One of the toughest aspects of ending my marriage was grappling with the reality of a lavish wedding that ultimately didn’t last. I worried about the pitying glances from others, the whispers of disapproval, and the stigma of being labeled as “the woman who preferred the wedding over the marriage.”
In the midst of contemplating my decision, I texted my closest friends to apologize for the expenses they incurred to celebrate my big day. I felt like a burden to them. They were young and struggling to establish their own lives, yet they had devoted their time and resources to my celebration. To my surprise, they were furious—not at me for contemplating my happiness, but at the thought that I felt guilty for choosing what was best for myself and my children.
Another concern was how my online “friends” would perceive me. I had been infatuated with my ex-husband since I was 13. I vividly recall our first awkward kiss at 15, a moment that should have been special but turned into a comical memory. Throughout our teenage years, we weren’t officially a couple, but he occupied a significant space in my heart. When we finally became a couple, it felt like a fairytale; I was certain I was destined to be his wife.
Our relationship escalated quickly from dating to marriage within a year and a half, and I was head over heels for him and our children. However, the decline was just as rapid. Within ten months, I found myself announcing our separation, fully aware that my 700 social media “friends” would likely judge me as a fraud. But we genuinely tried to make it work—counseling with friends, church support, and even isolating ourselves from family, yet our issues proved insurmountable.
Reflecting on my journey, I realized I was more concerned about disappointing my friends and facing judgment than the impact on my children. My kids were the reason I ultimately chose to leave. While my ex-husband’s story isn’t mine to share, I can say that his ways led me down a path of anger.
By the time I recognized that my marriage was beyond repair, our home had turned into a war zone. I loathe confrontation, but when pushed, I respond fiercely. Our household was filled with chaos, resembling a scene where every television blared at maximum volume. Imagine being toddlers amidst such turmoil. My mother lived just seven minutes away, and during our disputes, I would text her—not only to keep her informed but also to ensure she could rescue my older son from the madness.
My eldest son, at just two years old, developed survival instincts. As tensions rose, he would fetch his baby brother’s favorite blankets, thinking they could offer comfort, and sleep between us to create distance. After heated arguments, I would find him toddling over to console me, saying, “Mama, pwease don’t cry.” It was heartbreaking to witness my child stepping in as a peacemaker during our confrontations.
Staying in a toxic marriage felt like sentencing my children to a life of turmoil for a crime they didn’t commit. After separating in April 2016, it took nearly a year for my son’s anxiety to subside. Any loud noise, even celebratory, would send him into a panic. The saddest part? I was no longer his safe haven. He found solace with my mother, and even after moving into my own apartment, he cried at the thought of staying with me.
The guilt of not protecting my children was suffocating. I had allowed them to exist in a stressful environment, all because of my pride and the misguided notion that I should stay in my marriage. Thankfully, my younger son was too young to remember the chaos, but I had to rebuild trust with my eldest. It took months to reassure him that he was safe with me again.
I failed my children in an attempt to salvage my marriage. And you know what? I refuse to accept that. I hear it often: “We have kids,” or, “I’m sticking it out for the children.” But even in less explosive situations, this mindset is flawed. Kids deserve more than a facade of love or an unhappy household.
Consider this: When your children grow up and marry, what do you hope for them? Personally, I want my boys to find partners who cherish them and foster a loving environment. I want them to experience real love, filled with support, patience, and grace. Marriage is challenging, but if your relationship is adversely affecting your children, it’s time to reevaluate. Your marriage was your choice, not theirs.
Staying in a toxic environment when it negatively impacts your children is selfish. Does that sound harsh? Good. I don’t intend to shame anyone for their marriage choices. Love is a complex emotion, and if it’s genuine, you fight for it. However, you shouldn’t fight in front of your kids. If your struggles disrupt their peaceful childhood, it’s time to leave.
Last year, my son and I took a trip to LA. During dinner, he was so exhausted he fell asleep on my lap, his head resting against my chest. That moment reminded me of the nurturing bond we were rebuilding. My children are a blessing and being their mother is a privilege I’ll never take for granted again.
Ultimately, appearances mean nothing. If your home lacks respect, love, and happiness, you’re doing a disservice to yourself and your children. No amount of pride, religion, or societal expectation is worth compromising your children’s well-being.
My ex-husband and I have since developed a healthier co-parenting relationship, focusing on the lives our children deserve—not just materially, but in terms of love and healthy examples. If you can’t choose happiness for yourself, do it for your kids; they deserve it.
“Divorce isn’t such a tragedy. A tragedy’s staying in an unhappy marriage, teaching your children the wrong things about love. Nobody ever died from divorce.” —Jennifer Weiner.
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In summary, ending a troubled marriage for the sake of your children may seem daunting, but it can be a necessary step toward a healthier family dynamic. Prioritize their happiness and well-being above all else.