Pregnancy is often described as a time of joy, anticipation, and deep connection. I imagined it would be just that. But as my body changed and I battled constant nausea and exhaustion, something else changed too—my husband.
The man who once made me feel seen and supported began to drift away. Instead of encouragement, I was met with criticism. He commented on how I looked, questioned why the house wasn’t spotless, and seemed increasingly distant. I found myself spending more time alone, wondering what had gone wrong.
Before pregnancy, we had shared dreams of starting a family. We had laughed, planned, and held each other close. But slowly, the laughter faded. He came home later and later, rarely speaking, always glued to his phone. I hoped it was just a phase, that the stress of upcoming parenthood was getting to him. But one night, eight months into my pregnancy, the truth became harder to ignore.
That evening, I asked him where he’d been. The response wasn’t just dismissive—it was cold. I felt a shift I couldn’t unsee. Still, I tried to explain how I was struggling, physically and emotionally, but my words seemed to fall on deaf ears. Comparisons to others and constant criticism made me question my worth at a time when I most needed compassion.
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