I’ve been married to my husband for 10 years now. When we first met, I was young and full of hope, eager to build a life with someone I thought would love and care for me the way I deserved. But early on, my dreams were shattered. He wasn’t the man I thought he was. He treated me badly, took me for granted, and even cheated on me. At the time, I was so blinded by love, so desperate to hold onto the life we had planned together, that I forgave him. I convinced myself that he would change, that we could move forward and have the family we both wanted. I didn’t realize that forgiving him would come at the expense of my own happiness and self-respect.
We had children together, built a home, and tried to live a life that, on the surface, seemed perfect. But beneath it all, I felt the weight of everything that had been left unresolved. For years, I pushed down my feelings, thinking that with time, the pain would fade. But by the 5th or 6th year, things changed. The resentment started to build up inside me, quietly at first, like a slow burn. I couldn’t ignore it anymore. Every time he’d come home late, or I’d hear another half-hearted apology for things he had done in the past, I’d feel a wave of anger and disappointment wash over me. It was as if all the promises he’d made, all the things he said he’d change, had never come to fruition.
With the resentment came urges—urges to find someone else. I began fantasizing about other men, wondering what it would be like to feel desired again, to experience something that wasn’t tied to the emotional weight of my past with him. The fantasies grew more frequent, and I found myself tempted to reach out to someone, anyone, who might make me feel wanted. I never acted on it, at least not in the way I imagined, but the thoughts became all-consuming.
I’d tell myself that I loved my children, that I didn’t want to break up the family, that I couldn’t betray him like he had betrayed me. But the truth was, I wasn’t sure I could keep going like this. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that the life I was leading wasn’t the life I had dreamed of. It wasn’t even the life I wanted anymore.
Every time I looked at him, I saw the man who had hurt me, the man who hadn’t changed despite my years of patience. And when I looked at myself, I saw someone who had sacrificed too much, someone who had lost pieces of herself along the way. I was caught between the woman who wanted to protect her family and the woman who was aching for something more, something real.
It wasn’t just about the affairs or the cheating anymore—it was about how I had allowed myself to be treated for so long, how I had given up parts of myself just to hold onto a broken promise. And now, I didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t know how to make it stop hurting. I didn’t know if I could keep pretending like everything was okay when inside, I felt so empty.
As the years have passed, I’ve come to realize that forgiveness, especially when it’s self-inflicted, doesn’t always heal wounds. And sometimes, it’s hard to know what to do next when the love you thought would last forever feels more like a burden than a blessing. I’ve lived with this internal struggle for so long that I’m not sure where I stand anymore. All I know is that I can’t keep ignoring the feelings that keep creeping up inside me—the resentment, the longing, the confusion. Something needs to change, but I don’t know if I have the courage to make that change.
