#Unsettled

Part 2: How We Quietly Build the Resentment That Eats Us Alive

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about endings.

Unfortunately, I have a number of friends who are divorced. Some of them parted ways smoothly, with a quiet, mutual understanding. Others? Not so much. In fact, a handful of my friends’ divorces have become downright nasty.

I’ll admit, I’m always a little shocked by the stories I hear. Parting ways is never easy. No matter if it’s the end of a long-term friendship, a decades-long marriage, or even a job—it is incredibly uncomfortable. But sometimes, the civility goes completely out the window, and I find myself wondering: How did they get there?

No one stands at the altar on their wedding day intending to get divorced. Those days are filled with so much hope, high-vibe energy, and pure joy. It amazes me how something so bright can turn so dark, ugly, and combative.

Maybe some of it is as simple as the difference between Mars and Venus. But there has to be a deeper cause of death.

It’s a slow resentment that starts to build over time. There is rarely a single, explosive incident that alters the course—maybe one acts as the final nail in the coffin, but the real culprit is the slow, silent decay of the foundation.

For a relationship to work, both parties have to contribute, and I think this is where the disconnect begins. Every single one of us carries a load, and sometimes, that load gets really heavy.

It is so easy to fall into the blame game when a relationship starts to feel cold. But if we are being truly “UnSettled” and honest with ourselves, we have to look in the mirror and ask: Have we ever considered that we are part of the problem?

I know I am an enabler. And when my husband does things that annoy me at this stage of our lives, I have to stop, take a breath, and ask: Did I create this dynamic?

For the first fifteen years of our relationship, I handled everything. I ran the kids, the house, the calendar, the social gatherings—all of it. My husband was a professional athlete, which is an entirely different type of load. While I was managing the homefront, he was carrying his own heavy weight: traveling and living on the road for nine months out of the year, missing milestones with the kids, dealing with failure in the public eye, and performing under immense, constant pressure.

Back then, that division of labor worked for us. He provided for the family, and I ran the day-to-day operations as the sole proprietor of our home. I made every single everyday decision.

And then, he retired.

Suddenly, he was home. ALL. THE. TIME.

It was a massive adjustment period. Yes, I loved having him around, but his constant presence completely disrupted my routine. My flow. My kingdom.

He would ask, “What can I do to help?”

And like so many women, my knee-jerk response was: “Nothing. I’ve got it.”

Why do we do this? Why is our natural instinct to push help away? Because in our exhausted, high-achieving brains, it’s just easier to do it ourselves. We don’t have the time to explain how to do it, we don’t want it done “wrong,” so we just shout: Just let me do it!

So, what happens next?

Eventually, the husband stops asking. He knows the answer is going to be a sharp, exasperated “no” anyway, so he goes and sits on the couch to watch TV.

And then? I get absolutely pissed off that he’s watching TV while I’m running around like a chicken with my head cut off, drowning in tasks. I’m annoyed that he’s not helping, and he’s probably sitting there watching me, completely confused and annoyed that I won’t just ask him for a hand.

And just like that, a tiny crack forms in the foundation.

A sliver of silent resentment takes form. The action repeats itself the next day, and the day after that. Before you know it, you are both sitting in a deep, dark hole, being eaten alive by a bitterness you built with your own hands.

The thing is, marriage is a partnership. But when you operate in “Go Mode” for twenty-six years, you start to believe your own hype. You tell yourself, “I’m a one-woman show.” But as I write those words, I realize how incredibly insensitive that actually is. I am not a sole proprietor in my house. I have a partner. And if I want him to act like a partner, I have to slow down, put my ego aside, and actually ask for help.

I’m not taking 100% of the blame—let’s be real, men are still men. But we have to stop feeding the beast that drains our energy.

Recently, my husband and I found ourselves with the same night free—a total rarity in our busy world.

He looked at me and said, “Let’s go out to dinner. Where do you want to go?”

As crazy as this sounds, my immediate, internal reaction was irritation. Why can’t he just pick a place on his own? Why is this decision on me? I momentarily spiraled into that familiar “decision fatigue” (a trap of my own making, I realize this).

But instead of snapping, I took a step back. I paused. I remembered that he wasn’t trying to dump a task on me; he was asking because he genuinely cares. He wants me to have a good time and make the most of our rare, precious night together.

So, I didn’t rush. I gave myself—and him—some grace. I said, “Let me think about it.” He knows how my fast-paced mind works, so he gave me the space.

Later, I gave him three specific choices and said: “Pick one.”

That tiny, simple action did a couple of major things.  It allowed me to have my input and ensure we went somewhere I’d actually enjoy and it put the ball squarely in his court to make the final, win-win decision.

It didn’t have to be combative. It was just two adults who love each other, who have been together for a long time, who know each other inside and out, making a simple decision together so we could enjoy each other’s company.

I think couples need to do this kind of exercise on the regular. Because the alternative is to get our “panties in a bunch” over absolutely nothing, let the silent resentment build up, and watch the structure rot. When there is too much buildup, that is exactly when the demise of the relationship occurs.

I’ve spent the last twenty-six years of my life with my foot slammed flat on the gas pedal. I won’t lie to you—I enjoy “Go Mode.” It makes me feel like I’m accomplishing something.

But over the last few years, I’ve realized that I may actually want to be a passenger princess.

Everything will still be fine. I’ve had to realize that if my partner is offering me help, there isn’t an ulterior motive. He just wants to help.

So, I’m going to let him drive—and I’m going to enjoy the view from the passenger seat.

Where in your life are you refusing help, only to get angry that you’re doing it all alone? How hard is it for you to take your foot off the gas and let someone else take the wheel?