Suki Jones 

When I got married, I followed the traditional path expected of me as a British-born Sikh son. Moving into the family home with my parents and brother felt like the right choice. It was what my culture prescribed—family first, always. Yet, looking back, I realise this decision set the stage for years of stress and conflict, both for me and my wife.

Despite having my own flat, which was closer to work, I felt compelled to prioritise family expectations over my own needs. I began using my flat as a refuge, a place to escape the pressures of married life and indulge in the remnants of my single days. I hadn't truly grown up; I still thought it was acceptable to engage in one-night stands and casual flings. While I’m not excusing my actions, I found ways to block out the guilt. It was as if I could switch between “husband mode” and “night out mode,” compartmentalising my life to avoid facing the reality of my choices.

Living at home became increasingly complex. My wife entered a world filled with unspoken rules and traditions, where she had to fit into a family that operated under its own set of expectations. I struggled with balancing my loyalty to her and my desire to please my parents. I was hard on her, often criticising her for not adhering to the way my family had always done things. Where my family was meticulous and controlled, she was more carefree and spontaneous. I viewed her chaos as a threat to the order I had grown up with, and this only fuelled my frustration.

Looking back now, I recognise that the real issue wasn’t her behaviour but our incompatibility. We had never lived together before marriage; we didn't truly know each other’s nuances or what our daily life would look like. Compounding this were the parental pressures, which made it difficult for us to carve out our own identity as a couple. Even when our daughter was born, the strain intensified. I felt caught in the middle, juggling the demands of two families while trying to be a supportive husband.

My work also took me away on occasion, providing me with brief respites from the chaos at home. While these trips offered me a chance to recharge, they didn’t provide my wife with the same relief. Instead, she remained entrenched in the challenging dynamics of our home life, trying to adapt to expectations that often felt overwhelming. I often found solace in my nights out, using them as a means to escape, while she faced the daily realities without that same outlet.

Even simple things like going out became stressful. At 26 years old, I often felt as if I had to ask permission from my parents, placing immense pressure on myself. I should have been stronger and established clearer boundaries, but I didn’t learn that until much later in life. This struggle with boundaries persisted even after my marriage ended, a lesson that rehab helped me confront. In recovery, I learnt the importance of asserting my needs and understanding that it’s okay to prioritise my own well-being.

As I reflect on those years, I realise that I should have shown my wife more compassion. I should have been more understanding of her situation and the challenges she faced in adapting to a new family dynamic. Instead of placing blame on her, I could have recognised the immense pressure she was under, too. We both needed to navigate our new roles together, supporting each other rather than adding to each other's stress.

Now, as I navigate life post-divorce, I’ve gained clarity. I often find myself reflecting on the importance of genuine connection and open communication. I advise my children to truly know their partner before committing. It’s vital to create an environment where both individuals can thrive and grow, rather than stifle each other under the weight of familial expectations.

It’s easy to blame my wife for our challenges, as I did many times during our marriage. But the truth is, we were both trying to please others at the expense of our own happiness. I realise now that while my parents were there for me through thick and thin, my loyalty to them was often at odds with my responsibilities as a husband. This realisation has been a bitter pill to swallow.

If I could change those years, would I? Probably not. They’ve shaped who I am today. I’ve learnt valuable lessons about what it means to connect with someone deeply and the importance of fostering a supportive relationship.

Currently, I have a partner, but we don’t live together. This arrangement allows me to enjoy companionship while maintaining a level of independence. I find my life significantly less chaotic than it was during my marriage. There’s a clarity and peace in my solitude that I didn’t appreciate before. However, it can also be lonely at times. I miss the shared experiences that come with living together, yet this space has given me the opportunity to reflect on my past, learn from it, and grow.

As I move forward, I remain committed to nurturing the lessons of the past and ensuring that my own children approach their relationships with the understanding and compassion that I once lacked.