Man, writing this feels like reopening stitches, but if it helps even one person…
First, the slow burn:
Started noticing the quiet, ya know? Like walking into our own home felt like walking into a library with bad vibes. We stopped actually talking. It was just logistics: “Who picks up the kid?” or “Did you pay the bill?”. Real conversations? Dead. Gone. Felt lonely while sharing a bed. That’s messed up.
The trying-to-fix-it phase (or the kidding-myself phase):
Told myself, “It’s just a rough patch.” Tried forcing date nights – awkward silences over pasta. Went to couple’s counseling. Twice. Felt like arguing in front of a referee. Paid good money to hear we sucked at listening. Kept trying the same old things expecting different results. Spoiler: didn’t work.
Signs I should’ve seen earlier:
- Getting annoyed by how they chewed cereal. Seriously. That loud crunch became my personal hell.
- Dreading weekends together. Like, actually feeling relieved when they went out.
- Stopping even the little touches. No hand on the shoulder, no goodnight peck. Just… roommates.
- My gut screaming “This ain’t right!” every time we fought.
The final straw moment:
Wasn’t one huge blowup. More like a quiet Tuesday. Found myself sitting alone in the dark kitchen after they’d gone to bed. Scrolling through old photos on my phone – pictures of us laughing, vacations, dumb selfies. Felt… nothing. Not sadness, not anger. Just emptiness. Like looking at strangers. In that moment, crystal clear: This is dead. Not sad, just cold certainty.
Making the actual decision:
Took weeks after that kitchen moment to say it out loud. Hardest words ever: “I think we’re done.” Said it while washing dishes. Avoided eye contact. Brutal silence followed. Then, the hard talks. Dividing stuff. Telling family. Worst part? Seeing the hurt in their eyes – knowing I caused it. Felt like garbage. But underneath? A horrible, guilty kind of relief. Like breathing after holding it for years.
The messy aftermath (still happening):
Logistical nightmare. Lawyers. Paperwork that feels endless. Co-parenting stuff – figuring out schedules. Still hurts. Some days feel okay, others crash like a wave. Learning to be alone without feeling lonely. Rebuilding bits of myself I forgot existed.
So, when do you know? It sneaks up. Listen to that quiet voice inside screaming you’re miserable. Pay attention to the emptiness replacing the love. The lack of feeling? That’s your answer. Not some dramatic cheating scandal or yelling match. Just… nothing. Hard as hell to act on it, but staying dead inside? That’s worse.
