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She’s having an “emotional affair” …..
24 Oct 2007 by Rod Smith in Affairs, Anger, Attraction, Betrayal, Boundaries, Communication, Differentiation, Difficult Relationships, Family, Triggers, Trust, Victims / 12 Comments
“My wife is having an ‘emotional affair’ with a best friend who spends more time with her than I do. He hears more about her life than I do, and is closer to her than I am. I watch this happening and over time it gets more and more intense and I am supposed to be calm because it is a close friendship. We have children, a house, and careers: a lot to give up for this ‘friendship’ that carries none of the responsibilities of the marriage. Am I supposed to stand by patiently or blow it all out of the water? Please help.” (Condensed, with permission, from a conversation)
Join your wife when she spends time with her friend. While it might be a tall order, I’d suggest you get to know him, offer also to be a friend to this apparently lonely man. Push the friendship to the limit. It will expose motives, and either re-unite you with your wife, or have you picking up after a divorce. To push, to question, and to join them (especially unexpectedly) when they are together (since she is your wife and they are “just friends” you do not need an invitation to or permission to join them), is your only way to escape the anguished limbo you are currently feeling – and it will offer you the potential to regain emotional intimacy with your wife.
AIr your views, please...
About the Author: Rod Smith
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Verbal log-jam
When I was a boy I’d endlessly practice the fluent delivery of my name but it seldom flowed easily from my lips. As if it was new news to me, adults pointed out my stutter. Perhaps they thought I was beginning, at that precise moment, for the first time in my life to spit from the mouth, twist at the neck, jig my head back and forth trying to expel some inane statement log-jammed between my gut and my throat.
Idiots – always adults, children were surprisingly patient, – would make me repeat sentences as if a repeat performance of the humiliating uncoordinated gesticulations, my arms and legs flying in all directions, would make for an easier delivery the second time. That I’d just spent every ounce of energy trying to cough it up was lost on them. That I was already thoroughly humiliated was something to which they were blind.“Practice, practice,” they’d say as if stutterers simply didn’t speak enough. “Think before you speak. Now – try that again,” they would declare slowly and loudly as if I was stupid and deaf. These thoughtless people were ignorant of just how much stutterers do think. Too much – which is central to the issue!
If I’d known at twelve or thirteen that the day would come when I’d make a career of public speaking I might have strolled off a high-rise building.
Now it is quite easy to hide. I am very comfortable with crowds.
It’s asking driving directions or ordering food at a drive through where it gets tricky. Sitting in a cozy circle waiting for my turn to introduce myself sends my blood-pressure through the roof. The ticket attendant on the London underground can render me dumb after I’ve just spent days addressing a room full of graduate level adults about Family Systems Theory. I know. It sounds ridiculous.
I was almost immobilized the first time I saw Thulani put himself “on duty” in the event he needed to be my mouthpiece. He did it. No one asked him or appointed him. He just did it.
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Life in our beloved 122
If the inside of a house (outside, too, I suppose) is a metaphor of the lives of the people who live in it – which is something I once read somewhere – gosh, are we in trouble. Our house is a mess.
I consistently clean it room by room, thinking often of the legend that the Golden Gate Bridge that says there’s some guy constantly painting it. I feel for him. While I am sure the view is wonderful I must believe that the poor guy whose doing it daily from one end to the other must find the wind and the weather quite a challenge.
Our house is the same, but instead of painting from end to end and back again, I am the guy constantly cleaning, – and, it’s hard to tell.
Where I cleaned and swept and dusted and vacuumed and sponged and sterilized yesterday there are scooters and bicycles (boys), mail in piles (me), books (boys and me), newspapers (me), magazines (me), and socks (boys and Max, the Chihuahua).
Turn my back and the boys and Max are at it again – enjoying life as boys (and a dog) while I find being a cleaning lady quite an exhausting challenge.
There is a point of no return, I’ve noticed, or at least a point of the chaos where I feel compelled to let it all go for a while and I throw up my hands and join in the fun of trashing the place.
But when I clean I like to think I’m just like the guy painting the Bridge, which I can only imagine must be a slow and methodical task.
I do it room by room, starting at one end, the front, in the event that I soon lose interest – then, at least, the front room is somewhat in order. I push it (trash, magazines, books, socks, clothes) all back from the living room, through the piano room, then into the TV room until everything lands up in the kitchen.
Once it hits the kitchen I separate out what’s Max’s – he’s has his own set of toys with which he ruins the house – what’s Nate’s, what’s Thulani’s, and what can be recycled, dumped, restacked on bookshelves, placed in drawers, hung on a hanger, or filed in the “important documents” file I keep losing.
We moved into “122” (creatively named for its street number and which has had very few updates since it was built in 1886) when Thulani was about two – and I have been getting it in order ever since. Nate joined us in 2002. Max, in 2009. The house- attachment, at least for the boys and Max, is strong. When I talk of selling Thulani reminds me that Rhino, the husky that was on the run for nine months and returned to die within a few weeks after we reconnected, is buried in an Air France first class cabin blanket just outside of the kitchen door. Nate reminds me of where the fat goldfish is buried and Thulani ends the litany with his inability to think of living in a house without the large tree in the front yard where he has his brother (and Max) have “peed like boys” (and a dog) for the past several years.
So. I’ll go on painting and, before you send me letters about giving the boys chores and responsibilities and assigning daily tasks and getting on top of it before it gets on top of me let me advise that you are barking up the wrong tree (sorry, Max for the dog metaphor) because we do have all that in place and it does work here and there and off and on.
I know, I know. Consistency is the name of the game for parenting and let me tell you, the ONLY thing that is consistent here is the need to keep going room by room with or without the boys (and Max) to get this little bridge painted one stretch at a time so the world can see just how organized and decent our lives are here at our beloved “122.”
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Being a white South African can come with complications
Being a white South African reared under Apartheid is no simple matter. It permeated everything for me. While I do not pretend to have been a political activist, I was always cognizant that my privileges, simply a result of being born white, were unmerited, and most unfair especially when enjoyed at the expense of others who were not. I think this unsettling truth (for I took advantage of my station in life) was somewhat of a companion to me from the age of about six or seven.
I am regularly aware that:- I was discouraged from playing soccer in the “front” yard (in view of the neighbors) with the servant’s children. While this may seem insignificant in the light of other much more severe problems rising from racism, it was huge for me as a child on several fronts. I loved the children and I loved soccer even more. They were excellent soccer players.
- I did attend a segregated school as did almost all white South Africans while there did exist some church schools that were integrated even under Apartheid. I vividly recall my school principal scolding the entire student body (over a thousand white boys) because a domestic worker (a black adult man) was seen walking in the neighborhood wearing a school blazer.
- Although, by no means wealthy, I was waited on hand and foot by a full-time servant.
- In the late 80s I was warned not to pray publicly for Prisoner “Nelson” Mandela from my church pulpit.
- A member of my family did balk at my request that I bring black children to his home-swimming pool to swim.
- Even as late as 1987 I was embarrassed that a young black boy whom I’d “helped” in his squatter camp had shown up at my door unannounced. I recall wondering what the neighbors would think seeing a child arriving at the home for a social visit and not to work in the yard.While I am aware that these are piddly problems in the light of what millions faced under the Apartheid regime, I am also aware that these factors in my immediate environment “shaped” me into believing perverse things (like in my own superiority and in “their” inferiority) about persons of other race groups. More significantly, I am frequently reminded that my children and I could not have shared life as we now do if we were still living in the era of Apartheid.
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Location, location – remembering winter in August
We live very close to our school and church, so close we can hear the school bell from our kitchen and the church bells in my bedroom.
Sometimes we walk to both and we don’t see the car for days.
I like it. I like not having to get in and out of the car. I like not having to negotiate traffic, something as synonymous with life in the USA as Disney, Fast Food, and the Fourth of July.
That’s the upside.
We are a 10-hour-drive to the nearest coast – and, most of the east coast beaches are not worth the drive. The west coast, which has many wonderful beaches comparable to where I was reared, takes three full days of driving to reach.
Being landlocked is one thing but another is the weather. Indiana weather is erratic, neurotic, and downright psychotic.
Days ago I could’ve (but I didn’t) ice-skated across the street. Now, as I write, there’s a small lake in the street next to the sidewalk from last night’s rain. The weather is so brutal and extreme (it is as hot as blazes in the summers) that when we do drive anywhere (there are no grocery stores in walking distance) the streets are often full of potholes making some of America’s finest suburban streets resemble stretches of road you’d find in a rural stretch of South Africa’s Wild Coast. So, I am exaggerating but really not too much. Washington Boulevard is a challenge to drive right now, you have got to dodge potholes and loose pavement or, unless you drive a tank, you stand to severely damage your suspension.
But I do love living here. My neighbors are some of my best friends. My children are free and safe in the neighborhood and everyone knows everyone’s children. Even as I write Joseph (born a week or so before Thulani) from down the street has wondered into the house and it is quite likely he will eat with us, stay the night, and then wander down back down the street to his home sometime in the morning. His mom and I will talk sometime between now and nightfall unless he of course chooses to wonder off home and be gone just as quickly as he showed up.
Potholes and crazy weather won’t send us running, although we will drive to church in the morning – even though it is really close. I’m not sure I want to brave the elements which could be a snow-storm, an ice storm, the threat of a tornado – or a little or a lot of each. What else could you expect during March in Indiana?
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Ready to adopt?
If you wait until you are ready to adopt a child you never will because you will never be ready. The baby, and only the baby, will make you ready. Reading the right books will be helpful, but “ready” magically comes upon you when a real baby is sleeping in your arms or crying in the middle of the night. If you are not ready to change diapers – and I always am amused at the big deal about this non-issue – being unprepared will last only as long as a clean diaper. Of course you can go baby-stuff-shopping, get a room painted, stencil yellow ducks on the wall – if you know long enough in advance your child is coming. But painting a bedroom with ducks and rainbows and a pot of gold, and getting a truck load of stuff from your local one-stop baby emporium will only fill your home with a lot of weird and wonderful, and mostly unnecessary, equipment.
Children interrupt everything. It is the child who is really ready to teach you, whether you are or not. Once he arrives he will become the hub of all your scheduling. You will be fine with this because the child is not an interruption to your life but rather, from this point on, central to it.
The baby will make you ready and you can’t really prepare for the baby until he is breathing in the crib right next to your bed.
Life inside the Smith household
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12 Comments
lisamm
Sounds like a good way to force her hand.
24 Oct 2007 08:10 am
tobeconfirmed
I agree – these “emotional affairs” can drive a wedge into a marriage, even if there is no intention from one partner to leave the other. Sharing more with your wife (including sharing this friend) may actually give her what she is looking for from you.
25 Oct 2007 04:10 am
tobeme
Perfect answer! The truth will be revealed, one way or the other.
25 Oct 2007 04:10 pm
fallen
I am a victim of emotional affairs. My spouse brought him home from work to become friends of the family. He started coming for lunch when I was at work. I came home and found my wife on the phone with him. All this became constant. I checked phone bills and the calls were approx 10 per day. Meeting after work became out of control. Emails were found describing how close they were and they were thriving in it and trading “I love you’s”. Secrecy and lying became the norm. I tried to let this go. I gave my wife a year to end it. All communication supposedly stopped because of my threats to put an end to it. She still misses him.
It is a hurdle that keeps us from moving forward.
31 Oct 2007 10:10 am
Osolep
I was going through something similar with my wife. I decided that I would spend more time hanging around when they were together. This worked wonderfully, and her best friend has become my best friend. One thing that I noticed was that the man that she was with was quite similar to me and we could share conversation well. It is also good to spend some time with this individual when you wife is not around to see what kind of person he is like.
02 Nov 2007 05:11 pm
Rod E. Smith, MSMFT
… you have done exactly what I was suggesting. If there is nothing to hide your presence will be welcomed. If there’s stuff to hide you will soon know and the journey will be somewhat forced to move in an alternative direction.
Thanks for reading and responding to my work. Your involvement is always appreciated.
Rod Smith
03 Nov 2007 08:11 am
Glenn Debard
My wife (of 15 years), and my best friend (friend for over 45 years), had an affair. One that grew into a sexual one for over 5 years. I finally woke up and realized what had happened, albeit 2-3 years after the fact. Now, I find myself in a situation that involves: 1. Do I confront both my wife and my friend…2. Tell all about their affair, to my friends wife, to suggest to her we do the same in retaliation. I know that it never is smart to retaliate in this manner, as it really only creates a much larger problem. However, living with the knowledge all by myself is becoming increasingly difficult. I have been betrayed by not only my best friend, but also by my wife, who I love very deeply. At this juncture, she seems to be unaware that I know what occurred…and does not seem to be remorseful enough to ask for forgiveness. Of course, why would she? It makes more sense to deny at all costs.
09 Nov 2007 07:11 pm
Mo
My wife is having a purely platonic secret emotional affair with an old boy friend. I am not supposed to know about their frequent e-mails and phone calls, but I have found out. Now she has lied to me and told me that she “just” reconnected with him when she met him in town, and they had not seen or spoken to each other for many years. He lives out of town. I know that they share an emotional bond and level of communication that appears to be missing from our marriage.
Should I confront her? Should I forgive her? I am at a loss.
12 Nov 2007 03:11 pm
erin
Hey, I am a 24 year old woman, who’s mother just went throught the same thing your going through. however her battle with her husband (MY FATHER) is now ending with devorce after 32 years. This “friendship ” was created over a few years. And eventually became more then a friendship. Its not fair because my mother would have done anything for that man.. its just wrong. I hope you get everything figgured out. My thought are with you.
27 Nov 2007 01:11 pm
sandra
that’s the first time I’ve herd of am emotional affair intresting topics on this site..
27 May 2008 07:05 pm
kaye
I am on the other side of the fence… I’m the one having an emotional affair… I have met a man some 5 years ago and spent one afternoon with him, having drinks at a hotel bar… we’ve kept in touch ever since, building an incredibly deep relationship that completely avoids any and all discussions about our significant others; he is my best friend and he lives 8 hours away from me. Not too far to meet here and there, but it never was about us hooking up although we are both incredibly attracted to each others’ personalities. We don’t exchange any pictures, we don’t talk about what-ifs…………………….. My marriage has fallen apart for reasons other than my extreme friendship (i want to have a family, my still-husband doesn’t again, he has two kids from previous marriage) and for the first time some four months ago, I told my friend that I’ve been married for the last three years. He, for the first time told me that he was engaged when him and I met, that he went thru with the wedding and that his marriage ended with a divorce last fall because his ex wanted a child and he did not – with her. He put the cards on the table and said he’s always had me in mind……… I realized that I’ve loved my best friend all along……………………………………………….. feel free to judge me – but here’s the lesson: I wouldn’t in a million years give up my friend for my husband, so if you find your wife being hesitant, she’s in my boat. And probably, happier with him than you. It happens.
14 Mar 2009 02:03 pm
Mindy
Its people like you that drive me mad. my husband had an emotional affair with a girl from work a few years back. I was suffering post natal depression at the time and it started when he leant on her for support... when in fact I was the one who could have done with the support from him. Nothing physical happened but it caused a great wedge between us and almost caused our marital breakdown. Every time he switched his phone on he had messages from her and she would ring him on his way home from work even though they had been on lunch together and seen each other at work all day. She had a boyfriend of her own and my child was 10 months old when this started to happen. I eventually found him at her house - when he was supposed to be out on business and told him it had to stop. He said they had become really "close". It nearly destroyed me. My husband and I had always been extremely close as a couple and this girl knew exactly what she was doing..... I met her whilst pregnant and it was obvious she was after my husband....
In the end I told him he had to choose, me or her. He chose me and we are still together as a family and he still works with her but it still haunts me now, it caused me an unbearable amount of pain, especially given we had such a young child.
It's not difficult to stay faithful to someone whether emotionally or physically and if you want out from your partner that much, then go and let them get on with their lives and give them a chance to find happiness instead of just thinking of yourself!
11 May 2010 08:05 am
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