I used to believe that staying in my marriage was the ultimate act of love—for my kids. I told myself that sacrificing my own happiness would somehow make their lives better, that keeping our family “whole” was more important than my personal fulfillment.
But I was wrong. And I see that now, in ways I wish I had seen years ago.
If you’re reading this and feeling that pit in your stomach because you’re in the same boat, I need you to hear me: staying in an unhappy marriage “for the kids” might be doing more harm than good. I learned that the hard way. And if I could go back, I would have made a different choice.
Living a lie for the sake of stability
For years, I put on a brave face. I played the role of a dutiful wife and a devoted mother. To the outside world, we were the perfect family—picturesque, stable, intact. But behind closed doors, it was a different story.
The love between us had withered away, replaced by indifference, resentment, and an exhausting routine of just getting through the day. There was no affection, no partnership, no joy. Conversations became robotic, intimacy was non-existent, and every interaction felt forced. I felt more like a co-parent, a roommate, an obligation—never a wife, never a woman who was truly seen or loved.
But I stayed. Because I thought divorce would be worse. Because I thought my kids needed two parents under the same roof. Because I feared the unknown.
The unspoken toll on my kids
I thought I was protecting them. But in reality, they could see it. They could feel it.
Children are more intuitive than we give them credit for. They pick up on tension, on fake smiles, on love that feels forced. They might not always understand what’s wrong, but they know when something isn’t right.
I remember my oldest daughter asking me one night, “Mom, are you happy?”
I wanted to lie. I wanted to tell her that everything was fine. But something in her eyes told me she already knew the truth. That moment shook me. I had convinced myself that staying was the best thing for them, but in reality, I was showing them a distorted version of love. I was teaching them that marriage was something you endure, not something that should bring you joy.
It hit me: What if my children grew up thinking this was normal? What if they ended up in relationships where they felt stuck, afraid to leave, convinced that suffering was part of the deal? That terrified me more than the thought of divorce.
What staying did to me
Perdi-me.
I stopped laughing as much. I stopped dreaming. I stopped believing I deserved anything more than the life I had settled for. And when you spend years pretending, something happens—you start to forget who you really are. You become numb. You convince yourself that this is just how life is supposed to be.
I told myself, This is what being a good mother looks like. But a good mother is also a happy mother. A whole mother. A mother who isn’t quietly suffering every single day.
I wasn’t just staying in an unhappy marriage—I was disappearing inside it.
Breaking free—too late?
By the time I finally made the decision to leave, so much damage had already been done. I wish I had left sooner. I wish I had trusted that my kids would be okay.
Yes, divorce is hard. Yes, it’s painful. But so is staying in a loveless marriage. So is living every day in an environment that drains you. So is realizing that your kids are growing up watching a version of love that you wouldn’t want them to accept for themselves.
Now, on the other side, I see things clearly. My kids are adjusting. They’re happier than I thought they would be. They no longer live in a house filled with tension. And they have a mother who smiles again. A mother who is rediscovering herself. A mother who is showing them that it’s okay to choose happiness.
The lesson I want to share
If you’re in a marriage that is draining you, one that no longer nurtures your soul, I need you to ask yourself: Am I really staying for them? Or am I staying because I’m afraid?
Because fear is not a good enough reason to stay. And sacrificing yourself for the illusion of stability is not the answer.
I regret waiting so long. I regret the years I lost, the happiness I postponed. But I don’t regret finally choosing myself. And if you’re in that place right now, I want you to know—it’s never too late to choose yourselftambém.