When I told my husband I wanted a separation, he was stunned. But I had already reached my limit. For months, I had carried the invisible mental load of running our family—managing tasks, emotions, schedules—while he lived unaware.
Women often carry this load alone. From forgotten socks to unanswered “What’s for dinner?” questions, every small moment adds weight. “I felt alone,” I said—and that loneliness, not laziness, broke me. He wasn’t trying to hurt me; he just didn’t see what I carried.
We tried couples therapy. I realized I expected him to read my mind, while he admitted he’d dismissed my silent struggles. We were failing—not out of hate—but because society never taught him to help and taught me not to ask.
Recovery wasn’t easy. We had to learn new ways to talk and listen. I now know his mistakes weren’t proof of not loving me—they were proof of a system built for imbalance. And we’re trying to rewrite it, together.
