BEL MOONEY: Should I be punished for having a lover and a husband? 

Dear Bel,

Ten years ago, I began an affair with a wonderful man and left my husband for him. It didn’t work out, because my family and children abandoned me. Ultimately, I chose them and returned to my husband.

That was five years ago. A year later, I resumed contact with my lover and began seeing him again — but lied, telling him I had left my husband and was on my own. It was the only way I knew he would have me back.

You may find it bewildering but I have lived a double life until now, being with both men: a husband who loves me dearly and is a wonderful father to our grown-up children — and my lover whom I love passionately.

Just this week my lover found out the truth that, yes, I am still with my husband. He is angry and has wished me dead, sent awful messages, and blocked me from all platforms. He is quite right. I am an intelligent 59-year-old and don’t know how I’ve got myself into this place.

I feel distraught with guilt for what I’ve done and am barely able to function. I’ve been hurting two men — and have lost one for ever.

My husband is unaware of all this and the fact that my lover was back in my life. All those years ago, I should have stayed with my lover, but the pain of being shut out from my family was too much.

The pain I am feeling for all the deceit is unbearable. I don’t know how to move on or forgive myself for the treacherous lies and the hurt my lover is facing now.

I’ve caused this, he didn’t deserve it. I don’t resemble the person I once was, and I should be punished for all of this. Can you please help?

JENNY

This week, Bel Mooney advises a reader who has been having an affair for more than 10 years

You write ‘I should be punished for all this’, which interests me greatly — for the idea of being punished for sins is as old as humanity, and (leaving religion aside) it must be because people dislike sinners ‘getting away with it’.

People are quick to pass judgment on others, but at the same time don’t like being told what to do. Don’t bore us with those outdated Ten Commandments! To some people ‘being judgmental’ is a sin worse than the Seven Deadly Sins rolled together. But modernity can’t rub out ancient ideas about wrongdoing. Without taboos, society falls apart.

It seems obvious to me that you are, in fact, already being punished. You are eaten up with guilt — and rightly so. When you write ‘my family and my children abandoned me’, it sounds as if you were the one to be hurt and ill-treated — when of course it was you who chose to abandon them by choosing your lover.

You went back after five years to a blameless husband who must be extraordinarily strong and forgiving.

But then it became worse because you lied to both men and managed to keep it a secret. Lordy, how did you find the energy for all the double-dealing and imagination for so many lies?

Strange as it may seem, I do understand why you got into this mess. The passion for your lover was such that you couldn’t let him go, and (being greedy, which I also get) you thought you could have them both.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY 

Walk on through the wind, Walk on through the rain, Though your dreams be tossed and blown, Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart… 

From You’ll Never Walk Alone by Oscar Hammerstein II (1895-1960)

Weeks pass, then months . . . and you get away with it. And all the while the tension and excitement and fear breathe life into your veins — especially when you fear old age and want to cling to both sexuality (lover) and security (husband).

Since countless readers will be passing judgment on you, I shall desist, as I’ve sinned plenty myself over the years. Now you’re left with this guilt, the knowledge that your husband remains the deceived victim, and your misery at having lost the object of your passion. Is it possible actually to forgive yourself?

In the Bible, Jesus rescued the woman caught in adultery who was about to be stoned to death (John 8:11) by suggesting that only someone without sin himself should cast the first stone.

He then told the woman: ‘Go thou and sin no more.’ Such wisdom for both the judgmental ones and the judged. He doesn’t say, go away and forgive yourself. Perhaps you never will. But your lover does ‘deserve’ the pain, because he was complicit.

The only way you can atone now is by living a good life with the husband who didn’t deserve to be left and was told multiple lies. Go back to being the woman he fell in love with all those years ago. That is how it is, Jenny.

In time, this pain will cease and when you are old you’ll look back and wonder why you put yourself through so much misery — love or no love.

Dear Bel,

Six months ago, my granddaughter aged 15 decided she wants to transition to become a male. I am 78 and find it hard to accept but unless I call her Dan, I get ignored — as does the rest of the family.

My son and his wife have been divorced for 12 years. There are no other children. They feel that if they go along with it, Dan may grow out of it.

As a young child, she was very much a girl: long hair, feminine clothes, dolls.

They all live about three hours away so I don’t get to see them very often, but this is still worrying me and so I would be glad of your input.

HILARY

 My grandchild wants to transition to be a boy

It is very hard to come to terms with change – and all the more so as we grow older. In your position, I would feel just as worried about the future. But you should perhaps take some comfort that you live a distance away, in that there’s a buffer between you and this phase for your grandchild.

It may pass quickly, because teenagers can change their minds frequently — and Dan might decide to become a Goth in three months’ time. Being 15 has always been tough. While we regret the loss of a sweet child we loved, we also have to realise how many problems teenagers face — and more so in these days of social media.

If Dan’s wish to live as a boy proves to be an expression of a true inner self, and is long-lasting, then maximum support will have to come from both parents. It would be natural to write ‘. . . and you too’, but I’m not sure that’s strictly true.

This issue may make you feel sad and worried, but there is nothing you can do, except chat to your son and daughter-in-law whenever possible. Their laid-back approach is probably wise, but they may be just as worried as you and need a friendly ear.

Meanwhile, why do you have to call your grandchild any name at all? If you phone, or if the family visits once lockdown has ended, I would use ‘love’ or ‘pet’ or ‘darling’ or whatever feels natural, because calm endearments have no gender.

Will my new man, 87, stay with me? 

Dear Bel

I am a widow of 81. Both my marriages have ended in widowhood. For six weeks I had a romantic relationship with Bill, who is 87 and was made a widower last October after 60 years of marriage.

He and his late wife were church friends of my late husband and me. Bill and I were very comfortable in each other’s company and laughed a lot. He is about to move into a nice flat 14 miles away.

Bill’s two daughters are opposed to our relationship — understandable as their mother died only four months ago. A week ago he phoned and abruptly said we must part for two months.

Since he’s moving very shortly I have a feeling I will never see him again — and feel very upset. Life had suddenly become worthwhile — and now it is not. Can you give me some words of comfort?

PAT

Contact Bel 

Bel answers readers’ questions on emotional and relationship problems each week.

Write to Bel Mooney, Daily Mail, 2 Derry Street, London W8 5TT, or email [email protected].

A pseudonym will be used if you wish.

Bel reads all letters but regrets she cannot enter into personal correspondence.

What a wonderful life you’ve led, with two long marriages behind you, teaching you about love and loss. And how glorious that at 81 you still feel your heart full of love.

Age cannot stop that life force, that quest for more happiness — and I admire your zest for life and love, as well as your understanding of his daughters’ feelings. You sound like a wonderful person.

Of course you’re sad now, because it seems an unexpectedly happy time has ended. I’m wondering if Bill is moving because he wants to — or to be near one of his daughters.

Whatever the reason, he will only be 14 miles away. He was probably abrupt on the phone because he feels sad and a bit embarrassed. Men aren’t so good at expressing feelings, as you must have learned over the years.

Who can say whether or not you and Bill will share laughter again? If I were you, I’d write him a lovely cheerful letter, saying how much you’ve enjoyed the recent good times and look forward to picking up your lovely friendship in the future.

Moving is stressful, but you hope he settles well and will invite you to visit in May or June — and be sure to ask that he gives you his new address because you want to write.

No sadness, no reproach, Pat, just affection and gratitude and hope.

And finally: All our lost loves in one tragic story 

It’s one of the strangest letters I’ve ever had — lacking date and address, but full of heartfelt sadness.

It told the story of a first love between two teenagers (let’s call them Phil and Mary) who went out for 18 months long ago, before Mary ended it because he wanted to marry at 19 but she wanted a career.

   

More from Bel Mooney for the Daily Mail…

Phil, a policeman, begged her to relent, to no avail. Broken-hearted he married another girl on the rebound — and a few months later was tragically killed in the line of duty.

Many years passed. Mary married a good man, enjoyed her job, had children, was happy. But recently she was clearing the ‘junk’ room when she found an envelope containing photographs of Phil, plus two of his desperate love letters. Then all her youthful passion was triggered once more, and the pain of loss.

Now here is the strange thing. Mary can’t bring herself to destroy these mementos, but can’t hide them or talk about them. So she has sent them to me ‘for safe-keeping’.

Here in my hand are three old (from 1970?), black-and-white pictures of such a handsome young man, and a yellowed colour snap of Mary and Phil touching noses, gazing into each other’s eyes, plus two little letters saying he will love her for ever.

Here I cradle the doomed love of strangers, a little story which invokes all our lost loves — and it has made me very melancholy.

But this too saddens me — the fact that Mary did not turn to the husband she loves and show him, sharing her old sorrow, to be comforted. Why not?

There is no shame or infidelity in this story; just two young people fated not to be together — and one destined to die.

Truly, I would tell my husband everything and know he would listen. So why can’t Mary? What stops people confiding in each other?

And what can I do with these relics? Only sadly consign them (in time) to healing flames, with a blessing.