There’s a difference between leaving a marriage because you don’t love someone and leaving because you don’t want to face your own demons. In Mark’s case, I now see that it wasn’t about me, or about our marriage failing in the way people typically think of a marriage failing. It was about avoidance—his refusal to engage in difficult conversations, his unwillingness to acknowledge the damage his porn use had done to our relationship, and his inability to sit with emotional discomfort long enough to work through it.  

When Mark told me he wanted a divorce, it wasn’t the firm, resolute decision of a man who had made peace with his choice. It wasn’t the decision of someone who had outgrown the relationship, fallen out of love, or realized we were fundamentally incompatible. Instead, it was a desperate escape hatch, the only way he knew how to relieve himself of the growing pressure to face himself.  

The day after he told me he wanted a divorce, he called at 6 PM and asked if I wanted him to pick up the boys from daycare. Just like that—like nothing had changed. Like he was coming home to the same life, the same routine, the same quiet coexistence. He even told me he wanted to stay in the house for another month to see if he would change his mind. But that wasn’t about reconciliation. That was Mark being Mark—stalling, avoiding, dragging things out so he wouldn’t have to make a real, final decision.  

Mark is a man who wants comfort, not growth. He wanted a life where he could do what he wanted, keep me at a safe emotional distance, and avoid the discomfort of deep emotional work. When that was no longer possible—when I expected real conversations, honesty, and vulnerability—he chose escape.  

He told me he loved me but wasn’t in love with me. I see now that this was just another excuse, another way to sidestep the real issue. Because love—real love—isn’t just about feelings. It’s about commitment, accountability, and the willingness to do hard things for the sake of the relationship. Mark didn’t want to do those things.  

It wasn’t that he wanted a divorce. He just wanted out of the conversation. He wanted his quiet, conflict-free, emotionally shallow life. And when I wouldn’t settle for that, he walked away—not because he didn’t care, but because he wasn’t capable of more.  

And that’s not love. That’s fear.  

Mark didn’t leave because he stopped caring—he left because he was afraid. Afraid of deep emotional intimacy, afraid of being vulnerable, afraid of having to confront his own flaws and do the hard work of growth.

His desire for a quiet, conflict-free, emotionally shallow life wasn’t about love—it was about avoiding discomfort. True love requires showing up, working through challenges, and being emotionally available. Mark wasn’t willing or able to do that. Instead of facing the depth of the relationship and meeting me at my level, he chose the easier path: detachment.  

That’s why it’s not love—it’s fear. Love is choosing connection even when it’s difficult. Fear is running away when things get too real.