I was dumbfounded by my new husband allowing my ex-husband to stay at our home, but that's exactly what we did. And V's attitude set the tone for the future. Howard didn't continue staying in our house, but he drove up every few weeks Howard didn't remarry but had several serious relationships, and the four of us would double date sometimes when he brought his partner with him. And the laughs came back too; there was no one who could make me laugh harder or more often. I don't want to imply it was all smooth sailing; there were plenty of storms. But when you peel away what makes you a couple, what remains can make you friends. And the biggest winners in our friendship weren't us, but our kids. This was normal. The new normal.
Page 1 of 2 A certain woman has been on your mind for quite some time. With a personality and body that make you lose focus, she is your ideal partner. Or so you think. The problem is that her former boyfriend and your best friend are the same person.
So what on earth do you do? There are many factors to consider before you even begin to fathom a relationship with her. your relationship with your friend Some men form a bond based on trust and mutual respect. If that is the case with you and your best friend, you may want to step off and look for another woman.
If the friendship has endured since grade school, for example, why would you risk it over a woman? No matter how good she is, she cannot replace what you have with your best friend. The sex is not worth it alone, nor is the emotional investment. A best friend is a precious commodity that will endure a lifetime, provided you do not sleep with a woman he once cared about. There is another type of best friend that men have, of course. That would be the fun but sick and depraved kind.
The one who you would team up with for a three-way or compare a sexual conquest with. Could he be the same best friend as above? Perhaps, but the chances are slim. Because the same best friend is also the kind who would be open to the prospect of you and his ex as an item. The fact of the matter is that some men have a wolf pack mentality on the subject of women. We want our pack to score often and revel in the unspoken endorphin rush we receive when we date (and sleep with) the same woman.
I equate the misunderstood phenomenon to an episode of good fortune passed on to your best friend. You got some, so you want the pack to get some as well. But some men do not like to "share." And when genuine emotion is at play, the situation could become complicated. your relationship with his exTo determine the nature of his relationship with his ex, you have to be an expert judge of character.
The stereotype of man as defective communicator is often accurate. Even our best friend may not be aware of how we feel about our ex. If you suspect that to be the case, you should play archaeologist and dig for information. Did the relationship end on a sour note?
Who left whom? Did he love her or was she a mild interest that he had to gratify? Better yet, does he respect her? You know how some men are — all dog and player. I suspect that type may not have a problem with your affection for his ex. But then again, his real nature could emerge if you make a move and he could become possessive and resentful. how long since the break?Even if your best friend had a close bond with his ex, there is still hope for you.
The more time that has passed, the less painful and more palatable it will be for him to deal with your interest in her. If they broke up last week and you want to make a big move today, you could be in for it.
But then again, if he discarded her and has another woman on his mind, you could be free and clear. Time is a subjective thing. Some men have a one-year rule with their best friend. Some place a five-year moratorium on dating an ex.
And then you have the group of men for whom the subject is taboo. They adhere to a strict code of honor set in stone: no matter the circumstance, an ex is never to enter the radar screen. Hardcore but definitive and effective for some men. Why should it be a taboo subject?
best dating a good friend ex husbands - WIFE (Why Isn't Forever Easy): Is it ok for your BEST FRIEND to date your EX
Hey Pal, Listen, I realize that divorce happens. People grow apart, our feelings change, our circumstances change, and sometimes two people can no longer be together. Other times, someone does something to their partner that can’t be moved past. Sometimes the cut is too deep, and the whole thing has to be called off, so that everyone can try to pick up the pieces and move forward. You fall into that latter category. This divorce is your fault. You hurt my friend, you lied to my friend, and you betrayed my friend.
She’s handling this like the strong, resilient, compassionate badass that she is, and the two of you are managing to cohabitate in relative peace until you are able to help your kids through this transition and life change. You are both amazing parents, and she’s putting aside her pain to put the needs of your kids ahead of her need to have you move out immediately.
You are treating each other with respect during this time, and even finding time to laugh and share family meals, and I admire the hell out of both of you for that. While your arrangement isn’t a feasible option for all separating couples, many folks could take a page from your book here to mitigate some of the hurt and anger that often accompanies the splitting up of a family.
BUT, just because she’s being a fucking pillar of dignity and strength, doesn’t mean that I’m not pissed. Oh, I’m pissed. I’m pissed, and I’m looking at you, sir. You see, this is happening and it has to happen and it should happen, but you are the reason this is taking place. She is willing to recognize what a good father you are, and acknowledge your redeeming qualities as she works to forgive you for your indiscretions, but I don’t have to do that.
I get to pull the Best Friend Card here, and I get to just be pissed the fuck off that you are the catalyst for the heartbreak, pain, anxiety, and overwhelming stress that you are causing my friend. So, FUCK YOU DUDE. Fuck you for making her sad. Fuck you for making her question her own value and self-worth. Fuck you for making her question your entire relationship. Fuck you for making her feel like she has to figure out what she did wrong. Fuck you for making her feel guilty that she can’t keep up the facade forever and pretend like everything is fine.
Fuck you for making her stress out over money. Fuck you for making her stay up all night crying. Fuck you for making her heart break as she attempts to prepare herself for spending 50% of her time away from the children she adores beyond comprehension. Fuck you for making her stay up all night as she worries how this will affect their future.
She has to share space with you as you attend basketball games, awards assemblies, recitals, and science fair presentations. She has to help your children process their anger, hurt, and confusion. She has to encourage them to forgive you and recognize that you are still the same adoring father they’ve always cherished. She has to convince them that she will be okay, so that they do not lose sleep worrying about their mama.
And that shit is a heavy burden to bear, man. Especially when you fought so hard to never be in this situation. Especially when you have been blindsided. Especially when you wish you could figure out a way to make it work, but you just can’t fucking do it anymore. So while she continues to take the high road, you can understand why I’m spitting nails over here, right? You can understand why I want to junk punch you hella hard.
You can understand why I kind of want to call you up and be like, “I HOPE YOUR NEW HOUSE HAS ROACHES. SO MANY ROACHES. I HOPE IT RAINS ROACHES. But only when your kids are not there, of course. Okay, bye fucker.” Because it is her job to be the bigger person as she guides your family through this uncharted territory, and it is my job to be her sounding board.
To validate her feelings. To support her choices. To lift her up when she feels too weary to keep pushing forward. To show up with takeout and cheap wine when the shit hits the fan.
To keep reminding her, “Girlfriend, on the other side of this bullshit mountain is something amazing. What? I don’t know, but I know it’s fucking awesome. A whole new brand of happiness and freedom and you are going to rock it because you don’t need a fuckin’ man, and this is your year, baby.” And it’s true. She’s going to be happy again. She’s going to be stronger. She’s going to forgive you. She’s going to remind me of what a good dad you are, and how you are emotionally invested in helping the kids through this because you know you fucked up royally, and I’m going to be over here waving my middle finger in your direction.
If you get a shipping compartment full of roaches, don’t call me. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Fucker. Love, The BFF
Ours was a classic story of getting married too young. I was unsure of my identity, and he was too sure of his. We each had something to prove. For me, it was that I could live a normal, picturesque life. For him, it was that he could do it all better than others. We were great friends and fantastic partners when it came to the logistics of life. He brought attention to pragmatic matters, and I brought attention to adventure. Since we were both frugal and valued similar experiences, we never fought about money and generally had enough to live the life we wanted.
From the outside, we were perfect. People often remarked how well suited we were for each other, and we put on a brilliant show. We flirted with each other at parties, gallivanted across the globe, and adopted pets with adorable names. Most days, we believed our own act. Behind the scenes, we were a disaster. Tempers soared. Our fighting was bitter and cutting and frequent. We said things we could never take back, and we intentionally aggravated each other’s neuroses.
We insulted and accused. We shouted and shoved. We slammed doors. We threw objects. Once, he twisted his ankle chasing me down a flight of stairs. Another time, I threatened him with a heavy, metal poker case. Resentment boiled over the years, and our fighting became secondary to cold indifference. We forgot how to speak to each other or how to have fun together. We shuffled through our house, on the unbearable days we both occupied it, doing anything to avoid time in the same room.
He wielded sharp, cruel words against me, and I eventually checked out. I found affection elsewhere. I turned to an affair for comfort and support, and when I came home to our marriage, I was shocked by the dearth of kindness. After six long years of tearing each other apart, we had become resentful shells of our former selves.
Our hearts were mutually broken, and we couldn’t fix the trust we’d destroyed. Our anger boiled to one climactic episode of violence, and I finally decided to leave. Fortunately, our shared values and logistical partnership proved useful in the splitting of our lives. We both cared a great deal about privacy and maintaining dignity, so we managed to keep it a secret for months before anyone, including family, found out.
We wanted to be sure we made the right call before we faced the humiliation of a failed marriage. By sharing a secret, we began to reestablish trust. By minding each other’s dignity, we began to redevelop compassion. By listening to each other’s stories, we began to rediscover our individual identities.
During the first six months of our separation, we continued to fight. The pain was too fresh, and we each felt compelled to twist the finger of blame, to account for this disaster, to make our accusations known. Many phone calls ended in tears, shouting, and hang-ups, but we worked through it. Maybe it was that we finally recognized the futility of our anger. We saw that we could never solve what was wrong between us, so we were forced to either accept it or not.
Not accepting meant we’d be out of each other’s lives for good. Accepting meant forgiveness. It meant making the conscious choice to swallow anger and to stay calm and kind. Oddly, I think it was when we both got into our first post-marital relationships that really cemented our friendship. For the first time, we were able to talk about our lives on equal footing, each of us happy with someone else.
It was hard and strange at first, but the comfort of knowing we were both in good places—and in all likelihood, the fear of being replaced—helped us move toward a relaxed rapport. By the time both of those relationships dissolved, we had established the kind of loving openness and acceptance that was missing from our romantic relationship.
We no longer had use for lies or deception, and we started talking about everything, including sex with other people, the occasional recurrence of romantic feelings for each other, regrets, hopes, jobs, friends, movies, books, neuroses—everything.
He has become the person I can call whenever I’m in the dark because I know I can count on him to tell me, “You’ve got this.” In return, I help where I can, offering insight on relationship quandaries or personal challenges. We share stories about our families—things that only someone who’s been in the trenches with you can understand. We revisit inside jokes. We celebrate birthdays. We recommend reading. Sometimes it breaks my heart to know we couldn’t be this good to each other when we were together.
I wonder how the kind, patient people we’ve become can be the same ones who screamed and threatened and betrayed each other when we were “in love.” It doesn’t really matter, I guess. We weren’t good to each other then, but we are now. We had to go through hell to get here, but here we are. He has a new girlfriend now, and she sounds lovely.
One day, I’ll meet her, and maybe someday I’ll introduce a partner of my own. Whatever comes our way, I’m confident that we can handle it and that we’ll be in each other’s lives a long time. It’s possible I have never had more faith in another person than I do in him right now.
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SL: Should I Date My Ex's Best Friend