Current affairs - when you stray to stay

Clients come to me for many reasons: anxiety, identity crises, relationship breakdowns, sexual struggles. But if I’m honest, affairs are one of the most common themes that show up in the therapy room, far more than we like to admit. And they always have.

Affairs have been intertwined with marriage for as long as marriage has existed. Historically, marriage was never designed to be the romantic, all-needs-met arrangement we idealise today. It was a social and economic contract, rooted in survival and legacy, not passion and intimacy. Fast forward to now and we expect one person to be our lover, best friend, co-parent, therapist, adventure partner, financial partner and safe place. That is a big ask.

So when people stray, is it always about leaving? Not necessarily.

When I think of the clients I work with, they are often highly educated, emotionally intelligent, high-achieving people. They are not careless or cruel.

They have what Eric Berne in Transactional Analysis called hungers: the hunger for contact, stimulation and recognition. These are relational needs that live at the very core of human psychology: the need to be seen, heard, touched, desired and affirmed. When these needs go unmet for too long, a deficit forms. And when that happens, people become confused about where to get fed. Here is the paradox that most people miss: people do not always have affairs to leave the relationship. Sometimes they have affairs to stay.

When a part of you, what Internal Family Systems calls an “exile”, feels invisible, untouched or starved of attention, it reaches out for connection elsewhere. Often, this is not because you do not love your partner, but because you do. For some people, the affair is a lifeline, a distorted way to keep breathing inside the relationship without blowing it up. I see this play out repeatedly. Clients who love their partner deeply. They love the life they have built: the family, the shared history, the business, the home. And yet something feels dead inside. The relationship has become a space of logistics: bills, bins, bedtime routines. Not laughter. Not curiosity. Not touch.

Then someone new appears. It could be a colleague, a stranger on a dating app, an old flame who suddenly reappears on Instagram. And suddenly dormant parts of the self awaken. There is a spark, a feeling that whispers: You are still desirable. You are still alive. That feeling is intoxicating.

Neuroscience tells us it literally is. Dopamine surges, novelty ignites the brain like fireworks. Clients describe it as addictive. And in many ways, it is. We become addicted not to the person, but to the sense of aliveness they awaken. But here is the catch: having one foot in and one foot out creates an unbearable tension. People describe it as being torn in two, the longing for stability on one side and the hunger for vitality on the other. Which leads us to the big question: can one person meet all of our needs?

Modern love demands monogamy, passion, emotional intimacy, safety and novelty all in one package. Is that even realistic? Or is it outdated to expect one partner to carry the weight of every hunger we have?

And let’s be honest, even non-monogamy does not always solve this. At first, opening the relationship feels intoxicating. More lovers, more experiences, more choice, it feels like freedom. But what happens when even the hedonism stops feeling hedonistic? When the thrill wears off, when the newness stops lighting up your brain, what then?

What I have seen, both in clients and in my own reflections, is this: the real hunger becomes connection. The drive for connection is not optional. It is hardwired. It sits at the very foundation of our nervous system. And sometimes, when you taste deep connection again after months or years of living on emotional crumbs, it is like oxygen after being underwater. Clients tell me: “I did not even know I had been missing this until I felt it again.

That drive can lead people into all sorts of behaviours: affairs, compulsive dating, obsessive texting. All in an attempt to feel that human need being met. So I ask my clients the same question I have asked myself: what is the hunger? What is the need? What is the deficit? And most importantly, where can this be met in all areas of life?

Sometimes the answer is not another person. Sometimes the answer is purpose. I have seen this in clients again and again: when they reconnect with a sense of meaning, when they start learning, creating, building something bigger than themselves, the craving for external validation softens. The nervous system settles. But let’s not pretend purpose is always enough. Sometimes the need is simple: touch, time, desire. And I think we can all understand that.

Transactional Analysis tells us that every human being needs contact, stimulation and recognition. When we fail to discuss these needs openly, we default to silent contracts and assumptions. The truth is, most couples do not talk about what truly matters: what touch means to them, how much independence they need, what kind of eroticism keeps them alive, what they will do if one day the aliveness disappears.

Why? Because it feels unromantic. Because it feels scary. And yet silence is what kills desire. Clients often say to me: “I feel alive again. I have not felt this way in years.” Why does this matter so much? Because feeling alive is not optional. When we stop feeling alive, we start looking for it through affairs, risky choices, secret fantasies. And often, we are not just seeking another person. We are seeking another version of ourselves.

So why do we have affairs? Because we are complex. Because our hungers are real. Because sometimes the need to feel alive outweighs the fear of breaking a promise. It is not always about leaving. Sometimes an affair is the distorted attempt to stay. Where does this leave us? With conversations we can no longer avoid.

What if we normalised talking about novelty, eroticism, freedom and desire, not as threats to love but as ways to protect it? What if we built relationships on reality, not fantasy? 

Because the fantasy that one person will meet every hunger we have, that is the most dangerous fantasy of all.

What conversations could you have that would be vulnerable and honest about where you’re at and how you’re feeling? Where do you even begin?

Masks off

JH