full force of the first minutes.


I am more able to see the weak links in my husband that led to his total and complete betrayal, but remain baffled by the turnaround, its speed and its cruelty, and my lack of understanding may be part of what is blocking my healing.


The “How could he do this to me and our family?” question haunts on a minute-to-minute basis, and although on some level I realize that his horrid choices and worse behavior have nothing to do with me, it’s seems only womanly to attempt to find some blame to carry on my shoulders.


What it is about us, the females of our species, that needs to claim faults not ours, to apologize for foibles merely human, to gather guilt over the fact that humans age and occasionally lose focus and are sometimes not in the chipperest of mind sets? Where does it come into our consciousness that it is our responsibility to keep the ship afloat, to be ever-vigilant, to anticipate every reaction to any action; then to look inwards for our failure when our men decide that all their thinking will be done with their little heads, not their big heads, and that nothing else matters in any case?


Because Mark was so good at giving the impression that he was the happiest married man on earth, wedded to his best friend, continually conversing on every topic … except, of course, the one that was mattering the most to him at the time; how to keep his girlfriend happy … I am still reeling from the shock of my supposedly solid ground suddenly falling away.


Should I have seen this coming, even though he freely admits that he gave no hints, no clues, no reason for suspicion? Or is this just another way I beat myself up?


I know that it’s grief I’m dealing with and that there is no short road away from it. Getting on with my life, moving along, adjusting, are all goals, but it is consuming, from the hole in my heart, to the steady diet of regrets, to the loss of so much hope and so many dreams, I can’t yet see what will be left of me.

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Being an activist and a “take charge” kind of woman, a lunch yesterday with two of my friends here has me fired up and chomping at the bit to get something going.


Both of these woman are beautiful, funny, talented, dedicated woman, and both are married to men who screw around … a lot. Their husband’s haven’t completely bailed, yet, and the women have been reticent to kick their sorry asses out of the house because … well, because they have kids, families they hope to hold together by their fingernails, and also because they have been so undermined by the processes their spouses put them through that their self-images have suffered terrible blows.


Given my present circumstance, and my past, as well, I am sick and tired of finding myself and so many other admirable women mired in misery and feeling alone with it.


I am now seriously contemplating starting a club here: The Fabulous Women With Philandering Husbands Club. (Or possibly, reducing the last bit to “crap husbands”.)


I’m imagining the force such a collection of determination, a sharing of experiences, a system of mutual support might generate, and the fallout from such a group. For one thing, I can envision a large contingent, dressed to the nines, descending on one of the more popular night spots where cheaters and whores congregate and the palpitations that could cause. And simply the fact that we would be public about our personal dramas instead of hiding ourselves away as if the fact that our husbands are slimy cheaters is somehow our fault might actually have one or two of the men experience just a bit of appropriate shame over their behavior, rather than the chest-puffing that comes along with thinking they and their friends know something we don’t know.


One of my lunch companions said, when I mentioned this, “Well, everyone I know would want to join.” That, sadly, is a statement on the acceptability of unfaithfulness of men here … and perhaps everywhere … but it might also cause some pause for thought among some who are contemplating infidelity.


After all, how much fun could it be to know that once a week your wife gets together with her friends, compares notes and info and laughs their head off at how incredibly stupid you are and how trashy and used your ego-boosting blow job queen really is?


“Her? Oh, yeah. My husband did her a couple of months ago and thought it was love, too.”


Just a thought at the moment, but there seems to be support for the idea rallying. I’ll put out a press release locally if I can manage to pull this off, and I’m betting we get quite the response. As small as Seychelles is, it could become quite difficult very fast for any guy to get away with much without someone knowing and passing along the info. A little fear in the heart does no man any harm. 


There is power in information and in numbers, and no reason in the world for all of us dealing with this to suffer in silence and alone. This added as yet another consequence of irresponsible and selfish acts sounds good to me.



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