After tucking the kids in for the night, I paused at the entrance of our family room and asked my husband, “Do you have a moment?” My heart raced, although I kept that to myself. Friends of ours had recently divorced after 14 years, which made me reflect on the state of our own marriage.
I didn’t even wait for him to respond. I jumped right in, saying I’d grade our relationship at a solid B—maybe even a B+ if I was feeling generous. We were great friends, had three wonderful kids, and didn’t argue about money or intimacy. I believed that with a few minor adjustments, we could elevate our grade to an A.
“I feel burdened by the weight of managing our finances alone, and I worry about what might happen if something were to occur. I’d really like your help in that area. Also, let’s do something together—just the two of us, unrelated to the kids. Whether it’s dance lessons or volunteering, I’m open to suggestions.”
He didn’t look up from his tablet, but our conversations often flowed this way—me outlining ideas while he distracted himself online.
“What do you think?” I probed, waiting for a response.
Finally, he looked at me and said flatly, “No.”
I chuckled, assuming he was joking. He had a knack for humor. “No? What part are you saying no to?”
“To all of it. I’m tired of changing to make you happy. I’m exhausted from feeling like I’m not enough. You knew who I was when you married me. It was sufficient then, so why should it be any different now? I won’t change.”
I blinked, struggling to find the right words. This was a familiar argument—my desire for change clashing with his resistance. Normally, I’d manage to persuade him, but his refusal to engage felt like a punch to the gut.
I was left speechless.
After tidying up the kitchen, I went to bed, grappling with the conversation. The next week, I sought counseling, explaining that my husband and I were experiencing issues and that I wanted to learn how to change his mind. My therapist gently clarified that change must come from within, and I could only control my responses.
In the following days, my husband remained firm in his stance. He had consistently expressed his unwillingness to change. The partnership I envisioned was not the one he desired. I didn’t need to rephrase my thoughts; he understood perfectly well but simply disagreed.
With my therapist’s guidance, I began to appreciate his perspective. I realized he was an individual with his own voice and path. He wasn’t going to change, and I had a choice: accept or walk away.
I chose to leave.
The aftermath was excruciating. I experienced moments of panic, like when I found myself doubled over in the frozen foods aisle, mourning the loss of my best friend. We had to explain the painful reality to our children, their shocked faces still etched in my memory. But the truth remained unchanged: we wanted different things and couldn’t achieve them together.
We divorced.
In hindsight, I see that night—and our relationship—much more clearly. The absurdity of my grading our marriage and designing a performance improvement plan is apparent now. I had assumed I knew best, disregarding his viewpoint and feelings. I had inadvertently become my husband’s manager instead of his partner. His refusal to change or attend counseling hinted at years of suppressed anger. My controlling tendencies and his growing resentment were intertwined in our narrative, as much as our joyful memories.
It took time for me to gain clarity and distance. In truth, we are better co-parents now than we were as a couple—free from the resentment of defined roles and the dysfunction in our communication. The patterns that once stifled us are gone.
Our children sometimes question why we divorced, observing our current amicable interactions. They see us discussing upcoming movies or new restaurant openings, and they wonder why we’re not together.
Our daughter, Mia, asks the most because she has scant memories of our time as a complete family and often feels the complexities of living apart.
I tell her the truth: her dad and I are good friends, but we were not good partners. The end of our marriage was painful and sad, necessitating a grieving process. However, separating allowed us the boundaries we needed to foster individual relationships with our children and take charge of our own lives. It liberated us from the constant struggle we endured together. Years later, we are able to reconnect as friends, leaving behind the burdens of what didn’t work.
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In summary, my ex-husband and I created a loving friendship after our marriage ended. While we faced difficulties as partners, our separation ultimately allowed us to flourish as individuals and co-parents.