The email was unexpected. After all, the couple, my clients for the past eight months, were doing well in their relationship and I had witnessed mutual concern for each other’s wellbeing.
Receiving news that the wife had discovered her husband was secretly meeting his mistress was a bombshell.
She had confirmed her suspicions with a “painfully forced” confession on his part. He then promised not to do it again and said he would fix everything. This last part had a sinister tone about it.
In the past when he felt there was nothing he could do to make things better, he would say something like, “It’s better that I am not around.” When I tried to clarify what he meant, he was evasive. I finally asked him if he meant suicide, and he nodded.
We scheduled a face-to-face counselling session soon after my email exchange with the wife. I was not sure if they would show up but both did. I dived straight into the fact that he had broken his promise to have no further contact with his mistress.
He looked grim and said little except to admit the continuing infidelity. He then said he would not leave home except to settle his affairs. He would even surrender all the digital devices he used to communicate with others. In short, he seemed to offer to put himself under “virtual house arrest”.
The wife’s response was not one of elation or even anger. She felt rather sad and helpless. She wondered if he really loved the other woman. If so, she would grant him a divorce as she could not live with a constant fear of another woman in the wings. He rejected her offer and said again that he would settle everything in due time.
It was then that I asked to speak with him privately. After some time, he admitted that since he could not make anyone who matters to him happy—his wife, his adult children, his siblings, and even the other woman—he should either end his life or just disappear.
After some silence, I told him, “You are a good man.” I then added, “You did not intend to hurt anyone when you started the affair, but you did. But because you are a man of values and principles, you want to do all you can to fix it.”
He felt that since he could not erase the pain he caused, he could perhaps make some amends in a financial way. He had worked hard and achieved much financial success, enabling him to provide well for his family and extended family too. He planned to wind up his overseas business dealings, liquidate his assets and distribute the proceeds. At this point of marital crisis, all he could think of was to throw money at the problem.
I appealed to him to reconsider as death would cause his loved ones even greater distress. I also pointed out that he himself knew that any financial gain from his untimely death would not ease their pain nor anger. Although he felt that his actions were beyond forgiveness and his wife could not and would not let his infidelity go, I asked him to give it some time and see if she might surprise him with her response.
Was I too quick in saying that he is a good man? After all, his moral failure was evident at least twice.
His wife concurs with my assessment that her spouse is fundamentally a “good man”. Yet, he is also a flawed individual. His strong ego cannot reconcile this incongruity—that despite his robust values, which includes not abandoning his family, there is also the fact that he chose to do something that hurt them deeply. This contradiction is what my client is grappling with. It is as if he is confronting a dark part of himself with which he is at odds.
This confrontation of the different aspects of the self is a crisis that many of my clients encounter. This encounter is an important part of the change process. It begins with acknowledging the truth of the various parts of ourselves. We can be rather complicated, sometimes even contradictory, and flawed. If we find ourselves in such a situation, it may help to have an open conversation with someone who can help us confront and resolve this contradiction and experience the grace of forgiveness.