Is staying together for our child kinder than ending a marriage that already feels over?

Maybe once a month, somebody asks if I have siblings. Last week it was a woman who had just started on my team. We were getting coffee, having completely normal small talk, and she asked, “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” There was a pause while I decided, and then I said no. We moved on to something else, and everything was fine. I have said yes before. Then they ask what my brother does, and I have to lie about something else. So I have landed on no because it is shorter. He is alive. As far as I know, he is doing fine, and I hear occasional news through a relative. I am grateful for that. We have not spoken in three years. Not speaking to him was my decision. I made it on purpose, after a long time of not making it. My husband, my mother eventually, and the group I was going to all agreed that it was the right thing—that this was what protecting my daughter looked like. I still think they were right. I know all the language for this. I can talk about boundaries, detaching with love, and not shielding someone from consequences. I can say it all correctly. But none of it covers the part where somebody asks if I have siblings and I say no.

I wanted her to be happy, so I took her to expensive restaurants every day, gave her gifts, and regularly took her traveling. I hoped she would feel that our time together was happy and that I was making an effort. I also wanted us to have a fuller life, because we did not have enough to talk about. We had no mutual friends and not many shared experiences. Gradually, I realized that we often saw things very differently. She would become furious at restaurant staff if the food was slow, argue with strangers in public, or curse at drivers who honked at her. I felt that her behavior showed poor manners, but I could not openly take the other person’s side against her. Our attitudes toward money were different too. She often bought luxury goods or other expensive things far beyond her income. At first I helped pay for them, but eventually I could not afford to keep doing that. She never asked me to take responsibility for her spending. I did it because I thought that, as her boyfriend, I should pay. In the beginning, it also felt like a chance to prove that I could take care of her and be a good boyfriend. In the end, I realized that I had been putting in time, money, and energy, but I was still not happy. The main problem was that our values were different. Experiences and gifts could not support happiness between us, and she did not really pay attention to my thoughts or feelings. No matter how many things I gave, they could not bridge that gap. Nothing dramatic happened when we separated. I was the one who ended it, because I felt that continuing gave us no way forward. I had thought about it for a long time, so I was not especially sad; I felt relieved. Looking back, I do not think what I did was wrong. In a relationship where two people share the same values, those things can be advantages. But some things cannot be obtained through effort, even total effort—especially a good outcome in love. If two people are not suited to each other, forcing it might still lead to marriage and a shared life, but living that way would be exhausting.

I grew up hearing that when something fails, I should look for the reason in myself: What did I do wrong? What can I improve? That can be useful, but it can also become misleading. It can make every outcome feel like evidence about who you are. I remembered this because of a difficult period at a previous company. A new manager seemed determined to diminish me. At the time, I kept asking myself what I had done wrong. I assumed that if I worked hard, treated everyone well, and was capable, people would like me. But the situation was more complicated. I was one of the strongest engineers in the organization, and senior leaders already knew and trusted me. The new manager was also trying to establish authority and prove their technical leadership. Looking back, I can see that the conflict was not simply a performance problem or a failure on my part. I was young then, and eventually I decided to leave. Now I think the important thing is not to treat yourself as the dominating factor in everything that happens. The world is made of many people and many conditions, and you are only one of them. That applies to success as well as failure. When you succeed or lose, it is not just you. Remembering that makes life easier—and most of the time, better—because you do not torture yourself trying to fix what was never yours alone to control.