Married for 20 years, together for 25. After about 15 years, I started to question how healthy my marriage really was. There would be the odd outburst here and there from my now ex-dh, huge strops because I wouldn’t move back to his home country. I had already done it once for 3 years for the sake of the marriage, unable to speak the language, unable to work, and completely dependent on him. When his contract ended we returned to the UK, it was such a relief.
To be the one who birthed three children. To be working part-time for the entire marriage so he could travel for his high-powered job. To be playing hostess to everything he wanted with his family. To be carrying the immense personal burden of moving across the world for his career—only to find out he was spitting in my food and drink and rubbing my toothbrush in the toilet. My offence? Not moving back to his home country.
I finally filed for divorce. To be stripped of my children through lives with orders because they were at the ages of 13, 14, and 15. To be lied about to my own teenage children, framed as unfaithful so they would reject me—only to find out he was the one having an affair for the last 13 years, and still is.
To be fought financially, listening to him argue that he is a poor single father of 3 who needs the family home and most, if not all, of the equity. To be told by my own children that in 3 years they are all moving to their father’s country, angry at me for destroying the family.
I might be feeling sorry for myself, but to me, this is a level of psychological cruelty that is almost impossible to process. What was it all for? What now?
To any young woman reading this: please, please take notice of those early red flags. I ignored them, and I wish I hadn’t. Life is so painful.