My truth..In progress...

I’m not happy in this relationship. I’m not happy constantly being minimized, devalued, and made to feel less than.

I’m anxious. I’m fearful of what might cause an outburst and find myself trying to adjust your behavior. I can’t talk to you. I’ve lost confidence in myself. This runs much deeper than just “forgive and forget.” This is toxic.

It all started when you weren’t happy. When I wasn’t doing enough. When I wasn’t giving enough. When I wasn’t “making you happy,” because—according to you—I know what to do and I’m just not doing it. 

Does my happiness not matter?

Am I supposed to be happy being raged at and torn down anytime you don’t like something?
Am I supposed to be happy walking on eggshells, afraid to talk to someone who’s supposed to be my partner?
Am I supposed to be happy when you say, “meh, the sex wasn’t good enough”?
Am I supposed to be happy watching you force-feed Charlie?

Am I supposed to be happy when you get furious that my friends stayed past their “curfew”?

How could I possibly be happy with you doing all of this?

But you can’t see it. You can’t see that you aren’t happy either. You’ve created this vision of a “perfect” life and are trying so hard to achieve it—to be some ideal example of a family. But all that glitters isn’t gold. You’re blinded by the false reality you’ve built.

Yes, we have a beautiful little boy.
Yes, we have an amazing house.
Yes, we have “all the things.”
But what we don’t have is shared happiness.

You want so badly to have it all that you keep reaching for more—but you don’t see that what you already have is enough. Not settle enough, but fulfilled enough. You have everything you could possibly want, and your constant push for “more, more, more” is what’s tearing everything apart.

You hold everyone to these extreme, unattainable standards—and that’s why you’re constantly upset, let down, angry, and impossible to please. Being with you is like playing a rigged carnival game. I keep hoping maybe this time I’ll win… but I never do.

You get angry and have outbursts. You say cruel, hurtful things.
You threaten me:

• “You’ll never do better than me.”
• “You’ll never afford a house—you have no savings.”
• “You couldn’t do all this without me.”

You insult me:

• You call me ignorant.
• You call me disrespectful.
• You call me “princess.”
• You say I don’t feed our child.

You minimize and devalue everything I do:

• Saying I put everyone and everything above you.
• Claiming 90% of the laundry is yours and Charlie’s 
• Saying I only wipe the counters once a week.
• Accusing me of never helping with the yard.

You never take accountability. As much as you claim I don’t take responsibility or own my mistakes—you do it even less.

Yes, maybe you’ve changed “so much” by not swearing or yelling as often. But that’s it.

You say it’s always the second person who starts the fight—but anymore, you are that second person. I say the wrong thing or bring something up in the wrong way, and you lose it. You blow up. You say things that are angry and cruel. You walk away while still talking. You storm off.

When I try to talk to you—when I try to explain what’s bothering me—you flip it back on me.
“Oh, so I’m the monster now?”
“I’m the asshole?”
“It’s always MY fault.”

Well, sometimes? Yes.
And sometimes, it’s no one’s fault. Sometimes it’s just life.

You keep asking how I think I’d be better off without you. And that’s hard to answer. But the most I can say is I’d have peace in my heart and mind. During the day, I can breathe. But around 4 p.m., when I know you’re coming home, I get a pit in my stomach. I start stress eating. And once you're home, I go into dance mode—trying to figure out what kind of mood you're in so I know which lanes to stay in.

 

And I will NEVER be okay with your stance on the Cousin Jen situation. We will NEVER agree on that. It wasn’t handled properly, and that’s what caused the fallout. YOU are the one holding the grudge. YOU are the one keeping it alive. It happened two years ago. Yes, it happened in our house—but it’s between THEM. That’s not our battle anymore.

You don’t do things out of love or support. You do them to use as bargaining chips. To get recognition. To hold them over me. You constantly bring up the pool:

• “That would’ve never happened without me.”
• “Without my insurance, you’d be screwed.”
• “Without my support and hard work, you’d never have your own business.”

But that’s the narrative you wrote—and it’s fiction. Yes, I appreciate everything you’ve done. But it’s like you want 100% of the credit. You want to own it. And nothing is ever good enough.

Let’s be clear—I’m not “throwing it all away.” I’m not “destroying” anything.

If you want to make this messy, that’s on you.

I want peace.

For Charlie.
For me.
For you.

I want to be amicable.
I want us to be part of each other’s lives.
I want that—for all of us.