When Loneliness Speaks
By Joan A. Roberts
Maybe, just maybe, if he had been more present, things might have unfolded differently.
Or maybe not.
No one ever really knows where a story begins to turn.
From the outside, it looked like a life anyone would admire. Stability. Comfort. A home that spoke of provision, not lack.
She had everything that could be seen, and yet there were things that were never said.
She was not the kind of woman who complained. Not because she had no needs, but because she had learned how to quiet them.
So she adjusted. She stayed. She loved, consistently and quietly, without spectacle.
But absence has a way of speaking, even when no one names it.
Days passed with little conversation. Moments that could have been shared dissolved into routine. Somewhere between what was given and what was missing, a space formed.
Not loud. Not obvious. Just there.
And then came exposure.
New conversations. New attention. A different kind of presence, one that listened, lingered, responded.
It was not planned. It was not justified.
But it was felt.
And in one unguarded moment, she reached for something she never thought she would.
The forbidden fruit.
Not because she was reckless. Not because she did not know right from wrong.
But because something in her had been quietly longing, and she did not stop herself in time.
She knew she did not have to give audience to the person she had seen at the store the other day. She tried to fight it.
What am I doing? Would I be comfortable with my husband hearing these conversations?
She knew the answer, even before she finished asking.
Then why am I still here?
For a moment, she drew back.
God, help me. I miss being listened to. I miss having someone ask how I am.
She thought of going home and finally saying the things she had swallowed for so long.
Tell him you are lonely. Tell him you miss him. Give him the chance to hear you.
Then another thought came.
And if nothing changes? Then honorably move out of the house.
She lingered, caught between the conversation she needed to have at home and the one she knew she needed to end.
She had his number. She gave him a call.
She let it happen.
The consequence came not in drama, but in truth.
A reality she could not ignore. A weight she could not explain away.
So she returned, not to defend herself, not to accuse, but to be honest.
“I was wrong,” she said in the only way she knew how. “And I do not want to harm you with my wrong.”
She did not mention his absence. She did not recount the silence she had lived with. She did not measure her mistake against anything he had done.
She carried it as her own.
Because to her, love, even when fractured, still required truth.
And in the quiet of her own thoughts, she asked herself a question she could not escape.
If it had been him, what would I have done?
She knew the answer.
It would have hurt deeply.
But she does not believe she would have let go so easily. Not of something built over years. Not of someone she once called home.
Still, she did not demand the same from him.
Instead, she made a decision.
She chose to leave.
Not out of shame placed on her, but out of something she placed within herself.
A kind of acceptance. A kind of consequence.
A quiet understanding that some choices cannot be undone, only carried.
And so she walked away, not loudly, not bitterly, but with the weight of knowing that sometimes, the greatest loss is not the relationship itself.
It is realizing that the man you thought you knew only knew how to love you when you were whole in his eyes, not when you were human.
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Note Below
In my opinion, loneliness is no excuse for infidelity in marriage. A spouse’s absence, demanding work schedule, distance, or shortcomings do not excuse our choice of infidelity or desire for another. We can make a million excuses for doing what we want, just as we can find reasons to remain upright. It is a matter of choice.
You made a vow. You made a vow, period. We water things down too much. We went to the altar to make a vow, then came back only to start looking for a reason to break it—a month later, two months later, six years later. Like, seriously? What did we mean when we made that vow?
You walked to the altar before God and witnesses. How does your spouse being busy or far away become permission to share your body with another? That choice betrays the very person with whom you made those vows. Make it make sense. I wish it could make sense to me. It does not.
What happened to sitting down and talking to each other? To respectfully communicating our desires, needs, likes, and dislikes? If the concern is hygiene, intimacy, meals, or time together, why not name it and work toward a solution? If work takes too much time, ask for balance. If help is needed at home, discuss getting help.
Even a request as simple as “Please brush your teeth and bathe before coming to bed” can be received as an insult. A conversation intended to bring two people closer becomes a quarrel, and the closeness both might have wanted is lost. Speaking gently matters. So does being willing to receive an uncomfortable concern without turning it into a battle.
Then the frustration is carried to work. A spouse’s private flaws become a conversation with someone outside the marriage. Someone listens, offers sympathy, and begins to occupy the space that the couple has left between them. Sometimes that person uses those disclosures to offer the very attention or understanding that is missing at home.
Why should our most intimate concerns become an opening for someone else? Seeking discreet help from a counselor or trusted adviser can support a marriage. But exposing a spouse’s intimate flaws to someone who may become romantically involved can undermine it.
And when conversations at home fail, what happened to seeking counseling? Counseling itself makes room for communication. Why must speaking honestly to someone with whom we share such closeness seem almost impossible? Why should we be at war with words?
Perhaps we have not sufficiently taught the courage, wisdom, and words needed to communicate—in our homes, our schools, and our relationships.
We should understand before taking our vows that we are not perfect. We walk to the altar as human beings, knowing we have weaknesses. Why, then, do we leave the altar expecting each other to become divine?
We were human before the vows. We remain human after them. Two imperfect people do not become perfect overnight simply because they have promised to love each other.
What did we understand by “for better, for worse”? Did we prepare only for the pleasant days, or also for the difficult days when our weaknesses would become visible? Those are the moments to communicate, to seek counseling, confession, prayer, and whatever help is necessary. Imperfection calls for responsibility and growth. It does not give us permission to betray each other.
Why keep a private record of wrongs until it becomes a case for abandoning the vows? Why not address concerns as they arise?
“When you speak to me that way, I feel disrespected.”
“I need us to talk about hygiene before we come to bed.”
“I miss spending time with you. Can we find a better balance?”
These conversations may be uncomfortable, but how does avoiding them help? Speak with respect. Listen with humility. Give each other the opportunity to understand and respond.
Sometimes, a person who has already committed adultery begins searching for faults that will justify leaving. “I want a divorce” becomes an attempt to give an existing betrayal the appearance of legitimacy. But wanting to leave does not make the betrayal that came before it faithful. We must be honest about the order of our choices and take responsibility for them.
In this story, the woman recognized her wrongdoing. She confessed it and chose to walk away as a consequence she placed upon herself. But if she could pause afterward to consider her husband’s pain, why did she not make room for that same reflection before the act?
How will this affect him? What am I risking? What will this do to our home?
Her loneliness deserved attention. Her choice still required accountability.
Very often, we are quick to judge, to condemn, to crucify, to ostracize, and to begin a quiet campaign of tearing down the very person we once claimed to love.
But where is it written that we have become perfect?
We are human. We are all in the process of becoming.
So why do we make a mockery of the vows of marriage when we are not maturely prepared to carry the responsibility behind them?
Marriage is not only about provision or procreation. It is also about covering one another, especially in moments of falling.
And falling is not always obvious.
Sickness can take many forms. It can be in the body. It can be in the mind. It can be in finances, in behavior, in judgment, in morals.
Yet today, it has become easy to walk away when a partner is no longer at their best. When mental health declines. When finances fall apart. When direction is lost. Even when a grave mistake like adultery occurs.
And the question remains, when did we begin to reduce a human being to a single failure, as though we ourselves are without fault?
What happened to pausing, even for a moment, to ask what would I have needed if it were me?
What does love really mean?
Love is not blind acceptance of harm, and it is not the absence of boundaries. Love is responsibility.
It says, I see where you are, and I will not abandon you because of it.
It says, I may step back to protect myself, but I will not disappear.
It says, I will remain, even if from a distance, until you are ready to rise, until you are ready to seek help, until you are ready to return to what we once built.
Because love is not just what we say when things are good.
It is what we choose when things fall apart.
So we must ask ourselves honestly.
What did we mean when we said, “I love you”?
What did we mean when we stood before a congregation and before God and said, “for better, for worse”?
Was it commitment, or was it convenience?
Was it covenant, or was it performance?
Or have we reduced something sacred to a moment of appearance, dressed in fine clothes, spending money, and calling it love while emptying it of its true meaning?
At what point did we become comfortable making a mockery of God, of marriage, and of the very vows we once spoke with our own mouths?
Silence does not solve unmet needs. And infidelity does not resolve them.
Do not allow one minute or five minutes of arousal to make a decision with consequences that may last for years. As overwhelming as the feeling may seem, you do not have to obey it.
And, on a lighter note: take a cold shower. Put down the phone. Leave the conversation. Open the Scriptures. Give yourself time to remember who you are and what you have promised.
Then pray sincerely:
Lord, You created me with the capacity for desire. You know that I am human. But right now, I have no rightful way to express this desire. Until that time comes, help me carry it without giving in to what would betray my vows.
I do not want to fall. I am made in Your image and likeness. My desires are real, but they do not have to govern my choices.
Fill me, Lord. Holy Spirit, strengthen me. I bring my body into subjection to Your Word. Help me turn away from lust and from seeking an easy outlet through another person or through masturbation. Teach me to bring even this part of myself honestly before You.
Your words are spirit and life. Your grace is sufficient for me. Quiet what is unsettled within me, and help me channel my energy into what is faithful, productive, and good.
If you are Catholic, follow this prayer with the Rosary. Consolidate it with that meditative prayer, reflecting on the life of Christ as you bring your struggles before God.
Pray from within, with sincerity. Then let your actions agree with your prayer. End the call. Step away from the temptation. Seek support when you need it. If the feeling returns, return to prayer and to the boundaries that protect your commitment. A returning feeling does not mean you have failed; you still have a choice about what comes next.
What happened to occupying our time productively and guarding what we allow into our thoughts?
The temptation may arrive, but we still have a responsibility for what we do with it.
We are human. We need grace. And we must be willing to act on the help we ask God to give us.
Amen. May God help us.
“Let the husband render unto the wife due benevolence: and likewise also the wife unto the husband.”
— 1 Corinthians 7:3 (KJV)
“Marriage is honourable in all, and the bed undefiled: but whoremongers and adulterers God will judge.”
— Hebrews 13:4 (KJV)“Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation: the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.”
— Matthew 26:41 (KJV)
