'I feel disappointed in my marriage, and I'm finally realising it's not about my husband.'

I love my husband. I know I do. We share an intimate, loving relationship.

We argue sometimes, naturally, because we're human, not Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce, but there's also a depth to our connection that feels rare.

He is my best friend. I love coming home to him. I love the way we can sit together for hours doing nothing, laughing, sharing our thoughts, and feeling completely seen. That kind of intimacy only comes from being utterly, terrifyingly vulnerable to someone. 

And yet… I feel disappointed in my marriage. Not because of him, but because of me, and what I thought marriage would give me. 

When I was 14, my mother abandoned me. That kind of loss doesn't just leave scars, it leaves a shadow that impacts every single one of your relationships in your life, often unnoticed until you start to look for it.

It leaves you waiting for the other shoe to drop, constantly bracing for rejection, carrying a fear you barely understand but feel all the time. 

In my twenties, I thought once I had found 'the one', marriage would make me feel safe, whole, and finally heal the parts of me that had been broken. I thought having someone love me fully and completely would finally quiet the echo of abandonment.

I believed that giving more than I received in relationships and constantly proving my worth would be enough. There was a sense of endless time, of mistakes being forgiven, of love being predictable when you're so young. 

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Now, in my thirties, I realise how much more work I have to do on these abandonment wounds from my childhood, so I can stop carrying them around.

That the certainty in my marriage has been replaced by a quieter, more insidious fear.

The old question lingers: If the person who knew me best — my own mother — couldn't stay, couldn't love me fully, then what makes me believe the people I love now won't leave, too? 

And here I am, with everything I wanted — an amazing husband, a loving, whole family. A husband who chooses me every day. Yet instead of the peace I expected, I feel the tension of waiting for loss. I feel my muscles tighten in the comfort of what I should be grateful for, my mind scanning for signs that it could all unravel. A voice in my head telling me I am not enough, I do not deserve them or this love. 

My disappointment in my marriage isn't about him letting me down; it's about realising that the security I hoped for, can't heal the wounds that run this deep. 

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I know my husband won't abandon me. I see him every day, showing up in the small, consistent ways that matter: the scrambled eggs he makes for me in the morning, the kisses goodbye, the quiet presence beside me at night.

And yet, there are days when my body is betraying me, or my hormones are running riot, or I simply feel small, or I just don't have the energy for self-logic — when fear creeps in. Fear that if I'm not enough, love will vanish. Fear that if I falter, everything I've worked for will disappear. 

Unconsciously, I ask him to prove every day that he won't leave. And I know that's not fair. That burden isn't his to bear.

This disappointment is about me. About the fear that my value is conditional, that relationships are all fragile, that love is transactional. It's why I sometimes forgive too easily and let hurtful comments slide: if love is never guaranteed, it feels safer to avoid conflict, to avoid risking rejection again. 

And yet, through it all, he remains. Strong, patient, and loving even when I don't feel deserving, even when I'm exhausted from carrying the scars of someone else's choices. He didn't leave me when he could have; he chose me every single day. 

Slowly, I'm learning that my disappointment isn't about him. It's about the childhood wounds I still carry, the fear I inherited, and the work I need to do to trust fully that love doesn't have to be earned, measured, or conditional. 

I feel disappointed in my marriage, not because he is failing me, but because I'm still learning to forgive myself for needing love, for being vulnerable, for being human. 

And maybe that's the truth about marriage, sometimes. The disappointment isn't about your partner at all. Sometimes, it's about the parts of yourself that still need to heal.

Feature Image: Getty.