By: Emily Hart
I found myself standing at the entrance of our family room after tucking the kids into bed, nervously asking my husband, “Do you have a moment?” My anxiety stemmed from observing friends of ours who were ending their marriage after 14 years, which prompted me to reflect on our own relationship.
I don’t even think I waited for his response. I launched right into my thoughts, saying I rated our marriage a solid B—perhaps a B+ on particularly good days. We had a strong friendship, three wonderful children, and rarely fought about finances or intimacy. I believed we could achieve an A if we made a few minor adjustments.
“I often feel burdened by managing our financial situation alone, and it worries me. I would appreciate your help with our finances. Also, I think it would be beneficial for us to do something together that isn’t centered around the kids—like taking dance lessons or volunteering. I’m open to suggestions.”
He didn’t look up from his device, but I hoped he was listening. This was our usual dynamic—me articulating plans while he browsed online. I waited for his input, but he remained silent.
“What are your thoughts?” I asked.
Finally, he glanced up and replied, “No.”
I chuckled, assuming he was joking. “No, to what part exactly?”
“To all of it. I’m exhausted from trying to change to meet your expectations. You knew who I was when we got married. That should be sufficient now; I’m not altering myself.”
Stunned, I blinked and swallowed hard, trying to process his words. We had argued about this countless times—my desire for change versus his steadfast refusal. He had firmly stated he wouldn’t adjust. This rejection was a significant moment; I was left momentarily speechless.
I turned away and began cleaning the kitchen. Fifteen minutes later, I went upstairs, still grappling with the conversation.
The following week, I sought counseling. I explained to the therapist that my husband and I were experiencing marital issues, and that I wanted advice on how to persuade him to change his mind. She gently explained that marital therapy isn’t about convincing someone; “He’s either willing to engage or not. Our focus will be on what you can control.”
In the ensuing days and weeks, my husband remained resolute. He had consistently communicated his unwillingness to change. The partnership I envisioned was not one he desired. I realized I didn’t need to alter my explanation—he understood my point; he simply disagreed.
Through therapy, I began to comprehend that he was an individual with his own thoughts and journey. I recognized that he wouldn’t change; I could either accept that and stay or reject it and leave. I chose to leave.
The aftermath was difficult. There were days I found myself overwhelmed in the frozen food aisle, panicking at the thought of losing my best friend. We faced the heart-wrenching task of informing our children about our decision, and their initial reactions still haunt me. Yet, the reality that we wanted different things and couldn’t pursue them together remained clear.
Eventually, we divorced. In hindsight, I see the absurdity of my unilateral grading of our relationship and my attempts to implement a performance improvement plan. I failed to consider his viewpoint, often acting as his manager instead of a partner. His refusal to change or seek counseling masked years of unaddressed anger. My controlling behavior and his resulting resentment were as integral to our story as our joyful memories of family adventures.
It took time and distance for me to reevaluate our situation. Surprisingly, we have become better co-parents apart than we were together—gone are the resentments and dysfunction that once marred our communication. We are liberated from the patterns that stifled us when we were married.
Now, our children sometimes question why we divorced, observing our relaxed interactions as we discuss upcoming movies or new restaurants. Our daughter, Mia, frequently asks because she has little memory of our time as a complete family and feels the complexities of our separate lives.
I explain to her simply: her dad and I are great friends, but we were ineffective partners. While the divorce was painful and required grieving, it ultimately provided us with the space to build our individual relationships with our children and assume responsibility for our own lives. We’ve shed the burdens of our previous dynamic, allowing our friendship to flourish without the weight of unresolved issues.
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In summary, the journey through my marriage revealed that friendship does not always translate to a successful partnership. Accepting our differences led us to a path of healthier co-parenting and personal growth.