My husband, Eric (43), and I (32) have been married for 12 years and share two children—a 10-year-old daughter and a 5-year-old son. I adore our kids and once dreamed of a big family, but the reality is overwhelming. I handle everything at home—cooking, cleaning, parenting, and even working part-time. Eric “provides” financially, yet his involvement ends there. He’s never changed a diaper, woken up in the middle of the night, or taken the kids to the doctor. It’s all on me.
Last month, I asked my best friend for a favor: “Eric, can you watch the kids for an hour?” I just needed a break. His response was dismissive: “I’m tired. I worked all week. Why don’t you just take them with you?” I explained, “Because I need some time for myself. It’s only an hour—they’ll be fine.” Instead of understanding, he retorted, “Katie, you’re the mom. Moms don’t get breaks. My mom never needed them, and neither did my sister.”
My frustration flared. “So Brianna and Amber never felt overwhelmed? They never needed a minute to themselves?” he insisted they managed just fine, and I should too. I couldn’t help but point out, “They’re also your kids! When was the last time you helped Lily with her homework or played with Brandon or even asked how their day went?” But he brushed me off, saying, “I go to work to keep a roof over our heads. That’s enough.” I shot back, “No, it isn’t. Providing money isn’t the same as being a parent. They need you.”
Then, Eric’s mother, Brianna, who had dropped by earlier “to visit the kids,” stepped into the kitchen. Eric sighed dramatically, “Mom, she’s at it again, always saying I don’t help.” Brianna warned me gently, “Katie, sweetheart, be careful. A man doesn’t like feeling criticized by his wife.” I clarified, “I’m not criticizing—I’m asking him to be a parent. There’s a big difference.” Brianna continued, “Eric works hard to provide, and you should be grateful. Besides, you already have two beautiful children—why wouldn’t you want another?” I flatly replied, “Because I’m exhausted. I’m already doing everything on my own. I have no desire to make my life even harder.”
Then Eric’s sister, Amber, joined in with a sharp tone: “Honestly, Katie, you sound a little spoiled. Mom raised both of us without complaining.” I countered bitterly, “Right, and I’m sure she never felt overwhelmed—she just kept quiet because no one would listen.” Amber retorted, “Maybe you need to toughen up. Women have been handling all of this for centuries; it’s just what we do.” I looked at Eric and said, “That’s exactly my point—you’re stuck in this outdated mindset that it’s solely my job, and it’s not fair.” Eric simply shrugged, “Life’s not fair, Katie. Deal with it.”
It wasn’t long before Eric started talking about having another baby. I was stunned: “Eric, I’m barely managing with two. And you want to add another?” He furrowed his brow, replying, “What’s the big deal? We’ve already done it twice. You know how it works.” I responded, “That’s exactly the point—I know how it works. I’m the one up at night, running around like a lunatic, holding everything together. You don’t help at all.” He countered, “I provide for this family, Katie.” I retorted, “Being a parent isn’t just about a paycheck.”
Later that night, as we got ready for bed, Eric once again brought up having a third child. “You’re making a big deal out of nothing,” he said. “We have a good life—I take care of you and the kids. We should have another.” I snapped back, “Eric, you don’t take care of me or the kids. You barely even know them.” When I added that I have zero interest in being a single mom to three children—since two is hard enough—Eric’s face darkened, and he stormed out, slamming the door and, no doubt, heading off to his mother’s.
The next morning, I was up early with the kids at my sister’s place—I had called her the night before for support. I wasn’t surprised when Brianna and Amber showed up instead of Eric. Brianna remarked, “Katie, dear, you’ve changed. You’re not the sweet girl my son married.” That stung. I responded, “You’re right—I’m not that girl anymore. Eric married a teenager; now I’m a woman who knows her worth.” Brianna’s face flushed red, and I continued, “If Eric has issues with how our household is run, he should be here talking to me, not sending you two to do it.” Amber snapped, “That’s not how family works—we’re supposed to support one another.” I fired back, “Really? Funny how that support always seems to go one way.”
Just then, my sister walked in and warned, “You guys need to calm down, or I’ll call the authorities.” Soon after, Brianna launched into a tirade about how I was “ruining” Eric’s life, calling me a bad wife, and predicting that my kids would grow up hating me. Brianna and Amber left a few minutes later, slamming the door behind them.
Later that day, Eric returned home. “You insulted my mother and sister?” he demanded. I replied, “I didn’t insult anyone; I just said they shouldn’t interfere in our marriage.” His expression darkened as he said, “You don’t love me or the kids. You’ve changed.” I calmly answered, “I haven’t changed, Eric—I’ve grown up.” Then he snapped, “Pack your things and leave. I can’t live with you anymore.” Pointing to the door, he made it clear. I didn’t argue. I packed my bags and stood by the door, and I told him, “The kids are staying here. Whoever stays in this house takes responsibility for them—they’re not going anywhere.” He protested, “Wait, what?” I simply repeated, “You wanted me gone—fine. But the kids remain.” I left with my sister without waiting for any further words.
Ultimately, Eric refused to take custody of the children, and I filed for divorce. In the end, I kept the house, gained full custody, and received substantial child support. I’m glad I stood up for myself before it was too late.