I never thought I’d find myself here. It’s hard to admit, but I don’t have anyone to talk to about this. My friends? I can’t. My family? Not a chance. If my wife ever found out I’d confided in anyone, even anonymously, it would break her. She’d feel completely betrayed. So here I am, writing to strangers on the internet, hoping for some advice, some understanding. Thank you for hearing me out.

My wife and I got married in 2021. It was supposed to be the start of a beautiful journey. Our honeymoon was planned for Disney World, a place we’d always dreamed of visiting together. My parents, ever the loving ones, gifted us the tickets and the resort stay as our wedding present. I felt lucky, excited—everything seemed perfect. Until we arrived at Disney.

It started innocently enough. We were having a great time, the magic of Disney World pulling us deeper into its enchantment. But then my wife’s excitement seemed to take a turn. She began buying souvenirs, the overpriced Disney merch that you see everywhere. Then it was food—always the next meal, always the next treat. It didn’t stop, and I was too caught up in the fun of the trip to notice just how much she was racking up on our credit card.

We left Disney with more than just memories. We left with $5000 in credit card debt—money spent on AirBnB stays, Disney merch, food, and gas. I tried to brush it off, convinced we’d pay it off in time. After all, it was our honeymoon, right? But the weight of it started to settle in. I couldn’t ignore it forever.

Not long after, her dad called. Her brother’s car had broken down, and the repair cost was $11,000. Of course, my wife wanted to help. And then came the proposal: a $17,000 loan. She suggested we take it out to pay off our credit card debt and help her family, citing the potential for a smaller interest rate. On the surface, it made sense. I was skeptical but supportive. I agreed.

But I should have known. I should have known better. Fast forward to last year, 2024. I was sitting at the kitchen table when she came to me, her face flushed with worry. She was holding her credit card statement—$20,000 in debt. This time, she confessed that her spending was a result of depression, her need to escape reality through impulsive purchases. She promised me that she’d change, that this would never happen again. I felt a flicker of hope, but I was angry. So angry. And yet, I didn’t walk away. Instead, I took out a $22,000 loan to pay off her debt. I told myself, if this happens again, I’ll leave her.

I didn’t tell her that. But I told myself that I would. Because deep down, I knew that I couldn’t keep doing this forever.

And now, here we are. Today. I was sitting in the living room, a weekend at her family’s house. She came to me, her tone casual, as if it were no big deal. She mentioned her credit card debt again. “I’m paying the minimum on my cards,” she said. “But unless you have an extra $7700 to pay off one of my cards…”

At first, I thought I was hearing things. I laughed it off, trying to keep the mood light. But inside, my stomach was churning. My paycheck, every single one, goes into bills and loan repayments. There’s nothing left for savings, nothing for us to build a future on. I have my own credit card debt to deal with now, debt I’ve accumulated because I’ve been forced to cover for her spending and her family’s demands. Every time they want to do something, whether it’s a family trip or a last-minute dinner, I end up putting it on my card. I’m suffocating under this financial burden. I’m drowning.

I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this. I don’t know how much longer I can sacrifice my financial stability and future for her. And now she’s asking me to pay another $7700, money I don’t have. I can’t even save for a rainy day, let alone pay off the mountain of debt that continues to grow.

What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to keep supporting her when it feels like I’m just enabling her? We’ve been through this over and over again. I’ve always tried to be there for her, to help, to support her. But the reality is, I can’t keep bailing her out. We’re living paycheck to paycheck, and no matter how hard I try to manage, it’s never enough.

I’ve tried to be patient. I’ve tried to understand. But I’m starting to realize that no matter how much I love her, I can’t keep living this way. I’ve reached my breaking point.

I’ve thought long and hard about it, and the truth is, I don’t know how much longer I can stay in this marriage. She’s not the woman I married anymore. She’s someone who has buried herself in debt and irresponsibility, dragging me down with her. I’ve given her chance after chance, and yet, she keeps making the same mistakes. Every time I take out another loan, every time I cover for her, it’s like a small piece of me dies inside.

But I can’t keep doing this. For the sake of my own well-being, for the sake of our future, I have to make a choice. I have to face the reality that this marriage, as much as I still love her, is no longer healthy for me. I can’t keep enabling her behavior. I can’t keep sacrificing everything I’ve worked for just to keep her happy.

And so, I’ve made the hardest decision of my life. I’m going to file for divorce. It feels like a betrayal, and I’m sure she’ll hate me for it. But I can’t carry this burden anymore. I can’t keep living in financial ruin, trapped by debt, all because of her inability to control her spending. It’s not just the money, though. It’s the broken trust, the mounting resentment, and the constant sense that no matter how much I tried, it was never enough.

I still love her. God, I do. But I’ve realized that love isn’t supposed to suffocate you. It’s not supposed to drain you, to leave you feeling like you’re drowning in obligations, debt, and false hope. I spent so much of our marriage trying to be the hero—the one who always stepped in to fix things, the one who covered for her mistakes and tried to protect her from the consequences of her actions. But somewhere along the way, I lost myself. My dreams, my security, my peace of mind—everything was swallowed by the debt we were sinking into. I kept thinking that if I just worked harder, made more money, or took out another loan, we could fix it. But it never ended. It just spiraled.

I loved her so much, I convinced myself that I could fix everything. But I can’t fix this. Not anymore. The debt, the lies, the missed opportunities—it's all too much now. Every time I look at her, I see a woman I used to adore, but now I see someone who doesn’t take responsibility for the damage she’s caused. And I’m tired of being the one who has to pick up the pieces. I’m tired of being trapped in a cycle of debt because of her spending habits. I’ve given up so much for us, for her, and yet it’s never enough.

I thought, for a long time, that maybe if I loved her enough, if I supported her enough, if I just kept trying, things would change. But they haven’t. And they won’t. I’ve realized that love can’t fix everything. It can’t fix financial irresponsibility, it can’t fix trust that’s been broken, and it can’t fix a relationship that’s been built on false promises and unfulfilled hopes.

So, here I am, standing at the precipice, ready to jump into the unknown. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, and it feels like a knife twisting in my chest. I’m terrified of what will come next, of the pain I’ll cause her, and of the guilt that will haunt me for a long time. But I know it’s the right decision. I can’t keep going like this. I’ve sacrificed my own well-being, my financial future, and my happiness just to keep us afloat. But I can’t save her from herself anymore. I can’t keep bailing her out and losing pieces of myself in the process.

The divorce is the only way out. It’s the only way for me to stop the cycle, to finally breathe again. It’s the end of our marriage, and while I’ll always love her in some way, I can’t keep living in this emotional and financial prison. I’m walking away, and I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me for it, but it’s something I have to do for myself. For my future.

And maybe, just maybe, this will be the wake-up call she needs. Maybe she’ll change. Maybe she’ll learn to be responsible and take control of her life. But I can’t stick around to find out. I can’t let my love for her drag me down any further. This is where it ends. It’s time for both of us to face the consequences of our actions. It’s time for me to reclaim my life, my future, and my peace.

I will always remember the good times—the love, the laughter, the dreams we shared—but those memories are no longer enough to keep me in this toxic situation. It’s time to let go, no matter how much it hurts. I’m doing this for me. I’m doing this for my own sanity. I’m doing this because I deserve a chance at a better life. A life where I’m not drowning in debt, and a life where I’m not carrying the weight of her mistakes.

And so, I take that final step. I’m filing for divorce. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but I’m doing it. For me. For my future. For my sanity.