By the end of 2020, as the pandemic tightened its grip on daily life, I was forced to face a reality I had been resisting: our family was breaking. Our youngest child had already distanced herself from her father, worn down by anger that had become impossible to reason with. Grieving that loss while continuing to parent the children still living around him felt unbearable, yet there was no pause button. I poured my energy into protecting them and into salvaging what I still hoped might be repaired in my marriage.
On New Year’s Eve, confined to our home and searching for meaning, my husband and I participated in an online Kirtan program. We stepped into 2021 with quiet promises and fragile hope; the kind you cling to when you’re not ready to admit how much damage has already been done.
That hope did not last long. Just days into the new year, a seemingly ordinary moment turned volatile. I entered the bedroom simply to say goodnight and was met with sudden rage. I was told I had no right to enter without knocking, without permission. In that moment, I understood something painful and clarifying; I was no longer seen as a partner, but as someone who needed to be managed, restricted, and controlled. Safety, space, and peace were no longer shared; they were granted conditionally.
I learned then that reasoning would not protect me. So I began, quietly and carefully, to reclaim small pieces of autonomy. I took steps to ensure I had access to my own income and began addressing financial obligations that had been neglected. I began to pay off parent plus loans while also contributing towards home expenses. What should have been mutual responsibility became something I carried largely on my own, while decision-making power remained firmly out of reach.
In March 2021, our older daughter was involved in a car accident.She was unharmed, but the car; already old was declared a total loss. What followed was a tight insurance timeline, conflicting advice, and pressure to choose between repairing a high-mileage vehicle with a salvaged title or finding a safer replacement. As I navigated towing, estimates, and insurance calls, it became clear that support from my husband was conditional and tied more to control than to our daughter’s safety. I could not accept a decision that would leave her driving an unsafe car or stranded during an already stressful time in her life. After seeking guidance from trusted friends and family, I chose to move forward on my own and purchase a reliable used vehicle. It was not an easy or inexpensive decision, but it was a protective one. More than the financial strain, what stayed with me was the realization that when my child needed stability and care, I was once again expected to shoulder both the responsibility and the emotional weight alone.
In response to my decision to keep my income separate, he diverted the auto insurance settlement and home refinancing funds into an account I could not access. That act was a complete blow to my trust.
At that point, we attempted to address the growing mistrust through conversation and spiritual reflection in the presence of Sri Guru Granth Sahib Ji. During that discussion, he stated plainly that money was being set aside in case I ever chose to leave. Hearing this out loud was sobering. Still, I tried to make things work; offering transparency, continuing to contribute to household expenses, and shouldering responsibilities in the hope that honesty might soften the divide.
We even took a short trip together around 4th of July, an attempt to reconnect. But the same patterns resurfaced; dismissiveness, subtle put-downs, an inability to allow me space for my own preferences or voice. It became clear that proximity did not equal intimacy, and shared experiences did not lead to mutual respect.
Meanwhile, our son; after witnessing his sister’s withdrawal; made a genuine effort to preserve a relationship with his father. He set clear, reasonable boundaries to protect himself. For a time, those boundaries held. Then one day, in July 2021, another rupture occurred; this time between my husband and our son. That same day, while my husband and son went to look for a car my son hoped to buy, I spent the morning moving our older daughter into her university apartment for her postgraduate program. The day was far more physically exhausting than I had anticipated. Because our son’s car was in the body shop, I had earlier told him I would drop him off back at his apartment that evening. By nightfall, my legs were in severe pain and I could no longer drive. My husband offered to take him, and our son did not refuse. What he asked for instead was that I come along as well. Being together in my presence had long provided him with a sense of emotional safety, especially during moments of tension, and his request reflected that need; not a rejection of his father.
While I continued cooking, my husband went outside in the backyard. After sometime when I asked our son to check with his father about when they would leave, a misunderstanding escalated. As had happened many times before, my husband interpreted our son’s need for my presence as “preferring his mother” and he responded with anger before disengaging altogether. A practical transportation issue was again transformed into emotional chaos. They eventually left together. I do not know what was said during that drive. When our son returned next weekend, he told me he had tried repeatedly to repair his relationship with his father, but that this incident had become his breaking point. From that day forward, he chose to step away from the relationship. I was stunned and heartbroken.
I tried to encourage reconciliation, but my husband had never learned how to communicate with our children during conflict or take responsibility for the emotional harm he caused. Every attempt he made only deepened the distance.
For months afterward, our son continued coming home every Sunday to see me. The door for connection was always open, yet his father never walked through it. Then, in November 2021, when my father-in-law passed away in India, our son came to the Gurdwara Sahib for the Kirtan and Ardaas. It was a moment that could have restored something;a hug, shared grief, a word of acknowledgment. Instead, my husband turned away, leaving our son alone in his loss.
By mid-2021, I was standing in a place I never imagined: between my children and a man whose need for dominance outweighed his capacity for care. Every decision I made; to secure financial footing, to step in where support was withheld, to absorb anger so our children wouldn’t have to; was an act of maternal protection. Our children did not distance themselves because they lacked love, respect or loyalty. They did so because survival sometimes requires space. And I finally understood that preserving the appearance of a family was not worth the cost of fear, silence, or harm. Some things, once seen clearly, cannot be unseen and some illusions are too dangerous to maintain.
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