…and I’ve never regretted it.
“Are you okay?” my then husband asked.
I blinked and looked at him.
“Why?”
“You’ve been washing your hands for probably 5 minutes now.”
“Oh,” I said and turned off the sink and wiped my hands on a towel. I’d been thinking of all of the things I needed to do that day and trying to figure out how I was going to get it all done, and I must have zoned out in the middle of washing my hands.
My toddlers had a check-up that afternoon, and I needed to remember to bring enough snacks, diapers, and changes of clothes. I needed to call the dentist and schedule their first check-up. I needed to respond to at least 8 highly urgent work e-mails. I was behind on a deadline. I needed to remember to mail off some boxes, and I also had to drop off some things at their daycare before I drove into work. I also needed to fill out a form for their speech therapist, and one of their backpack’s zipper had broken and they needed a new one. We were running out of toilet paper, and I needed to ask their daycare teacher about their nap schedule.
The daily to-do list I had in my head kept expanding and expanding. As soon as I might cross off one thing, four new things would be added.
It wasn’t even 6am, and I could already feel the burden of everything needing to be done pressing down on my shoulders.
My then husband kept trying to talk to me, but I couldn’t pay attention.
I was married, yet carrying all of the burden for the management and care of the children and our home.
I was a married single mom.
“Just let me know what I need to do,” my then husband had told me multiple times. “I don’t know if you don’t tell me!” he’d also said.
I married my then husband because he was smart and capable. He managed several employees and dealt with schedules and logistics on a regular basis, yet he didn’t bring that same intelligence and skillset to our children and home life.
It’s not like I knew or had known. It was my first time being a new parent too.
I didn’t magically know how many snacks, meals, bottles, outfits, diapers, wipes, and butt paste I needed to send with them to daycare. I just read the paperwork when it was sent home and diligently followed it, yet my partner didn’t. I believed — and hoped — that he would do that too. He just assumed I’d take care of it, and I did. At a cost.
While my then husband enjoyed his leisure time in front of the television, I forgot to feed myself. I didn’t work out. I passed out nearly as soon as my head hit the pillow, yet I never woke up rested. I was constantly anxious that I’d forget something or miss something, and even when I might try to make myself sit and relax, I couldn’t stop worrying about all of the million of tasks I could be doing.
I was struggling under the invisible yet visceral weight of mental load, and its effect was devastating.
You see, I left my then husband.
I left him for many reasons (BIG reasons like his drug use, financial infidelity, and abuse), but even if those hadn’t been an issue, I still would have left.
I left because every time my partner didn’t pack our children’s backpacks or lunches, he was telling me he valued and respected his time more than my own.
I left because every time he saw me setting up appointments, reading daycare communications, writing on the calendar their school schedules, folding clothes, cooking, researching a new products to purchase, reading books on parenting, or packing their diaper bag, he chose not to participate. He chose not to take part.
I left because every time he chose not to take part, he was showing me that he didn’t love and value the same things I did, or even me, and I moved further and further away from him and our marriage.
“I help!” he said.
This was a refrain from our marriage. Each time I brought up my concerns, my exhaustion, my stress and overwhelm, he’d retort with, “I help!” Or, even more damning, he’d say something like, “You’re lucky I do as much as I do. I don’t know any husbands that do as much as I do for my family.”
He didn’t get it, and he never would. I didn’t want him to help me, because again, that implied it wasn’t his to begin with. It was assumed that whatever it was was mine, and he was “doing me a favor” by “helping” me.
I wanted him to participate, to be my partner in the raising and care of our children and home. I wanted to not be alone anymore, to not fall into bed every night feeling like I’d never done enough and never could do enough. I wanted to not feel like I was a married single mom anymore.
If I was going to be doing it all alone anyway, why be married? What was even the point?
So I left.
I’ve never regretted leaving. I thought I would. Especially after I kept hearing how much “harder” it would be for me once I was “actually” single.
But it was easier, frankly.
I wasn’t angry anymore, for one. I was alone, but I didn’t feel alone while in a relationship. I was happier, actually, being a divorced single mom than I’d ever been being a married single one.