The day he walked out – but really, I’d already left.
Some days don’t spiral – they unfold, like something that was always going to happen. Today was one of those days.
It started with tension. Again. One of those mornings where even making toast for the kids was a trigger. My partner questioned why I was doing it — not in a curious, connected way, but a passive-aggressive jab masked as a question. The kind of thing that makes you realise: it's not about toast, or mornings, or effort. It’s about control. Again.
I stayed calm. Factual. It was late, so I helped the morning run smoother. That’s the kind of mum I am. No drama, just support. But support isn’t what he wanted. He wanted a reaction.
He spiralled. Throughout the day. Picking fights. Flipping stories. Claiming I was drinking again after taking a single leftover sip the night before. Trying to rewrite a narrative that only exists in his own discomfort.
Then there was the CAMHS appointment — another emotional pressure point. It didn't go well. The assessor was dismissive, distracted, and biased. I was angry and disappointed, but I was ready for it. I’ve been tracking, documenting, doing the work for weeks. I know what I see in my daughter. I see her clearly.
But this clarity — this strength — it’s what's pushing him into freefall. He’s losing the grip he once had on how I see myself, and he's grasping harder at everything around him. Trying to weaponize old stories. Deflect blame. Turn everything into proof that I am the problem. I’m not.
I can say that with peace now.
When he said he might as well be single... I didn’t rush to stop him.
When he packed the office room with blankets... I didn’t chase after him.
When he went silent... I matched the energy.
Because truthfully?
I left a long time ago.
Not physically. Not dramatically. But emotionally? I’ve been gone. I've already outgrown the version of me that needed his validation, or blamed herself when he turned cold. I stayed longer than I should have because I didn’t want to hurt him. Because I didn’t want to be the reason someone spiralled. But I’m not. That’s not mine to carry anymore.
Today didn’t end anything — it just made what was already true feel impossible to ignore.
So tonight I’m sat here, documenting it all. Quietly, truthfully, from the other side of something that used to drown me. And you know what? I’m okay. Not just okay — strong. Ready.
Still got orders to pack. Still got kids to love. Still got forage to dry and people to support.
But now? I’ve got clarity too.
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