We used to be a two-income household. My husband has always been a workaholic—he worked nonstop for nine years. Even back when we were just dating (seven years), he was busy building his career while I focused on my studies. Before we married, I landed a job and was able to help pay for our wedding and living expenses, since we’d already been living together for five years.
Two years into marriage, I finally got the promotion I had been working toward, but it required us to move. That meant my husband had to resign from the job he’d held for nearly a decade. I asked him if he was truly okay with it, and he assured me he was. So we packed up and started over.
That promotion was important—we were planning to start a family, and the raise would give us more stability. But months went by in our new home, and my husband still hadn’t applied anywhere. He kept saying he was, and that I should just concentrate on my own career.
Now, two years later, I’m pregnant with our first child. Soon I’ll be on maternity leave, and it scares me because I’ve been the only provider all this time. I’ve carried the household on my income alone. I don’t resent supporting us, but with the hormones and exhaustion, I feel increasingly frustrated at how dependent he’s become on me.
We’ll be a family of three soon, and I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I confronted him. He insisted he was doing his best, but that he wanted to focus on taking care of me during the pregnancy.
Then, just a few days ago, I came home early and noticed his laptop open. Out of curiosity, I glanced at his email—and my heart sank. There was no sign of any job applications at all. None.
When he saw me looking, he sounded upset. “What are you doing?” he asked.
I told him what I’d seen and asked if he had been lying to me about the job hunt. He sighed and said words I’ll never forget: “I don’t feel like working right now. I think it’s time for you to take on the burden I had.”
I froze. My voice trembled when I asked, “Was being in a relationship with me all these years a burden to you?”
He tried to explain, but I couldn’t bear it. I stormed out, holding back tears, and went straight to my sister’s.
I poured everything out to her—the lies, the dependency, the way he framed his years of providing as if they were some heavy weight he had carried for me. I don’t mind being the one who provides, but I felt betrayed by his dishonesty and crushed by the idea that he resents me. It feels like punishment, not partnership.
My sister thinks I should divorce him, for my sake and the baby’s. She says this will only get worse in the long run.
But part of me still sees the good in him. Maybe he’s burned out. Maybe he just needs time. I wonder if I should give him another chance, try to talk it through calmly.
It’s been two years of waiting. I’m still at my sister’s, still reeling from his words, and I don’t know what to do. I can’t just think about myself anymore—I have to think about our baby’s future too.
Right now, I feel lost. And I’m still hurting.
Source: brightside.me