U cheated but I still won: rock solid advice from a victim of narcissism

By Dr. Laura Walker

Infidelity and personality disorders such as narcissism, sociopathy and psychopathy go hand in hand. There are many clinical guides and text books written using hypothetical terms and pretend scenarios which speak in third person about relationships involving these disordered individuals. However, few of these books give you a first-hand accounting, accompanied by concrete examples of what a victim in one of these types of relationships goes through. 

This book takes you through the cheating, lying, manipulating, controlling, triangulation and blaming of others. It explains how and why it happens, why some people are more susceptible to it and what will happen when you try to get out of a relationship with one of these disordered individuals. It is a personal accounting of one woman's journey from the moment she discovers she is involved with a narcissist to dealing with the infidelity that ultimately always happens.   

Whereas most books on the market focus on repairing your relationship after infidelity, U Cheated but I Still Won takes a different approach. It is astraight forward, tough talking, no-nonsense self-help book that tells you how to save yourself rather than your relationship as you navigate the sh*t storm of infidelity. It offers a fresh, sympathetic voice, not from a therapist or psychchologist, but from someone who has been through it! 

It is snarky, sassy, witty and will make you laugh and cry at the same time. It offers real world, practical advice to those struggling with making sense of adultery and is a must read for anyone who has ever been cheated on and/or has dealt with a narcissist. Through a personal recounting of events, Dr. Laura Walker offers actual trueexamples of what cheaters do, why they cheat and how predictable they truly are. You will see yourself in her story!  

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stormcloud publishing
• Release date: Jun 2, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393554004

Book preview

Chapter One

Discovery day

Everyone involved in a narcissistic relationship has at least one discovery day, I’ve had two. Discovery day is the day you find out your spouse, lover, companion, or significant other is cheating on you. This always occurs more than once as we are a forgiving group, us being the partners of narcissists, codependents as we are often called.

But regardless of the amount of D-days you have experienced, that final one, the last scene, the crescendo, the D-day that ends it all, gets forever burned into your long-term memory for you to rehash and replay, like a broker record, for the rest of your existence. It is a turning point in your life you wish you could skip over and just forget, but you can’t. It will never go away.

You will also relive your D-day unconsciously again and again at the most inopportune times. For me, the experience has been so implanted in my brain that I know without calculation, it has been 367 days since my second and final D-day.

Discovery

The day started out normally enough. I put in half a day’s work as it was the Friday before winter break and school let out early that day. There was a high school holiday party starting at 11:30 AM at a local bar, that I opted not to attend. Although that sounds a little early for a party, high school is its own beast. School starts before most alarms ring in the morning and before coffee makers begin percolating. To say high school teachers are early risers is like saying the Pope is Catholic. We consider lunch hour 9:00 AM and bedtime 9:00 PM.

It was a busy day and students were anxious and unfocused. Winter break was mere hours away and gifts were being exchanged, candy being passed out and carolers roamed the hallways. I had much on my to do list and a whole gamut of things to accomplish before the house was inundated with out of town guests.

I’m going to go to the party for a while, my husband said to me as he stopped in my classroom at the end of the day, I won’t be long.

Have a nice time, I answered automatically with a smile, lighting up as he entered, I’ll see you at home.

We exchanged a brief kiss and went our separate ways.

I stopped at the grocery store, came home to a houseful of children and immediately began prepping for the holidays. I started baking and the hours ticked by.

I began texting my husband around 4:00 PM to check in, to see if he was having a nice time and find out when he was coming home. Nothing. No response.

I waited a reasonable amount of time and texted again, and again, and again; a total of eight times. Nothing.

I started to get worried. He wasn’t responding. The ring tone in his phone was longer and louder for an actual call rather than a text so I thought maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t heard his text alerts. But this is a man obsessed with his phone. Even without audible alerts sounding, he constantly checks for messages. He wasn’t answering me and I didn’t know why.

Between texts, I called and left a cheery voice message stating my concern and asking for a return call. Silence. I called twice more but hung up both times after receiving no response. Mild panic started to creep in and take hold and I called my oldest son, to see if he had heard from his father. He hadn’t.

My oldest daughter tried to calm my escalating nerves by saying something appeasing like, his phone must be dead, but I knew it wasn’t. Darkness fell. I was pacing the kitchen floor and debating a 911 call. I expressed my concern to the children. Was he dead? Hurt? In a fight? Arrested?

Around 7:00 PM I still hadn’t heard anything so I checked his phone records online. After security questions, verification texts, and changing a long-forgotten password, I was able to access our account containing his text and call log. Nothing was wrong with his phone, he had texted one particular number, what seemed like hundreds of times, within the last few hours and as recent as 10 minutes ago. My jaw dropped. I hit the enter button to refresh the page and even more texts were displayed, even more recently than before. His phone was definitely working and he was definitely texting somebody. Or maybe his phone was stolen I reasoned optimistically.

I didn’t recognize the number so I typed it in an internet search engine. Not only could I get the name of the person, I could get vital statistics, marriage and divorce records, and any arrest records, all for $19.95. I was tempted to supply a credit card number; I was that worried.

Instead, I typed the number into the search contacts feature on my phone, thinking it might be someone we both knew. It was. It was a friend, and colleague of ours: another teacher. Phew. I thought it was serious. As my husband has a lawn mowing business and does part-time handyman work on the side, she probably was contacting him to have some work done around her house but the sheer amount of texts to her, and lack of texts to me, was a huge red flag.

Just as I closed out the Internet, my husband sashayed through the door. Drunk.

Where were you? I asked desperately.

I was at the work party, I told you. Taking me in his arms and kissing me so the children could see what a loving husband he was. I straightened one of the collar flaps of his staff shirt as it had tucked itself inside.

I texted and called you, you didn’t answer.

A bewildered look crossed his face. I didn’t get any texts, he stated as he pulled his phone out of his khakis looking puzzled. See, he said, holding up his phone displaying his text log which conveniently showed neither my, nor her texts.

"The last text I got was from Michael (our oldest son), but I was almost home and

didn’t want to text while I was driving." He flashed me a quick sideways smile

because I constantly nagged him about quitting that habit.

Bullshit, you always text and drive.

That’s funny, my phone shows eight texts and three calls being ‘delivered,’ I countered as I brought up my version of events on my phone.

Hmm. I don’t know, he began, feigning confusion and gently shaking his head as he stared down at his phone, maybe I need a new phone. This one has been giving me fits.

More bullshit. I know who you were texting just minutes ago.

Awkwardly changing the subject, he began, Well, I’m so sorry I’m late. I’m a little drunk; I was talking to Kevin Mitchell. He started a business, which is going under. I feel horrible for him. I was helping him with a new business plan.

"Well you are just in time for dinner." I said, accepting the subject change and deciding to deal with his lies later. I retrieved a stack of plates from the cabinet.

Oh, I’m not hungry. There were hors d’oeuvres at the party. I’m stuffed, he answered as he lightly patted his belly.

No there weren’t.

I’m a little drunk, he declared for a third time. I’m going to call it a night.

Dramatically pretending to be tipsy he greeted the children, sauntered to the stairs and disappeared.

I didn’t sleep well that night. His irregular drunken snorts and trills made for a

fitful, restless night and as soon as he stirred, I confronted him.

So where were you last night?

Do we have to start this now? Its 7:00 AM. I’m really hung over, he stated as

he rolled over and turned his back to me in bed.

Bullshit. Why did you text Clarissa Wilkins a hundred times yesterday?

I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Steve, do I need to print up your phone records? You texted Clarissa Wilkins over a hundred times yesterday!

It wasn’t hundreds of times. You’re exaggerating. He said in a disgusted voice,

deflecting, not addressing the real issue. Then under his breath added sarcastically, as always.

He got out of bed and walked to the bathroom, stalling.

I traipsed along behind him, still in my flannel nightie. "Why are you texting her

at all?" I demanded.

She just wants some work done on her house.

How could I possibly think otherwise?

Then show me her texts, I challenged.

I deleted them, he answered with a shrug.

Why?

I delete all my texts. He shot back as the sound of his stream of urine hit the toilet water from our doorless bathroom (long story).

Bullshit. You’re a liar. You never delete texts.

He keeps old phones just so he has a record of his old texts!

You’re so fucking paranoid.

What were you texting her about, Steve?

"Just stuff. She’s going through some stuff. Okay? There. I didn’t want to tell you

but you dragged it out of me. You just never let up."

You just said you were texting her about doing work on her house. Now she’s going through ‘some stuff’? Like what? Why is she texting YOU?

We’re friends. I didn’t want to tell you because you always get like this.

How?

You always over-react. You never trust me. You always exaggerate and make a big deal out of nothing. She’s just a friend. Calm down.

It’s inappropriate, Steve.

She’s going through some personal stuff. Okay? She’s having boyfriend problems. She is going to dump Paul. Are you happy now? I’ve told you more than I should have. You just can’t trust me and leave well enough alone. There’s nothing going on. She’s a mess and I’m just helping her.

I froze in place as the realization hit me. He pushed passed my stunned body and

walked toward the bedroom.

Are you in love with her? I said incredulously. It sounded absurd as I actually

vocalized it.

He forced a laugh and finally looked me in the eyes. "Seriously? You’re crazy,

Laura," he said as he shoved a leg into a pair of smelly, grass-stained work pants

indicating that he was leaving for the day and the discussion was over.

I stood my ground.

You’re so fucking paranoid, he reiterated. "I’m not interested in her. She’s had

the two bankruptcies, the gastric bypass that obviously didn’t work, she’s bald

and wears a wig. A WIG for God’s sake. For emphasis he added . . . and she’s

hideous looking. What would I ever find attractive about HER? Why would I ever

want that? This is your problem. You’re nuts. I’m not going to deal with your

craziness . . ."

Are you having an affair with her? I blurted.

Of course not! I told you, she’s hideous!

Affairs

It is difficult define the word affair, partly because there are different types of affairs. There are romantic affairs, casual affairs, cyber affairs, open affairs and emotional affairs to name a few. Each one has its own unique definition. Additionally, whether someone is having an affair or not depends on level of tolerance the parties have toward the subject. What may be a shrug and an eh, to one couple, could be a deal breaker to another.

Statistics are equally difficult to find in regards to how prevalent any type of affair is among married couples. Most websites teeter around the 40% mark but some put it as high as 60%, however, they tend to use the term relationship instead of marriage, so it’s not clear if that number includes people being cheated on in dating relationships, or strictly refer to a cheated-on spouse.

I am also not sure how that percentage is divided across the affair categories. What I do know is that romantic affairs are certainly the most well known type and by far the most glamorized.

Romantic affairs

Romantic affairs are often called love affairs or affairs of the heart, which hat puts an enchanting spin on something horrific. In books, films, made for TV movies, and even love songs, it is a common theme. There they are, the poor misunderstood adulterer, stuck in a loveless marriage with some boring ogre they had the misfortune to marry. Instead of taking up crochet, joining a bowling league, learning to yodel, or throwing pots, cheating is the only way they can possibly find relief from the tedium known as life. Fucking someone outside their marriage is the only way for these pathetic souls to find a brief moment of happiness in their otherwise miserable, married existence.

And, it gets even better than that. Media of this sort usually contain graphic scenes where two steamy hot actors, (at least one of whom is married) simply can’t control their passion and wind up between sweaty, satin sheets committing the unthinkable. The passion and desire for each other is completely and utterly beyond their control.

We eat it up when romance novels dedicate page after page after page to this topic providing in-depth descriptions of sheer, unadulterated (pun intended) passion and feelings between two star-crossed lovers. It lights up the pages. The reader must understand that the gods have forced these lovers into the arms of each other, throwing caution and morality to the wind.

The cheated-on spouse in the romantic triangle is predictable. The individual is frumpy, demanding or simply out of touch with the needs of the adulterer. They are plain looking, boring and no fun. They don’t understand their cheating spouse and life with them is routine at best, yawn.

Hollywood is savvy enough to know that they cannot cast the spouse as a sympathetic character; one with true feelings who is devastated by the betrayal. If they do, it becomes a different story entirely, one involving revenge. In this case we still have compassion for the cheater because they married a bitter, revenge-crazed psycho. In either scenario, sympathy needs to be reserved for the cheater whose passion simply got the best of them in a moment, (or moments as it is quite often) of weakness.

The story also cannot reflect real life with real struggles. God forbid the cheated-on spouse be going through normal life changes like gaining weight, menopause, thinning hair, erectile dysfunction, becoming wheelchair bound, or having cancer. The spouse has to be the bad guy, the antagonist. We need to feel sorry for the cheater and we can’t if there is a sympathetic spouse holding the family together while the cheater commits adultery. We have to understand that the cheater was driven to cheat by supernatural forces.

Coupled with this, Hollywood also never shows the unglamorous side of every marriage. Who would want to watch that? We live it every day. We snore. We wake up surrounded by a puddle of drool on our pillow with hair strands going catawampus. We begin the day by wiping the crusties from the inside corners of our eyes as we fumble in the dark for that first cup of coffee.

The loyal spouse is never given the credit they are due for cooking dinners, rocking our babies, soothing crying children, nursing a sick spouse, bringing home a paycheck, and helping to make the ends of a tight budget meet. The cheated-on spouse is deceived, belittled, laughed at, manipulated and ridiculed, all so that the audience feels compassion for the cheater.

Infidelity in films doesn't end with the cheater simply learning his or her lesson, realizing that life with the affair partner isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, apologizing to their spouse and going home. If the cheater remains with the spouse, then we are dabbing our eyes at the end of the story because, wait for it . . . we