The sense of obliteration that Gillian describes is a story I hear all the time from modern Western couples, but it is not the same everywhere. We would love to think that pain is pain, democratic and universal. In fact, an entire cultural framework shapes the way we give meaning to our heartbreak. In my conversations with a group of Senegalese women, several of whom had been cheated on by their husbands, none talked about having lost their entire identity. They described sleepless nights, jealousy, endless crying, outbursts of anger. But in their view, husbands cheat because “that’s what men do,” not because their wives are mysteriously inadequate. Ironically, their belief about men underscores their ongoing oppression but protects their sense of identity. Gillian may be socially more emancipated, but her identity and self-worth have been mortgaged to romantic love. And when love calls in its debts, it can be a ruthless creditor.

My Senegalese friends draw much of their identity and sense of belonging from their community. Historically, most people anchored their sense of self-worth in complying with the values and expectations of religion and family hierarchy. But in the absence of the old institutions, we are now each in charge of the making and maintaining of our own identity, and the burdens of selfhood have never been heavier. Hence, we are constantly negotiating our sense of self-worth. Sociologist Eva Illouz astutely points out that “the only place where you hope to stop that evaluation is in love. In love you become the winner of the contest, the first and only.”4 No wonder infidelity throws us into a pit of self-doubt and existential confusion.

For now, he needs to listen. This is going to take some work, because he is so invested in preserving an image of himself as not being a “sleazebag” (as he puts it) that he feels compelled to justify himself and his actions. He sees how bad she feels, but it makes him feel bad about himself (shame), which prevents him from feeling bad for her (guilt).

The shift from shame to guilt is crucial. Shame is a state of self-absorption, while guilt is an empathic, relational response, inspired by the hurt you have caused another. We know from trauma that healing begins when perpetrators acknowledge their wrongdoing. Often, when one partner insists that they don’t yet feel acknowledged, even as the one who hurt them insists they feel terrible, it is because the response is still more shame than guilt, and therefore self-focused. In the aftermath of betrayal, authentic guilt, leading to remorse, is an essential repair tool. A sincere apology signals a care for and commitment to the relationship, a sharing of the burden of suffering, and a restoration of the balance of power.5