It’s been an ongoing struggle—my husband’s obsession with the men who came before him. Every now and then, his questions surface, unearthing pieces of my past that I had long tucked away. He’ll ask me about old boyfriends, or worse, he’ll make comments that feel like accusations, as if the fact that I once cared for someone else means I can’t fully love him. I know it comes from his own insecurities, his fear that he doesn’t measure up, but it’s hard not to feel like I’m being punished for things that happened long before we even knew each other.

Sometimes, he’ll compare himself to them out of nowhere, asking if they were better looking, or if they made me feel more desirable. I hate those moments—the tension that settles in the room, the look in his eyes as he waits for me to respond. I always try to reassure him, to tell him that he’s the one I chose, that those men are nothing but faded memories now. But he keeps coming back to it, as if he’s searching for some proof that he’s better, stronger, or more deserving. It hurts, because I don’t want to keep dredging up a past that no longer matters to me.

I feel stuck, caught between wanting to soothe his fears and not wanting to constantly justify my history. I love him, but it’s exhausting to have to defend the choices I made years ago. I wish he could understand that what matters is the life we’re building now, not the one I lived before we met. His retroactive jealousy is a burden that weighs heavily on both of us, and I don’t know how to convince him that he’s enough—just as he is, without needing to compare himself to anyone else.