What To Do When You Are Unhappily Married and in Love With Someone Else
There’s a very particular emotional storm that brews when someone is unhappily married and, somehow, finds themselves in love with someone else. It’s not a fluke, and it’s not rare. We see this play out in therapy rooms all the time. Clients come in carrying shame, confusion, guilt, longing—and often, a kind of wild hope.
They’re living in two emotional worlds at once, trying to hold on to what’s familiar while being pulled toward something that feels alive.
As professionals, we know there’s no quick fix.
But what’s easy to miss is just how layered this experience can be. It’s not always about leaving or staying. Sometimes, it’s about learning how to sit in the in-between for a while—and getting curious about what’s actually going on beneath the surface.
Before we guide anyone toward action, we’ve got to map out the emotional terrain. That’s where it gets interesting.
Understanding what’s really going on inside
Why the marriage feels like it’s falling apart
One of the first things I look at with clients is whether they’re in a marriage that’s truly over—or just unattended. There’s a massive difference between a marriage that’s dead and one that’s starving.
When people are unhappy in a long-term relationship, they often stop nurturing it. It becomes functional, logistical, a place of roles instead of connection.
But sometimes, what looks like a failing marriage is actually a disconnected one. I’ve had clients realize that they haven’t had a vulnerable conversation with their partner in years—not because they don’t care, but because life got in the way. Kids, jobs, exhaustion.
Of course, there are marriages that are well past the point of revival. Chronic contempt, emotional neglect, or betrayals that never healed—these don’t just vanish.
But the challenge is: how do we distinguish emotional starvation from emotional death? That’s a clinical question worth sitting with.
One powerful tool here is the Gottman “Four Horsemen” lens—if criticism, defensiveness, contempt, and stonewalling have become the default language of the relationship, we’re likely dealing with deeper corrosion.
Still, even then, it’s not always a given that the marriage is unsalvageable. I’ve seen couples surprise themselves. But we need honesty, and a willingness to look at the rot without flinching.
Is this new love the real thing—or a mirror?
Now to the other side of the triangle: the new person. Here’s where things can get beautifully, messily complicated.
I always ask: What is this person awakening in you that’s been asleep? Because more often than not, this isn’t just about them—it’s about what they’re reflecting back. Maybe it’s vitality. Or feeling seen. Or simply feeling wanted.
And yes, sometimes it’s real, reciprocal, grounded love. But I’d argue that even then, we have to look at what part of the client is falling in love. Is it the self that feels free? The self that doesn’t have to carry the weight of obligation, parenting, or history?
Transference is real here. When someone’s emotionally starving, almost any source of nourishment feels like magic. And let’s be honest: secret love has a chemistry all its own. You’re not doing the dishes together or arguing about sleep schedules. You’re flirting in bursts of time, filtered through adrenaline and fantasy.
I once had a client who swore she had never felt so alive. Her new partner “just got her.” When we explored it further, it turned out he reminded her of her high school boyfriend—the one who made her feel wild and important. She wasn’t falling for him, exactly. She was falling for the version of herself she got to be with him.
Now, that’s not to say it wasn’t meaningful. It was. But it wasn’t the full story. And unless we unpack that, we’re not really doing our jobs as therapists.
Taking ownership instead of outsourcing the crisis
Here’s a bit of tough love I sometimes offer clients, gently:
“You can’t outsource your emotional decisions to circumstance.”
Being unhappily married and in love with someone else can create the illusion that the new love is the answer. That if only you could leave, you’d be happy again. But what if the core issue isn’t the marriage—or even the new person—but a loss of connection to self?
I’m a big fan of shadow work here. The parts of us that get buried in a long-term relationship—the sexual self, the playful self, the ambitious or wild self—they don’t disappear. They wait. And when someone new comes along and wakes them up, it’s tempting to give them all the credit.
But that awakening? That’s your aliveness returning.
When clients start owning that, instead of placing all their hopes on this new connection, something shifts. They stop asking, “Should I leave for this person?” and start asking, “What is this situation trying to teach me about what I want, what I’ve buried, and what I’m no longer willing to abandon in myself?”
That’s a very different place to make choices from.
Therapy as a space for honesty—not just decision-making
I think as clinicians, we can sometimes feel the pressure to guide clients toward clarity. But I’ve found that rushing this part—rushing to fix or choose—can actually stunt growth.
What clients often need first is permission to not know. To explore. To feel without being told what to do.
This is especially true when the stakes are high: kids, family, homes, shared lives. Sometimes the most powerful thing we can offer is a place where all parts of them are welcome—the part that still loves their spouse, the part that wants to run away, and the part that just wants peace.
We don’t need to steer. But we do need to help them listen more closely to themselves. Because the real crisis isn’t always about the marriage or the affair.
Sometimes, it’s about finally waking up after years of going numb—and not knowing what to do with the sound.
Practical steps to help someone navigate this mess
Getting clear before making any moves
As professionals, we’ve all sat across from someone who’s in the grip of what feels like life-defining turmoil. They’re in love, they’re unhappy, and they’re caught in the impossible tension of “should I stay or should I go?” But before they jump toward either direction, there’s work to be done. Slowing things down is the first and hardest step—and I know it’s not exactly what anyone wants to hear when emotions are sky-high. But clarity demands calm.
So, let’s talk through a few practical steps that I’ve found incredibly helpful:
Start deep individual therapy first
Jumping right into couples therapy or crisis management without clear self-awareness often leads to messy outcomes. I always suggest starting with intensive individual therapy first. Here’s why: When someone is already emotionally involved elsewhere, they’re often clouded by excitement, guilt, anxiety, or grief.
One client of mine, David, was so caught up in guilt over his affair that he was frozen. He felt he owed his wife absolute honesty immediately, but at the same time, he wasn’t sure if the marriage could be saved or if he even wanted it saved. Individual therapy gave him space to explore these contradictions privately, rather than acting impulsively out of panic.
Therapy at this stage should focus heavily on self-understanding: emotional needs, attachment styles, unresolved past traumas, and patterns that might be replaying themselves. By taking ownership of this internal work first, they’re far better equipped to manage whatever comes next.
Opening the conversation with the spouse—carefully
When it comes to talking to their spouse, I suggest clients proceed slowly, transparently—but also carefully. Honesty matters, but timing and intention matter just as much. Rushing in with confessions or ultimatums rarely goes well. A good guiding principle here is clarity over crisis.
Rather than saying, “I’m in love with someone else,” I encourage clients to first explore the deeper underlying truth: “I’m unhappy, and I want us to explore why and what that means for us.” This doesn’t erase the eventual need for full honesty, but it sets the stage differently. It keeps the conversation emotionally manageable and oriented toward understanding, rather than immediate crisis.
I had a client named Rachel who was absolutely sure she wanted to leave her husband for her new partner. Instead, after careful discussion in therapy, she decided to first simply acknowledge to her husband that she was deeply unhappy. Surprisingly, this conversation opened doors to vulnerability and healing she never anticipated. Eventually, her full story came out—but by then, they had tools to navigate it together.
Pausing contact with the new person
Here’s a tough but critical step that clients often resist: temporarily stepping back from the person they’re in love with. Yeah, this part sucks—no sugarcoating it. But it’s crucial. I call this the emotional sobriety period.
Emotional sobriety isn’t about punishment or morality—it’s about clarity. When someone is caught between two emotional realities, each feeding their anxiety and confusion, stepping away from the new relationship temporarily helps them see what’s truly driving their feelings.
Consider my client, Mark. When he paused the relationship with the woman he fell for, he realized how much he was projecting onto her—how much of his own neglected emotional needs and desires had shaped the intensity of that bond. Taking a break gave him a clearer sense of himself and his marriage, ultimately empowering him to make healthier choices from a grounded place.
Keeping track and processing emotions intentionally
Encouraging clients to journal their experiences sounds a little basic, but it’s incredibly powerful. Journaling provides emotional tracking, reflection, and even a kind of accountability. The turmoil feels overwhelming because everything’s swimming around unstructured in their head. Getting it on paper helps them sort out what they’re truly feeling.
Clients who journal regularly during this crisis often report greater self-awareness, reduced anxiety, and an improved ability to communicate clearly during tough conversations. It’s practical, simple, and immensely helpful.
Choosing a path that feels true—not just safe
Recommit and rebuild honestly
Sometimes, after deep exploration, people decide their marriage isn’t broken—it just needs a serious reboot. Recommitment can be incredibly powerful, especially if both partners are willing to look deeply at what’s been neglected or lost.
I remember a couple, Paul and Lisa, who looked hopeless initially. Paul had emotionally checked out years before, and Lisa had recently become emotionally involved elsewhere. But when they courageously decided to dig into their marriage, they uncovered years of misunderstanding, hurt, and unmet needs. The affair became secondary—not dismissed or ignored, but understood in the broader context of their relationship breakdown. With genuine work, they eventually found a depth of honesty and intimacy they’d never experienced before.
Opening the marriage—rethinking commitment
I know this is controversial, and certainly not for everyone. But sometimes clients genuinely reconsider the traditional boundaries of their relationship. I’ve seen successful outcomes here, but only when the choice is deeply intentional and mutual.
One client, Emma, deeply loved her husband but realized that traditional monogamy had become suffocating for both of them. After extensive exploration, they gradually opened their marriage. It was messy at first—but also incredibly freeing. With clear boundaries, continuous communication, and counseling support, they found a version of partnership that truly worked for them.
Obviously, this isn’t the norm. But acknowledging it as an option can be liberating, especially for clients who feel trapped by societal expectations rather than genuine conviction.
Releasing with integrity—moving forward consciously
And sometimes, of course, the truest choice is ending the marriage. But even here, how it’s done matters profoundly. Ending with integrity isn’t just about avoiding hostility—it’s about consciously choosing respect, kindness, and compassion throughout the separation process.
My client Elena realized her marriage had genuinely ended emotionally years before. Her new relationship was not just fantasy—it was genuinely aligned with who she’d become.
But instead of impulsively burning down her marriage, she consciously ended it respectfully and transparently. Yes, there was pain. But Elena and her husband navigated it consciously, minimizing damage and setting healthier foundations for future relationships and co-parenting.
Final Thoughts
At the end of the day, being unhappily married and in love with someone else isn’t just a crisis—it’s a profound invitation to deeper self-awareness and honesty.
Our job as therapists and relationship coaches isn’t to dictate outcomes, but to hold space for that courageous exploration.
No one wakes up one day wanting to be here, at this emotional crossroads. But since clients often do find themselves here, our role is to offer clarity, compassion, and practical strategies to navigate the complexity—whatever path they ultimately choose.
