Whether it’s managing break-ups, tackling cheating or sharing stories of Tinder dates gone wrong; we’re here for it and we’re talking about it. This week, a Sunraysia Life writer shares their story of cheating for an insight into the other side of the relationship.
IT’S the topic of countless books and relationship blog posts, and I would wager it to have been the topic of many psychological studies; but we’re yet to discover the definitive answer to one of life’s big questions; why do people cheat?
Often, cheaters are stereotyped as men; reduced to the Hugh Grant archetype of a loose-tied flirt with alco- (or worka-) holic tendencies.
Someone who loves their family but just can’t get it together, so they shag someone else to really cement the fact that they’re the awful person they always felt they were.
But I’m here to tell you this just is not true. In fact, I’m as far from that as you could get.
I’m a young woman who is often described as kind-hearted, gentle, sensitive and quiet.
Socialising saps all my energy and flirting is my kryptonite.
But I still cheated and I know others like me who have as well.
While I can’t say exactly why us cheaters choose to commit that awful deed, I can give an insight into why I chose to.
My boyfriend and I had been dating for just over a year, and we’d taken the step to move in together.
He’d just scored a high-paying job in Melbourne’s corporate sector and I’d started the first semester of my dream degree.
Life seemed to be one big, exciting adventure.
In the weeks leading up to moving in, I’d had visions of what our life would be like together – nights watching movies with dinner in our laps, trips to the corner shop to get our groceries, weekends at the cafe below our apartment sipping latte and eating croissants.
Heck, maybe we’d even get a dog and take a holiday to Japan.
It sounds idealistic and, in retrospect, I realise it to be far too much so, but when the reality of cohabitation really hit us, things started to go pear-shaped.
For one, I was lumped with the cooking, washing, cleaning and general upkeep of the household, which was something I did not take to happily.
“If you need help, just ask,” he’d say.
I knew he meant well, but there were small quirks about my partner that made me start to resent him and I knew my mercurial moods weren’t framing me too favourably either.
On top of our disagreements, adult life was weighing us down. He’d be too tired after a long day at work to do anything other than play video games and the stress from my university work made me mentally vacant in any fun we tried to have.
I tried to work through it, to find a happy medium in our differences, but it wasn’t an easy task.
And while he had family and a network of friends, Melbourne offered me no safety net of support.
Yes, I knew the option of leaving was there, but without friends or family around to help me through it (and virtually no savings – thank you Austudy), it felt more like landing a triple axel blindfolded than a door I could just waltz through.
The real reason I decided to cheat, however, was that I came to the realisation that I’d loved my partner not for who he really was, but for the person I hoped he’d become.
For some reason, I hoped he’d change once we moved in together – a perfect blend of suit, domestic whizz and thinking woman’s crumpet. I know this was unfair and super harsh but, at the end of the day, my needs weren’t being met and emotional cheating became a method of self care.
I was seeking connection in any way I could and for that feeling of excitement that had faded into a feeling of dread and loneliness.
I’m not a soulless sociopath though. There were, of course, feelings of guilt – the knowledge that I was betraying the trust of someone who cared for me – but without a clear way out of our relationship and a looming loneliness I couldn’t deal with, cheating was what I saw as my only option.
Years have passed since then and I’ve had time to reflect on my decisions. To be frank, I don’t regret my choice to cheat. Simply because I believe there to be two kinds of cheaters – those who learn from their actions and those who do not.
I certainly did and now I will never love anyone for their potential, only for the person I know them to be, because that is what is right and fair for both of us.
I also now understand that relationships aren’t always perfect, they take real work and perseverance, and there will undoubtedly be rough patches that you need to work through together, as a team.
At the end of the day, cheating was a learning curve for me in many ways – in my development as a person and a partner, but it was also a wake-up call for my idealistic view of the world, the people in it and the way I had expected life to be.
