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From “The New York Times,” I’m Anna Martin. This is “Modern Love.” Today, I’m talking to the most famous couples therapist in the world, Esther Perel. Esther’s books, “Mating in Captivity” and “State of Affairs,” have forced so many of us, myself included, to rethink our assumptions about love. Like maybe it’s unrealistic to expect the passion and fire we feel at the beginning of a relationship to last forever. And when one partner cheats on the other, what if it could actually bring the couple closer, instead of tearing them apart?

On her podcast, “Where Should We Begin,” Esther lets us eavesdrop on sessions with real couples. People come to her with impossible problems, and she somehow guides them to a breakthrough. She gives them hope. When I listen to Esther’s podcast, I feel like I’m getting a free therapy session, so I wasn’t surprised in the slightest when she told me that people come up to her in public all the time and ask her deeply personal questions.

The grocery store is one place, but airplanes is even better.

Oh, no, Esther. If I were you, I’d be really scared to fly.

[LAUGHS]: They’re suspended in the air, and they tell you lots of things. And it is often about, can trust be repaired when it’s been broken? Can you bring a spark back when it’s gone? Can you rekindle desire when it’s been dormant for so long? What do you do when you’re angry at yourself for having stayed when you think you should have left? Or what do you do when you’re angry at yourself when you’ve left and now you think you should have stayed?

You’re like, I’m just at the grocery store, man. I need to check out.

Yes.

Clearly, people are struggling so much to be happy in long-term relationships that they’re cornering this woman basically everywhere she goes. And these things people ask Esther about, they’re exactly the kinds of high-stakes, make-or-break questions that come up in the essay she chose for our show today. It’s called “What Sleeping with Married Men Taught Me About Infidelity,” by Karin Jones.

Karin’s essay was one of the most controversial pieces ever published in the history of the “Modern Love” column. But when it comes to talking about sex and relationships, nothing is too taboo for Esther.

Esther Perel, welcome to “Modern Love.”

It’s a pleasure to be here.

So you’re going to read Karin Jones’s “Modern Love” essay. We’re going to talk all about infidelity. But before we get into that, I learned something about you that I need to know more about. You are fluent in nine languages. And you conduct therapy in seven of them? Is that true?

Yes. So I grew up in Belgium, in the Flemish part of Belgium, and I was educated in Flemish for 12 years. But we also spoke French and German and Polish and Yiddish at home.

Wow.

So we had five languages in the house. And then I studied Spanish, Portuguese, Hebrew, and English. That comes to nine.

Would you ever do one more just to bring it to a solid 10?

I always wanted to study Arabic.

OK, in your free time, in your ample free time.

One day.

Are there certain languages that have better vocabulary for talking about the nuances of love and relationships than others?

That is a very difficult question to answer because my love language, the language in which I learned poetry, songs, novels, et cetera, was primarily French. And so, of course, I would say French. But that may be because I was inducted in it, rather than the language itself. What I can say is that certain cultures are more fluent in the language of feelings, love, relationships, and desire and sexuality than maybe English or Anglo cultures that are more pragmatic, more practical.

I think in therapy, sometimes, I find that there is certain cultures that allow me to speak differently about death, differently about the relationship of the individual to the collective. What I will say is this. In a therapy session, if a person tells me something and it needs to be said in his own language, I will ask them to translate it and to say it in their mother tongue, because you hear instantly the difference, the tone, the timber, the tremble.

And I know it. It’s like, I don’t even have to understand what they’re saying. I know that there is an authenticity and a truth to it that is very different. Sometimes, afterwards, I say, what did you say? But sometimes, I don’t even need to. I know when they say, “I feel alone,” “I ache for you,” “I miss you,” “where have you gone,” “I can’t forget you.” You don’t really need to understand the words to understand the effect.

Esther, the “Modern Love” essay you’re going to read for us today tackles a topic that I bet is very hard to talk about in almost any language. It’s called “What Sleeping with Married Men Taught Me About Infidelity” by Karin Jones. The author Karin is recently divorced, and she becomes the other woman to several men.

When I read that title, I kind of expect this story is going to be about all the sex she’s having or the secrets or how they’re hiding it. But you’ve worked with so many couples who are in the throes of dealing with cheating. So what does the word “infidelity” signal to you?

I wrote a book about infidelity. So I will say that one of my attempts in writing this book was to translate in writing the complexity of this experience that can be so shattering, that can fracture a family and an entire legacy. It needs more than just good, bad, victim, perpetrator, villain, saint. That there’s too much happening and for too many people that are involved to try to reduce it.

Infidelity is often about a lot of things, but sex. It’s about betrayal. It’s about violation of trust. It’s about lying. It’s about duplicity. It’s about deception. And sex is a piece of this, but that is not necessarily the only thing.

Oof. Esther, I am so excited to hear you read this. Whenever you’re ready.

OK. “What Sleeping with Married Men Taught Me About Infidelity” by Karin Jones.

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“I’m not sure it’s possible to justify my liaison with married men, but what I learned from having them warrants discussion. Not between the wives and me, though I would be interested to hear their side. No, this discussion should happen between wives and husbands annually, the way we inspect the tire tread on the family car to avoid accidents.

A few years ago, while living in London, I dated married men for companionship while I processed the grief of being newly divorced.

When I created a profile on Tinder and on OkCupid saying I was looking for no strings attached encounters, plenty of single men messaged me, and I got together with several of them. But many married men messaged me, too.

After being married for 23 years, I wanted sex, but not a relationship. This is dicey because you can’t always control emotional attachments when body chemicals mix. But with the married man, I guess that the fact that they had wives, children, and mortgages would keep them from going overboard with their affections. And I was right. They didn’t get overly attached, and neither did I. We were safe bets for each other.

I was careful about the men I met. I wanted to make sure they had no interest in leaving their wives or otherwise threatening all they had built together. In a couple of cases, the men I met were married to women who had become disabled and could no longer be sexual, but the husbands remained devoted to them.

All told, I communicated with maybe a dozen men during that time in my life. I had sex with fewer than half. Others, I texted or talked with, which sometimes felt nearly as intimate. Before I met each man, I would ask, why are you doing this? I wanted assurance that all he desired was sex. What surprised me was that these husbands weren’t looking to have more sex. They were looking to have any sex.

I met one man whose wife had implicitly consented to her husband having a lover because she was no longer interested in sex at all. They both, to some degree, got what they needed without having to give up what they wanted. But the other husbands I met would have preferred to be having sex with their wives, and for whatever reason, that wasn’t happening.

I know what it feels like to go off sex, and I know what it’s like to want more than my partner. It’s also a tall order to have sex with the same person for more years than our ancestors ever hoped to live. Then, at menopause, a woman’s hormones suddenly drop, and her desire can wane. At 49, I was just about there myself and terrified of losing my desire for sex. Men don’t have this drastic change, so we have an imbalance, an elephant-sized problem so burdensome and shameful, we can scarcely muster the strength to talk about it.

If you read the work of Esther Perel, the author of the book ‘State of Affairs,’ you’ll learn that for many wives, sex outside of marriage is their way of breaking free from being the responsible spouses and mothers they have to be at home. Married sex for them often feels obligatory. An affair is adventure. Meanwhile, the husbands I spent time with would have been fine with obligatory sex. For them, adventure was not the main reason for their adultery.

The first time I saw my favorite married man pick up his pint of beer, the sleeve of his well-tailored suit pulled back from his wrist to reveal a geometric kaleidoscope of tattoos. He was clean shaven and well-mannered with a little rebel yell underneath. The night I saw the full canvas of his tattoo masterpiece, we drank prosecco, listened to ‘80s music, and, yes, had sex.

We also talked. I asked him, what if you said to your wife, look, I love you and the kids, but I need sex in my life? Can I just have the occasional fling or a casual affair? He sighed. If I asked her that kind of question, it would kill her, he said. So you don’t want to hurt her, but you lie to her instead? Personally, I’d rather know, I said.

It’s not necessarily a lie if you don’t confess the truth. It’s kind of to stay silent, he said. I’m just saying I couldn’t do that. I don’t want to be afraid of talking honestly about my sex life with the man I’m married to, and that includes being able to at least raise the subject of sex outside of marriage, I said. Good luck with that, he said.

I never convinced any husband that he can be honest about what he was doing, but they were mostly good-natured about it, like a patient father responding to a child who keeps asking why, why, why. Maybe I was being too pragmatic about the issues that are loaded with guilt, resentment, and fear. After all, it’s far easier to talk theoretically about marriage than to navigate it.

But my attitude is that if my spouse were to need something I couldn’t give him, I wouldn’t keep him from getting it elsewhere, as long as he did so in a way that didn’t endanger our family. I suppose I would hope his needs would involve fishing trips or beers with friends, but sex is basic.

Physical intimacy with other human beings is essential to our health and well-being. So how do we deny such a need to the one that we care about most? If our primary relationship nourishes and stabilizes us, but lacks intimacy, we shouldn’t have to destroy our marriage to get that intimacy somewhere else. Should we?

I didn’t have a full-on affair with the tattooed husband. We slept together maybe four times over a few years. More often, we talked on the phone. After our second night together, though, I could tell this was about more than sex for him. He was desperate for affection. He said he wanted to be close to his wife, but couldn’t because they were unable to get past their fundamental disconnect — lack of sex. That led to a lack of closeness, which made sex even less likely, and then turned into resentment and blame.

I’m not saying the answer is non-monogamy. That can be rife with risks and unintended entanglements. I believe the answer is honesty and dialogue, no matter how frightening. Lack of sex in marriage is common, and it shouldn’t lead to shame and silence. By the same token, an affair doesn’t have to lead to the end of a marriage. What if an affair, or ideally, simply, the urge to have one, can be the beginning of a necessary conversation about sex and intimacy?

What these husbands couldn’t do was have the difficult discussion with their wives that would force them to tackle the issues at the root of their cheating. They tried to convince me that they were being kind by keeping their affairs secret. They seemed to have convinced themselves. But deception and lying are ultimately corrosive, not kind.

In the end, I had to wonder if what these men couldn’t face was something else altogether — hearing why their wives no longer wanted to have sex with them. It’s much easier after all to set up an account on Tinder.”

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Thanks so much for that reading, Esther. You know, it’s so funny because Karin Jones directly quotes you in her piece. And I feel like that is the first time ever we’ve had someone read an essay where they’re directly quoted.

Ha, nice.

Did anything jump out at you as you were reading?

What jumps out is she tackles a lot of different things — the subject of what is sexual aliveness, what is it that people actually lose when they stop being sexual with their partner, and how that loss of intimacy makes the sex even more complicated. She talked about the loss, the longing that this man has. I’ve often said that at the heart of affairs, you find duplicity and cheating and betrayal, but you also find longing and loss for the life that one had, for the parts of oneself that have been denied.

When we come back, I talk to Esther about the harsh criticism this essay got and why Esther thinks Karin Jones deserves more credit. Stay with us.

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So Esther, this essay by Karin Jones was kind of a lightning rod when it was published. A ton of people were very critical of the author, saying she was sleeping with these men, but then also having conversations with them where she was like, it’s very wrong of you not to tell your wife what you’re up to. Why do you think this essay got so much backlash?

I think that the reaction to stories of infidelity are often intense. It’s a subject for which people are very quickly dogmatic because they have experienced the effects of it.

When I am in an audience, like if I was to ask, have you been affected by the experience of infidelity in your life, either because one of your parents was unfaithful or because you yourself had a child of an illicit affair, or because you had a friend on whose shoulder somebody weeping, or you had a confidant of someone who is in a complete bliss of an affair, or because you are the third person in the triangle, and about 80 percent of the people will raise their hand.

Wow. I mean, 80 percent sounds like a surprisingly large number, but when you explain it like that with different tendrils of an affair that affect everyone around the affair, not just the people in it, it makes total sense.

And it raises intense feelings in people. Karin Jones, she may have gotten the range of it, but you will hear more loudly the ones who say, you are a homewrecker, which, by the way, does not exist in the masculine.

Right, right.

The homewrecker is always a woman because the woman is the one who says yes, and therefore, if the woman hadn’t said yes, then he wouldn’t be able to do it. And then he would not be wrecking his family.

Right.

Yeah, there’s no other man either, by the way. It’s always the other woman.

Huh, there’s no other man.

No.

Not in any of nine languages you speak.

No, because there’s never been another man who necessarily was willing to live in the shadow of a woman for his entire life.

That is so fascinating.

Her lover, [INAUDIBLE] you know her lover, but the other woman usually means that she lives in the shadow. She doesn’t just have a secret. She is the secret. That is the hardest thing about it. When people are writing to her, you can ask yourself, are they looking from the perspective of what it meant for her, or are they looking from the perspective of what it did to me, or to us?

Yeah, I mean, a lot of the criticism directed at Karin Jones, it seems, is coming from that perspective of saying, look what she did. Look at the harm she caused. Look at the pain she caused.

Which it is. Which it is.

Right, not discounting that, but it is interesting because her piece is so much about meaning making, right? That’s the whole conceit of her essay, is mining these experiences for meaning, and yet, people came with criticism. I wonder if this is like a kind of unfair question, but I wonder if there is an ethical way to be the other person. Is there a responsible way to do it without participating in hurt?

Hmm.

That depends. That depends. If you think the whole thing is unethical and is an egregious betrayal of trust and violation, then you will say no. I think the responsibility lies on the person who goes out, not on the lover.

Here’s what many people often say, is like, if you had asked me or if you had told me, but you made a decision without me. You made a decision about our marriage that did not involve me at all. And fair point. Of course, they know for a fact, too, that if they had been asked, they would have said no. But there is the things that you say after, and there is the things that you say before.

So, ultimately, I feel like I hear you agreeing with Karin Jones here that there are really important conversations that need to be happening between these husbands and their wives that actually don’t even have that much to do with Karin. Can you tell me more about that?

The conversation that Karin Jones would like these men to have with their wives is the conversations that take place in my book “Mating in Captivity,” because “Mating in Captivity” explored the dilemmas of desire inside relationships and why do people cease wanting. And could they want what they already have? And why does good sex fade, even in couples who still love each other as much as ever? And why do kids often deliver a fatal erotic blow?

What happens when they don’t have this conversation and they go elsewhere — and it’s not just a conversation about monogamy. It’s really a conversation of, what does sex mean to you? What do you want to experience in sex? Is it a place for connection?

Is it a place for transcendence, for spiritual union, to be naughty, to finally not be a good citizen, to be playful, to be taken care of, to surrender, to be safely dominant? What parts of you do you connect with through sexuality, rather than how often do we have sex, and we never have sex, and why don’t we do it more. So, that is a very different conversation.

But as Karin points to in her essay, and as you certainly point to in your book, those conversations are so difficult to have, even though this is the person we’re supposed to be the closest to. Why is that?

Because we grow up learning to be silent about sex and never talk about it. And then suddenly, we are expected to talk about it with the person we lov. Or in other words, sex is dirty, but save it for the one you love. It’s like we have very little practice talking about it.

We don’t get any of it in schools. Certainly, most families don’t talk about it either. And when we talk about sexuality, we talk about the dangers and the diseases and the dysfunctions. We don’t talk about intimacy. We don’t actually mix the word “sexuality” and “relationships” as one whole.

Yeah, and I mean, if we don’t talk about intimacy or the lack of it with a partner, that can, in some cases, lead to people going outside the marriage to find that intimacy they’re lacking in it. I’m thinking about Karin’s favorite married man, the one with all the tattoos. He says, it’s not necessarily a lie if you don’t confess the truth. It’s kinder to stay silent. In your experience working with couples, is he right? Is that true?

This is a very cultural question.

Huh.

Because you live in a society here that believes in the moral cure of truth. But there are many societies for whom truth and honesty are not measured by the confession, but they are measured by what it will be like for the other person to walk with this on the street, meaning that they will consider the confession often as cruelty.

Huh.

That, so what? So now you’ve got it off your chest. So now you’re less guilty, and now I have to live with this? Why don’t you just keep this to yourself, kind of thing. This is very cultural because in the United States, that is not the common view.

The common view is that the confession is the best state, even if you’re going to wreck the other person’s life for the next five years to come, which — and I am left with a question mark. But when I answer this question, I ask people about their own cultural codes as well. I do not impose mine. And mine fluctuates depending on the context. I think these questions are highly contextual, more than dogmatic.

We’ve talked about how there’s so many unsaid things between a couple that can lead to distance and infidelity. If a couple is feeling themselves drifting apart from each other emotionally, sexually, both, what are some things you could encourage them to do that might help?

Hmm. I like to coach people to do letter writing. Sometimes I make one person turn their back, and I make the other person write a letter on the back of the other person.

Oh, physically on the back?

Yes, but it’s a fake. You’re writing — you’re pretending to write, but you’re writing on the back. But that way, you don’t see the person.

Interesting.

Hi, Anna. This is something that I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a long time. And I give them the prompt. We never talk much about sexuality between us. For some reason, I decided a long time ago that you wouldn’t want to. But maybe it was I who didn’t know how to. And basically, they write these whole letters, in which they end up telling each other much of what they have never spoken.

I love that. What a kind and beautiful and compassionate way of easing into a conversation you’ve been afraid of having. Esther Perel, thank you so much for that idea. And thank you for talking with me today.

Thank you for having me.

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Esther Perel is on tour in the US right now. Her show is called An Evening with Esther Perel, The Future of Relationships, Love, and Desire. Check her website for more details and to buy tickets. She told me she’s going to create an erotic experience in these theaters, so you do not want to miss that.

“Modern Love” is produced by Julia Botero, Chrstina Djossa, Reva Goldberg, Davis Land, and Emily Lange. It’s edited by our executive producer Jen Poyant and Davis Land. The “Modern Love” theme music is by Dan Powell. Original music by Dan Powell, Marion Lozano, Pat McCusker, Rowan Niemisto, Carole Sabouraud, and Diane Wong.

This episode was mixed by Daniel Ramirez. Our show was recorded by Maddy Masiello. Digital production by Mahima Chablani and Nell Gallogly. The “Modern Love” column is edited by Daniel Jones. Miya Lee is the editor of “Modern Love” projects. I’m Anna Martin. Thanks for listening.