Dear Heartbroken,
Hurrah for Christian zealots, always there to lend a hand to those—the colonized and the cuckolded—ravaged by the effects of their ideologies. There are innumerable infidelity survival Web sites with a homespun infomercial flair run by religious types, and some, like After the Affair, appear non-denominational until you throw down 10 bucks to download their book.
To me, one of the fundamental flaws of the Christian approach is the categorical demonizing of lust. From the download: “People fall into lust, they do not fall into love. Love builds and protects, lust seduces and destroys. Love is long-suffering and behaviour-oriented, lust is fickle and emotionally oriented. Stay away from lust.” In the same way that penicillin does not discriminate against any bacteria in its quest to kill just one, they make an absolute enemy of carnality, even within the context of marriage. The expectation and theory is that the satisfaction you gain from your relationship with your spouse is beyond lust, and that the expression of lust is inherently wrong. Not only does this belie the complexity of affairs and why people have them—to say nothing of underscoring the importance of lust—it also requires that a person feel profoundly guilty about their actions and when a person feels guilty, they tend to lie about the intricacies of their experience, both to themselves and to their partner.
Several years ago, I was in a relationship with a chronic cheater who also had the awesome habit of having unprotected sex with people in high-risk groups. My personal journey went a little like this: after the discovery—actually, more the confirmation—I cracked open a bottle of Jagermeister. Then I called my friend Kate. “Get over here,” I said, “and bring lots of cigarettes. Like, a French amount.” Then I took the first of 1,000 baths. (Can’t get clean, must remove layers of skin with dirty penis marks on them.) When Kate arrived, she lit a smoke for both of us, looked at me as she put one between my fingers, and said with great intention, “So what do you want to do?” I got the feeling that anything, including castration by nail clippers, was on offer, but I chose tapas and tattoos.
Extravagant apologies were issued upon being caught, oddly mingled with denials (ie. “I’m so sorry you think I’m an asshole”). Since I wasn’t interested in spending my life policing and reforming someone’s sexual and emotional incontinence, I chose to leave the relationship immediately. Mostly, I kept thinking, “What kind of crazy-ass person does this to a woman with a sex column?” Am I still angry? Put it this way: I’m not entirely sure I won’t shove the fucker under a bus if no one’s looking, but holy shit, do I ever follow up on my instincts now.
Without a doubt, the revelation of infidelity can be a poisonous feeling to carry around. You wonder what the point of promises are when they’re only used to mask self-seeking behaviour. The truth is, Heartbroken, by mere virtue of its task, it is hard to find truly uplifting help after the fall. What kind of wonder panacea or advice can still the myriad feelings that come with uncovering infidelity—rage, jealousy, sadness, self-pity, fear, insecurity, revenge and betrayal, to name just a few? You may find online message boards bitter to the point of distaste, their only comfort the realization that you are not alone.
The way you deal with this is entirely up to you. Are you prepared to look at infidelity and life changes from different perspectives? If so, then have a look at some of the self-help books dealing with divorce and relationships they have on the Toronto Women’s Bookstore Web site (www.womensbookstore.com), or call them for suggestions at 1-800-861-8233.
