The Burden I Never Asked For
My name is Sarah Mitchell, and at thirty-two years old, I learned that sometimes the people we love most are capable of rewriting history to make themselves the victim of their own choices. This is the story of how my husband’s lies about job searching revealed a deeper truth about entitlement, responsibility, and what it really means to be partners in marriage.
I met David when we were both twenty-three, fresh out of college and full of ambition about building careers and lives together. He was studying computer science while working part-time at a tech startup, putting in long hours but driven by genuine passion for the work. I was finishing my degree in marketing, already planning the career trajectory that would eventually lead to the promotion that changed everything.
Those early years were a blur of shared struggles and small victories. David would work late into the night, debugging code and learning new programming languages, while I focused on my studies and the internships that would build my professional foundation. We lived in a tiny apartment, split expenses down the middle, and supported each other’s dreams with the kind of unwavering faith that young love makes possible.
After graduation, David landed a position with a mid-sized software company in Denver. The salary was modest but the growth potential was significant, and he threw himself into the work with characteristic intensity. I found a position with a marketing agency that paid less than I’d hoped but offered valuable experience in client management and campaign development.
We were both working, both contributing, both building toward a future that seemed bright and achievable. When David proposed after two years of dating, it felt like the natural next step in a partnership that had been tested by stress and strengthened by mutual support.
The first few years of marriage were comfortable and stable. David’s career progressed steadily – promotions, salary increases, increasing responsibility that reflected his technical skills and work ethic. My own career path was more challenging, requiring frequent job changes and calculated risks that eventually paid off in expertise and professional reputation.
By our third anniversary, I’d been offered a position as Marketing Director for a national healthcare company, based in Phoenix. The salary was nearly double what I was making in Denver, with benefits and growth potential that represented everything I’d been working toward. The only catch was location – David would have to leave his job and start over in a new city.
“This is huge, Sarah,” David said when I told him about the offer. “This is exactly what you’ve been working for.”
“But what about your job? You’ve been there for six years. You’ve built relationships, established yourself. I don’t want to derail your career for mine.”
“My skills are portable. There are tech companies everywhere, especially in Phoenix. Besides, your new salary will give us the financial security to start a family. This is about our future, not just your career.”
His support felt genuine and enthusiastic. David had always been generous about celebrating my professional achievements, never showing the kind of competitive resentment that sometimes develops when partners succeed at different rates.
The move happened quickly. I gave notice at my Denver job, we sold our house, and within two months we were setting up in a Phoenix suburb, both excited about the fresh start and the opportunities it represented.
My new job was everything I’d hoped – challenging, rewarding, and financially transformative. For the first time in our relationship, we weren’t worried about money. We could afford a larger house, nicer cars, and the kind of lifestyle stability that had always seemed just out of reach.
But David’s job search progressed differently than we’d anticipated. The first few months, he interviewed regularly and seemed optimistic about his prospects. Phoenix had a thriving tech scene, and his experience should have made him an attractive candidate.
“The market is more competitive than I expected,” he explained when the interviews didn’t result in offers. “But I’m being selective. I don’t want to take just anything after the career I built in Denver.”
This reasoning seemed sound. David had specialized skills and justified expectations about salary and responsibility. I encouraged him to hold out for the right opportunity rather than settling for something that didn’t match his experience level.
As months passed, however, his job search activity seemed to decrease rather than intensify. He would spend most days at home, claiming to be “networking” or “researching opportunities,” but I rarely saw evidence of active job searching behavior.
“How many applications did you submit this week?” I’d ask during dinner.
“A few. I’m being strategic about targeting companies that would be good fits rather than just spraying resumes everywhere.”
“Have you had any interviews lately?”
“I have a few phone screenings coming up. The process is different here than it was in Denver. Everything takes longer.”
His answers were always vague but plausible. Job searching, especially at senior levels, could indeed be a lengthy process requiring patience and strategic thinking. I trusted David’s professional judgment and didn’t want to become a nagging spouse who questioned his methods.
But privately, I was growing concerned. We’d moved to Phoenix so I could advance my career with the understanding that David would continue building his. Instead, I was supporting both of us on my income while he seemed to be taking an extended sabbatical disguised as job searching.
The financial pressure wasn’t overwhelming – my salary was sufficient to cover our expenses – but the psychological weight of being the sole provider was heavier than I’d anticipated. Every spending decision became my responsibility. Every financial worry fell on my shoulders alone.
“David, maybe you should consider contract work or consulting while you’re looking for permanent positions,” I suggested after eight months of unemployment. “Just to keep your skills current and bring in some income.”
“Contract work would interfere with my job search activities. I need to be available for interviews and networking events. Besides, temporary work might give potential employers the impression that I’m not serious about permanent opportunities.”
His logic was increasingly circular and self-serving, but I couldn’t identify specific flaws in his reasoning. Maybe he did understand the local job market better than I did. Maybe his approach was more sophisticated than my impatience allowed me to appreciate.
By the first anniversary of our move, I was pregnant with our first child. The pregnancy had been planned, timed to coincide with my career stability and David’s anticipated return to work. Instead, we were facing the prospect of adding a child to our family while I remained the only income earner.
“David, I’m going to be on maternity leave in a few months. We need your income, especially with a baby’s expenses.”
“I understand the timeline pressure. But I can’t force employers to hire me faster than they’re ready to move. The right opportunity will come along.”
“What if it doesn’t? What if you need to take something that’s not perfect but provides income while you continue looking?”
“Sarah, you’re being stressed about money when we don’t need to be. Your salary covers our expenses comfortably. Maybe this is just a different version of partnership than we originally planned.”
Different version of partnership. The phrase stuck with me because it suggested David was reframing his unemployment as a conscious choice rather than an ongoing failure to secure work.
During my second trimester, hormonal changes made me more emotionally volatile but also more perceptive about David’s day-to-day activities. He slept late, spent hours watching television or playing video games, and showed no signs of the stress or frustration that typically accompany serious job searching efforts.
“David, show me some of the positions you’ve applied for this week. Maybe I can provide feedback on your approach.”
“Job searching isn’t like marketing campaigns, Sarah. It’s more relationship-based, more nuanced. I don’t think outside perspective would be helpful right now.”
“I just want to support your efforts however I can.”
“The best support you can provide is not pressuring me about timelines or methods. Trust that I know what I’m doing.”
But I was beginning to suspect that David didn’t know what he was doing, or more troubling, that he wasn’t doing anything at all.
The confrontation that changed everything happened on a Wednesday afternoon in my seventh month of pregnancy. I’d left work early for a doctor’s appointment that was cancelled at the last minute, so I came home around 2 PM expecting to find David engaged in job search activities.
Instead, I found him asleep on the couch with his laptop open beside him. The screen showed a paused Netflix series, not job boards or company websites. Email notifications were visible, but they were promotional messages and social media updates, not correspondence with potential employers or recruiters.
My curiosity overcame my respect for privacy. I clicked on his email client and spent ten minutes reviewing his recent activity. What I found was devastating and illuminating.
David hadn’t sent a single job application in over three months. His email contained no correspondence with recruiters, no confirmations of submitted applications, no scheduling messages for interviews. The most recent work-related activity was a LinkedIn login from six weeks earlier.
He wasn’t job searching. He hadn’t been job searching for months. Every conversation we’d had about his progress, every reassurance about his methods, every explanation for lack of results had been an elaborate lie.
“Sarah? What are you doing home so early?”
I turned to find David behind me, rubbing his eyes and looking disoriented from his afternoon nap.
“I’m looking at your email, David. I’m looking for evidence of the job search you’ve been telling me about for the past year.”
His face went through several emotions quickly – surprise, guilt, and then defensive anger.
“You went through my private email without permission? That’s a violation of trust, Sarah.”
“What’s a violation of trust is lying to your pregnant wife for months about looking for work when you’re actually doing nothing.”
“I haven’t been doing nothing. I’ve been taking care of you, managing our household, being supportive during your pregnancy.”
“You’ve been unemployed by choice, David. There’s a difference between being supportive and being deliberately deceptive about your intentions.”
The argument that followed revealed the depth of David’s self-deception and sense of entitlement. He claimed that his years of working before our move had earned him the right to take a break. He suggested that my higher salary meant his employment was less crucial than I was making it seem. Most damaging, he argued that supporting me during pregnancy was equivalent to holding a job.
“I carried the financial burden for the first six years of our relationship,” he said, his voice rising with defensive anger. “I worked sixty-hour weeks while you were building your career. Now it’s your turn to carry that load while I focus on other priorities.”
“Other priorities like sleeping until noon and binge-watching television?”
“Like being present for my wife during her first pregnancy. Like not stressing about work deadlines when our family needs emotional support.”
“David, do you hear yourself? You’re describing unemployment like it’s a noble sacrifice instead of acknowledging that you’ve been lying to me for months.”
“I haven’t been lying. I’ve been protecting you from unnecessary stress during a delicate time.”
“By making me the sole financial provider while you pretend to look for work? That’s not protection, David. That’s manipulation.”
The conversation ended with David admitting that he “didn’t feel like working right now” and suggesting it was “time for me to take on the burden he’d carried.”
Burden. The word hung in the air between us like an accusation. David was framing his years of employment not as partnership or mutual support, but as a burden he’d carried for my benefit and was now ready to transfer to me.
“Was being in a relationship with me a burden for all those years?” I asked, my voice trembling with hurt and disbelief.
David tried to backtrack, claiming that wasn’t what he’d meant, but the damage was done. He’d revealed his fundamental attitude toward marriage, partnership, and shared responsibility. In his mind, supporting our relationship financially was something he’d done for me rather than for us, and now he expected me to reciprocate indefinitely while he pursued undefined “other priorities.”
I left that evening and went to my sister Jessica’s house, where I spent the night crying and trying to process the magnitude of David’s deception. The lies about job searching were bad enough, but the underlying attitude – that marriage was a series of IOUs rather than ongoing mutual commitment – was devastating.
“Sarah, you need to think seriously about whether this marriage is sustainable,” Jessica said as we talked through the situation. “David has shown you that he’s willing to lie to avoid responsibility, and that he views financial contribution as optional based on his personal preferences.”
“But what about the baby? What about the years we’ve been together? Maybe he’s just burned out and needs time to recover.”
“It’s been eighteen months since you moved. That’s not recovery time – that’s chosen unemployment funded by your salary. And the lying makes it so much worse than if he’d been honest about not wanting to work.”
Jessica was right, but I wasn’t ready to accept that my marriage might be over. David and I had built so much together, had weathered previous challenges successfully. Maybe this was just an extended rough patch that could be resolved with better communication and clearer expectations.
I returned home the next day prepared to have a rational conversation about our future. David seemed genuinely remorseful about the lying and agreed that his approach had been unfair to me.
“I know I handled this badly,” he said. “I should have been honest about not wanting to jump back into corporate work immediately. I thought I could figure out what I wanted to do while giving you the impression that I was actively job searching.”
“David, the dishonesty is one problem, but the bigger issue is the attitude that led to it. You seem to think that supporting our family financially is something you can choose to do or not do based on your personal feelings.”
“That’s not true. I’ve always been responsible about money.”
“You were responsible when it suited you. Now that it doesn’t suit you, you’ve decided it’s my responsibility while you pursue undefined alternatives.”
“I’m not opposed to working. I just want to find something that’s meaningful rather than jumping into the first corporate job that comes along.”
“David, you haven’t looked for any jobs – meaningful or otherwise. You’ve been unemployed by choice while lying to me about your efforts. That’s not seeking meaningful work. That’s avoiding work entirely.”
Our conversation continued for hours, with David alternately apologizing for the deception and defending his decision to remain unemployed. He seemed genuinely surprised that I viewed his behavior as selfish and irresponsible rather than thoughtful and strategic.
Over the following weeks, I tried to salvage our relationship while preparing for the reality that I might be raising our child as a single mother. David made vague promises about “getting serious” about job searching, but his daily behavior didn’t change significantly.
He would spend an hour or two each morning looking at job boards, but the applications never materialized. He would schedule networking meetings that seemed designed more to create the appearance of activity than to generate actual opportunities.
Most troubling, his attitude toward our arrangement hadn’t fundamentally shifted. He still seemed to view his unemployment as a reasonable choice that I should accept and support, rather than a temporary situation requiring urgent resolution.
“Sarah, we need to discuss maternity leave logistics,” he said one evening during my eighth month of pregnancy. “I’ve been thinking that it might make sense for me to be the primary caregiver after the baby arrives. Since I’m already not working, it would be efficient for me to handle childcare while you return to your job.”
The suggestion was practical on its surface, but it represented the formalization of David’s unemployment into a permanent arrangement. He was proposing to become a stay-at-home father not because we’d made a joint decision about family priorities, but because he’d unilaterally decided to stop working and wanted to retroactively justify that choice.
“David, stay-at-home parenting is a legitimate choice when couples make it together. But that’s not what happened here. You stopped working without discussion, lied about looking for jobs, and now want to frame permanent unemployment as a childcare solution.”
“I’m trying to make the best of our situation while being practical about family needs.”
“The best thing for our family would be two parents who are both contributing financially and sharing responsibility for childcare. I don’t want to be the sole provider indefinitely while you avoid the job market entirely.”
“So you’re saying my contribution as a parent isn’t valuable enough to justify not having traditional employment?”
David was reframing the conversation to make me seem like someone who didn’t value parenting, when the real issue was his dishonesty and unwillingness to share financial responsibility.
“I’m saying that unilaterally deciding to stop working while lying about job searching isn’t the same thing as making a joint decision about family structure.”
Our daughter Emma was born on a Tuesday morning in March, beautiful and healthy despite the stress that had dominated my pregnancy. Holding her for the first time, I felt overwhelming love mixed with fear about providing for her future in a marriage that felt increasingly unstable.
David was attentive and helpful during those first weeks, handling nighttime feedings and diaper changes with enthusiasm and competence. For a brief period, I allowed myself to hope that fatherhood might motivate him to resume job searching or at least have honest conversations about our family’s financial needs.
But as my maternity leave progressed, it became clear that David viewed childcare as confirmation that he was contributing equally to our family without needing traditional employment. He was a devoted father, but he was also using Emma as justification for continuing to avoid work.
“I’m providing valuable services as a primary caregiver,” he would say when I brought up job searching. “Childcare costs would eat up most of what I’d make in an entry-level position anyway.”
“You’re not entry-level, David. You have eight years of experience in software development. And we’ve never priced professional childcare because you’ve never seriously looked for work.”
“I am looking for work. But I’m being selective about opportunities that would be compatible with family responsibilities.”
The same circular logic, the same vague promises, the same fundamental unwillingness to acknowledge that his choices were selfish rather than strategic.
When Emma was three months old, my maternity leave ended and I returned to work with a heavy heart. The arrangement David had proposed – him as primary caregiver while I served as sole provider – felt like being trapped in a dynamic I’d never agreed to accept.
Financially, we were managing. My salary was sufficient to support our small family, and David was indeed providing valuable childcare that would otherwise cost thousands of dollars monthly. But emotionally and psychologically, the arrangement felt unsustainable.
I was carrying all the pressure of earning income while David enjoyed the flexibility and autonomy of unemployment disguised as stay-at-home parenting. If I lost my job, got sick, or wanted to change careers, our family would face immediate financial crisis because David had chosen to remove himself from the workforce.
The breaking point came during Emma’s first year, when I was offered an even better position with a competitor. The job would require some travel and longer hours, but the salary increase would provide significant financial security for our growing family.
“I don’t think you should take it,” David said when I told him about the opportunity. “Emma needs stability, and you’re already working enough hours. We don’t need more money badly enough to sacrifice family time.”
“We don’t need more money because I’m earning all of it while you’ve chosen not to work. If you were also employed, we’d have real choices about career decisions and family priorities.”
“I am employed. I’m employed as Emma’s primary caregiver, which is valuable work that benefits our entire family.”
“You’re unemployed by choice, David. Being a good father doesn’t negate the fact that you’ve removed yourself from the workforce and left me to handle all financial responsibility.”
“I can’t believe you’re diminishing the value of childcare to win an argument about career decisions.”
David was again reframing the conversation to make me seem unreasonable, when the real issue was his years of deception and unwillingness to share financial responsibility for our family.
That night, I made a decision that felt both inevitable and terrifying. I couldn’t continue in a marriage where fundamental dishonesty was disguised as thoughtful family planning, where my husband’s choices were consistently prioritized over our family’s long-term security.
I took the new job, moved into my own apartment with Emma, and filed for divorce. The proceedings were complicated by David’s argument that he should receive alimony and primary custody based on his role as Emma’s primary caregiver during her first year.
“Mrs. Mitchell chose to prioritize career advancement over family stability,” his lawyer argued. “Mr. Mitchell made the sacrifice of putting his career on hold to provide hands-on childcare, and he shouldn’t be penalized for making family-focused decisions.”
My lawyer’s response was swift and well-documented. “Mr. Mitchell didn’t make a sacrifice – he made a unilateral decision to stop working while lying to his wife about job searching efforts. Mrs. Mitchell has been the sole financial provider for over two years while Mr. Mitchell avoided employment responsibilities under the guise of family planning.”
The evidence was overwhelming. Email records showing no job search activity. Financial records demonstrating my sole provider status. Testimony from friends and family about David’s deceptive claims regarding employment efforts.
The judge was particularly troubled by the dishonesty aspect. “Mr. Mitchell’s decision to misrepresent his job search efforts for an extended period suggests a fundamental disregard for marital partnership and shared responsibility.”
David received minimal alimony for a short duration, and we were awarded shared custody with Emma’s primary residence being with me. He was also ordered to seek employment within six months or face modification of support arrangements.
Two years later, Emma and I are thriving in our own space. I’ve continued advancing in my career while she’s grown into a curious, confident toddler who splits time between two parents who are finally being honest about their priorities and capabilities.
David did eventually find work – a consulting position that allows flexibility for his custody schedule. He seems happier and more engaged now that he’s not trying to justify unemployment through elaborate deceptions and circular logic.
“I should have been honest from the beginning about not wanting to jump back into corporate work immediately,” he told me during one of our custody exchanges. “I thought I could manage your expectations while figuring out what I actually wanted to do.”
“The dishonesty was what made it impossible to work through, David. If you’d been upfront about wanting a career break, we could have discussed it and made joint decisions about our family’s financial structure.”
“I know. I was trying to avoid conflict, but I created a much bigger problem by being deceptive.”
Our divorce wasn’t the outcome I’d envisioned when we moved to Phoenix, but it was the right choice for both of us and especially for Emma. She’s growing up with two parents who are honest about their capabilities and committed to sharing responsibility for her wellbeing, rather than one parent carrying an unfair burden while the other avoids accountability through manipulation and lies.
The experience taught me that partnership requires ongoing honesty about intentions, capabilities, and priorities. When someone consistently chooses deception over difficult conversations, they’re choosing their own comfort over the relationship’s health and sustainability.
David’s years of employment before our move hadn’t been a burden he’d carried for my benefit – they’d been his contribution to our shared goals and responsibilities. When he decided that contribution was optional based on his personal preferences, he fundamentally changed our marriage without my consent or knowledge.
Some relationships can survive dishonesty if both people are willing to rebuild trust through consistent changed behavior. But some deceptions reveal character traits that make partnership impossible – the belief that responsibility is optional, that lies are acceptable to avoid conflict, that individual preferences matter more than shared commitments.
Emma will grow up understanding that healthy relationships require both people to be truthful about their intentions and reliable about their commitments. She’ll learn that partnership means sharing both burdens and benefits, not alternating who carries all the responsibility based on personal convenience.
Those lessons are worth more than any salary or career advancement, and they’re the most valuable inheritance I can give her from the marriage that taught me the difference between true partnership and elaborate deception disguised as family planning.
Lila Hart is a dedicated Digital Archivist and Research Specialist with a keen eye for preserving and curating meaningful content. At TheArchivists, she specializes in organizing and managing digital archives, ensuring that valuable stories and historical moments are accessible for generations to come.
Lila earned her degree in History and Archival Studies from the University of Edinburgh, where she cultivated her passion for documenting the past and preserving cultural heritage. Her expertise lies in combining traditional archival techniques with modern digital tools, allowing her to create comprehensive and engaging collections that resonate with audiences worldwide.
At TheArchivists, Lila is known for her meticulous attention to detail and her ability to uncover hidden gems within extensive archives. Her work is praised for its depth, authenticity, and contribution to the preservation of knowledge in the digital age.
Driven by a commitment to preserving stories that matter, Lila is passionate about exploring the intersection of history and technology. Her goal is to ensure that every piece of content she handles reflects the richness of human experiences and remains a source of inspiration for years to come.