So youre wondering how Ive ended up at this crossroads in my lifeand how I possibly put up with it? Well, let me assure you, all women in love wear blinders. I certainly did. My whole life has been a string of lessons and attempts: trial and error, really. As a little girl, my mum drilled into me that if I wanted a comfortable life, Id have to graft for it. She also made it quite clear a woman should be strong and independent, so if things got sticky, she could hold her own.
Turns out, that last bit backfired spectacularly. When I went out with blokes, I acted a little too independent, and, surprise surprise, most men wanted someone gentlera damsel to take care of, so they could flex their manly muscles. I, on the other hand, was perfectly capable of looking after myself, thank you very much.
Eventually, I threw myself entirely into work. There I was, the perennial singleton, carrying on like Bridget Jones, until the grand old age of thirty-fivewhen David popped up. Same age as me. And to my astonishment, he didnt mind my independence. Never nagged me to let him help, never forced his way in; if I said Id sort something myself, he stayed out of it. No flowers, no soppy whispers in my earhonestly, those make me cringe. With David, I felt like an equal; I ought to have guessed thered be a price to pay for this so-called egalitarian partnership that, as it turned out, wasnt all that even.
We got married, and David moved into my flat. He didnt have one of his ownstill lived with his mum, actually. And I wasnt about to shack up with my mother-in-law; you hear those stories and, well, no thanks. The first month, David didnt hand over a penny from his wages, explaining he had an outstanding loan for his mums hip surgery.
I kept my lips zipped, played the understanding wife. Were a team, arent we? Let him pay off that debt, then well tackle everything together. But seven months went by and that loan was still not quite paid off. Every month, some excuse: wages docked, hours cut, something or other. Meanwhile, I was footing the bill for food, outings, heatingabsolutely everything. After a while, David started claiming he was squirrelling away money so we could buy a country cottage. For holidays, you know.
But for five whole years, I never saw so much as a bank statement. Family, right? Eventually, I snapped. How on earth was I supporting this man for half a decade? Thats just not cricket. David packed his bags and trotted off to his mums house. Simple as that. Three days later, unable to take the silence, I hauled him back home. And wouldnt you know it? Back to square one. Not a shilling from him for anything. Now Im utterly knackered. Id love to splash out on some girly treats, but Im skintI spend every last pound keeping us afloat. What am I supposed to do? Chuck him out? Will he ever change?
