infidelity and intuition

"What gives, what helps, the intuition?" asks Leslie Fiest in one of my favorite songs of all time.

I think its this very question that makes our intuition so questionable. Facts without evidence...could it be? And yet, too often the words "I knew it all along," or "I had the feeling..." grace conversations laced with regret. Those words left my mouth so many times after the events in July when an email left me knowing that my boyfriend had traded our bond in for another and cheated on me.

Few facts matter but, of them these are the few that do:

I knew....and I ignored it

When I first saw their facebook connection I knew

When she called late at nights and texted in early mornings I knew.

When he refused to introduce me to her,

When I first saw the her email accusation,

When he touched me.... I knew.

But I ignored it...

One night he crawled into bed, home later than planned, kissed my forehead and a voice inside said "He was with her," Clear as day, may as well have been written on my ceiling.

And yet, I ignored it.

Until he admitted it. Admitted that for a month he had lied to me, that when he accused me of having faltering feelings it was him who was locking himself behind bedrooms doors with a woman of reckless reputation. Admitted that it was him who had talked her out of telling me, him who had let me squirm for a month questioning why I could not connect to him when a lie so large hung over his head.

They say hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn. (I question if the pain of infidelity and the scorn that it arouses is exclusive to the Y chromosome)

If I could describe what hearing those words was like, I would say that they were shattering. In a single moment everything was broken, my trust and faith, hopes and dreams for a future together, every effort, every romantic gesture, every happy memory was instantly shattered. Broken beyond repair , I felt as if I caved in the absence of all the things about us that I had used to stand tall upon; gone was this pride in a relationship that was built stepping across borders of countries, expressed in ink stain and brushstroke, suddenly all of the details did not matter. And as I crumbled I shook not only physically in my hands, but internally within my soul.

That quake, that shake, started the tsunami of destruction that left nothing untouched. I was angry, loud, lewd and violent. I hit him. I wanted to take a bat to his car, and stopped myself only because I knew that his little brother wanted it. I sent hateful messages, swore slander in his ear, I investigated and interrogated every detail. Each act was like a grain of small sand, a mere particle of the mountain of hurt that instantly arose within me. And no matter how hard I dispelled these grains of pain, no matter how many of them I spewed, those acts did nothing but scratch the surface of the injustice of infidelity.


But what was most damaging, was that tsunami also destroyed me. Blew me over and made me weak desperate for love and affection to fill the void that was left by our shattered bond. I stayed, I was swayed by the empty promises, the crocodile tears and feigned gestures of apology. Even though I still knew.... I hung on believing that from the wreckage I could still salvage the bond that once made me strong.

I listened, I waited, put my heart on hold. Until conversations turned to accusations, till name calling began and bizarre narcissistic emails commenced, till all most all promises were broken. Only then did I turn away to survey the broken pieces and let Toronto and New York mend me...

This week when I saw them walking together in the streets of Vancouver, I was not surprised. Nor was I shocked by photos of her in his arms, or his final violation of the one promise he had faked the best : that he was rid of her. Yet what did surprise me, was that in some strange way I was happy for the two of them.

The mad hatter, the compulsive liar and manipulator together with his lose mistress, 'they deserve each other,' I thought. In some weird way I am thankful to this terrible twosome.

Indeed they left me scarred, yet in wielding these wounds of experience I have learned. I have come to understand the importance of listening to whispers of wisdom that seem so fact less. Yes, I have really learned the importance of intuition

I have gained insight to what it means to be a woman. I feel that rising from the depths of such maddening heartache helps to build compassion and empathy. Like I have earned my badge to belong to the sisterhood of women done wrong, and in gaining my stripes and colours I have come to understand the bond that women all share and how we must care for each other. ( This is a whole other blog entry really)

True, there have been times when I have become unintentionally entangled in the relationships of others. There have been sad moments of fear when I realized I overstepped and became the third in a triangle of love that left me running far away in opposite directions. I regret the subsequent consequences and I will not make excuses for my actions.

In the end, despite the pain I feel privileged to have survived, to recovered and learned when so many others are not so lucky.

And at the end of the day, if nothing else, the situation makes for damn fine writing material.