One Sunday, about five years ago, I decided to ‘leave’ my husband. Our dog was sick and he demanded that ‘for once’ it should be me that worked from home to keep a watch on him and, if necessary, make an emergency dash to the vet.
These were chores I usually managed to swerve on account of being in the office five days a week. But now, he was fed up with being lumbered with the responsibility.
I was outraged. He was the ‘dog person’ in the relationship – he’d craved a border terrier for years and did the lion’s share of walks and playtime.
More importantly, didn’t he understand how much my colleagues depended on me? I reminded him my job wasn’t like his – a semi-remote position that mostly involved Zoom meetings and clocking off at 5pm on the dot. I co-ran this newspaper’s health desk – I couldn’t just decide on a whim to work from home.
It was a cruel jibe as I knew he had struggled to get promoted, but I delivered it anyway, then stomped off to the kitchen, grabbed my keys and sped off before he could ask where I was going.
I drove aimlessly around north London for most of the day, ignoring his calls and texts asking where I was.
When I eventually returned home that evening, I marched straight to the bedroom and gave him the silent treatment until he reluctantly apologised before bed.
It was a defeatist sorry – the sort you use when you’re not particularly remorseful, but desperate for the argument to end. We were both familiar with this routine – my infuriating stubbornness often forced him to give in.
In a pivotal fight a few weeks before Eve Simmons’s husband ended their marriage, he unleashed his pent-up resentment about carrying the full burden of their life admin
Today, two years after our divorce was made final, I am mortified by my ice-queen behaviour.
While I’ve written before about how blindsided I was when my husband called it quits in November 2022, just six months after our wedding, and his subsequent cruel behaviour, to my shame what I haven’t yet reflected on publicly is my contribution to our demise.
Indeed, in the wake of our split, my army of female friends rallied round, and spent many hours affirming my criticisms of my ex. His behaviour was unreasonable and selfish. He was never good enough for me, they said.
No one dared suggest I had a role to play in his sudden apathy towards our relationship. In fairness, I’d have been horrified if they did.
So in the interest of balance, and shining a light on the complex messiness of the end of a relationship, I have reflected on where I believe I went wrong.
My first big faux-pas was my habit of using the silent treatment, as described above.
Therapy has since taught me I have an intense fear of confrontation. I am also extremely stubborn. This combination means I can approach conflict like a child – avoiding it and opting to get in a huff instead.
It happened every few months with my ex. He’d do or say something I found irritating, like scrolling on his phone while we ate dinner, or making a mean ‘joke’ about one of my girlfriends. Instead of having it out there and then, I’d clam up and withdraw – sometimes for hours on end – refusing to tell him what was wrong.
