My husband didn't cheat on me while he was traveling for business last week. Or last month, or last year. In fact, he hasn't been unfaithful anytime during our nearly 8-year marriage or 11-year relationship. While some might find this remarkable, I don't. What's amazing to me is this: I believe our marriage would survive his betrayal.
I was thinking about this recently when Hillary Clinton was promoting her book and people once again questioned her decision to stay with her husband. How could she do it? How could she stand it? How could they go on?
I understand her choice. I even respect and admire it. Because once, I was forgiven.
It was nine years ago. Gary and I had bought our first home together -- though we weren't yet married -- and we quickly became cash-strapped. I felt trapped in a stressful job, while he was trying to build a freelance career. I was in my late 20s and already tired, scared, resentful.
Gary believes I was vulnerable, ripe for the picking by an opportunist with no respect for others. I've never been quite that willing to blame someone else for the choices I made, but I'll let you be the judge.
I worked with a younger man who reminded me that life can be fun, carefree even. He listened when I needed to talk. He held me when I needed to cry. When Gary was remote and unavailable, this co-worker was only too willing to be there for me.
I enjoyed the lightness, the flirtation, the attention. I did not enjoy the pain it caused Gary. But out of respect for him, I was honest about the fact that I thought I might be falling in love with someone else.
And Gary's response, without a doubt, turned that time into the most pivotal point in our relationship. He vowed to be a friend to me and to move our relationship forward, in whatever form it took. I quickly saw what I was risking and I have never forgotten, nor will I, how committed he was to us. Every day I am grateful for that gift, for his leap of faith, for his lesson of love. Without it, our marriage would not exist, nor would our son.
I don't mean to suggest that everyone should have affairs or forgive them. I just think that it's possible for relationships to be bigger than what happened one night, or even one summer.
Many disagree with me. I know because I heard their reactions to the choices Hillary Clinton made, choices which turned her into a prism for our fears about our own marriages.
No one wants to be left, physically or emotionally. And betrayal is an exit. But where's the door?
Do you walk through it when you look forward to seeing someone a little too much? When you share too many lunches? Too many confidences?
I have not touched another man since Gary and I married, nor will I. But I have felt, at times, that my closeness to others bordered on betrayal. And while I have never worried that he would be unfaithful, I have felt threatened by how intimate some of Gary's friendships are.
Why does he spend late nights on the phone with a friend or go out for a game of pool and to drink beer when he could be with us? Why does one of his favorite clients fly him back to North Carolina to work? Why can't I just be happy that he has such wonderful people in his life?
I know that none of these other relationships affect anything important between us. And if I forget, our wedding bands remind me. They are engraved with this vow (written by E.E. Cummings): "I carry your heart with me."
Long ago, I entrusted my heart to Gary, and I am incredibly fortunate that he was willing to give me a second chance with his.
This LifeFiles column originally appeared on about 70 TV station websites managed by Internet Broadcasting Systems.
Comments