I cheated on my husband because I wanted to feel alive again

I’d been leaving myself long before I ever left my husband (Picture: Supplied)

As I stood in front of the mirror on my 36th birthday, I swallowed down the familiar lump in my throat. 

My husband was at work, and I was meeting my best friend and her husband for a walk. From the outside, everything looked fine, but inside I was choking on the secret that had been eating me alive. 

I’d hoped that by now over a year later, the guilt would have faded and I could forget what I’d done. But no amount of time made the overthinking stop. 

That morning, I did what I’d always done: put a smile on my face and pretended I was OK. I didn’t realise then that this habit, perpetually ignoring my own feelings, was the real betrayal.

Because the truth is, I’d been leaving myself long before I ever left my husband.

I thought the fact we didn’t argue meant we were strong (Picture: Supplied)

I met my ex-husband when we were 18, during our first year at university. He was charming, funny, and kind, and we had an on-and-off relationship for a decade before finally committing to one another at 28.

Everyone around us seemed relieved that we had finally got our act together and assumed marriage and children would follow. We had a lot of fun together, festivals, gigs, parties, and we were a great team; we could plan a wedding, renovate a house, manage finances, but the emotional intimacy just wasn’t there.

I thought the fact we didn’t argue meant we were strong, but now I know that a marriage without conflict is a marriage not built on truth.

I was the kind of professional, stoic woman who rarely cried or admitted when I was struggling. I was the strong one, the capable one, the one who would hold everyone else but never fall apart herself. 

In a moment of loneliness, I crossed a line (Picture: Supplied)

On the outside, I looked like I had it all together, a successful TV executive with a skinny body, a beautiful home, and a marriage that seemed solid.

But inside, I was lonely. I didn’t realise it then, but love without emotional depth slowly starves you. And that’s exactly what was happening in our marriage.

A few months after we got married, we started trying for a baby. I came off the pill and expected it to happen easily, but month after month nothing changed. I was devastated and for the first time, I couldn’t control the outcome. 

I dealt with it the only way I knew how, by working harder, pushing my body further, and numbing any feeling that threatened to surface. And then, in a moment of loneliness, I crossed a line. It started as a friendship but before I knew it I’d done something I never thought I’d do. I cheated on my husband.

At first, the attention felt like oxygen (Picture: Supplied)

I was horrified at myself. How did I get here? How could I cheat on a man I loved? But now I can see it wasn’t about my then husband, and it wasn’t about me wanting someone else. It was about me wanting to feel alive. 

For years I’d felt dead inside, moving through life on autopilot, holding everything together but never letting myself feel anything. 

At first, the attention felt like oxygen, but it quickly became poison. The guilt, the anxiety, the pretending, all began to eat me alive. I ended the affair after six months because I knew I couldn’t keep going like this. Eventually, the truth came out, and so did I.

When I finally told him, six months after my 36th birthday, I had no choice but to stop running myself. After a year of trying to make it work, my marriage ended, and for the first time in my adult life, I sat in the wreckage of my choices.

I chose to be celibate for eight months (Picture: Supplied)

The grief that followed was enormous. The unknown future terrified me. But underneath that fear was something else, relief. I didn’t have to pretend anymore.

As I began to heal and discover who I was beneath the mask of perfection I wore, more of my life began to dissolve. I decided to quit my 20-year career in TV. 

It felt totally misaligned with who I was becoming and that healing journey led me to retrain as a coach. I knew I needed to help other women in the same way. 

On top of that I chose to be celibate for eight months. I needed to learn to love myself and heal my relationship with men and my need for external validation. I cried every day for a year. 

But slowly, something began to shift. I started to listen, really listen, to what was happening inside me. For the first time in my life, I began to feel, I began to ask for what I needed, and I began to see who I really was. That was the real awakening.

I don’t condone cheating, but I understand now why it happened. It wasn’t about him, it was about me. The affair was never the real betrayal; the real betrayal was how long I had abandoned myself. 

That rupture forced me to face everything I had spent my life avoiding: my pain, my needs, my truth. And that’s where the healing began. 

Because sometimes, it takes losing the life you built to remember the one that was always waiting inside you. If you’ve been unfaithful and it feels like the end, this can still be your beginning.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk. 

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