I Carried It All Alone: Is Divorce My Path to Peace?
I Carried It All Alone: Is Divorce My Path to Peace?
I never thought I’d be sitting at my kitchen table in a quiet Seattle suburb, staring at a cold coffee mug, wondering if my marriage is worth saving. Six years ago, I married Tom, thinking he’d be my partner through life’s ups and downs. Now, at 34, with our four-year-old daughter Lily asleep upstairs, I’m grappling with a heart full of doubts. Our cozy Craftsman home, a gift from my parents, should feel like a haven, but it’s more like a stage for silent arguments.
Tom, 42, runs his own small business—a coffee shop we opened together. Lately, though, he’s been checked out, leaving me to juggle my marketing job, Lily’s needs, and the house. He’s stopped contributing financially, claiming the shop’s struggling. Instead of helping with dishes or bedtime, he’s glued to his phone, playing games or out with friends. I used to make excuses for him, but the weight of carrying everything alone is crushing me.
I want a companion, not a roommate who drags me down. But Lily adores her dad, and that’s what keeps me up at night. Should I stay for her, or leave to save my sanity?
Last Saturday, I hit my limit. I’d spent the morning cleaning up Lily’s toys and prepping dinner while Tom was nowhere to be found. When he finally strolled in, smelling faintly of beer from a “quick game” at the local pool hall, I asked him to help with Lily’s bath. He shrugged, mumbled about being tired, and sank into the couch with his phone. My chest tightened—six years of this, and I was done.
I confronted him, voice low so Lily wouldn’t hear. “Tom, I can’t keep doing this alone. You’re not helping with money, the house, or our daughter.” His eyes flashed with anger. “You think I’m not trying? The shop’s a mess!” he snapped, before storming out, slamming the door. I stood there, shaking, realizing he’d blocked my number again when I tried to call. That night, I slept in the guest room, feeling like a stranger in my own home.
The next day, Lily asked why Daddy was mad. I forced a smile, but inside, I was unraveling. I’ve always prided myself on being strong—handling my job, motherhood, everything—but this was different. Tom’s neglect wasn’t just laziness; it was a choice. He’d shut me out emotionally, even physically, for months when he was upset, leaving me to “deal with it.”
I started wondering: could I raise Lily alone? Financially, I’m stable enough, but the thought of her growing up without her dad nearby twisted my heart. Yet staying felt like betraying myself. That night, I cried in the shower, the water drowning out my sobs, knowing a decision was coming.
The next week, I took Lily to the park, hoping fresh air would clear my head. Watching her giggle on the swings, I felt a flicker of peace. I’d been so caught up in Tom’s chaos that I’d forgotten how much I love being her mom. But as she waved at me, shouting, “Look, Mommy!” I noticed a tightness in my chest. I was snapping at her more lately, my frustration with Tom spilling over. That wasn’t the mom I wanted to be.
Back home, I tried talking to Tom again, this time calmly. “We need to figure this out for Lily,” I said. He sighed, promising to “try harder,” but his eyes were on his phone. Days passed, and nothing changed—he skipped Lily’s bedtime to meet friends, leaving me to tuck her in alone. I realized his promises were empty, and that hurt more than his anger.
I called my best friend, Emma, and poured out everything. She listened, then said, “You’re stronger than you think. Lily needs you happy, not perfect.” Her words hit me hard. I started sketching again, a hobby I’d abandoned, and each stroke felt like reclaiming a piece of myself. I wasn’t ready to file for divorce, but I began researching therapists and single-parent support groups, quietly building a plan.
For the first time, I saw a path forward—not perfect, but mine. I could raise Lily in a home filled with love, not tension. The guilt about Tom lingered, but I was starting to believe my happiness mattered too.
It’s been a month since that park day, and I’m still in the same house, but something’s shifted inside me. I’ve started therapy, and it’s helping me untangle the guilt and fear. Tom and I are barely speaking, living like roommates, but I’m focusing on Lily and myself. I’m sketching more, laughing with her, and yelling less. I haven’t decided on divorce yet, but I know I can’t stay in this limbo forever.
Lily’s my priority, and I want her to grow up seeing a mom who values herself. Financially, I’m secure enough to raise her alone, and that gives me strength. The thought of her missing Tom still stings, but a tense home isn’t better than a peaceful one. I’m learning to trust my gut.
I’d love to hear from others who’ve faced this—how did you decide what was right for you and your kids? Sharing experiences might help me, and maybe others, find clarity. For now, I’m taking it one day at a time, choosing to believe that Lily and I deserve a life filled with joy, not just survival.
