Two sides to every story

Dear DH,

I was informed by our daughters that you told them I “did nothing for 20 years” and don’t deserve half of “your” money.


Allow me to respond…

While you earned the money to pay for our million dollar house, it was I who made it a home filled with love, joy, music and laughter.

While you made it financially possible for our daughters to dance, sing, act and play music, it was I who instilled in them a passion for the Arts, who helped them discover their passions, drove them to lessons, rehearsals, and performances, coached them through anxiety and disappointment, sewed tucks in skirts and ribbons on pointe shoes, supplied endless bags of healthy snacks complete with loving personal notes, thermoses full of tea for sore throats on opening night, and massages for aching muscles.

While you earned the money to buy the plants and concrete in our yard, it was I who brought the desire, creativity, knowledge, passion, and most of the endless labor it took to create an award winning garden that wrapped our home and our family in a wonder of natural beauty.

While you provided the means to feed our family, it was I who lovingly prepared thousands of nutritious gourmet meals, accommodating as many as 32 food allergies at a time, preparing 5 star homemade bread, kefir, Kombucha, ice cream, gluten free cakes and cookies, with a dedication and passion that never wavered.

While the money you earned paid for instruments, computers and cameras, it was I who nurtured our daughters’ passions, disciplined them to develop their talents, and worked ceaselessly to help them realize their dreams.

While you accused me of brainwashing our daughters against you, I was in fact telling them, “men are difficult and despite how difficult things are right now, your dad is a good man. Marriages are difficult and ours is under a great deal of strain. I hope we can hold on and put it back together when you girls are on your way.”

While you were gaslighting me, pushing my buttons to cause breakdowns, video taping me so you could “show the therapist what (you were) dealing with,” I was sobbing on the bathroom floor because it was beyond my comprehension that the man who used to be my best friend, my defender, my protector, had become my most terrifying enemy.

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