Being Mr Nice

What exactly do I mean when I call myself a ‘nice guy’. I mean, I’m proud that I’m generally a decent person – I get on well with friends and colleagues, give money to charity, and open doors for strangers. But is this title I’ve cloaked myself with all it’s cracked up to be? 

I’ve always thought I was a good husband because I’m ‘nice’. I’ve never cheated on her, usually let her have way in our day-to-day lives, and I’m even pretty spot on with making sure the washing up is done these days. I’ve gotten myself a decent career and have provided well for our family since we stopped being a feckless, childless couple in our twenties. 

So why did she have sex with someone else? That’s the question that ricochets around my head at night. It’s th question I can ask because I’m scared of the answer. 

That being nice isn’t enough. Or that maybe I’m not actually that ‘nice’?

I had issues with money when I was younger and hid them from her until I learned that was no way to treat the one you love. I’m lazy and thoughtless sometimes. I take advantage of selflessness at times. I don’t spend as much time with the kids as she does, and that’s not entirely due to work. 

I’ve consoled myself with the moral high ground since I found out about the affair. But we’re all flawed and although the deception and betrayal cuts at my very heart – her having sex with him was just the manifestation of of flaw. Like my hiding in the toilet on my phone when the kids are arguing. 

Or maybe I just think that being so forgiving and rational about all of this is just more evidence for the Mr Nice file? 

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