The truth about open letters to women who have ruined a marriage

Behind every open letter to the other woman is another woman who has had her life imploded. Photo / Getty Images

Look anywhere on the internet and you'll find open letters to the "other woman". You don't have to look hard. They're everywhere. And they're bristling with anger and hurt and rage and sorrow.

These letters are about as common as infidelity is. Some experts, like Dan Savage, say infidelity happens as frequently as every one in two relationships. Others say it's about one in five.

So I get that these letters come across as a trope, a path so well-trodden it's as deep as the Grand Canyon. And sometimes the letters stray into territory which sounds awfully like that other woman tempted the cheating husband, to, well, cheat. Even in the depths of despair, I think we all know that there's no such thing as the temptress and the innocent man.

But behind every open letter to the other woman is another woman whose life has imploded. I'm not being hyperbolic. It's like a missing step in a staircase, times 1000. It's like unlocking the door to your safe-haven, and finding nothing but smoke. It's like that unsettled feeling when you've misplaced your phone, or your wallet, or a sum of cash, and realising you're going to feel that way for the foreseeable future.

So, I guess I'm saying, when you read those open letters to the other women, have compassion.

Anger, grief, denial, guilt, nausea, fevers, chills, vomiting, panic attacks, appetite loss, fear, devastation… the letter-writers are feeling it.

And if they've decided to stay with the cheating partner, then they're working on their relationship. They're working on forgiveness. They're seeing their wayward partner trying to mend their ways, move forward, build something anew. They might also see the sorrow and regret of their wayward partner. Whatever it is, they'll be seeing progress.

It's only human that they're feeling anger and hurt and rage at the person they can't see – the other person. And often the only way these women can convey those feelings in even a slightly healthy way is to write that diatribe and post it to the internet.

Before infidelity happened to me, I shared the view that a single person had no rules to follow. I figured the onus was completely on the person in the relationship to abide by the rules and the values the couple had prescribed to that relationship. The single person, aka the other person? They're a free agent. They can see who they want. It's not up to them to know, or care, whether the person they're seeing is also single.

I don't feel that way any more.

While I still don't believe in the cliché of the temptress who seduces the fallible husband away, I do believe each person involved in the betrayal has to, to quote the other woman in mine, "own their part".

You have to own your part.

Even in the depths of despair, I think we all know that there's no such thing as the temptress and the innocent man.

So, this letter is to everyone else. Everyone who's currently the other person in a relationship. Everyone who's thinking about it. Everyone who's wondering whether their flirting with that married person is going to cross that line.

I'm here to say, please: don't do it.

You might not have made vows. You might not have had children. You might not have to lie, to needle, to gaslight.

But you have a responsibility, too. If you know the person you're into is already in a relationship, you play a part. You've got to own your part.

Please know that when your affair gets found out - because don't they always? - your actions will have a real and lasting impact on that cheated-upon wife. (That's me, in my case. I'm the wife.) All of those physical symptoms listed above: Guilt at feeling like being a sub-par parent. Time off work, letting down colleagues. And the inability to be the emotional support I needed to be for a relative with a cancer diagnosis.

My life imploded and I don't think it will ever be the same. How can it be when I'm not the same person? When I'm no longer so trusting, no longer an optimist. My identity has shifted forever because of the actions of two people, one of them the person I loved the most and the other a woman I barely knew existed.

Now, I feel constantly frightened. I'm scared in my own city. My own house doesn't feel like home. No where feels like home. It's not as bad as the ground zero days, but it's still the f***ing worst.

But enough about me. Back to you. Even if you don't care about that cheated-upon partner, think about yourself. Think about your future and the person you want to be in that future.

If you truly value yourself, make that person leave their relationship before starting anything with them. Aren't you worth at least that? And if they won't, well, why would you waste any time on them?

If you have that affair, how will you stand alongside your friends when they get married, promising to love each other to the exclusion of all others? Knowing that you didn't give a shit about that vow, so why would anyone else? How would you counsel a friend who's being cheated on, knowing that you'd done it too?

And what if you want to get married someday? How could you ever form a committed relationship with someone, have children with them, ever truly trust them?

Because once you've had that affair you'll always know that, despite what anyone says, the promises they make, the children they have with you, you won't be able to trust them to stay faithful to you. How can you trust anyone, ever, when you know there are people out there who will act exactly like you?