About six years ago, I found myself having lunch with my sister, and I confessed, “If I had the strength and belief in myself, I’d walk away today.”
“I know you would,” she replied, her voice revealing that she had been anticipating my admission. “I can’t imagine what I would do in your situation.”
It was a difficult realization to accept: I wanted to leave my husband after nearly a decade of marriage. Voicing my feelings was both liberating and terrifying. Just saying it felt like I was already halfway out the door, and the thought of actually leaving was daunting.
A few weeks prior, my husband had revealed his infidelity. He expressed his desire to mend our marriage, claiming he loved me and wanted to restore our life together. He repeated those words incessantly, but looking back, I realize my heart had already begun to distance itself. I could only see the man who sought validation from another woman instead of recognizing me as his partner and the mother of our children. He never communicated his unhappiness or reached out to me for support.
We had three kids and a home, and I thought we were simply settling into our routine. But deep down, I knew I was no longer truly present for him either. I was merely existing—a frozen version of myself, trudging through life. Every day felt monotonous, and I convinced myself that this feeling would eventually fade, that we would rekindle our love. How could I consider leaving? We had a family, and he wasn’t abusive. I once loved him; surely I could feel that way again.
Yet, I hesitated to leave. The thought of raising my children without him stirred a flicker of excitement, but that was quickly overshadowed by fear and pain. I allowed that pain to dominate my life for another six years. Ironically, the agony didn’t stem from losing him; it arose from my belief that I could never manage as a single mother. I was plagued by thoughts of inadequacy—how would I handle household repairs or financial responsibilities? The idea of intimacy with someone new terrified me.
Instead of confronting these fears, I chose to remain in a painful yet familiar situation. I stayed; he stayed. The pain lingered, and it’s clear now that both of us suffered because I was emotionally absent. It’s easy to look back and feel remorse for the time lost, but I refuse to dwell on that. I won’t waste my energy on regret; that pain was my inner voice guiding me toward change.
Finally, I began to listen to my pain. When I allowed myself to feel it, I started to grow. If you’re experiencing deep discomfort in your marriage, please take heed of it. Don’t sideline those feelings as I did.
The important thing is that we are both in a better place now. I eventually acknowledged my pain and discovered that I could thrive despite my fears. I learned to love myself enough to embrace single motherhood rather than remain in a situation that diminished my spirit. Yes, it was challenging, but ultimately, it has been worth it.
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