Adeola* (33) has been married for four years. Growing up, her ideas of marriage shifted from fairy-tale fantasies to a practical checklist of what an ideal partner should be. But nothing prepared her for the day her husband confessed to cheating.
In this week’s Marriage Diaries, she shares how her habit of avoiding conflict almost cost her marriage, why forgiving betrayal was the hardest thing she’s ever done, and how love still keeps her grounded even when trust feels shaky.
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From romance novels to real life
My idea of marriage has changed many times throughout my life. As a child, I didn’t think much about it, it was something for adults. Then, in my teenage years, I thought it was this grand romantic fantasy with a happily-ever-after. I read tonnes of romance novels, and I always imagined my Prince Charming would sweep me off my feet and be perfect for me.
That illusion didn’t last long. I realised quickly that the “perfect man” I had in my head didn’t exist. Every crush I had had one imperfection or another, and that was my rude awakening. Some people get lucky and find something close to fairytales, but this is real life.
By the time I was old enough to consider marriage, my expectations had matured. I still wanted love and butterflies, but I started asking harder questions: Who is this person really? What values do they hold? Can he build a home? What kind of father would he be? What kind of husband would he be? By then, I knew marriage wasn’t just a jolly ride but serious business.
My fear of conflict shaped how I handled marriage
If I’ve learned anything about myself, I’m conflict-avoidant. In past relationships, when things got heated, I’d walk away. Sometimes I’d take a break for days, even weeks, and only return when I was ready. It worked back then.
Naturally, I thought I could carry the same habit into marriage. My husband already knew I was like that and gave me space whenever we fought. So even after we married, I’d still shut him out whenever he upset me. He wouldn’t push, and we’d wait it out.
But I soon realised marriage isn’t built to survive that. One argument made this painfully clear. It was about money; I needed him to pay for something, and he insisted we had to prioritise other expenses. Since I had my own money, I just paid, and he got angry. It spiralled into a back-and-forth, and I did what I always did: left. I found reasons to stay away, visiting my parents and then my sister. I was gone for almost a week.
He reached out during that time, but I ignored him. On the sixth day, I had a lightbulb moment: if I kept shutting him out this way, I could lose my marriage. That day, I went back home and we sat down to talk. It wasn’t easy, but I started learning that in marriage, you have to forgive faster and move past issues in the moment. The silent treatment that worked when dating could be the undoing of a marriage.
Forgiving his cheating was the hardest test
If avoiding conflict was one lesson, forgiving my husband’s cheating was the real test. I never thought that would be part of my story. We dated four years before marriage, and I never once suspected him of cheating. He’s not “that kind of man,” or at least, I thought so.
But about a year ago, he confessed. He came to me directly and admitted what he’d done. That’s what made it harder. I wasn’t uncovering a secret or catching him red-handed; I was face-to-face with a man asking me for forgiveness.
I felt ambushed. On one hand, I was furious that he broke his vows. On the other hand, I was looking at a man who confessed and was remorseful. Saying “I forgive you” felt almost impossible. For weeks, I ruminated over his confession. Should I walk away? Was I ready for a lifetime with someone I couldn’t forgive? Or was this what people meant when they said marriage would be tested, that you’d face something almost unforgivable and have to decide whether to stay?
In the end, I chose forgiveness. Not because it was easy, but because leaving felt too final, and I wasn’t ready to give up on us.
His betrayal made me confront my own flaws
After my husband’s confession, I needed to know why. I wanted to understand what pushed him there, especially since the woman wasn’t even his “spec,” at least not from what I knew of his preferences.
At first, he refused to explain. He said whatever reason he gave would sound like gaslighting. But I pressed, and eventually he told me. He reminded me of the times we’d fought, and I’d shut him out for days. He said it made him feel cold and alone, even in his home. He admitted he’d tried to get used to my style of processing things, but deep down, he hated it.
I thought it was a ridiculous reason, almost laughable compared to the magnitude of cheating. But in the following days and weeks, I realised I also had some accountability to do. My way of shutting down when upset had created a gap, and while I’ll never excuse what he did, I could see how our patterns played a role.
Since then, I’ve tried to do better. Even when I’m not ready to talk, I now try to stay present in small ways. It’s not easy, but it’s better than disappearing for days and leaving him in silence.
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Love can pull you back even when trust feels broken
Marriage has changed me in ways I didn’t expect. In some aspects, it’s made me better. My husband is more jovial and sociable than I am, and being with him has taught me to be more open. He’s also impacted me spiritually; he’s the one waking up at night to pray, going on retreats, and pushing me to be a stronger Christian.
But there are parts of myself I’ve lost. I used to trust easily once I let people in. Now, almost one year after his cheating, I’m always suspicious. I snoop around his phone, check receipts from his pockets, and sometimes doubt his movements. I hate that version of myself, but it’s hard to shake. A part of me has forgiven, but another part won’t forget.
Still, through it all, love always pulls back. When I’m angry, love makes me stay. When he hurt me in a way I thought I couldn’t heal from, love gave me strength. I genuinely believe love is enough to sustain a marriage. It doesn’t erase pain but makes you fight, stay, and sometimes even lower your standards in ways you never imagined.
