Once a Cheater… But Not Always
Infidelity, Growth, and Why the Old Saying Misses the Mark
People love a scandal—especially the kind they’ve never lived through and can’t imagine experiencing. Social media gives them a metaphorical megaphone to fling judgement around like digital confetti. Whether it’s a messy breakup, a parenting decision, or someone’s choice to live differently from them, the crowd shows up ready to weigh in. Like when a celebrity cheats, it’s time to cue the moral outrage and state that classic saying: “Once a cheater, always a cheater.”
If there’s one thing I know for certain, it’s that this tired little mantra doesn’t always hold water. Infidelity isn’t a one-size-fits-all betrayal. There’s a lot more going on beneath the surface—and it’s rarely as simple as people assume.
My Drive Home series lays out years of infidelity during my previous twenty-one-year marriage. Each article is my examination of those affairs through the lens of who I am now. I’m not offering just the story, but a self-analysis. At the end every post is a rearview glance—the personal reflection on how and why it may have happened.
Not to spoil the ending for those following along with the series, but yes—my marriage ended in divorce. And if you didn’t see that coming, I’d recommend going back to the beginning with affair number one. The signs are there and they’re probably more obvious to the reader than they ever were to me at the time.
The goal behind this vulnerability is simple—reconciliation. Not with my ex, but with myself. Writing it all down and sharing with readers has become a kind of group therapy for me. Therapists will offer that individual accountability is the foundation for healing after infidelity. I agree, at least in my personal experience. This is my way of owning what I did, instead of letting regret or shame carry all the weight.
What’s surprised me was the reaction from those close to me who knew my ex-husband. Their response was often, “I don’t blame you.” It’s not that they condone my behavior, but offering a protective grace rooted in empathy and loyalty. It’s a way of saying, “I saw what you were up against, and I understand.” I appreciate it, but here’s what I’ve learned: cheating isn’t a side effect of marital unhappiness—it’s an active choice. One that breaks the rules of partnership, fractured or not.
What happened next?
I eventually married the man from my last affair. We weren’t each other’s first “side-piece” given we both had a long histories of infidelity. He wasn’t the reason I left my husband—I left because there was no reason to stay. The marriage was completely dysfunctional and beyond repair.
I learned how to stand on my own as a single mother and it was definitely a challenge. It’s also worth mentioning that “on my own” doesn’t mean I was alone during that chapter of my life. There was an abundance of support from family and friends. It was nearly two years after my separation before I was officially part of a couple again. Meanwhile, the man who eventually became my husband had his own baggage to unpack from his marriage.
Things weren’t flawless once he divorced and moved closer. We had to untangle habits that didn’t belong in the kind of relationship we were trying to build—like bottling things up, sidestepping difficult conversations, or assuming the other person should just know how we feel. The foundation was there in theory, but actually living out what we both said we wanted took time, patience, and a willingness to grow. Two years of sorting ourselves later, we moved in together. Four more, we tied the knot.
What I’ve learned in my second marriage is this: there’s real power in being fully open about what you feel and what you need. Unexpressed needs fester worse than unmet ones. Silence, avoidance, and emotional withdrawal slowly erode the foundation of any chance for a connection.
In my first marriage, I did make numerous attempts to express what I needed. I did the emotional heavy lifting, initiated the conversations, and hoped things would change. But the effort wasn’t reciprocated. I can’t speak to why he had affairs, but for me, it was a misguided attempt to fill a void—an emotional, physical, and psychological need I couldn’t seem to satisfy within my marriage.
Lack of active, honest communication is often the invisible crack that turns into a fault line. It’s about sharing the needs, fears, disappointments, and emotional shifts before any resentment or temptation takes place. This isn’t justification for cheating on your partner when those conversations aren’t taking place.
With that said, part of growth is admitting responsibility without hiding behind someone else’s failings. My choices were mine. After all, people in difficult, disconnected, or miserable marriages still choose fidelity every day.
In this marriage, adultery isn’t a looming threat—it’s a nonissue because we’ve done the work to make it so. This isn’t because we’re perfect, but we determined what works for us. We built something on open communication, mutual accountability, and a willingness to brutally call things what they are. Both of us had come from marriages where the breakdown was the slow death of not being heard. So now, we make it a point to listen. We talk. We stay honest, even when it’s uncomfortable.
Another Kind of Marriage
You may not realize that some people don’t cheat because they’re unhappy with their relationship. They crave variety or sexual novelty while still loving their partner deeply. Some are driven by a desire for autonomy and personal growth. Others are simply looking for the freedom to explore their sexuality—without sacrificing the emotional bond they already have.
There’s another kind of relationship to consider: Consensual Non-Monogamy (CNM).
In a Psychology Today article titled “The Facts About Consensual Non-Monogamy,” Dr. David Ludden notes that CNM isn’t rare. In fact, there’s a good chance you already know someone in an open relationship. These relationships don’t always fit the stereotypes of wild escapades or constant partner-swapping. This also isn’t a generational trend, something for the young and restless. There are people of all ages, races, religions, and levels of education quietly rewriting their relationship rules—and doing it with intention.
Some couples find that allowing for emotionally detached experiences can actually preserve the integrity of their relationship rather than threaten it. For those who aren’t wired for lifelong exclusivity, it might be the difference between living a lie and living in truth. As with monogamy, it only works with full transparency and mutual agreement.
Successful CNM isn’t just about permission—it’s about parameters. Consent must be explicit, not assumed. Boundaries are discussed ahead of time, not after they’ve been crossed. That means understanding what’s emotionally safe for each person, what constitutes betrayal, and how to manage feelings such as jealousy or insecurity. This isn’t a loophole for avoiding commitment as it actually requires more vulnerable communication, not less.
Without a foundation of trust and shared values, CNM can become just another way to wound each other. When done right, it can challenge the idea that fidelity only has one definition. Love doesn’t always follow a traditional script. If anything, we are learning that the healthiest relationships are built on mutual understanding, not outdated expectations.
We all know that an overwhelming majority of our parents and grandparents weren’t having these kinds of conversations. They followed the script they were given, often without openly questioning if it actually worked for them.
Culturally, we’re in the midst of reimagining what committed relationships can look like. While monogamy remains the default, CNM is being explored by couples who are happily married, emotionally bonded, and fully invested in each other’s growth. Shows, podcasts, and memoirs have cracked open the narrative, allowing more people to say out loud what they once only dared to imagine.
And in the spirit of full transparency, my husband and I are in an open relationship. What’s interesting is that we have rarely exercised the sexual freedoms we’ve given each other—meaning, we aren’t having sex with other people. But the freedom itself? That’s what feels liberating for both of us.
Our relationship may not be for everyone—and that’s okay. But if you find yourself repeatedly cheating—not because you’re unhappy with your partner, but because monogamy just doesn’t feel natural—it might be time for a different conversation. If you genuinely love your partner and hate the thought of betraying them, ask yourself if the relationship could evolve.
If your partner isn’t on board, that has to be respected. You don’t get to rebrand cheating as freedom if it violates their trust. But sometimes, a brave and respectful conversation can lead to deeper intimacy—or create alternatives, like roleplay, fantasy, or finding new ways to feel desired.
Love isn’t about perfection. It’s about truth, choice, and building a relationship that actually works for both people—not just one.
So, is it true that once a cheater, always a cheater?
Sometimes. But not always.
People change when they finally stop deflecting and start owning their part in the story. And, by simply starting the conversation, couples can unlock entirely new paths to intimacy and understanding. Growth comes from reflection, responsibility, and the willingness to live differently.
I’m not proud of how I handled things in my first marriage, but I’m grateful for what I’ve learned since. We may not get do-overs, but we can do better. And sometimes, rewriting the rules starts with rewriting the story we’ve been telling ourselves.
Leave a comment if you have any questions or would like to share your story.
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