Watching the final countdown to 2026 on the big screen at our New Year’s Eve party, I gave my husband an affectionate smile and raised a glass of champagne to another successful year together.
To our friends and family, we will have seemed like the unshakeable unit we’ve always been.
After all, we rarely argue, we share a bed and we kiss one another goodbye as we leave the house for work each day.
They would never guess the shocking truth – mentally, I’ve already quietly checked out of our relationship.
Other women in my situation may have flounced to the divorce courts, fought custody battles, carved up the marital assets and drawn a painful line under their vows.
But I simply couldn’t cope with such upheaval. Instead, I’m following the new trend adopted by hundreds of discontented wives up and down the country – I’m quiet quitting my marriage.
The phrase was originally coined to describe workers who refuse to leave the safety of their job while doing as little for their pay as possible. A bit like them, I’m ‘quiet quitting’ my role as a doting bride.
After being together for 20 years – and married for 12 – since meeting at university, our lives, families, friends and social lives are intertwined. Why blow all that apart?
I’m following the new trend adopted by hundreds of discontented wives up and down the country – I’m quiet quitting my marriage (Posed by models)
Marital happiness may have eluded me for several years, yet I see no reason to press a self-destruct button and bring untold drama and distress to everyone’s lives – not least those of our sons, aged six and seven – when instead I can just low-key withdraw from my partnership with Will.
There’s been no drama, no explosive rows, infidelity, abuse or financial stresses – nothing that would lead us to the brink.
It’s instead that, somehow, I’ve simply fallen out of romantic love with him when I wasn’t looking.
Rather like weight gain, my checking out has been a slow creep – an increasing sense of feeling disconnected from my husband alongside simultaneously not having the energy or inclination to do anything to try and resolve it.
Apparently, more women in their 40s just like me (I’m 43) are doing the same. Rather than capsize the marital boat, they’re just subtly stepping away in a bid to maintain calm waters.
But at what cost to ourselves?
I won’t know the answer to that question until many years down the line and, of course, I may one day regret keeping quiet rather than divorcing and giving myself a second chance at happiness.
Before we became a couple, Will and I were close friends at university in Warwick, consoling each other through break-ups with unsuitable boyfriends and girlfriends.
Our relationship changed at a reunion with our university circle a year after graduating when we kissed at the end of the night and realised we didn’t want to be apart.
Life was wonderful. Cooking together in the evenings was our thing, and at weekends we’d pop off for a night or two to escape the intensity of our jobs – Will in finance and me in education – even if it was just an Airbnb an hour down the road.
Even reading quietly in the same room, we were so content in each other’s company.
Will proposed to me on holiday in August 2012 and we married a year later. It was a day filled with happiness and excitement for our future, which we hoped very much would bring the joy of children. It soon did, with our boys born in 2018 and 2019.
Then along came the pandemic. Forced to spend so much time together, and with two children under three, we irritated each other.
Those annoying little habits I used to brush off made me murderous – the way he noisily brushed his teeth, left mess around the house and always wore so much aftershave it would be the only thing I could smell.
When lockdown ended, I was left with a simmering resentment that I was dealing with the lion’s share of the parenting and domestic load on my own, while Will’s life looked the same as it always had. But still, we muddled along.
Then, 18 months ago, I realised these irritations had become something bigger and more profound. I was just existing, going through the motions. And I was no longer engaged with our marriage.
It’s tricky to explain. I’m not desperately unhappy or miserable. I’m not uncomfortable in my marriage as such – and I’m certainly not unsafe. That’s why I’ve chosen to check out whilst staying put.
Will and I still laugh together, although not the big belly laughs we used to have that would leave our ribs and cheeks aching.
Though we habitually give one another a hug and kiss when we leave the house each day, we haven’t had sex for a year – a sure sign things aren’t right.
And how has my husband reacted to this pulling away I’ve done? He barely seems to have noticed.
Earlier this year, I raised our relationship and lack of intimacy with him one evening, but he batted away my concerns, telling me that ‘life isn’t a fairytale’. To be fair, some men may have got pushy on the sex front, but not Will.
He told me: ‘You’re just tired from being back at work again now the kids are at school, and you’re probably hormonal.’
Never tell a hormonal woman she’s hormonal!
Given how flippantly he dismissed my concerns, is it any surprise I have since withdrawn even more?
The date nights we used to have once or twice a month were the first thing I checked out of. Where once it was a thrill to escape for a few hours and leave the kids with babysitters, I now can’t face sitting with Will in a restaurant knowing it’s all forced on my part. I make my excuses and he doesn’t even suggest them any more.
I also wriggle out of parties, drinks gatherings and even missed his friend’s wedding – and I do my best not to see his family.
My excuses for getting out of social events include it being too late for the children to stay up, or I’ve got too much paperwork to catch up on.
Having given up drinking many years ago – not due to a problem, just because I didn’t like it – I’ve also been known to say that I’ll feel left out if it’s a boozy affair, so Will should go and have fun on his own.
Truthfully, I can’t stand having to pretend everything is lovely when one glance around a room at other couples who are enjoying each other’s company magnifies the connection that’s missing between us.
He pays more attention to his mobile phone than he does to me, spending hours scrolling rather than chatting – so-called phubbing, when you snub someone in favour of your phone, which experts have warned can lead to disaster in relationships.
He ought to at least use the time to take better care of himself and address the weight he’s gained in recent years, which isn’t attractive.
Over the years, I tried to inject a little spark into our marriage. For a while, I’d force myself to plan date nights.
Marital happiness may have eluded me for several years, yet I see no reason to press a self-destruct button and bring untold drama to our lives
I’d buy Will little gifts – his favourite chocolate, or new cufflinks – to leave in his car or briefcase, and I’d sometimes write notes expressing my love. But nothing was ever reciprocated, so my efforts felt futile and I gave up.
I get the sense he no longer truly loves me – that we’re both just going through the motions – but we’re co-dependent now. I’m not sure how he would manage without me either.
You may question my decision not to just file for divorce and be done with things, but it would feel wrong. Both Will’s parents and mine have had long marriages of almost 50 years, which is what we aspired to when we wed.
In the early years, we always said we wouldn’t be that couple who gave up without trying. And yet, here we are.
Perhaps it will surprise you to hear that Will’s still my best friend. Good news or bad, he’s the person I tell first.
But checking out has taken a lot of the pressure and stress away from our life as a couple. I’m no longer forcing myself to make an effort or to analyse what went wrong and try to fix it. Neither am I agonising about feeling the way I do.
Occasionally I imagine something dramatic happening, like an affair, for example. Then again, in many ways it might be a relief if Will’s head was turned as it would give me a very tangible reason to end our relationship.
Maybe it’s selfish of me not to do that anyway and allow us both the chance of finding a more fulfilling relationship with someone else.
But if I was the one to initiate a divorce now, when he hasn’t actually done anything wrong, would people take his side and ostracise me? Worse, would my children blame me for breaking up the family? That would be unbearable.
Quietly checking out instead ensures harmony is maintained, a far better option than divorce for everyone. It’s a personal sacrifice I’m willing to make.
Holly Jones is a pseudonym. All names and identifying details have been changed.
As told to Sadie Nicholas.
