Hearing my mother say something about my wife, I immediately regretted it and wanted to get a divorce immediately… I thought I would feel relieved, but instead I felt empty.

I am neither poor nor incompetent, but I have a very good wife. Clarissa, my wife, is the sales manager of a multinational company in Makati, fluent in 3 languages, and always looks neat and tidy, making everyone who meets her admire her. In the past, it was her sharpness that won me over. But the more we lived together, the more I realized that her sharpness was unintentionally dragging me down.

It all started when I changed jobs and my salary dropped significantly. Clarissa did not blame me, she just gently said:
“Wala ‘yan, hon. Take your time. Ako na muna bahala sa gastos.”

It may sound sympathetic, but I felt like I was becoming a burden. My pride as a Filipino man was hurt. I did not want to be supported by my wife. While I was struggling with a meager salary, my wife was getting promoted, even being invited to be the new branch manager.

Every time I heard Clarissa on the phone, coordinating a whole team in just three minutes, I felt useless. I didn’t dare to argue back, because whatever I said was wrong. Clarissa was too logical, argued coherently, and gave clear evidence, always putting me in a difficult position. More and more, I chose to stay silent. But even silence, she said, “wala kang sariling paninindigan.”

My mother doesn’t get along with her daughter-in-law

My mother came from her hometown in Batangas to Manila to look after her grandchild. After two weeks, she started complaining:

“Parang wala siyang respeto sa akin. Ang tono niya parang boss sa empleyado. Laging nagmamadali, walang lambing.”

I knew Clarissa didn’t mean it. She still bought medicine for her mother when she coughed, still took her to get her feet checked, still gave her money regularly every month. But the way she did everything was quick and efficient, without whispering or asking questions. My mother – an emotional woman, used to closeness – felt even more distant.

The two women in my house, one was talented but cold, the other was conservative but emotional. The closer they were, the more suffocating they were. I was in the middle, listening to both sides complain every day.

My mother said:
“Anak, hiwalayan mo na. Wala siyang respeto sa pamilya natin.”

And my wife was straightforward:
“If Nanay doesn’t want to live here, rent her a house near home. Ako na ang magbabayad.”

Every time I heard the words “ako magbabayad,” my heart ached. I felt like I was just a parasite on my wife’s talent.

The definitive statement

Last week, in a moment of tension, I blurted out:

“Paano kung maghiwalay na lang tayo?”

Clarissa looked at me for a long time, then calmly said:

“If you think it will be more comfortable… then I agree.”

She did not cry, did not cling. And it was her indifference that hurt me more than any reproach.

Empty

Now, as I sit here writing these lines, Clarissa has taken her child back to her parents’ house in Quezon City. I thought I would feel relieved, but no. The house is now empty. There is no more sound of my wife tapping on her laptop, no more sound of my mother complaining in the kitchen. There is only me – alone, lonely.

Perhaps, I never really wanted a divorce. I just wanted to run away from my own inadequacy.

– REALITY AFTER DIVORCE

Since Clarissa moved back to her mother’s house in Quezon City, my life has been emptier than ever. At first, I thought I would feel relieved, no longer being compared or “suppressed” by my wife’s talents. But after only a week, I felt lost.

The house in Makati was now just me. Meals were cold, no one was waiting. The children’s voices calling “Papa” no longer rang out every night. I just realized that what I used to consider pressure was actually the warmth of family.

News about my ex-wife

One morning, I was scrolling through Facebook and was shocked: Clarissa’s picture appeared on a famous economic newspaper. The headline:

“Young female director Clarissa Santos: From employee to international branch leader in Manila.”

The picture of her in a navy blue suit, standing confidently in front of the company logo, made my heart ache. The comments below were filled with compliments:

“Idol ng mga kababaihan!”

“Sana all may ganitong asawa.”

“Clarissa proves women can do it all!”

I looked on, both proud and ashamed. The woman who once called me her husband, who once shared every salary, now stood radiantly alone.

My mother turned to blame me

I thought she would comfort me, but she hurt me more. One evening, my mother sighed:

“Anak… bakit mo siya pinalaya? Clarissa raised me, took care of me, took care of her grandchild. Even though you think she’s cold, I think she’s lucky. And you… what have you done besides being jealous?”

I was stunned:
“Mom, didn’t you say I should break up?”

Mom burst into tears:
“That day, I was angry, I didn’t understand everything. I just saw her as too busy, I thought she looked down on me. But now that we’re apart, I realize… no daughter-in-law has ever taken care of me as well as she has. Ang tanga mo, anak.”

That sentence was like a knife piercing my heart. I sat there silently, not knowing how to respond.

The next shock

One day, I went to the supermarket and saw Clarissa. She was holding our son’s hand, smiling brightly at a strange man – elegant and intellectual. My son shouted:
“Papa, this is Tito Adrian, Nanay’s friend!”

I was stunned. Clarissa just smiled, nodded, and continued walking with Adrian. In that moment, I realized: her world was still moving forward, while mine was stomping in regret.

Lonely Night

At night, I looked around the empty house. There was no longer the sound of Clarissa typing on her laptop, no longer the stern but warm gaze she gave her children when they were studying. I understood: I did not want a divorce because I had fallen out of love, but because I could no longer bear my own incompetence.

But now it was too late. That woman had moved on to another page of her life – a page where perhaps, I no longer had a place.

I put my head in my hands, whispering through my tears:
“Clarissa… kung pwede lang, babalikan kita. Pero alam ko, wala na akong karapatan.”