I’ve kept this chapter of my life under wraps for a long time, even after spending over ten years as a relationship columnist. Initially, I viewed it as a personal issue, but it holds a deeper significance.

“I’m leaving him,” I declare.

“You can’t be serious,” my friend responds.

“I am serious,” I insist. “I never truly married the man I was with for six years. I endured his emotional distance and harshness during the first eight years of our marriage because it left me bewildered. I couldn’t grasp how the wonderful person I dated had vanished. But the cycle of pain has become intolerable. Marriage counseling helped for a while, but I swore I wouldn’t return to that.”

“No way,” my friend replies. “You’re not really going to leave him.”

“I told him I wouldn’t accept that emotional distance again,” I explain. “The pattern has resurfaced, and it’s happening too often. This isn’t a minor issue; this is who he is. He managed to keep it under wraps for six years after counseling.”

My friend has been a witness to our relationship since our twenties, and she’s taken aback by my resolve.

“I’m preparing to leave,” I say. “I’ve emotionally detached. I wouldn’t have married someone who treated me this way. If I had known during those first eight years what I know now, I wouldn’t have stayed.”

“I can see that you’ve checked out,” she observes.

“I’ve spoken to him about this,” I add. “There’s no reaching him anymore. It’s a lonely existence being married to him.”

For the first time in years, I feel a sense of relief.

As the summer begins, I find myself at the Jersey Shore with my husband. We go out for dinner, but I’ve already spent months discussing these feelings with him. During our initial counseling sessions, I warned him that if he treated me poorly again, I would leave.

Unfortunately, it’s worse now because I feel isolated. He seems wrapped up in his own world.

At this point, we don’t have a diagnosis for narcissistic personality disorder, which would come much later from a psychologist.

He’s quiet, and it’s the first moment he realizes my emotional detachment.

I can see he’s just as shocked as my friend. But something inside me has shifted. I’m still young, with my inherent self-confidence and self-respect intact. Sadly, I find myself losing some of that confidence by feeling pity for him.

This is one reason I’m sharing this part of my story.

As the summer drags on, I prepare to leave. I feel guilty, but he has mistreated me for the last time. We coexist in our home, but my feelings for him have dwindled to almost nothing. Even I am surprised. My college sweetheart and best friend no longer hold any sway over me.

I’ve made it clear that I wouldn’t tolerate that emotional cycle again. I told him I felt lonely in our marriage and dreamed of finding someone who truly cared. His indifference to my feelings has only intensified.

Then one day, I notice something unsettling:

He’s starting to lose his hair.

I know why. He’s stressed about the prospect of me leaving him. It makes me feel awful. We are both still young, and he has always had an abundance of hair, but it started thinning shortly after I expressed my intentions to leave.

It’s no coincidence.

Now, I feel guilty.

I didn’t feel the need to apologize for wanting to leave before this realization. I had already endured more than enough. I had given our marriage far more than I should have. Had I been dating him during those initial years, he wouldn’t have had the chance to see me again.

Now, however, I see a physical representation of my decision.

It’s still painful to think about.

It’s ironic considering his eventual diagnosis and the emotional abuse I endured. I shouldn’t feel sympathy for him, especially not years later. Yet this memory still saddens me.

He begins to treat me with utmost kindness.

He pleads for another chance.

But I doubt I will ever love him again.

The man who once overlooked or hurt me during every holiday now surprises me with trips to Aruba and South Beach for our anniversaries and birthdays. He showers me with gifts and seems genuinely interested in my well-being.

But it’s too little, too late.

I can’t shake the feeling of pity for him.

Incredibly, I end up staying married to him for another two years, feeling little for him during that time. It’s a testament to the absurdity of my character.

I took on too much responsibility for a situation that was not mine to own.

He made his own choices.

And feeling sorry for someone isn’t a valid reason to remain married.

I never thought it could happen, but he ultimately wins me back.

By the end of those two years, some feelings for him resurface. At that point, I still don’t understand narcissism. I haven’t yet become a relationship columnist or dedicated years to studying love, relationships, and narcissism.

What my husband did is not unique.

The narcissist felt ‘he was losing.’

Narcissists want ‘to win.’

That was my husband’s true motivation, not my well-being.

Remember, I upset a narcissist by expressing my loneliness in the marriage. When you upset a narcissist, they will retaliate. But first, he needed to feel like he had ‘won’ and gotten me back.

Once that happened, he unleashed his fury.

But I didn’t understand that a narcissist aims to bring you down.

They target your vulnerabilities.

Mine was having a father who struggled with alcoholism. Those two years of seemingly blissful treatment turned into a nightmare. My husband’s behavior became erratic when he drank.

This is where I lost my self-confidence.

The strong, independent woman I once was faded away.

My husband’s actions traumatized and weakened me.

The gravest mistake I made was feeling sorry for a man who consciously made poor choices over the years. I had already endured more than enough.

Now, he had pulled me back in emotionally.

I found myself loving him again.

And his drinking only stirred up more negative emotions.

I hesitate to share this part of the story because it still pains me to recall my initial realization about his hair loss. I never mentioned it to him, nor did I discuss it.

But I share my experience to help others avoid similar situations.

I’m not solely addressing narcissism.

I’m discussing a broader issue.

Many individuals remain in unhappy marriages out of pity.

They feel bad about their unhappiness. They feel bad about the impact on their family. They feel bad about their desire to leave. They feel bad for no longer loving their partner.

They feel sorry for their spouse for various reasons.

This might include leaving someone battling addiction, dealing with heartbreak, or facing job loss.

One partner feels sympathy for the other.

More than they consider their own happiness.

So they choose to stay, hoping to spare their partner from pain.

As a child of divorce, I didn’t want my kids to experience that same fate. Yet, my own experience taught me that divorce can lead to a better situation. Ultimately, my parents’ separation was the best decision.

I hesitated initially because I understood the temporary pain it would bring. However, I recognized that divorce could create a healthier environment in the long run.

But I let myself get pulled back into a toxic situation.

Our next marriage counselor pointed out my lack of self-preservation instincts.

I don’t regret my divorce.

There’s a sense of calm and joy restored in our lives.

That’s what children deserve most. What I do regret is feeling pity for a man, which led to several years of an unhealthy environment for my children. One that included my husband’s drinking and my reactions to it.

I became a mother who didn’t raise her voice but started shouting when he frightened the kids.

I said horrible things.

Looking back, it’s absurd that my negative behavior stemmed from my desire to protect my children. I was trying to tell my husband to stop, but he wouldn’t listen. His actions prompted my unfortunate reactions.

My children would have been better off if we had separated sooner.

That’s the reality of staying in an unhappy marriage.

We’re not preserving our family; we’re damaging it in an entirely different way.

I wanted to be the role model for my boys that I had always been—a joyful, positive, optimistic leader.

Not someone who settled for less.

Let’s be real. Children are perceptive. They see the truth, regardless of whether we think they do. They recognize love. They recognize genuine happiness. They understand when their parents are truly happy together.

Don’t remain married out of pity for someone.

Don’t lose your self-confidence.

Relationships require sacrifices, but not at the expense of your entire self.

And that man I felt sorry for?

He didn’t feel sorry for me or our children when he left us without food, transportation, electricity, health insurance, and much more. He didn’t show remorse when he left me without savings or retirement.

Don’t stay married out of pity for someone.