A man’s view of quiet quitting a marriage: ‘My wife is an emotional desert’

Last week, we heard from women who are married in theory but, in practice, have quietly left their husbands. Here’s a man’s point of view about what led him to do the same with his wife

‘Quiet quitting’ has been used to describe a situation in which one or both long-term partners have ‘checked out’ of emotional engagement (Getty/iStock)

If you had shown me a snapshot of our relationship now, back when we first met, I would not have imagined in a million years that this is how we would be living. But I am trying not to regret anything. We have two lovely children and they are happy, and that is worth a lot. I try to concentrate on how rewarding and enriching my relationship with them is – rather than on my marriage.

My wife and I met at work, 20 years ago, and although there was a strong attraction, we didn’t sleep together for 18 months. This was partly because we wanted to forge a friendship first, but also because there was an age gap: I was 36, and 12 years older than her. But we fell for each other. We genuinely loved each other. We both thought we would be together for ever.

I was working as a data analyst, and she earned more than me in her job in sales, so, when we bought a house together a few years later, she contributed most of the deposit. Over the following 10 years or so, I paid more of the mortgage and nursery fees, which was a good arrangement in some ways. But it probably sowed some inequality in the marriage, and morphed into financial tussles revolving around how much we each contributed to the overall cost of things.

Even so, we were very happy and we had a good relationship. We travelled a lot together, going on European city breaks and holidays with friends to France and Spain. We went out to eat a lot, and to lots of concerts and shows, and the emphasis was always on fun.

And when we got married in 2012, it was wonderful. We were really happy, and aligned on most things. But there were tensions: namely that I wanted to start trying for a family sooner rather than later, given the age difference. And also that trying to conceive was really quite difficult. The minute you are “trying” to have a baby, it becomes a mechanical form of sexual activity. Sex becomes emotionally redundant; a functional act. We didn’t talk about it at the time, but we should have communicated more, and that is one of the issues that fundamentally changed things between us.

For a while, it looked like it wasn’t happening. Then, after 18 months, just after we’d made an appointment to start IVF, she got pregnant, and we had our first child in 2017. I’ll admit I was quite shell-shocked by the practicality and labour of looking after a small baby. It was hard work. From the start, my wife was a wonderful mum, and she took on the burden of childcare at the beginning, which is a hell of a job.

She went back to work when the baby was a year and a half old. From around that time on, she wanted financial independence. We each took responsibility for different bills and expenses, and it has been that way ever since. We don’t share accounts or savings, and I can’t help but think it is maybe because she has one eye on the day that we might separate. She has a nest egg for herself. My pension is OK. But none of it is a shared venture, which has left me with a feeling of slight unease.

What made the biggest impact on us, though, is that our first child, who is now eight, was quite badly affected by behavioural and emotional issues and has since been diagnosed with ASD. That pressure has probably been the real issue. Then our second child was born in 2019. She was delightful as a baby, but was also considerable work. Her behaviour was quite challenging and she has also now been diagnosed with ASD, with severe language and developmental delays.

‘Rather than a constructive conversation, it is more like an argument about who is doing more jobs’ (Getty/iStock)

At some point over those few years, the whole structure of the marriage flickered off – or changed. Somewhere along the way, our relationship became transactional. Our conversations consisted of juggling tasks – “you do this and I’ll do that”. Rather than a constructive conversation, it is more like an argument about who is doing more jobs. I resent it and find it completely demoralising. One day, I realised that she was literally keeping a tally of who was doing various jobs, which felt so childish, but it spoke of a bigger issue: clearly, she was resentful and felt that the marriage wasn’t equal and I wasn’t doing my fair share. I, meanwhile, felt I was juggling more and more, and doing my best.

In the meantime, the desire to have a nice time together has also mutually waned. I would say that a lot of it has to do with her libido and her interactions with me – there is also a total lack of emotional communication. The version of her that she once was has disappeared, and as a result, I have withdrawn emotionally too. I used to try to initiate intimacy, but it got to a point where whenever I broached the subject of sex and said, “Let’s go upstairs,” or even talked about sex, she was just not interested. Now I don’t even bother trying, and I feel pretty rejected. Even if she walked up to me and on the off-chance said she was ready, I would say, “I am not really up for it now.”

The truth is, we have both emotionally quit, and now I feel like it’s disappeared for ever. On a day-to-day basis, things are broadly OK, but it is purely transactional or, rather, managerial. On a bad day, I feel like this is not a healthy environment for anyone to live in. We argue quite frequently, but it is always about things like why one of us hasn’t done the laundry, the shopping, or phoned the school.

But we never effectively talk about our relationship, although I have tried to many times. I have suggested counselling, but she does not even want to have the discussion. It’s a closed-off conversation and it’s got to the point where I choose not to have it because it is too painful for me. Her priority is managing our children, and her job, and parts of the household.

Financially, we are very comfortable. Our mortgage is nearly paid off, but I don’t have the financial wherewithal – unless we sell the house – to move out permanently. Neither of us can afford to extricate ourselves from the relationship without causing significant personal and emotional damage to the children.

‘I don’t necessarily need sex: I need intimacy and closeness’ (Getty/iStock)

So, in the meantime, we live a side-by-side life rather than doing things together. We haven’t gone out together for about two and a half years. Even if I suggest a takeaway or a movie, she’ll just say no due to cost or logistics. The kids are in bed by 8pm, then I’ll cook myself something, and she will cook separately. It’s a bit like living in a shared student house. Sometimes we might watch Taskmaster together, but there will very rarely be a word shared between us. Most of the time, I will go and sit in my office and watch TV there on my computer while eating, while she watches something else in another room.

I have thought about leaving several times, but I don’t want her to manage the children on her own. We have probably fallen out of love with each other, but we can’t disengage from our shared relationship with the children, and I cannot bear the idea of shared custody. Without us they wouldn’t thrive – it would be too much for them if one of us left.

But in the meantime, our efforts are elsewhere: my energy is directed towards friendships outside the home, with both men and women; one work colleague in particular. Nothing has happened and I am not actively encouraging it, but – honestly – I am open to things becoming more than just friendship. I know lots of people think that men are obsessed by sex and need it three times a week, but I don’t necessarily need sex: I need intimacy and closeness. I love that feeling of being close to someone physically without having to sleep with them. Don’t get me wrong: sleeping with someone is great fun, but it is not the be-all and end-all. A relationship is a holistic thing, and it is emotional proximity that I need. Sadly, I’ve given up on that intimacy with my wife.

As told to Victoria Young