I’ve been married for ten years now. In the beginning, I was young, hopeful, and deeply in love with my husband, believing that whatever happened between us could be worked out. But he treated me badly. He cheated, often leaving me feeling betrayed and questioning my worth. I forgave him—partly because I thought things would change, and partly because I was scared of the alternative. I wanted to believe that the man I’d married would grow and value the life we were building together. So, I stayed, and we went on to have children, creating the family I’d always dreamed of.

But around the five or six-year mark, something shifted. The feelings I’d bottled up—the hurt, the disappointment—started to surface as resentment. While we went through the motions of family life, there was a bitterness I couldn’t shake. Every time he’d do something inconsiderate or dismissive, old wounds would reopen. I wanted to forgive, to move on, but the pain lingered, creeping into my thoughts and making it harder to see him the way I once had.

Over time, I began to feel an urge to connect with someone else. I started thinking about reaching out to other men, people who would see me and listen to me, who would appreciate me in ways my husband no longer did—or maybe never had. It was just an idea at first, something I pushed away as guilt pricked at me. But the fantasy of being with someone who valued me grew stronger. It became a quiet escape from the resentment I carried, and I started to wonder if maybe I deserved to feel wanted, loved, and respected by someone who could see me as more than just a wife and mother.

I found myself thinking of this when we were together—when he’d show even a hint of kindness, I’d remember the betrayal and feel almost numb to his gestures. Intimacy with him began to feel hollow, like going through the motions while my mind wandered somewhere else, to someone else. I wanted to feel connected again, but the weight of past pain made it hard to rekindle the love I’d once felt.

Now, ten years in, I’m struggling to make sense of what I want. Part of me wants to make things work, for our family, for the life we’ve built. But another part longs for freedom from the hurt I’ve endured, for a chance at genuine happiness. The resentment has carved a distance between us, and I’m left wondering if it’s even possible to close that gap—or if it’s finally time to put myself first.