When my husband found out his blood pressure was high, he came home with fire in his eyes. He was determined to turn things around — for his health, for us, for our kids. And I was proud.
At first, we tackled it together. Evening walks became our quiet time. I swapped our usual takeout dinners with home-cooked meals. It felt like we were in sync, a team.
But slowly, something shifted. The walks became solo runs. The healthy meals turned into a strict regime. He joined a gym, started tracking every calorie, then added cycling, weekend hikes, and early morning swims. Our time together disappeared.
He was always “training.” I supported him… until it began to feel like he wasn’t just getting healthy — he was disappearing.
The moment everything cracked was last week. He had promised to watch the kids while I ran errands. But when I came home, my stomach dropped. A woman I didn’t recognize was in our living room — holding our son.
She smiled warmly and said, “Hi! I’m the nanny.”
The nanny? We had never discussed hiring one.
I called my husband in a panic. He didn’t answer at first. When he finally picked up, he was breathless — out running again.
That night, we fought. I told him how I felt: abandoned, invisible, like a single parent in a house where I’m supposed to have a partner. He said he was doing this “for us.”
But it doesn’t feel like it’s for us. It feels like he’s running toward something — and away from us.
Now, I’m left holding everything together alone. I want to support his journey… but who’s supporting me?
