I never thought life could become this heavy, this complicated. I wake up every day next to my wife, and guilt sits at the foot of our bed like a shadow.
It’s been seven years since we got married, and those seven years have felt like a lifetime—of silence, anger, and accusations. We don’t talk much anymore. At least, not about the one thing that has come to define our marriage: the absence of children.
For years, I’ve been accusing my wife of being the reason we don’t have children. And it wasn’t just me—my family joined in. My mother never let a day pass without some snide remark. My brothers and sisters, even cousins, called her names behind her back. Barr$en. Usel$*ess. I let them. I even encouraged it because, in my mind, she was the one to blame.
Why? Because she had told me, shortly after our wedding, that she had had an abor*$’tion while she was still in school. That single confession turned into the root of all our problems. I clung to it, used it as evidence. How could she not be the reason we were childless? Surely, it was her past mistake that had cur$sed our future.
I held onto that story for so long, and every time my mother’s voice echoed in my head—”She’s not good enough for you; a barren woman has no place in this family”—I believed it more and more. I made her feel guilty. I made her feel small. And God knows, I didn’t stop to consider her pain.
I could see how much it hurt her. My wife cried herself to sleep countless nights, thinking I didn’t notice. She tried to make up for it by being the perfect wife, but in my eyes, it was never enough. My family’s eyes were always on her, their judgment heavy, and I stood there, watching her crumble under the weight of it all, silent.
She wanted us to see a doctor, to get help, but I refused. I didn’t want to face what might come out of that, so I brushed it off, saying there was no need, that she already knew what the problem was. I avoided it because deep down, I feared what the doctor might say—that it wasn’t her after all.
Then one day, after so many years of carrying this bitterness, my wife left for a few days to visit her family. It was the first time we had been apart in years, and I had too much time alone with my thoughts. I couldn’t escape them. I started thinking back to when we first got married. I remembered how full of hope we were, how we talked about having children, and I realized something I had been running from for years. It wasn’t her.
You see, when I was younger, before we got married, I had a terrible accident. I never thought much of it afterward, but I started to wonder. So, while she was away, I decided to see a doctor by myself. I needed to know, once and for all, if the problem was her…or me.
The tests were humiliating, but nothing prepared me for the results. I was the one. I was the reason we couldn’t have children. I was impotent. The doctor explained everything clearly, but my mind blurred out most of it. All I could think was, “How am I going to tell her?” The guilt hit me like a tidal wave. For seven years, I had blamed her, let my family tear her apart, all while hiding from the truth.
That evening, I sat in our empty living room, looking at the empty space where she would usually sit, and I couldn’t breathe. What have I done? I destroyed her spirit with my lies and accusations. I let her believe she was broken. I let my family treat her like she was less than human. And all this time, it was me.
Now, she’s back home, but I can barely look her in the eyes. Every time she talks, I hear the pain in her voice. The laughter is gone from our house. We live in this heavy silence, and I don’t know what to do.
I want to tell her the truth, but I’m scared. What if she leaves me? What if she can’t forgive me for everything I’ve put her through? Can I even forgive myself?
She deserves the truth. I know that. But if I tell her, I could lose her, and I don’t know if I can survive that. How do you confess that you’ve been the cause of all the suffering, that you’ve let her believe a lie for so long? How do I face my mother, my family, after all their cruel$ty? I’m the one they should have been blaming, but I let her take all of it.
I sit here now, writing this, hoping that maybe putting my thoughts down will help me find a way forward. My life feels like a tangled mess, and I don’t know which way to turn.
Do I tell her? Do I keep hiding the truth, hoping that somehow things will just stay the way they are? Or will confessing break everything beyond repair?
I’m asking because I don’t have the answers. I’ve never felt more lost in my life.
Content by: Colyfrank
