I love your blog, but I am on the fence about staying or leaving. I am in recovery mode.
I follow several people on Twitter for and against reconciliation and today I was shocked to see the post from Rosie Joseph and Elle saying not to use the word “cheater.”
Why the fuck can’t I call a spade a spade? I do and he accepts that. While I am sucking the hopium pipe hard, why do they say be strong, but on the other hand say be a doormat?
I think they are taking Brittany Howard’s song Stay High a little too literally.
Thanks for your blog. Reading the devastating stories really helps me think more analytically about life.
Me: married 20 years, cockwomble had an affair with a bunny boiler. Expecting a surprise baby, hence my sitting on the recovery fence researching both sides.
This is not a research project, this is a crisis. Put down the magic markers and poster board and see a lawyer, if you haven’t already. Yes, even if you want to reconcile. (Although my blog is chockfull of bazillions of stories why you shouldn’t.) I’ll get to the jolly euphemisms in a moment — first order of business is PROTECT YOURSELF.
I can’t imagine the legal and emotional entanglements involved in supporting your husband’s love child, but I bet a bunch of readers here can. Don’t even THINK about reconciling without a post-nup and a credit report. And ask yourself — do you really want the OW to have a legal reason to be in your life for the next 18 years? And beyond?
I don’t know if you have minor children, but if it were me? I’d be first in line at that child support enforcement office.
You can stay mired with unicorns on Twitter, having Timid Forest Creature debates about “cheater” (The Toxic Shame! It hurts!) or you can start getting mighty. “Research” is just another word for “limbo.” You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, Patti. I’ve sucked the hopium pipe. Put it down.
Which brings me to euphemisms. Why Can’t We Say Cheater? Because it’s descriptive. And accurate. And if you want to reconcile, you have to able to do the mental gymnastics to overlook casual betrayal. Spin helps with that.
Ergo, it’s not “cheater” it’s “wayward.” (They have a GPS problem.) It’s not “lies of omission” it’s “trickle truth.” It’s not stonewalling, it’s “affair fog.”
The Reconciliation Industrial Complex has a host of stupid euphemisms to minimize abuse. You’re not going to eat the shit sandwich if they call it shit.
Speaking of shit, I’m really okay with euphemisms in other situations. Like, for instance, potty training. “Sweetie, do you need to go Number 1 or Number 2?” That works for me. Changing messy pants is bad enough, I don’t need the descriptors.
But when it comes to adult life, I want to go into situations fully armed with lucidity. I don’t need fuzzy language. I need the facts.
This is your goddamn life on the line. It was derailed by a cheater. Your husband, who did the cost-benefit analysis on getting his dick wet over your well-being. He voted for his dick. That’s a stone cold fact. And his affair had consequences — for you, the OW, and now an innocent child. And your children, if you have kids. (Hi! Let me introduce you to your dad’s secret! Sears portrait studio pix, anyone?)
Look, in the short-term, those euphemisms feel nice. They kind of dull the pain. Give you the loopy sense that maybe, just maybe, you could wrap your mind around this wayward-foggy-trickle situation and be okay with it. So long as you don’t think of the particulars. Or yourself.
Chump Lady is the cold bucket of water. The bitch slap. Nancy Reagan to your hopium. The voice that says CHEATER.
Free your mind, and the rest will follow.