Help I Am Secretly in Love with an Older Woman and My Wife Doesn’t Know

An honest reflection and an explanation of an unlikely affair

I know writing such a salacious title will immediately divide opinion; some of you will judge and read no further, some of you may want to stay to read all the gossip and then make up your mind. But write I must, and I must pour out my secret so that it can be that no more.

Often there comes a time when affairs of the heart need their oxygen; they need full disclosure to make sense of the magnitude and multitude of thoughts and feelings. Sharing my story will help me, but I hope others will benefit and appreciate what they have and can do.

There is no denying the loving feeling when we connect. I feel seen and heard.

Besides, earlier this week, Amy Shearn and Harris Sockel shared some gems during the Medium Creator workshop on How to Discover Your Writing Niche, “Writing can be a thought exploration.” I so relate and love that; with that knowledge in mind, explore I must.

Now before the essay title gets me into actual hot water and the story gets out of hand, let me explain there has been no physical interaction between the lady in question and myself; there never can and never will be. There have been no secret rendezvous or late-night phone calls or text messages, just letters and cards. My wife knows of her existence; she knows of the cards and letters and has read them herself on occasion.

But I suspect she does not know the depth of the emotional pull and tension that we hold between us. There is no denying the loving feeling when we connect; I feel seen and heard. But not for the reasons you may imagine; These reasons, I promise, will become more apparent below. Still, before I explain, I must continue to describe the connection as a secret because I am coming to terms with the reality and what the relationship between us means.

She is not the first or last person I think of each day, but I know it is always a delight to receive her letters

The lady in question is someone I have been writing to for over ten years, ever since my mum passed away. She is one of the few people I exchange handwritten cards and letters with. It is always a pleasure to read about her and her family; yes, she has a family too. But we can’t help it; we feel compelled to write to each other and share the news of our triumphs and struggles.

She is not the first or last person I think of each day, but I know it is always a delight to receive her letters. This in itself makes the connection special because so many of my interactions are on a computer, and while that is wonderful for the speed and the ability to connect instantly with people from all around the world. I find digital exchanges maintain a degree of separation behind a presented screen; they can sometimes feel very sterile and one-dimensional.

As writers, we know this all too well. We strive to connect with our audience, and we don’t share and publish our drafts but rather the edited and polished interpretations that show the best versions of ourselves. Inadvertently, we allow the fallacy of perfection to perpetuate if we choose not to be vulnerable!

When I think about where we are today, the most highly connected generation in our human history and yet we find ourselves chasing authenticity, battling against loneliness. I understand it is because we recognise it is not the numbers that count, but rather the quality and depth of our relationships and experiences.

Perhaps that’s why face-to-face interactions and non-digital communication always hold so much value because they provide a richer depth of connection with the opportunity to share non-verbal cues and a chance to witness in real time how best to navigate the messiness of dialogue.

A handwritten letter doesn’t provide the full messiness of dialogue but rather something else; a long protracted conversation allowing for thought and pro-longed anticipation that I can best describe as romantic and loving. Romantic because it honours and upholds centuries-old traditions and loving because it demonstrates someone has slowed down in today’s fast-paced society to trust and curate their thoughts on paper.

For me, that is a description of love, the sharing of our precious time with another. Ok, so maybe that’s too broad a definition. I imagine you could instantly argue sharing my time with my employer and or work colleagues is not because of love.

So what would be a better definition?

If you feel an emotional pull where you recognise joy, shared moments, memories, common values with another. Is that not love?

Or is it something else? Because in the above description, it is our time we give towards an individual or common happiness when we seek connection. We intrinsically and intuitively know our joy within ourselves to be beyond our daily thoughts and feelings?

I know the relationship I have with the lady in question is one of the eight types of love described in the Greek language (Philia), a deep friendship, but for some time, I have been trying to find the words to describe what love is. For obvious reasons, I have come up with a multitude of definitions. Each time I believe I have an answer, I find love shapeshifts and moulds to the presented context, whether it be people or the environment.

Love hides, cajoles, convinces, and compels us to take action in any one of its many forms. For that reason, I know it is more than a feeling but a constant daily practice where we must always ask, show our working out, and patiently wait for the answer.

The exchange of letters and sharing of experiences I know to be that practice, that is why I see the connection and bond we have through my dear mum is love.

I am forever grateful, and I am sorry to disappoint if you read this far, expecting excitement and drama with me describing a torrid affair.

Oh yes, so the lady, who has me writing and feeling this way. Well, she is my mum’s ex-work colleague. She was a senior maternity nurse who took my mum under her wing when she first started in the 1970s. Now in her 90’s, she is still very active. In our communication, one thing that has always struck me is how she writes. She writes acknowledging her blessings expressing her gratitude for her family and various aspects of her life.

Thank you, Trista Signe Ainsworth, for accepting and publishing this essay in your publication. I am super thrilled and excited to be part of Thank you Notes.

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