Six years ago, during a lunch with my sister, I expressed, “If I believed in myself more, I would leave him today.” Her reply was filled with understanding, “I know you would. I can’t imagine being in your position.” It was evident she had been waiting for me to voice my feelings.
Admitting my desire to leave my husband of nearly a decade was daunting. Speaking those words felt like taking a significant step toward the exit. The fear of confronting this reality was overwhelming; it was as if acknowledging my unhappiness would make leaving an option I could choose.
A few weeks prior, my husband had confessed to an affair. He claimed he wanted to salvage our marriage, expressing his love and a desire to return to our former life. Yet, each day he repeated this sentiment, and I recognized that I had already begun to emotionally detach. I could only see the man who had sought another woman’s affection instead of addressing his feelings with me. The man who never voiced his unhappiness or checked in on my well-being.
I thought we were maintaining the status quo, focusing on our three children, but deep down, I was aware that I had stopped truly seeing him as well. I was merely a shadow of myself, moving through life in a state of emotional freeze. I kept convincing myself that this feeling was temporary and that we would rekindle our love. How could I even consider leaving? We had a home, three children, and he was not abusive. I once loved him; surely, I could find that love again.
So, I stayed. The thought of living alone with my children sparked a hint of excitement, but I suppressed it, fearing the aftermath. I felt pain—not from losing him, but from the prospect of being a single mother. The idea that I would never be capable of raising our kids alone, managing the household, or paying the bills haunted me. I couldn’t imagine myself as a divorced woman—no, that wasn’t supposed to be my life.
Over the years, that pain compounded. Despite my meditation and prayers for clarity, I remained paralyzed by guilt and an ingrained belief that I didn’t deserve happiness. I feared the practical challenges of single motherhood, from fixing a burst pipe to the vulnerability of intimacy. The fear of financial instability loomed large.
Rather than confronting these fears, I chose the painful comfort of familiarity. We both endured a stagnant relationship, and it’s evident now how detrimental that was for both of us. It’s easy to reflect on the time I wasted and feel regret, but I refuse to dwell on that negativity. I won’t punish myself for the past.
That pain was, in fact, my guiding voice. When I finally acknowledged it, rather than dismissing it, I began to experience personal growth. If you find yourself grappling with profound pain in your marriage, I urge you to listen to it. Don’t ignore it like I did.
What truly matters now is that we have both moved on to better places. Eventually, I embraced that pain, proving to myself that I could thrive despite my fears. I discovered a newfound love for myself, realizing I could embrace the single mom life instead of remaining in a situation that diminished my spirit—even when I had no idea what the future held.
No, it wasn’t an easy journey, but it has certainly been worth it.
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