Why settling for 'Mr. Average' can backfire: a cautionary tale from Tracey Cox

Tracey Cox, a British relationship expert, highlights Elena’s story as a cautionary tale about marrying someone because they seem safe. Elena, 39, says she married Matt because he appeared reliable, uncontroversial and unlikely to threaten her stability. They were together for three years before she uncovered that he was not the loyal partner she believed him to be.

Elena explains that her decision was shaped by family history and self-doubt rather than romance. She grew up with an abandonment theme, watching her father repeatedly cheat on her mother, and decided early on that pursuing highly attractive or socially dominant men might invite the same heartbreak. She describes herself as someone who could look the part: attractive, capable and socially outgoing, yet she believed she should date someone less intimidating—the kind of man who wouldn’t be perceived as a threat to her independence. “I still saw the logic in dating a guy who was short, ordinary and unlikely to be mistaken for a prize,” she recalls. “There was no way this guy was going to cheat when he’d hit the jackpot.” She notes that, for a time, the arrangement felt uneventful and safe, and she interpreted that calm as protection against pain.

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Over time, Elena says, the dynamics in the relationship grew unbalanced. She continued climbing the career ladder while Matt stalled, and she began to feel that “nice” was not enough to sustain long-term passion. She recalls realizing that her friends’ spouses were often evolving into higher achievers, while Matt stayed steady but unremarkable. The gulf between them widened, and she found herself increasingly focused on how others perceived the disparity rather than on genuine compatibility. “I didn’t count on this,” she says, describing the moment she recognized that marrying down had not insulated her from disappointment or risk.

The turning point came after they took a holiday with friends. Elena felt that, despite the outward calm, the marriage lacked mutual respect and admiration. She started being more openly critical, which she now sees as a reflection of growing frustration rather than a solution. She describes a pivotal moment when she began to realize that “long-term relationships are hard” and that “you need excitement on some level to stay interested.” The situation deteriorated further when she learned Matt had begun an affair with his boss—not merely a fleeting liaison, but a relationship that lasted well into their marriage. The affair reportedly started around ten months into their union and persisted for more than two years.

Elena says the revelation was humiliating and painful in ways she hadn’t anticipated. The couple’s work colleagues and friends were aware of the affair, which she found especially painful because the relationship existed in plain view. A close confidant who frequented a restaurant they shared noticed the couple together, prompting Elena to confront the reality that the life they had built was not what it seemed. When she confronted Matt, his reaction was deflating and devoid of genuine remorse. “There was no apology,” she recalls. “He smirked—like he’d been looking forward to this moment. All he said was, ‘Guess we’d better start divorce proceedings then,’ and walked out the door.” The aftermath included a contentious legal process in which Elena says her ex-husband’s lawyer framed her as the aggressor, a portrayal she felt was designed to minimize his own culpability. She ultimately settled for an amount she believes far exceeded what she deserved, a decision she says she made to end the dispute and move on.

The once-promising decision to marry someone perceived as safe had backfired in ways Elena could not have predicted. She argues that an unequal relationship, especially one defined by a gap in ambition or social standing, tends to breed resentment on both sides. She notes that the “what ifs” of a hollow marriage can wear away at attraction and intimacy, creating space for dissatisfaction to fester. “You feel like you’re doing all the heavy lifting and you didn’t get a ‘good deal,’ they feel vulnerable and second best,” she explains. She emphasizes that behavior and loyalty cannot be guaranteed by appearances or safety alone, and that attraction is subjective—there is no universal standard that prevents infidelity.

In the wake of the split, Elena sought therapy and began rebuilding her sense of self. She says she learned that a person’s value cannot be reduced to how safe or predictable they appear, and she is candid about the importance of choosing a partner she genuinely respects and wants to be with, not merely someone she tolerates to avoid pain. “Next time I’m aiming high. If I’m going to be cheated on, it should be with someone who is worth the pain,” she declares. She also urges other women to consider the dynamics of equality and mutual respect in a partnership, rather than prioritizing safety over chemistry.

Tracey Cox frames Elena’s experience as a broader warning. She points to several consistent factors that undermine relationships where one partner feels consistently superior or in control: resentment can build quickly on both sides, and power imbalances can make everyday life feel burdensome or demeaning. Cox notes that unequal relationships rarely feel comfortable, and that the fear of loss does not inherently prevent infidelity. She cautions that attraction is highly subjective, and that people do not cheat simply because they encounter someone more physically appealing; more often, cheating occurs when a partner feels undervalued, unloved or unappreciated. As Cox explains, a person may pretend or settle in the belief that they are avoiding pain, but the result is a hollow marriage in which compromises undermine the relationship’s foundation. "What you’re secretly thinking—‘you’re not good enough for me’—is usually written all over your face," Cox observes, underscoring the psychological strain that settles into such unions.

Elena’s case concludes with a plea for greater self-awareness and a willingness to confront uncomfortable truths about compatibility, rather than chasing perceived safety. She attributes the end of her marriage to a combination of unmet emotional needs, shifting life goals, and a misalignment of values that a longer, more equal partnership might have prevented. After the divorce, she says she found a path toward healing through therapy and self-reflection, and she characterizes her next relationship as one that would prioritize shared ambitions, mutual respect and genuine attraction over convenience.

The broader takeaway, Cox and Elena both suggest, is that the decisions people make about who to marry—especially when framed as a choice to “play it safe”—carry consequences that extend far beyond romance. The narrative woven through Elena’s experience is not simply a warning about infidelity, but a reminder that stability without emotional resonance may not safeguard against pain. For readers navigating questions about love, timing or life choices, the message is clear: the healthiest partnerships evolve from authentic connection and reciprocal respect, not from a calculated risk reduction that can mask deeper misalignments.