My husband has a job, but Im the one paying for everything.
You ask how I ended up here, how I ever agreed to this sort of life, but Ill tell youany woman who loves is blind. I was blind. All my life I tried, I learned. My mum used to say, ever since I was little, that if I wanted a decent life, I needed to work hard. She also told me a woman should be strong and independent, so that she could always stand on her own if she had to.
It seems that last bit of advice came back to haunt me. When I dated men, I was always far too independent, and most men didnt want anything to do with me. Back then, most men wanted someone gentle, someone they could look after; someone who made them feel strong, like proper men. But I was always looking after myself.
Eventually, my whole life was about work. I was single until I was thirty-five, when I met Oliver. Hes the same age as me. What struck me was that he seemed to accept my independence. He never insisted on helping me with anything if I said I could handle it. He never brought me flowers, never whispered silly sweet nothings that I couldnt stand. With him, I felt like his equal. I should have realised how much this so-called equality would cost meand that, in truth, it wasnt equal at all.
We got married and he moved in with me. Oliver didnt have his own flat; hed been living with his mum. I didnt fancy living with my mother-in-lawId heard plenty of those stories, and none of them ended well. For the first month, Oliver didnt give me a single pound from his salary, telling me he needed to pay off a loan for his mothers operation.
I said nothing, tried to be understanding. Were a family, I thoughtlet him clear his debt and then well sort things together. But seven months passed and he still hadnt paid it off. He kept making excuseshis wages werent enough, they cut his hours at work, there was always something else. Meanwhile, I paid for the food, the bills, the days out, everything. Then he started talking about saving up for a cottage in the countryside. A getaway, he said.
But in five years, I never saw a single bank statement. Were a family. Eventually, I snapped. How is it possible Ive supported him for five years? This isnt normal. He packed up his things and moved back to his mums house. Just like that. Three days later, unable to bear it, I asked him to come back. And here we are againthe same old routine. He wont give me a penny toward anything. And I am exhausted. I dream of spending money on pretty things, as women ought to be able to do, but I simply havent got any spareit all goes on the family. What am I supposed to do? Should I divorce him? Will he ever change?
