Summary

A man grapples with the cognitive dissonance of infidelity after 18 years of marriage, ultimately seeking therapy and reconciling with his wife.

Abstract

The author of the article describes his experience of cheating on his wife of 18 years with a new band member, Stephanie, during the first lockdown. He details the internal conflict and mental gymnastics he employed to justify his actions, including creating a false narrative of being divorced. The affair led to a significant toll on his mental health, resulting in feelings of guilt and self-deception. After confessing to his wife, who was not entirely surprised, they engaged in intense discussions and decided to seek help. The man is now in therapy, has ended the affair, and is working on his marriage with the help of a marriage counselor. He reflects on the complexity of human behavior and the realization that anyone is capable of infidelity, a concept he once vehemently opposed.

Opinions

The author initially believed he was not the type of person to cheat, highlighting a common misconception about infidelity.
He acknowledges the powerful allure of a new relationship and the contrast it presented to his long-term marriage.
The author expresses a deep sense of guilt for betraying his wife's trust and for the joy he felt with his lover.
He views his behavior as a form of self-deception, indicating a struggle with his self-image and personal values.
The man's wife is portrayed as understanding and empathetic, despite the betrayal, and is instrumental in encouraging him to seek professional help.
The author has a newfound understanding of the complexities of human nature and the potential for anyone to experience infidelity.
He recognizes the ongoing challenge of forgiving himself and reconciling the part of him that he now despises.

This Is How I Dealt With the Cognitive Dissonance of Cheating

It happened after 18 years of marriage

I’m not advocating for cheating, but now I recognize it can happen to anyone. I cheated, and, of all things, it started during the first lockdown. I didn’t expect it, nor did my lover, and, in hindsight, my wife feared it.

To give you a bit of context, my wife and I had been together for 22 years (18 years of marriage) when it started. I’ve been playing music, as a hobby, for even longer. During the first lockdown, my band kept on practicing. A new musician joined, we’ll call her Stephanie, and it was love at first note for us. We were in tune, two solo players so harmoniously interacting that the rest of the band stood forgotten in the background.

The musical connection evolved into a physical and spiritual one. We started, for lack of a better word, playing each other. And I started lying to my wife about additional rehearsals allegedly to cope with the mental burden of lockdown.

First, I Didn’t Recognize Myself

Cognitive dissonance refers to “the mental discomfort that results from holding two conflicting beliefs, values, or attitudes.”I held them all.

I was married and cheating on my wife. I valued honesty and lied to her continuously. I believed I wasn’t the type of guy that cheats, and, yet, here I was, having sex with someone else; even worse, making love with someone else.

It’s a curious thing to feel guilty about being happy.

Going to meet with Stephanie, I felt, of course, more alive than ever in the last ten years. It was new and passionate; how could it compare with almost 20 years of marriage? The intensity of this new beginning contrasted too much with the serene strength of my marriage. I was fascinated and couldn’t resist Stephanie’s appeal.

Yet, I felt torn apart. Joy made me feel light as a feather and gave me wings, but guilt put on a cast of lead around my feet.

The rare times I gathered enough willpower to look at myself in the mirror, I was too conscious of my literal and figurative two-facedness. I lied to both, and I loved both of them.

I was adrift, floating in between these two reflections, continuously hovering from one side of the mirror to the other and back. My mental state was mimicking my back-and-forth between the two women of my life.

Then, I Pretended to Be Divorced

It was the only way I found to resolve the dissonance.

Each time I was closing the door to my apartment to go to my lover, I would tell myself, “Our marriage is over; I’m divorced. I can do what I want. I can meet with Stephanie.”

It was a mantra I kept on repeating, going from one apartment to the other. The 15-minute walk served as a physical and spiritual airlock. Walking helped me transit from one life to another.

Upon leaving Stephanie’s home, I would recite the opposite mantra. “Our affair is over; I will never see Stephanie again. I’m a married man, and my wife is the love of my life.”

With these mantras, I was trying to hypnotize myself. I attempted to trick my brain into thinking I was a decent man, not a deceitful husband and lover. The trick kept me sane enough, on the surface. At a deeper level, a trench was forming in my mind. I experienced a sort of dissociation. My two lives embodied into two selves looking at each other from each side of the trench.

They were looking at each other because they were too afraid to look into the trench.

Finally, I Cried for Help and Went to a Therapist

I told my wife.

She somehow knew. She expected it to happen for a few years now. She had seen our relationship change but didn’t have the energy to correct course. She listened to the tiredness in my voice and heard with sadness its echoes in hers. She tasted my bitterness but didn’t have any more of this sweet honey we could savor for hours at length in the first years of our marriage.

We talked, cried, and raged. These words adapted from Dylan Thomas say it all.

We didn’t go gentle into that fight, Old marriage should burn and rave at close of day; Rage! Rage against the dying of love.

As much as I couldn’t live with the allegro of Stephanie’s music, I hated the idea that my love for my wife would flicker and die.

I can’t fathom how my wife found the strength to help me. She listened to the turmoil of my thoughts. She didn’t judge and didn’t shame; she showed empathy instead. She told me I should take a break from everything and see a therapist, someone that would help me sort out my thoughts and emotions.

Here I’m, Today

Fast-forward half a year, I’m in therapy and made tremendous progress (my words, my therapist would say good progress). I ended my affair with Stephanie, and I’m still with my wife. We’re also going to a marriage counselor together.

The cognitive dissonance is still there. That’s why I usually think, “I’m again with my wife,” instead of “I’m still with my wife.” There’s a difference. “Again” means I’m acknowledging the interruption. I was unequivocally with her for 20 years. Then, for six months, I’ve been in a quantum state with and without her at the same time.

Now, I’m again unequivocally with her. But I’m changed. Ten years ago, I would have solemnly condemned cheating by anyone in any form; that was my belief back then, and it was a strong one. Now, I recognize cheating can happen. I loathe I did. I hate that it happened to my wife, and even more so that I was the one to do it to her.

My wife is incredible, and she will forgive me if she hasn’t already. I’m not sure I’ll be able to forgive myself. There’s a part in me I don’t love and wish were not there. That’s another cognitive dissonance with which I need to deal.