HEADING upstairs towards the bedroom I shared with my husband Jon, I stopped in the doorway and looked at our bed.
What I saw made my chest tighten and I realised in that moment that it was time to stop ignoring the nagging feeling which had niggled me for weeks.
It was time to be honest, and face up to the painful truth – I was unhappy in my marriage.
It wasn’t just the sheets. It was the lunches packed, the birthdays planned, the forms filled in, the meals cooked – all the things that had quietly become mine alone.
It was December 2023, our daughter Annie’s 13th birthday, the day everything finally tipped me over the edge.
I’d been up since 7am, preparing lunch for Annie’s party later that day, while Jon enjoyed a lie in.
Later, along with our other kids Eddie, 22, and Sammy, 17, we watched her open her presents as a family, ones I’d bought and lovingly wrapped. But Jon, a writer, 51, had no clue what I’d chosen and was just as surprised as she was.
The unmade bed, coupled with the fact I’d be spending the day entertaining our families with a pounding heart rate signified something much bigger.
I was exhausted. It was time to tell Jon how unhappy I felt in our marriage.
Heavy lifting isn’t a term that anyone should use to describe a relationship.
‘Imbalanced relationship’
Only that’s how I’d describe my role in mine which spanned 23 years.
I’d sat in our imbalanced relationship for over two decades, when I should’ve addressed it.
Many women feel the same, with 72 per cent saying they do most of the housework – though only 18 per cent of blokes agree their partner does the most.
In fact, women on average spend nearly an hour more every day on unpaid work than men.
But don’t get me wrong, Jon isn’t a slob by any stretch. During my first pregnancy I suffered with bad sleep and he’d stay awake to keep me company.
He taught our middle son Sammy to ride his bike and caring for the garden was his job.
But there was a huge imbalance around too many chores and responsibilities. I couldn’t take it anymore.
While I tried to busy myself so as not to spoil Annie’s birthday, my mind flashed back to a memory from years earlier – shoving the pizza boxes that Jon had left on the kitchen top in the bin.
I’d been on a work trip, yet I was the one clearing them away. It might sound innocuous, but it wasn’t my job.
I’d sat in our imbalanced relationship for over two decades, when I should’ve addressed it
Looking back at mine and Jon’s dynamic over the years I’m staggered at how much I took on – on reflection, I think Jon is too.
When the kids packed lunches were made or World Book Day costumes sorted, it was one less thing on my to do list.
I’d sort all the family holidays and make sure the children had their uniforms ready for the first day of school. I’d fill in the forms for their vaccinations and make sure they were all paid up for school trips, or the right school bus.
In the busy life of raising three children and having a full time job, I just motored through getting things done because they needed to be – and I enjoyed it to begin with.
I really didn’t think much about Jon cooking just two meals – a sausage stew and lentil pasta – compared to the thousands I cooked in our two decades together.
If only I’d said something as I tore up those pizza boxes – perhaps that Sunday of Annie’s birthday Jon would have risen early too, or bought and wrapped the children’s presents on every birthday.
Yet rather than blame Jon for his inaction entirely, I shoulder half of it myself.
Looking back at mine and Jon’s dynamic over the years I’m staggered at how much I took on – on reflection, I think Jon is too
Jon wasn’t inattentive, and the reality of it is I wanted him to see for himself the strain I was under and take half the burden from me.
I was 23 when Jon and I met; barely out of university and I didn’t know myself, let alone what a healthy relationship dynamic looked like.
Two years to the day after our very first date, Eddie was born and we went from hand holding to pram pushing quickly.
I’m a capable woman, raised to be independent, so I rolled up my sleeves and got on with it. I never expected to be ‘kept’ but then I didn’t expect to do the ‘keeping’ either.
‘Unequal marriage’
I’m not alone in challenging an unequal marriage.
A close friend is questioning her choices with her husband of over twenty years, deliberating whether it’s time to end things, yet he has no clue.
Whilst holding down a full time job she has raised their two children and cared for not only his sick mother, but hers too.
It feels like the bar for men these days is set so low, but is it us or them that put it there?
Men used to write love letters to their partners whilst in the midst of wars, yet I have so many girlfriends settling for men who think doing half the work is too much effort.
My dad, Mick, who recently passed away, was cut from a different cloth.
When my mum Irene was hours late on their first date back in 1969, he waited.
Two years down the line we are both much happier, and we’re very good friends
He’d massage her aching shoulders when she got in from work as a cleaner and have a cool bowl of water to soothe her throbbing feet when she’d been on them for eight hours.
He did everything he could to love and cherish and support her, as he’d promised in his vows.
Somewhere along the way though, it feels that mould has been broken. So many women I know are simply existing in relationships that aren’t equal.
Oddly, it never once occurred to me to push harder for more equality and our dynamic became the norm.
Four months after Annie’s birthday, the day I told Jon I was unhappy – and we still hadn’t had the chat I desperately wanted to have – I told him I wanted out.
Tears and heartbreak
It was a catastrophic few months of tears and heartbreak for us both.
However, two years ago our divorce was finalised. Two years down the line we are both much happier, and we’re very good friends.
The children remain in our family home in Plymouth while Jon and I take it in turns to move back in a week or two at a time.
We’ve worked hard together to make sure the children aren’t disrupted and we maintain a good relationship as co parents.
The fall out for our three incredible children since has been huge, though they’ve navigated it brilliantly.
Just a few weeks ago, Jon and I took Annie, Eddie, and Sammy out for a meal to celebrate Annie’s 15th birthday.
They mused that their dad barely looks a day older than he does in our wedding photos. Annie suggested it’s how he handles stress, down to how laid back he is, suggesting my predilection to it was the root cause of me looking every one of my 46 years. She’s not wrong.
But her comments on her birthday cemented the conclusion that maybe I am more to blame than he is.
Maybe I should have drawn a line in the sand or stopped myself short when I felt things were uneven, refusing to continue until chores and childcare were divided more evenly.
Maybe I shouldn’t have thanked him every time he emptied the dishwasher or made the bed, maybe I should have just expected it.
Our relationship shouldn’t have been imbalanced in the first place. Jon and I shared a lot of happy times together – we rarely argued.
But had I expected more and been more vocal about it, who knows where we would’ve ended up.
