Considering an affair? Thoughts from the Other Woman.

Yes, I carried on a relationship with a married man. No, I wasn't an evil seductress who showed up to his office in skintight mini-skirts and plunging blouses, intentionally invading his thoughts until he had a moment of weakness. I am not here to justify anything, but rather to try to shed some light on a subject that people often think about but rarely have the nerve to ask about (and even if they do, rarely find anyone willing to admit to them that they've done it and share their experience). So here goes:

I met the man I thought I'd marry when I was 18. We were college freshman at the same school, and Ty was everything I'd ever dreamed of -- smart, witty, outgoing, kind, generous, thoughtful. He was adored by our peers, professors and parents. He was tall and fit and had gorgeous crystal blue eyes. He sent my heart a flutter when he asked to take me on a date.

I was terrified of relationships in ways I didn't understand back then. You know how, when you're in like first grade and a boy you like tried to hold your hand, you'd slap him because you were embarrassed or shy? It was like I never really got over that (minus the hitting). I got all awkward around boys the moment they expressed an interest. I didn't have much attention from men growing up. My dad worked out of state 75% of the year, so I got his attention in brief bursts, and my stepdad was an abuser who only spoke to me to make me feel inferior. I didn't necessarily think all men were like him (my real dad was great to me, just in small doses), but I did subconsciously develop this notion that I had to work really, really hard to make a good man love me and stay.

Ty was the first man who did. I must have turned him down 100 times before he got me to agree to dinner. I finally believed him, that he really did like me and this wasn't just a game, and from that point, I fell hard and fast. The next nine years were magical. He remained the boyfriend I always dreamed of -- showing up with flowers for no reason, asking me to dance in the middle of the coffee shop because our song was playing, winning over all my friends and family. He was the love of my life. I never doubted his feelings for me. I wasn't afraid to love him, though we'd agreed that neither of us was in a rush to the alter or anything.

But things were changing quickly for us during those years. We both graduated from college and were working our way up the ladder at our jobs. Our friends were all either engaged or married, many of them having babies and building houses. The fact that we weren't began to be a sore subject that we tried to avoid because we had no good reason for waiting. We were madly in love. Then he got offered a huge promotion out of state, and instead of proposing, he confessed: "I'd love for you to move with me, move in with me even, but the truth is I'm not sure I want to be married. Ever. To anyone. And I have even less desire to have kids. These things have just snuck up on me as I've watched our friends and realized that's not what I want our relationship to become."

My heart sank. The one man I thought would never abandon me, abandoned me. At least that's how it felt, even though we "mutually decided" that we wanted different things, and that we just couldn't fulfill each other's long-term desires anymore. I respected that at least he had the decency to tell me, rather than marry me out of obligation and wind up resenting me for it the rest of his life. I remained single for more than a year, not even entertaining a single date with another man after that. I had peace about the breakup with Ty, but I just hadn't met anyone else, and biological clock reminded me of this practically every waking hour. "You're 28. Just find someone already!"

That's when I met Jack. He worked in my office building and was well respected by everyone in his profession and the community. A successful, noble man who gives generously to charity and volunteers with children's homes on the weekends. I was new to the area, so when Jack offered to take me on a quick tour of the block, I was grateful just to have someone show hospitality. I did notice on our drive that he wasn't wearing a wedding band, but it was irrelevant really. He wasn't my type.

His eyes traced my curves. I wondered if he thought he was getting away with it, or if he wanted me to see him. I leaned in a little closer to him. I wasn't interested in a relationship with him, but I'm still a warm-blooded human who likes attention and affection. "I'll just tease him a tiny bit," I thought. "Just enough to hold his interest, but not enough to lead him on."

I thanked him for the tour when we arrived back at the office. He walked me to my car, and we said goodbye. No exchange of phone numbers. No further plans for drinks or dinner. No end-of-the-night kiss. Just "Thanks. See ya."

But we kept running into each other, and each time, I noticed I enjoyed the attention just a little more than the last. And each time, I'd compromise just a little more than the last time to hold his interest -- first a glance, then a smile, next a quick touch of his hand while I laughed at one of his corny jokes. Eventually, he got my number. I was nervous because I'd done this dance before. Suddenly, I wasn't sure I was ready for a new boyfriend.

"Let's go slow," I ordered. "No titles. No announcement to our colleagues. Just me and you, getting to know each other, figuring things out privately."

He agreed to my rules. He liked me that much.

We went to lunch. We held hands. We eventually even kissed. But we weren't spending the night or making plans to meet each others' families. This was a safe distance for me. I was happy. He lit up when I entered the room, and vice versa, and eventually our co-workers began gently acknowledging that they knew with statements like, "I didn't put you or Jack down for a plus one tonight. I assume the two of you will be coming together?"

We were "coming out" at a good speed, I felt like, and I was ready to have the Define the Relationship talk. He worked out of town at his larger office most weekends, so I'd decided to speak to him when he returned on Monday. That plan was destroyed when I overheard colleagues gossiping in the bathroom about how "Jack's really become an introvert since he moved back in with his wife. She must really be a nag about who he speaks to."

I wanted to believe they were confused, that Jack was divorced just as he told me. It seemed impossible that our relationship could be so open and that our colleagues referred to us as an item if they knew he was married. On the other hand, part of me couldn't deny that I'd made things all too convenient for him by allowing him by enforcing my 'rules' for no spend the nights, no official titles, no lavish dates. Was it possible he was just letting me think I'd made those rules, when in fact they were his?

I was suspicious, but doubtful. I casually mentioned it to him, as if I were laughing it off. He didn't laugh. He looked like he was going to be sick, like he was busted. But then he sat down beside me, flashed that charming grin and said, "You know who I want," while cupping my face in his hands. Then he caressed my arm and kissed me tenderly. Maybe I just wanted to believe it badly, but whatever. It felt true.

This persisted for months. Late night texting. Sex in strange places. Dates in the middle of the day. It wasn't really all I wanted anymore -- I wanted all of him -- but I kept waiting for him to ask me. I was insecure in that way. I always needed men to be initiators, and to be persistent. He never did. Finally, I sent him a text one night, "I want you, but I want more." I thought this would send us on a path to a serious relationship. His reply was, "Oh. I didn't know." What the hell? You actually thought I would be okay with this and only this forever?

And so we had that gut-wrenching, heart-twisting talk. For six hours, we ended things. We talked on the phone for the entire six hours, both idling in hopes that the other would bend. I went back to that conversation with Ty, the one where we ended a damn near perfect relationship because we wanted different things. In some ways, those are the worst endings because you both still want each other. I wasn't prepared for another goodbye like that, where we're both still holding on. I decided I could handle this. "Let's try your way, and if I meet someone else who's willing to give me what you want, you have to let me go."

Of course he agreed. It was a stupid proposition on my part. No man's going to commit to me while I'm haphazardly holding on to someone else. This was a perfect scenario for Jack. He got to keep me, and he didn't have to back away from his conviction to remain a bachelor whatsoever.

About a year and a half into our relationship -- still no commitment or titles, by the way -- I began to hear rumors again, people speaking of seeing Jack and the wife out together. This time, I decided to dig deeper, and thanks to Facebook, it wasn't hard. He doesn't have an account, but she did. It was void of any pictures of him or posts about him or anything, so I thought that was my answer.

More than six months later (a total of about a year and a half into the relationship), I'm going mad. I'm crazy about this guy, and still not getting all that I want from him. He's obviously into me. I can tell. He's the one who initiates all our dates, all our encounters, phone calls, everything. I'm not forcing his hand. But it's getting old, wanting more and never getting it. I begin to wonder if he's not over his divorce or something. I don't know why, but I begin to obsess over it, until I finally look her up again on Facebook.

There's a baby in the picture. Best I can gather, the baby's around 2 or 3 months old. She still has his last name. In one of the pictures, I can't say for sure, but it looks like she's in his house. I become physically sick, and wind up having to leave work. Who is this man I've been sleeping with? Has he really kept something that monumental from me? I'm horrified. I'm ready to end it, but my friends who know me well remind me that I don't communicate effectively when I'm this angry. They tell me to take a day or two to chill before I go out in a fury. They're right. Even if he's the one who screwed me over, I know me well enough to know I'll feel guilty if I get too harsh. I need to cool.

This is where it gets confusing for people who've never found themselves in a predicament like this. "I'd change my number, block him from email, tell his wife and ever speak to his sorry ass again." It's not that easy. For one, there's never been concrete evidence. Only traces of what may or may not be. And my heart, still desperately in love with this man, wants to believe he is who I've always thought he was. But even if he isn't, even if he's cheating and that is in fact his baby, do I expose him and sabotage his family at a time like this?

I agonize for days. It isn't uncommon for us to go a few days without speaking, and this just so happened to be one of those times. I lose 10 lbs. I vomit repeatedly when I try to keep anything down. I am on the verge of depression. How do I let him go? And then he calls, and because my heart is nowhere near as sophisticated as my brain, it rejoices because it still thinks this is a good thing. Like a Pavlovian experiment, the sight of his name lighting up my phone sends excitement through my body instantaneously. I smile. My heart races.

I am at a crossroads now. I recognize that this man can't and won't give me what I need. And even if he did, if he's abandoning his wife and child to do so, what kind of victory would that be? I'd be inflicting my hurt on someone else, leaving his children with the same issues that have plagued me by the absence of a male role model during my own childhood. The curse must be lifted, the cycle stopped. But it isn't easy. Head knowledge and heart knowledge are not even close to the same thing.

As with death, it isn't natural to know the exact time of your own heartbreak, to be the one who has to pull the trigger on it. So I keep waiting, keep prolonging the inevitable, because I'm overwhelmed with anxious thoughts, knowing that once that trigger is pulled, there's no turning back. Strange as it may sound, I don't regret Jack. I can't. But I do hate that this relationship has turned out to be what it is, what it always was without my knowing.

If you're someone on the fence about becoming the Other Man/Woman, heed my advice. You'll convince yourself you can control your feelings, but you can't. This will take you down. You'll be left feeling emptier than ever, wondering if you even deserve a "real" relationship or if karma will in fact serve you a large dish of revenge some day when you're scrolling through future husband's phone one day to learn he's been having a fling.

If you're a married man/woman considering an affair, I beg you not to be selfish. You're getting everything you need to fill your emotional and physical voids at the expense of others' emotional and mental health. They will be broken when they realize what's happening. Devastated. Left feeling inferior, wondering why they weren't enough. You know deep down that it's you -- that YOU are the one who needs fixing -- but they don't and won't understand that for a long time. It will affect their future relationships and ability to trust. If monogamy isn't your thing, be a Ty. Don't conform because you feel like you have to. Be honest with your partner, and let the cards fall where they may. Perhaps your partner will support an open relationship, or they'll release you to find someone else who will.

And if you're the betrayed spouse, remember there are 2 sides. Remember who was responsible for fighting for your relationship. Nobody would blame you for feeling resentment toward the object of your partner's affection, but remember that person didn't coerce them into this. They wanted it, fought for it even. Women in particular can be so mean to each other; try your best to forgive, to understand that this person may feel betrayed and be hurting just like you.

And to trolls, nope, I didn't handle the situation perfectly. Could've walked away when the red flags started popping up. I'm not blameless, and I admit that. I don't need you to feel sorry for me. But relationships of any kind are never blameless, and I ask you to consider before you bash hurting affair partners (or even their unfaithful counterparts) that perhaps this were just normal, nice people who made a bad decision, as all of us have at some time or another.