INFIDELITY, LIFE LESSONS

My Affair Cleared My Foggy Mind

How infidelity illuminated hard truths in my marriage

“I want a trip inside your head Spend the day there To hear the things you haven’t said And see what you might see” ~U2, Miracle Drug

Wanna understand how foggy my mind became while being married to a covert narcissist? Wanna take a glimpse at how my affair cleared away that fog?

Then take a trip inside my head.

People on Medium often chide me when they read about my affair. They equate the time I was involved in one with being in a fog. They say I wasn’t thinking clearly.

I understand how people can see it that way.

But the opposite was true for me. While in my marriage, my mind was a foggy mess. And the troubling part is I had no idea how cloudy my mind had become.

But my affair was a beacon.

A fog light.

It gave me insight. It made me pause and brought clarity to all the things that were so confusing in my marriage.

A fog machine

If you’ve ever seen the movie A Christmas Story, the main character Ralphie wants a Red Rider BB gun for Christmas. My marriage resembled the scene when he finally gets to sit on Santa’s lap and tell him he wants that gun.

As he’s placed on Santa’s lap, Ralphie becomes confused. Santa’s behavior isn’t matching his jolly persona. Ralphie’s mind gets foggy. He can’t remember what he wants.

And unfortunately, Santa isn’t patient. He wants to get on to the next kid and be done with the whole thing. He doesn’t care about what Ralphie wants. He only cares about his own needs. So he tells Ralphie what he thinks is best for him.

“How ‘bout a nice football?”

In the midst of his fog, Ralphie agrees. Although his mind spins with the thought, “Football? What’s a football?” he slowly nods and agrees.

Football. Sure, a football.

Santa knows best, right?

Like Santa, my former husband created a persona to hide who he really was. It seemed so genuine that I didn’t realize it was all a cover-up.

An act. A fog machine.

He always knew what was best

My ex was smart. He seemed jolly and confident. He seemed to have superior knowledge about what was best for the two of us.

So I deferred to him. I let him make many decisions, including ones involving money and sex. He decided how we’d spend our cash and when the hanky panky would happen. Whenever I tried to voice my opinion or spark something, he held his smarts over me or would disregard my advances. He’d defend and deflect.

He had a degree in finance after all. He understood these things. I didn’t.

He’d come to bed when it worked for him. And when he’d approach me, I’d be so starved for affection and intimacy that I took what I could get. I’d accommodate.

And every time I deferred or accommodated I gave a little more of my power away. And in losing my power, my self-worth diminished and my mind became foggy. I trusted the man in the suit rather than myself.

Over time, I lost sight of who I was and what I really wanted.

The disconnect of words not matching actions

Another piece of the fog puzzle was the disconnect between his words his actions. I was confused by how they didn’t match.

He would claim to be a man of his word. Because I was in such a mental fog, I trusted what he said. I kept wanting to believe that he’d take care of the things he said he would.

Problem was, he never really did take care of things. He’d procrastinate and rarely followed through with what he said he’d do.

Yet each time he’d say he’d take of something, I’d believe that this time would be different. This time he’d follow through. I wanted to believe he was the giving, helpful Santa he pretended to be. But instead, I was left scrambling to pick up the pieces of the things he said he’d do but never did.

Lack of skin time and intimacy

My former husband told me early on that he wasn’t into PDA. Turns out that not only was he uncomfortable with public displays of affection, he also had difficulty with private ones and intimacy as well.

I’d playfully tease him, try to kiss him and he’d turn his face so I’d end up kissing his cheek. He wanted to sit in separate chairs when we watched a movie together. He avoided conversions of any depth.

Sex was more of an act than a bonding. We’d never connect anything but the necessary body parts. I’d want to caress him and be caressed in return. I’d want to dive deeper — to talk dirty and connect intimately and playfully — but he’d shut it down.

And never once did he spoon me. Not ever.

When we’d finish, an invisible line formed on our mattress.

His side and my side. Don’t cross that line.

I’d curl myself around him as he’d lay there stiff as a board, waiting for me to get back to my side of the bed.

And in my foggy, mixed-up head, I blamed myself. I felt ashamed for my thirst for intimate talk. I felt undesirable. I felt unlovable.

I felt like I was on Santa’s naughty list.

The marriage messages

Beyond his behavior, a couple of marriage messages messed with my head as well — messages like “marriages are hard work” and “everyone has problems in their marriage.”

I mistook what was going on in my marriage for hard work while in reality, it was suffering. The problems in my marriage were more than problems. They were impossibilities. Certain things were never going to work. But I didn’t know it at the time. I was in the fog of what I didn’t know.

Enter stage right, Mr. Affair

I have two friends to blame for my affair.

Not really, of course. But it all started with conversations about a man at their workplace. They respected and admired him. They called him their work husband.

Every time they talked about him a cord was struck inside me. Something about him just resonated.

I’d think to myself, “Stop talking about him!”

But the more I heard, the more I wanted to get to know him. I was drawn to him because it sounded like we shared so many of the same values. He was the type of man I wanted in my life.

He did what he said he’d do. He was patient and listened. He communicated directly.

We happened to meet one time and started talking. His marriage sounded a lot like mine. We commiserated. A friendship developed.

Then one day, we crossed that line.

And in experiencing the way we could talk to each other — the way he’d listen to me and the way his words matched his actions — I learned that a relationship could be so much different than the one I had.

Through my affair, I learned that a relationship could be about mutual understanding and meeting each other's needs. I learned it’s possible to have conversations without defensiveness and deflection. I learned that I was indeed desirable, lovable, and that sex could be playful.

And for the first time in my life, at age 48, I experienced the glorious feeling of being spooned.

Of being held.

My affair broke through the fog of my confusing marriage.

Seeing the light

I knew then I wasn't the problem. I was just married to the wrong person. I began to see his Santa costume for what it was — a cover-up. I began to see that his behavior wasn’t healthy. I began researching his traits. And that’s when I stumbled upon the term covert narcissism.

Suddenly everything that was confusing in my marriage made sense.

I was never going to have the relationship I desired with my ex because he simply wasn’t capable. He could never be intimate. He could never see anyone’s needs beyond his own. The motivation behind everything he did or said was about what worked for him.

The relationship I had with my affair partner was the type I longed for. This was the Red Rider BB gun I’d wanted all along.

The fog created by my covert narcissist ex convinced me I wanted a damn football instead.

A perfect storm

Being married to a covert narcissist was a perfect storm of underhanded manipulation and zero intimacy. Like Santa in that movie, his cover was to act jolly and giving. But it was an act; a fog created to hide what was under the costume.

And unfortunately, believing his costume was real lead to a loss of self-worth and trust in myself. This happened so slowly that I didn’t realize it was happening.

All I knew for sure was that something was off. I just couldn’t put my finger on it.

That, and I was very unhappy.

In learning more about covert narcissism, I found that it stems from unmet childhood needs. Knowing that there must be a crap ton of pain under the costume he wears, I have great compassion for him.

But I finally realized that just because I have compassion for him doesn’t mean I have to be in a relationship with him. Until he decides to heal the wounded child inside himself there’s little I can do.

My affair cut through the fog. It began the process of uncovering the Santa costume to reveal his truth.

And when the fog cleared away, I knew it was time to set the football aside and find the Red Rider gun I’d wanted all along.