'Since we split, my ex has become the "fun" parent. I can't help feeling bitter.'

It's ironic, really. The very qualities that drew me to my ex-husband James* in the beginning - his carefree spirit, his ability to find joy in the moment and see everything as a chance for a laugh - were the same ones that eventually drove me away.

Looking back, it's clear we rushed in too quickly. We definitely didn't ask the right questions about the big stuff like finances, parenting, future planning. We just rode that initial love bubble until it burst, and sadly, we dragged three kids along for the ride with us.

While beautiful in its early chapters, our love story was built on a shaky foundation that couldn't withstand the realities of real life and parenting.

Super-fun James struggled when it came to boring bits of life. While he played with the kids and basked in their adoration, I was the one juggling the logistics and carrying the mental load - the appointments, the bills, the endless list of tasks that kept our family afloat.

By the time our third child, Luca*, was born, I was exhausted. The weight of carrying our household on my own, both mentally and physically, had taken its toll. James' carefree attitude, which I once found so endearing, now felt like a glaring absence of support. We argued more and connected less. I began to feel like I was raising not just our children, but him as well.

We separated when Luca was just one. It wasn't a decision I took lightly. I agonised over what it would mean for the kids, for our family. But staying together was no longer an option. I knew I couldn't keep pouring from an empty cup.

Watch: How to support someone going through a separation or divorce. Post continues after video.

The divorce was only finalised twelve months ago, and for the most part, I've felt a sense of relief. Life without a man-child to manage is undeniably easier. At first, James moved back in with his parents, while I found an affordable little two-bedroom flat for me and the kids. The kids have a roof over their heads, 10-year-old Olive* has her own tiny room that's technically a study, and seven-year-old Rumi* and five-year-old Luca share. It's cosy, it's practical, and it's within my means. I'm proud of that. Every dollar I save is for their future.

But now James has moved on, in every sense of the word. His new life looks like an Instagram highlight reel: a massive house, jet ski weekends, holidays with his much-younger girlfriend, who the kids adore. She's cool and gorgeous and doesn't have to juggle full-time work with parenting. She has the energy to play and the time to make pancakes on a Saturday morning. And James? Well, he's still the fun parent.

It's not that I begrudge them all for having fun together. God, I want them to have joy in abundance. It's just that every time my kids come home from James' luxury wonderland, my little flat feels even smaller. Every sigh about having to share a room, every grumble about not having a pool, it's like a jab to the ribs.

"Why don't we have a pool, Mum?" Rumi asked me the other night. How do you explain financial realities to a seven-year-old?

Meanwhile, back here in reality, I'm the exhausted, full-time working mum enforcing bedtime, making dentist appointments, and coaxing Rumi to do her maths homework. I'm the one saying no to ice cream on school nights and yes to broccoli at dinner. It's not luxury, and it's certainly not fun. And the kids notice. "Dad lets us stay up late," Olive complains.

How do I explain that it's different when you're a weekend parent without sounding bitter? James doesn't have to deal with the day-to-day grind, the endless cycle of lunches, laundry, and life admin. But they're kids; they don't see the invisible work. They see jet skis and pancakes and a pool.

When I'm with them, I try to stay positive, to focus on the good things. We bake cookies together in our little kitchen. We have movie nights squished on the couch with popcorn. We build blanket forts that take over the entire living room. But sometimes, when they're tucked in bed, I'll sit in the quiet and let the tears fall. It's hard not to feel like I'm failing them, even though I know I'm not.

The comparisons are hard to avoid. James and his girlfriend have the energy to be the fun ones because they're not burnt out from doing all the hard parenting. They get to swoop in and enjoy the highs, while I'm left to manage the lows. I've had to learn not to resent them for it. Instead, I remind myself that the hard work I'm doing now will pay off later. I'm teaching my kids about responsibility, about resilience, about love that shows up even when they are tired.

Because of course, they need their dad's 'fun love'. But my 'sensible, providing, caring' love is important too. And even if they don't see it now, one day they'll realise that this little flat, with its shared rooms and cosy chaos, was filled with the kind of love that can't be bought with jet skis or pools.

*Names have been changed due to privacy.

The author of this story is known to Mamamia but remained anonymous for privacy purposes.

Feature image: Getty.