When a client sits across from me, crying because their partner hasn’t touched them in three years, I feel a pull. A whisper: “You would never treat your spouse like that.” Another whisper comes when the high-powered executive vents about their “hysterical” wife: “You are so calm. You are so reasonable.”
The other practice is harder. I had to confess to my wife—not an affair, but the capacity for one. I told her about Claire. I told her about the shaking hands. She cried, then got angry, then, eventually, thanked me. temptation confessions of a marriage counselor
As a marriage counselor, I've observed that temptation often follows a predictable pattern. It typically begins with a sense of disconnection or dissatisfaction in the relationship, which can leave one partner feeling vulnerable and open to external influences. This vulnerability can be exploited by external factors, such as a charismatic coworker or a social media presence, which can spark a sense of attraction or excitement. When a client sits across from me, crying
But nobody tells you what to do when the container begins to crack. Nobody tells you how to handle it when the temptation isn't just a fleeting thought, but a slow, suffocating ache that settles in your chest and refuses to leave. I had to confess to my wife—not an
I laughed. “Who says I don’t?”
I didn’t want Nora. I wanted the feeling Nora triggered: noticed, interesting, unburdened. I wanted the man I was before life became a series of logistical negotiations about who is picking up the antibiotics.