I started my packing with leggings: stretchy, comfortable, and the kind of pants that screamed “new mom.” These were the pants that said, “I’m trying here,” even though I knew my black sweatpants were just a notch above my old boxers. They conveyed something else too: “Please give me space. I’m not up for any conversations right now.”
I lost count of how many pairs I shoved into my small blue suitcase. Then I moved on to tops—nothing fancy, just casual t-shirts and basic tank tops. I grabbed a few bras, a handful of underwear, and socks—endless socks, some paired, some not.
In that moment, I didn’t have the luxury to consider what I was packing. I didn’t think about coordinating outfits or fabric choices for summer heat. I just needed to finish the task, to close that suitcase, grab my sleeping 11-month-old daughter, and step out the door. I had to leave.
This wasn’t always how it was. I met my husband, Jake—the father of my child—when we were just kids. We were 12 years old in seventh grade; I was shy and blonde, while he was also shy, a bit stocky, and we hardly spoke. But after weeks of observing him doodling in art class, I mustered the courage to ask him to save a dance for me at the school Halloween dance. He agreed, and we danced, laughed, and shared sodas at lunch.
We quickly became friends, then a couple, and eventually engaged. Yet, over the years, everything shifted. Our relationship evolved, and I found myself questioning whether I truly loved Jake or merely the idea of him.
Before long, I was back to packing that blue suitcase. I wanted a divorce.
Having a child transforms everything. While I was warned about sleepless nights and the toll on my body, no one prepared me for how a baby could change my marriage. I didn’t know how hard it would be to keep thoughts of divorce out of our discussions. As the excitement of new parenthood faded, the harsh reality set in: I wanted out.
Our arguments increased, and instead of coming together, we withdrew. I was overwhelmed and began contemplating an escape—not in a rebellious teenage way, but in a desperate “What have I done?” manner. I found myself working more, sleeping less, and packing that damn suitcase weekly for nearly three months, always ready to leave.
Finally, when my daughter turned 15 months, I faced Jake and our loved ones with my desire for a divorce. We decided to try marriage counseling as a last resort before I walked out the door with my luggage and daughter in tow.
Marriage is undeniably challenging; anyone who says otherwise is mistaken. It requires ongoing effort, patience, and compromise. The initial stages often resemble a romantic movie, but eventually, reality sets in. Communication breaks down, and trivial matters escalate into major disputes. We found ourselves on the brink of separation, contemplating divorce due to our inability to connect and communicate effectively.
But we were determined to explore every possible avenue before making a final decision. Therapy became our last chance.
After over a year of marriage counseling, I can’t predict what lies ahead, but I do know we are making progress. There’s more understanding, tenderness, empathy, and love. We’ve lowered our defenses, opened our minds, and I’ve unpacked that suitcase. For now, knowing I am genuinely in love with Jake—not just the idea of him—feels like enough.
If you’re interested in more insight into marriage and family dynamics, check out some related posts on our blog. For the latest information on pregnancy and home insemination, the CDC provides excellent resources that can guide you through your journey.
Summary:
In this heartfelt reflection, a woman shares her journey from contemplating divorce to finding hope in marriage counseling. She recounts how the challenges of new parenthood nearly drove her to leave her husband, only to discover that with effort and therapy, their relationship could be repaired. The narrative emphasizes the importance of communication, understanding, and the complexities of love amidst life’s changes.