My story is so common that, nowadays, many have become blasé about it. I am “the other woman,” or a kept woman. I’ve been this way for the past 18 years. I used to have a high-profile career. I traveled the world, met VVIPs and plainly had a good time. I looked great and felt fantastic.
Then I met this corporate big wheel who pursued me relentlessly! He was married but “on the brink of a divorce,” he assured me. I knew it wasn’t going to happen, but I made him believe I was that stupid. What was one more man, I told myself. And I made him spoil me to the hilt. I had no wish that he did not deliver—trips, jewelry, shopping. It went on until I could not get away from him anymore. He was so into me that I thought he’d really go through with his divorce.
I now have a grown son with him, and he still has not separated from his wife. He supports me and my child—enough to allow me to stay home all day, but we hardly see him anymore. He makes all these excuses not to call or visit. I want to get away from him, but I’ve just become this dependent woman.
My misery from our relationship has made me sick—emotionally and physically. I’ve developed all sorts of illnesses. They annoy him, and he tells me it’s no “fun” to be with me anymore. I have also grown so big (translation: fat!) that I am even ashamed to call friends—who would have gladly pirated me before— for a job. I tried to commit suicide once, but I just slept through the ordeal.
When I fell in love with him, I thought our love story would be different from all the other horror stories I’ve heard of affairs. His wife who knew of me and our long-playing affair is having the last laugh. Is this my karma?
There is no formula for keeping a lover, or a husband, for that matter, interested. Look at Pierce Brosnan, who has not discarded his wife despite her apparent obesity. Love is like Russian roulette; sometimes you get lucky and sometimes you get shot down. You just have to make every day count, not take each other for granted and pray that you live to see a better tomorrow every night. “How do you keep the music playing?” a song asks.
Who is to judge what your karma is? Drop this affair if it is pushing you to your grave. No man is worth that—not his money, not anything. But then again, how do you expect him to get excited with what you have become? What’s happened to you? You didn’t just change overnight or in a week. What turned you from a powerhouse into this self-destructive, low-wattage brownout-prone persona? Did he spoil you so much that you thought Christmas would be forever and you put your brain on hiatus for 18 years? Now look in the mirror and ask yourself if you like what you are seeing. If not, how can he?
Be fantastic again. Will yourself to do it! Go on a diet and melt that fat! It won’t be a walk in the park, though. And while you’re at it, start thinking of getting a job. Do something—anything to bring back your self-esteem. You’re not in a coma, you’re not a quadriplegic—you are still the thinking you! Get hold of your mind and plan a counteroffensive—not to destroy him but to not allow him to destroy you. Just stop this avalanche of self-destruction.
Losing a man is not the end of the world. On the contrary, you should feel born again! Challenge yourself to be the va-va-voom person you used to be. Don’t get mad, get even!