By Brinlee Edger
When we first connect with someone, there’s an unspoken hope; not just that they’ll treat us fairly, but that they’ll choose us with care, with intention, with some sense of loyalty. But in certain relationships, that hope is misplaced. Some people aren’t just incapable of giving that kind of love; they withhold it. Deliberately.
Which raises a question that feels uncomfortable to ask out loud: is cheating ever a mistake?
To cross that line, to knowingly betray someone who believes they are loved, requires more than a moment of confusion. It suggests a decision, or at the very least, a willingness to ignore the weight of one. So what’s the cognitive process behind it? Is it dissatisfaction within the relationship? Boredom with routine? Or the belief that one person alone cannot fulfill every role, forcing the search for someone else who can?
Or, is it something darker, something more intentional? Is there a kind of gratification in getting away with it, in maintaining the illusion of devotion while quietly dismantling it behind someone’s back?
Cheating is almost universally condemned, yet it persists, often in patterns. Those who stray don’t just seek anyone; they tend to gravitate toward people who offer something different from their partner, something missing or perhaps simply new.
Which complicates the narrative further: Is cheating about absence, or is it about excess? Not what’s lacking, but what someone feels entitled to have more of. Cheating itself is not a simple act. It requires consistency, an ongoing effort to maintain a form of manipulation that doesn’t happen accidentally.
Does sitting on the couch with your partner, half-watching a movie, while your phone buzzes in your pocket—another person, likely just as misinformed—make the moment more exciting?
Does the secrecy add something that honesty cannot?
What about the extremes? Spending holidays with your partner and their family, fully immersed in their life, only to catch a red-eye flight and betray them the moment you leave. Is that still a “mistake,” or is it something far more calculated?
Universally, mistakes tend to be small; forgetting your wallet at home or missing the train on your way to work. These are lapses. They’re accidental. They don’t require intention. And they certainly aren’t rooted in the manipulation of someone you claim to love.
Beyond questioning whether cheating is even a mistake, there’s another layer: who gets blamed. The partner being cheated on is, more often than not, entirely innocent. The cheater holds the responsibility. And yet, people still look for a third party to blame—the “other” person—whether they know the truth or not. But ultimately, only one person was fully aware of the commitment they chose to betray.
So is cheating ever a mistake? Or is that just the excuse that follows it. Because mistakes happen once. Cheating happens again and again—every text unanswered, every lie told, every moment chosen over the person who thought they were chosen. At some point, it’s no longer a mistake. It’s a pattern. And more importantly, it’s a choice.