I stood at the entrance of our living room after tucking the kids in for the night, looking at my husband, “Can we talk?”
I was uneasy, though I hadn’t voiced it. The recent divorce of friends after 14 years of marriage had me reflecting on our own relationship.
Without waiting for his response, I dove in. I had been evaluating our marriage and settled on a solid B—maybe even a B+ on good days. We were wonderful friends, had three amazing kids, and seldom argued about money, intimacy, or family matters. I suggested that with a few minor adjustments, we could easily achieve an A.
“I feel overwhelmed managing our finances alone, and I’m worried about what could happen if something were to me. I could really use your help in managing our financial life. Also, let’s do something together—just the two of us, away from the kids. Dance lessons, volunteering, anything! I’m open to suggestions.”
Related: 3 Things To Keep In Mind During Early Divorce
My husband didn’t look up, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t tuned in. This was our usual dynamic—me laying out a plan while he browsed online. I waited, but silence followed.
“What are your thoughts?”
Finally, he looked up from his tablet. “No,” he replied.
I chuckled, thinking he was joking. He loved to joke. “What do you mean ‘no’? To which part?”
“To everything. I’m tired of trying to change for you. I’m exhausted from feeling like I’m not enough. You knew who I was when we married. That should be enough now. I’m not changing.”
I blinked, swallowing hard, trying to gather my thoughts.
We’d had this argument countless times—my desire for change clashing with his resistance. It was the primary source of tension in our relationship. Usually, I could persuade him to see my side, but this time, his refusal to engage was jarring.
I busied myself in the kitchen, tidying up while trying to process. Fifteen minutes later, I headed to bed.
The next week, I sought counseling. I explained to the therapist that my husband and I were facing marital issues and that he didn’t want to work on our marriage. I was there to learn how to change his mind. The therapist gently informed me that this wasn’t how marital therapy worked. “He’s either in this with you, or he’s not. For now, we focus on what you can control.”
In the subsequent weeks, my husband remained firm. He had made it clear throughout our marriage and in the last month that he didn’t want to change. The partnership I envisioned was not one he desired. I didn’t need to rephrase my feelings—he understood; he simply disagreed.
With my therapist’s guidance, I started to truly listen. I recognized that he was his own person, with a unique perspective and path. I had to decide—accept him as he was and stay or reject it and leave.
I chose to leave.
The days that followed were excruciating. I remember collapsing in the frozen food aisle of the grocery store, gripped by the panic of losing my best friend. There were moments of telling our children painful news, their expressions of confusion etched in my memory. The reality was clear: we wanted different lives and were unable to achieve them together.
We divorced.
Now, looking back on that night and our relationship, I see how absurd it was to independently grade our marriage and create a performance improvement plan. I had assumed that I alone knew what was best for us, neglecting his viewpoint. I became more of a manager than a partner. His refusal to change or attend counseling was a manifestation of years of accumulated frustration. My controlling tendencies created his resentment, weaving a story of dysfunction alongside our fond memories of travel, laughter, and love. Our marriage wasn’t a partnership, nor was it healthy.
It took time and distance to gain clarity. Honestly, we are better parents apart than we were together—free from the resentment of defined roles and the dysfunction that permeated our communication. The patterns we created made it hard to breathe when married.
Now, the children sometimes question why we divorced, seeing us interact easily, discussing upcoming movies or new restaurants. They notice the positive connection and wonder why we’re not together.
Our daughter, Mia, often asks because she has little memory of our time as a complete family and feels the complexity of living separately.
I tell her the truth: her dad and I are great friends, but we were not good partners. The divorce ended our partnership, which was heartbreaking and painful, requiring grief for that loss. Ultimately, though, separating provided the boundaries we needed, allowing us to form individual relationships with our children and take responsibility for our own lives. It liberated us from the constant push and pull that once defined our marriage. Over the years, we’ve been able to rekindle our friendship without the burdens of what was not working.
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In summary, my experience taught me that sometimes love alone isn’t enough to sustain a partnership. Recognizing our limitations led us to make decisions that ultimately benefited our family while allowing us to maintain a strong friendship.
Keyphrase: divorce and friendship
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