The Moment I Realized It Would Be Easier to Parent Without My Partner

My ex and I met as activists in college, bonding over feminism and queer rights in a relatively rural and very conservative region. This was my first serious relationship, and despite countless red flags—like unreasonable jealousy, controlling behavior, and lots of people warning me about them—I let the fling turn into something serious. We adopted dogs, moved in together, traveled from state to state for my education, and eventually decided to have a child via artificial insemination.

The division of labor in our relationship was already an issue, but I didn’t know the severity until my pregnancy. I was doing much more than my fair share and providing a lot of care for my ex that went unnoticed: I woke them up for work, did their laundry, planned and executed most of our meals, monitored their medication regimens, and remained on-call around the clock for most of their basic needs. When the baby arrived, I couldn’t provide it anymore.

When Covid hit during our baby’s infancy, we were faced with learning how to become parents in total isolation. I gave a lot of grace to my partner for what I would have otherwise seen as laziness and irresponsibility. We were all doing our best, I thought. When they came down with Covid, they decided to quarantine in our bedroom to try and prevent spreading it to the rest of the family.

I was initially intimidated at the thought of caring for a toddler, two large dogs, a house, and two part-time jobs all while not being able to leave our home. It wasn’t even a couple of hours into the illness-induced separation when I realized that parenting, working, and just being without them was so much easier and more pleasant than when they were around.

The relief and peace I felt unlocked a terrifying thought: I think I need a divorce.

Not only was I already doing the lion’s share of the domestic labor, but I was also doing all that caretaking for them. Removing them from the equation also removed a good deal of responsibility and conflict for me. The relief and peace I felt during that quarantine unlocked a terrifying thought that I hadn’t entertained before: I think I need a divorce.

At first, I shoved this thought into the back of my mind, because I was loyal to a fault. A few months after we all recovered from our first round of Covid (spoiler alert: quarantining within the same house did not, in fact, prevent the illness from spreading to all of us), I planned my own birthday trip to an orchard about an hour away from our home. I packed the car, got myself and the baby ready, made sure my partner was staying on task and on time, barely had time to get myself presentable, and drove all of us to the event.

My ex was needling me the entire way and I eventually sank back into that thought I had during quarantine. But this time I said it out loud: “I need a divorce.” My ex lost it, and became physically and verbally violent. I had an unmistakable feeling that I had to leave for good. Instead, my hope caused me to return with lots of stipulations and an involved plan of care to repair what was broken.

This plan spanned the next two years and involved couples counseling, psychiatric testing, changing our sleeping arrangements, and my taking on extra work to compensate for their stagnant wages and the rising costs of living. I was exhausted, but I wouldn’t give up. It wasn’t going to be perfect, but if we put in the work, I thought we could mold this into something tolerable and stable.

Then, almost exactly two years after the orchard incident, I discovered that my spouse was having an affair. Not only were they not participating in therapy, helping me parent our child, or taking on extra work so that I could be relieved of working and parenting around the clock, they were having a full-blown, out-past-midnight-on-my-birthday-while-I-was-home-caring-for-a-sick-child affair.

When I approached them about this, they initially tried to lie their way out of it. Then they blamed me for the affair. It was my fault, they said, because I was so distant and too wrapped up in caring for our child. I walked away, trying to get some space so the argument wouldn’t escalate.

They followed me into the bathroom. As I was bathing our child, up to my elbows in bubbles and kneeling in a puddle of bath water, I told them again that I couldn’t do this anymore. They said “I didn’t think there was anything I could do that would make you leave me.” This stunned me. I was finally hearing them say out loud what I knew they felt all along—that I would tolerate, against my most basic instincts, whatever mistreatment they threw my way. And they weren’t wrong. But that was the last time I would ignore that feeling that crept up years earlier and never really went away: I needed a divorce.

Leaving this relationship has not only been emotionally draining, but financially and logistically exhausting, as well. I’m working hard on coming to terms with the fact that this was an abusive relationship. The post-separation abuse that ensued really drove that insight home.

I’m still burning the candle at both ends to care for our child by myself, pay attorney fees, and all the other things that come with leaving a relationship like this. I’m exhausted at the end of each day, but the freedom and relief I felt during Covid quarantine years ago is now my everyday reality. Turns out I was right: Getting a divorce is unbelievably hard, but still somehow easier than daily life with my ex.