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I am Huma

I am Huma.

I don’t want to talk about emails, in fact, I don’t know anything about emails. However, I do know what it’s like to want nothing more than to go back in time and choose a husband who wouldn’t cheat, lie, and humiliate me with his sexual promiscuity. I want to pretend my husband was a supportive, faithful, steadfast man in front of my children, friends, and family. I want the world to see my accomplishments and my contributions to our lives, and our community, and to not look to his sexual affairs as somehow a reflection upon me.

The world won’t let me.

When a woman cheats, she is whore, a slut, and a home wrecker. When a man cheats, his wife is put under scrutiny. Was she meeting his needs? Was she a nag? Did she fail to lose the baby weight? Did she stop trying to please him? Did she emasculate him with her success?

What did she do wrong?

The morning I discovered my husband’s affair probably wasn’t much different from getting a call from an aide, or having a reporter release a photo from the Internet. The cold sweat, the pit in your stomach, the racing heart, and sting of betrayal, it’s all the same no matter who you are.

I stumbled across his affair on my new iPad. Like every other morning, I made myself some coffee; plopped down on the sofa, and logged on to my iPad to read the news. Only this morning, photos streamed on the screen like a near-death-flash-before-my-eyes experience: breasts, vaginas, erections, was that a prostitute? And my husband! … 144 photos to be exact, one after the other.

I wanted to collapse into a pile of tears. I wanted to scream and throw his clothes out onto the lawn and set them on fire. But like most women, I didn’t even have the time that morning to digest it, I had to get to my children’s phones and computers and protect them from the on slot of family sharing iCloud photos downloading, right now! I had to make breakfast, make lunches, and get them to school. And like some cruel joke, I had to go sit next to my husband and watch the third grade play, Our Solar System, in two hours!

Look, I may not be in the high-powered, highly charged world of Hillary and Huma, but I have a family, and unfortunately I had a scumbag of a husband. And like these two women, and most women I know, I have people, big and small, looking to me to be their daily compass despite what is brewing internally. We don’t have the luxury of stopping to lose our shit like we want to! So, like Huma I went to the play. Like Hillary, I kept charging on.

We don’t have a choice.

In my case, it didn’t take long for my community to find out about his affair and our crumbling marriage. There is no doubt that it’s a humiliating and devastating experience to have your innermost shame exposed. But I didn’t cheat and I didn’t expose my family to sexual photos. And neither did Huma or Hillary, so leave them alone about their home life.

I wouldn’t wish the public infidelity experience on my nemesis, but ultimately, there is no personal shame in having a scoundrel for a husband. If you must condemn someone, condemn him. It’s bad enough that we married a creep, now stop judging us based on how we publicly react to his betrayal. Or speculating about what we did to deserve this, or what we think of his dick pics? You don’t know if we forgive him or if we want to kill him, and frankly it’s none of your business. But if you must know, we are destroyed and we just don’t feel like sharing that with you.

Either support us or leave us alone.

We have been through enough already – and if you haven’t noticed, we still have a work to get to.

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