I Didn't Want to Be a Nag: The Quiet Ways a Marriage Falls Apart

This episode begins with two anonymous essays and unfolds into a conversation about marriage, divorce, patriarchy, emotional labor, and the things women learn to normalize.

Using the lens of a neglected house, today’s writer explores what it means to spend years trying to be “respectful,” “patient,” and “not a nag” while slowly disappearing inside your own life.

Together, we talk about:

• the emotional labor of walking on eggshells
• the stories women inherit about being “good wives”
• why so many women stay longer than they want to
• how writing helps us untangle complex experiences
• the freedom of no longer managing someone else’s emotions
• the small domestic details that reveal deeper truths

This conversation is tender, funny, insightful, and deeply validating for anyone who has ever mistaken survival for peace.

Standout Quotes

• “Things became so normal and routine that you honestly forget they’re not normal.”
• “You don’t understand how much work it is until you don’t do it anymore.”
• “The house and I, we both moved on.”
• "If there's only one question to ask your potential next partner: is me putting up a facade a requirement for you to feel good in this relationship? Because if it is, I'll take the check please."

You can read “The House” on Substack here, and “Summer Meadows” here.

Transcript

0:00

Welcome back to the Redacted Limited podcast series. I'm your host, Steph Springer. What does a failing marriage look like before you admit it's failing? Sometimes it looks dramatic. Sometimes it looks like wild foxes living in your backyard because nobody has mowed the lawn in months. Sometimes it looks like a broken garage door you stop mentioning because you're tired of being called a nag. This episode is about all the things women learn to normalize, the unfinished repairs, the emotional weather monitoring, the walking on eggshells, the way we convince ourselves that silence is respect and self-erasure is maturity. Today's anonymous guest shares two pieces, a flash nonfiction story that is quite frankly unforgettable, and a stunning essay about divorce through the lens of a falling apart house, and together we talk about patriarchy, performance, resentment, intuition, and what it feels like to finally come home to yourself. Summer Meadows. Her name was Summer Meadows. Look me up. She texted. See for yourself. I found her profile on tris.com. Straight brown hair piercing blue eyes, freckles, A down to earth beauty. Unlike other girls on the site to emphasize her interests and personality by posing with a Red Sox hat and a doctor who seemed to dress. I can see why he picked her. She was like me, but younger, less complicated, less history. She sent me screenshots of their conversations to prove she wasn't lying, that he really did hire her. He wanted the in call special. In fact, it cost $380 for three hours upfront to schedule the meet. He gave her his name and I saw his number at the top, telltale phrases and misspellings. He messaged her when he arrived at the hotel. Everything was on lockdown due to the pandemic, so we waited outside for her to let him in. She made him wait a while, then she went full vixen and messaged him that she was a police informant to catch sex solicitors. She had him on the security camera, salivating over the thought of an in-call special, his 380 for three hours with the girl next door, a nerdy girl, a sporty girl, a sexy girl, everything he ever wanted, and he paid. She demanded he pay hundreds more to not turn him in. This was his one and only chance he didn't bite. I don't think she really worked for the police because he never got arrested. Instead, she tried to ruin his life by sending me the wife screenshot as proof. He was a regular proof. He knew the ins and outs of being a John, which he didn't know was that we'd been divorced for two weeks. By then, the hookers could have him. Okay, go ahead and read your next piece, "The House." That's two redford, black-footed foxes played among the tall grass and fallen prelims. They jumped along, weaving around three foot high stalks of milk fizzle and kicked up leaves that had dried up seasons ago. A rabbit carcass dec cape, somewhere in the underbrush hidden nicely from view. There was something alluring about this little forest sea, but it wasn't a forest. This was our normal size fenced in backyard in the central suburb of a Texas city. They didn't see me. It was like being a photographer for National Geographic. I had air conditioning and a day job, and my discovery was made while doing laundry, I walked through the window, fascinated but also sad. Our backyard should be a safe haven for my husband and me, not wild foxes. We used to have someone maintain the yard. They came periodically in mowed edge, nothing fancy. My husband complained that the mower lines in the grass weren't perfectly straight, so he canceled the service. He said he would do it himself. Though we didn't own any lawn equipment. Months later, we became a Fox sanctuary. I figured part of the problem was that he had to drive his truck over to his brother-in-law's and borrow his mower, return to the house to do the yard work, then load it all up in the truck and drive it back. That is if his brother-in-law wasn't using the equipment himself and if he felt like going to the trouble, I suggested we hire someone again or buy a mower, something my husband's anger sparked up behind his eyes. Didn't I trust him to do it? Didn't I respect him enough to let him take care of it? So I dropped it to prove that I trusted him, that I respected him. The garage doors had been squealing and shaking for several weeks. When I pressed the button to open or close them, sometimes I stopped halfway shuttered and shut down. My husband didn't park in the garage. Only I did. I mentioned that we needed to replace them soon. He didn't believe me and went to check. They took like a rickety fence and a windstorm, but they opened and closed for him on the first try. It's real. I insisted I've been late to work because I can't leave until the garage is closed. He still didn't believe me, so I added someone might walk right into the house since there's not a lock on the back door. There's nothing wrong with them. Not anger this time, but dismissal. End of discussion. Go away. No mention of the lock he'd promised to install when we first bought the house. I could have installed the lock myself, but to use his tools and take on a task that he said he would do was to emasculate him. I was convinced of this because I saw how it eroded my parents' marriage when my dad would never do what he said he would do, but my mom would take care of it instead. Like the yard work. How pissed he got. How resentful, no, I would not fall into that pattern. I would trust him. I would respect him. Two or three months later a day came when the garage doors refused to open. No matter what I did, they groaned and creaked their laugh. It didn't matter about the lock anymore. No one was getting in the garage at all, and he didn't want to help pay for repairs. This was my life. Broken dishwasher flooded. Kitchen holes in the wall, leaking sprinkler system. Shut off water, clogged plumbing from ancient pipes, dead exposed outlets. Ceiling paint. Most of the issues were tucked safely inside the house or beneath the ground so no one could see what was really going on, and no one was invited over. I learned to do without. I covered the holes by hanging artwork. I parked in the driveway. The yard didn't get watered, the dishes piled up. I stopped cooking. I cleaned less and less. I could say it was the rage, the screaming in my face when I mentioned money and budgeting and wanting to save. I could say it was the absence from nearly the beginning. It was always a no when I asked if he would go out with me, so I went everywhere alone. I could say it was the cheating. I don't know for sure that it happened, but he stopped eating dinner with me. He came home after dark and hardly used the shower, but really it was the house I had to get out of that house. Here was the routine. I'd come home from work by five o'clock and wonder if I should make dinner for one or two. He worked the eight to five, but chose to go in at six and come home whenever. I didn't want to bother him with a text and trigger any anger, so I decided to wait until after seven to ask when he would be home if he responded, it was to say that he was working. So I waited some more. I sat in that quiet house, that Solen, neglected house. It grew dark outside and it all felt too empty, too echoy, too large of a home for just a single person. Eight o'clock, nine, I resisted the urge to text. Again, don't be a nag. Don't be a bother. I assured myself he was working, just working in the last six months of our marriage. His arrival stretch to midnight, one even two. By then, I had been in bed for hours, but I was awake. I heard the crunch of tires as he parked in the driveway, the scuff of the front door, his steps on the tile, the muffled voices from the tv. He slept on the couch instead of sleeping with me. I hated that house. The first year I asked for divorce was 2016. A barrage of screams and spit came my way. With such force, I could only weep. His hands were fist as he paced around his eyes, like daggers, tears streaming. I relented and apologized. I said we could try counseling instead, but I really meant what I said. Divorce was what I wanted. He never hit me, but he hurt me in almost every other way. One year, blue bonnets grew in the front flower bed. I hadn't planted them yet There they were. The state flower, luscious and blue. I marveled and said how much I love them. I told my husband, it must mean something special, that they grew there right where flowers are supposed to go. It was meant to be. He said they were weeds. One day he took a weed whacker and obliterated them all. Not a petal remained. There were many slights and disregards over the years. I should have become upset about right from the beginning, but I reasoned that a good wife always remains levelheaded. She keeps calm. Things will get better. The day after we moved into the house, I came home from work to see the kitchen counters, shattered floor, Kyle masks. He decided to demolish our kitchen. He stood amid the rubble blood hammer in hand, as if daring me to react. What could I do? The damage was done. Don't be hysterical. Don't give him ammunition to say you're a nag. Kitchen remained unusable and half renovation for two years. Construction dust covered everything in the house with a thin layer of Bruin in the food in my lungs, in the bed. I'm sure my eyes said lost, but I didn't say a word. Trust. Respect. His refusal to divorce in 2016 did not deter me. Not totally. I asked for a divorce every year for the next three years, and each time I became better stealed against his fury, I eventually stopped crying. I learned to stand there cold and stone face. The more he yelled, the more I was immune level-headed. Calm. On December 1st, 2019. I didn't ask. There was no more asking. I remember he was watching a show and eating tacos from Taco via when I came home from church that Sunday, it was advent the time of new beginnings. I was determined to have my new beginning. The fast food wrapping sat in his lap as a makeshift plate. The half eaten taco brought up to his face. His hands were covered in grease and sour cream. When I said, it's time, we need to get a divorce. He put his taco down, his shoulders fell. He said, you're right. I had mentally prepared for the inevitable argument. I expected to have to power through his yelling and explain all the reasons why it was over, really over, but there was no need. I think it was because I caught him off guard, reclined and eating. I remember he said, for what it's worth, I'll never find anyone as good as you. I couldn't say the same. The divorce was quick and simple. No lawyers, no mediators. The only thing of any real value was the house. It was over in five months, yet it would take another year and a half before the house would sell because the pandemic hit. I was free from him, but still changed mortgage. I lived with my brother for a time and then my sister stating myself on familial charity. The irony is that before the house went on the market. All the repairs he refused to do, hire out or help pay for, had to be done. New garage doors and motor repaired sprinkler system, replaced sewage pipe, updated outlets, fresh exterior paint, maintained yard house was pristine and functional. Again, even beautiful. All it took was a court order, a realtor's command and money on the line. I still think about the foxes from time to time. The complicated emotions of comfort mixed with misery of abuse, entangled with routine, a forest where a yard should be, and a rotting carcass buried beneath. We were in loved ones. I barely remember it, but we must have been. And as much as I hated the house, it didn't represent my husband or our marriage. It represented me, broken, defeated, barely hanging on. I let it fall apart too. I could have saved it much sooner by being up more outspoken and strong. I could have stood my ground, I could have acted instead of asked a thousand Coulds, really. But we made it through and we made it out The house and I, we both moved on to happier families and healthier lives taken care of and bright. Thank you so much for reading that. So how much time had passed between the end of your marriage and the writing of this piece? Four years. Wow, four years. I, a lot of writers have said the same, like there's been a period of two or three. Some of them are like writing while the house is on fire and others. It's that. Looking back, did you, when you were writing about something that had happened, you know, a handful of years before, what was that experience like for you? It was very helpful because in the aftermath of my divorce. It was very difficult to even explain what happened. Mm-hmm. And, uh, like this is only just one small facet of some things that happened and it was all tightlipped bottled up, like never talked about. Um, and I think I, I think because I recovered so quickly. From the divorce, it was difficult, but like within a year I was done crying and like ready to move on and I'd done therapy. And, and so I think that threw people off as well because they were confused, like why it ended. And so I, I think there were a lot of questions, but I didn't even know how to explain all of it. Um, and so this was, uh, you know, one of the first, well, I'll say this. I am working bit by bit on a memoir. Great. And I knew that this is a big part of my life is is the ending of this life, right? And the starting of my new one. So this gave me a good opportunity to kind of just tackle, um, certain topics, like single it out, like this is just about the house. Yes, you do get some perspectives right about other things going on, but it's really focused on just the how part. Um, and so that actually, I found that. Much easier and accessible way for me to unpack and look back on the whole mess of, of relationship. Well, I think that's brilliant for a few reasons. I mean, number one, emotionally, I think. One of the difficult things to navigate post-divorce is, is all the layers, all what thread is what? Everything is just one big mess. So emotionally, I think that's helpful, but from a writing perspective, as an editor, the reason I loved this piece is I'm like. Look at this. Oh, I've got goosebumps just thinking about it. Like, look at this huge story told simply through the craft of the home, the house, it is the lens. You could have 42,000 stories about your divorce, but this is through the lens of the house. And as an editor, those are the kinds of stories you wanna read don't tell me the story of your divorce. Tell me about the room, tell me about the day, tell me about the foxes, you know? Mm-hmm. And I think that's why your piece was so popular on Substack people really, really related to it. That's wonderful to hear. And I'm, I'm very happy to, yeah. I think because I think it's healing for everyone to hear the other stories and. Kind of be able to zero in, right? Mm-hmm. On one layer. One layer, uh, right. One layer. Mm-hmm. Because otherwise it's just too overwhelming. It's like, oh my God, the holidays or the in-laws or the traditions or the, you know, the vacation, like, oh my God, like, let's just deal with this one little bit at a time. Um, I think that's actually a really useful, like, tell me about your divorce. Through the lens of Christmas Eve. Right. Tell me about your divorce through the lens of going on an airplane. Um, and I mean also it's just like, again, we have, we've, we've showcased some stories that are like, well, the first one you read, like that's kind of a big, it's kind of a big dramatic thing. We have some stories that are like holy shit stories, and then we have others that it's like. Like the garage door. You never fixed a, like, I love, um. Thistles, which apparently are a Class B noxious weed and EV hikes. I'd be like, oh my God. So beautiful. And like, it was kind of a funny thing 'cause he'd be like, actually that's a, but it was this thing where I was like, I fucking love weeds. Okay. And like, I tried to turn my front yard into a wild flower meadow. Um, it turns out it takes, that takes a while. And then my dad just mowed it. Hope you're not listening, dad. And I was like, God damnit, I'm trying to turn my yard into one giant eyesore. Okay? I want a yard full of weeds and wild flowers and I don't give a shit, which is which. So like, just for you to highlight these little things. 'cause that's what I think women relate to. Like, oh my God, that one thing, you know? Mm-hmm. And there's so much more. And one of the other things that helped me is I forget, I don't know if this is true for a lot of other women, but I honestly forget, like I'll tell a story and they're like, well that doesn't sound weird. I'm like, oh, but he never, he didn't come home till midnight. Sorry, I didn't say that. You know? Right. Or it was, it things became so normal and routine. Yes. That you honestly forget that it's, that you have to mention the fact that this was. Or this was part of the problem, uh, because it just became so normal. Yeah. We become desensitized and it's like, well that doesn't, that's not that big of a deal. And it's like, oh wait, shit, nevermind. I forgot to give you the, the 25 case files to go before it. Like the context. Yeah. It, it really does speak to. Oh my God. The things we talk ourselves into, the things we convince ourselves are normal. And I'm especially struck by your description of being a good wife because like mm-hmm. I don't know. I think about how many divorce stories I've read in the last year or two, and I think about this like Maddeningly universal thread of, well, I stayed as long as I stayed because that's what I was supposed to do. I've noticed that too. So I, I read all the, all the, um, posts that are sent to the email and yes, that is definitely an overarching theme and it's heartbreaking. Yeah. Uh, that there's this just unspoken societal pressure. I don't know where it comes from. I mean, you, I guess you see your parents, uh, you see movies, you see all these things and it just, uh, the patriarchy becomes part of your Yeah. It's part of the patriarchy because it becomes part of your DNA. Yes. That, uh, and for me specifically, um, it was really important to me that, that I wasn't a nag. And I, I put that a couple times in the story because Right. It was like, that was always, the argument is like, you're a nag. You're, you're making a big thing out of nothing. Yep. And so I had to like, be patient and collect enough evidence to Yep. Strengthen my own arguments. When they really should be, uh, strong on their own. On their own. Well, and me saying something bothers me should be enough to have a discussion about it. Right. Right. Because I can also tell you from experience that the day that you do present your laundry list of, here, here are all the things I've kept, try, that doesn't go over well either. It's like, well, I don't know specifically what you mean. And I'm like, oh, here you go. Oh, you don't like that either. Interesting. Interesting. I believe that's called the double bind. And No, I mean, I just, how many of us have thrown ourselves on the altar of doing what we're supposed to do? Um, I don't wanna throw the whole thing away. I mean, we are like notorious not boat rockers and, um Yeah. And that, that, that being respectful, like, oh, I trust you, I respect you. I'm not gonna ask, um. And then all of those unexpressed resentments. Um, and I don't know about you in your, in the after times, but I mean mm-hmm. Speaking of weeds and wild flowers, I mean, It's like my schedule, my yard, my, all the things are just as wild and whimsical as I want them to be. How about you? How's, how's life on the other side? Uh, I, the, the biggest thing for me is that I feel, uh, safe and I don't have to like, hide things. Yes. Because I feel like that was a big part of it was I, I had to do everything in my power to not upset him. I had to do everything in my power to make sure he didn't yell at me for something. Right. Like, because it always, it's always my fault, like whatever, even if he's in a bad mood for something else. He comes home and then it's, you know, it's all of that. So I don't think about that anymore at all. That's like not a thing anymore. It's really freeing and amazing. It, it's that, that layer of, of weight that you don't even realize you're carrying when you realize that it's not your job to take the temperature of another human or adjust your own temperature to accommodate them. You don't understand how much work it is until you don't do it anymore. Um. The masking, the performing, the eggshells, all of it. And I, I see so many of those universals in, in other women. Um, and to just be done with that particular work, it's difficult to express the relief and dare I say glee? Yes. Yes. I am just world happier now and good. So thankful that I, you know, went through with the process of getting out and it was a long process and I understand people can just file for divorce and, and like, but it was important to me that we be on the same page for, and again, this is the patriarchy and like the societal thing, but it was like, I need us to agree that this is not working. Like for my own validation. What other people are gonna think about it, right? I need us to both admit that this is terrible, right? God, I wanted that so badly that, that I'm envious. Uh, 'cause I didn't get that. Mm-hmm. I got an explosion instead. And it had been so important to me to have that. And, um, it was hard for me to let go of the fact that I wasn't ever gonna get that. And I, so I, I understand why you pursued that feeling. 'cause it, it's, it's validating and, um. I don't know. And I, I also really, we know you were talking about like writing, it kind of helped you like, it, it is, it's difficult to try to elevate or pitch your divorce to people who, who didn't see all, who don't have all the context, who are just like, wait, but you always seemed so happy every time I saw you at Applebee's, you know? Yeah. You're like, yes. I was like powering through. That's what we do, compartmentalizing my life, you know, as much as I could. So yeah. And that's how you get through. So Yeah. But now you just get to be free. Yes. Yes. That's great. And, uh, I'm writing a lot more, my writing has become much more successful and, um, uh. Kind of like coming out, uh, organically versus like there was, yes. Before there was kind of like a pressure. It was like I had this period of time that I have a window that I'm available to write. Um, or else he might get mad or I have to go check on him, you know? Yes. I do know. Mm-hmm. And now it's like this, I mean, writing is just like breathing. So, uh, this is what's happening. I'm doing it. And, uh, it. I have, I have a hus, a new husband. I'm, I'm remarried. Congratulations. And, um, it, this world's different. Um, but I also knew the right questions to ask when entering a new relationship. I knew we do learn. You learn and I'm better too. Like I am now a better partner as well, second time around. So, um, yeah. You know, I'm not, I'm not perfect. I wasn't perfect back then. It's not what it's about, but. Yeah. And when you feel like you don't have the freedom to do the thing you love writing whenever you feel like it, because it, it's like that, like there's a clock. Like, like you, you got this many seconds. And then, I mean, things I remember if I were writing in bed and on, I love working in bed, you know, writing on my laptop, hear the garage door open. It was like Pavlovian. I would like jump out of my bed and I would stand by the kitchen sink and act busy. If I was really going for it, I'd tap on the Roomba. Because the, the Roomba is for people who are productive and are good at being a wife. Unlike that, you know, piece of shit upstairs, just writing stories in her bed, like, uh, no man, like to just, yeah, that's exactly it. Yes. It's just this great facade, um, that you have to keep, uh, putting up like every day. And, uh, it's sad. Um, everyone has their own, you know, you and I are both writers, but. Other women have their own facades they have to put up Yes. And yes. It's so universal. It's really remarkable how universal. It's, it is. And honestly, if there's only one question for you to ask your potential next partner, it's um, is me putting up a facade, a requirement for you to feel good in this relationship? 'cause if it is, I'll take the check please. Um, yeah, yeah. You know, it's like, am I free to be myself and, yeah. Like talk to each other or then, then no. Okay. See you. No, it, it, it should be with someone that is either inaccessible or emotionally unsafe. That's just a big no. And, um, it's sad that it takes so many women so long to learn that lesson, but it's not our fault. I, and we were spoonfed this, I think, right. Right. I think, you know, on the other side, a lot of men inflict patriarchy on on each other. Absolutely. And, uh, they put, you know, they have to get married. I, I feel like in retrospect, now that I can look at it, right. Uh, he felt a lot of pressure to get married and, uh. So I, that's why I was like, I, I really don't think either of us want this anymore. Like, I'm convinced neither of us want this. Great. Let's, yeah, let's pause and zoom out because I, I totally agree with you. And there are men who are in unhappy marriages that are staying because they feel like that's what they're supposed to do. 'cause they're a failure. If they don't it, nobody benefits in that system. Like, I am not a man hater and I certainly am not like, um. You know, uh, there, there are plenty of men who have played this game and wound up with similar results of like, wow, this feels empty. This doesn't feel right. I was doing what I thought I was supposed to do. Like, we're all just sort of playing house for a time and, and not all of us draw the right partner on the first round, you know? And, um, I think we've been really conditioned to ignore that intuitive knowing that we have when something doesn't feel good. Yeah. So hopefully that will definitely, for women, for sure. Yes. Mm-hmm. We give, we give, uh, so many second chances. We give like a billion chances. We Oh my god, doubt ourselves, uh, a lot, and here's to coming home to ourselves and, and to a home that feels like home and that maybe has a lot of really beautiful weeds growing around it. Yeah. I can't tell you how much I enjoyed this conversation. Thank you for letting me take up an entire half hour of your time. Uh, I never wanna pressure anyone, but sometimes just these magic little, like, I got all the goosebumps. Um, it's just, it's really, I loved it. Thank you so much for doing all this. It's important to get those stories out there and, uh, it's did important work, so thank you. Thank you. Yeah, this was a really affirming conversation. Thanks for being so generous.