How did a woman who once experienced such a full and colourful family life find herself in a second marriage where so much of what made life enjoyable had disappeared? A personal reflection on relationships, psychology, emotional vulnerability and the importance of recognising what love should feel like.

Sometimes, when I look back at my two marriages, I find the contrast almost unbelievable.

They were not simply two different men. They were two entirely different ways of living, loving, experiencing family and understanding what a marriage should be.

One relationship gave me children, a home, an extravagant lifestyle, family celebrations, holidays, laughter, music, dancing and a whole network of family connections.

The other brought financial preoccupation, anger, isolation, physical and psychological abuse, control and an extraordinary amount of loneliness.

How did I go from one to the other?

And perhaps the more interesting psychological question is: what was happening emotionally that allowed me to make such a different choice the second time around?

Marriage number one: A life filled with family, experiences and shared memories

I met my first husband when I was just 17 years old.

At that age, you are still discovering who you are, what you want from life and what a healthy relationship looks like. You have little experience of adult relationships and often approach love with enormous optimism.

We built a life together.

There was a beautiful wedding with approximately 200 guests, bringing together family and friends. We had two children, a home, an extravagant lifestyle and the opportunities to enjoy many experiences together.

There were family Christmases with both sets of parents, birthdays, family gatherings and holidays. Brothers, sisters, cousins, aunties and uncles were all part of the wider family picture.

There were children’s games, laughter, music, singing and dancing.

We shared hobbies and interests. There was generosity, entertainment, socialising and the pleasure of doing things together.

We had a life that, from the outside and in many respects from the inside, was full of experiences.

But it is important to distinguish between the wonderful parts of that marriage and the difficulties that eventually brought it to an end.

Behind the family life, there was also infidelity, jealousy and controlling behaviour.

Being so young when I met him, I did not recognise some of those behaviours for what they were. Perhaps I interpreted certain things as love, protectiveness or ordinary relationship disagreements.

As we grow older, we become better equipped to recognise the difference between affection and possessiveness, and between caring about someone and wanting to control them.

Eventually, the betrayal and the relationship difficulties became too much.

I made the decision to end the marriage.

That decision did not erase the good years, the children we had together or the memories of the life we had built.

It simply meant that I could no longer continue in the relationship as it had become.

Marriage number two: A completely different emotional environment

My second marriage was an extraordinary contrast.

I entered it at approximately 34, still grieving the breakdown of my first marriage and carrying emotional wounds that I had not properly allowed myself to heal.

I married on the rebound.

I now recognise that I needed time to recover, rediscover myself and understand what I wanted from the next chapter of my life.

Instead, I moved into another marriage.

The difference was striking.

There was no comparable family life, no real enthusiasm for shared occasions and very little of the warmth and social connection I had previously experienced.

Family visits were infrequent, perhaps two or three polite visits a year.

There were no shared family Christmases, no regular birthday celebrations, no big family gatherings bringing both sides together and none of the excitement that comes from having a wide family network around you.

There was no real fun, laughter or sense of togetherness.

There were no shared hobbies or interests that brought us closer.

Even though I was only 34, my second husband did not want more children.

I found myself in a relationship where the things that had previously made life enjoyable were largely absent.

Instead, there was constant talk about money, reluctance to share, anger, selfishness and controlling behaviour.

The financial dimension was particularly difficult. Money became an area of control rather than something to be discussed and managed as partners.

There was physical and psychological abuse.

There was loneliness, even though I was married and living with someone.

And that is perhaps one of the most difficult experiences to explain: being in a relationship but feeling completely alone within it.

The two marriages side by side

First marriage	Second marriage
Met when I was 17	Married at approximately 34
Two beautiful children	No children together
Large wedding, around 200 guests	A very different family experience
Shared home and lifestyle	Home life characterised by tension
Generosity and shared experiences	Financial control and preoccupation with money
Family Christmases with both sets of parents	No shared family Christmases
Birthdays and family celebrations	Very few family occasions
Brothers, sisters, cousins, aunties and uncles	Little family involvement
Family holidays and gatherings	Little shared social life
Music, singing and dancing	No shared hobbies or interests
Laughter, fun and companionship	Anger, misery and emotional loneliness
A shared family identity	Increasing isolation
Infidelity, jealousy and controlling behaviour	Physical abuse, psychological abuse and financial control
A marriage I eventually chose to end	A marriage I eventually had to leave for my safety

The differences are not just about lifestyle or personality.

They represent two very different emotional environments.

And there is a psychological explanation for why this contrast matters.

The psychology: How do we end up in relationships that do not meet our needs?

There are several psychological concepts that help us understand my experience. They are not diagnoses of either partner, but useful ways of examining the circumstances and emotional processes involved.

1. Attachment and early relationship experiences

When you meet someone at 17, that relationship can become deeply woven into your developing identity.

Your first serious love often coincides with discovering adulthood, independence, sexuality, marriage and eventually parenthood.

You grow up alongside that person.

You establish routines, traditions, friendships and family connections.

This can make it particularly difficult to recognise unhealthy behaviour when it develops gradually.

You may have so much invested in the relationship that certain behaviours become normalised.

Jealousy might be interpreted as caring. Possessiveness might be mistaken for commitment. Control might be dismissed as a personality trait.

This does not mean that everyone who marries young experiences these problems. It simply means that experience, maturity and perspective can influence what we recognise and accept.

2. The psychological vulnerability of a rebound relationship

One of the most important things I recognise now is that I entered my second marriage before I had properly recovered from my first.

Following a major relationship breakdown, people can experience grief, loss of identity, loneliness and a disruption to their sense of security.

Even when we know a relationship needed to end, we can still mourn what we have lost.

We may miss companionship, family life, familiarity and the feeling of belonging to someone.

A new relationship can appear to offer relief from that emotional discomfort.

Psychologically, this can sometimes mean that we are looking for reassurance, stability or a sense of being wanted before we have fully processed our previous experiences.

I was not necessarily looking at my second relationship with the emotional clarity I would have had if I had taken time to heal.

That is an important distinction.

My emotional vulnerability did not cause the subsequent abuse, and it did not make me responsible for another person’s behaviour. But it may have influenced my readiness to enter a relationship and my ability to recognise what was happening.

3. The gradual normalisation of controlling behaviour

One of the most important aspects of coercive control is that it does not always begin with obvious abuse.

Control can develop through seemingly small restrictions, repeated criticism, financial monitoring, intimidation, jealousy and the gradual erosion of independence.

Over time, behaviours that would once have seemed unacceptable can become part of everyday life.

This is sometimes described as the gradual erosion of boundaries.

You may find yourself adapting your behaviour to avoid arguments, changing plans to accommodate someone else’s moods or becoming increasingly careful about what you say and do.

Eventually, your world can become smaller.

The psychological impact can include hypervigilance, anxiety, loss of confidence and a growing preoccupation with managing the other person’s reactions.

You are no longer simply living your life.

You are managing someone else’s behaviour.

4. Financial control is about more than money

In my second marriage, money became a constant subject.

It is important to understand that financial abuse is not simply a disagreement about spending, saving or household budgets.

Healthy couples can have very different financial attitudes and still respect one another.

Financial abuse is different.

It can involve restricting access to money, monitoring spending, withholding resources, creating financial dependency or using money to limit another person’s choices.

The psychological consequences can be considerable.

Financial independence is closely connected to personal autonomy. When someone controls your access to money, they may also be restricting your ability to make decisions, maintain independence and leave an unhealthy situation.

This is why financial abuse should be recognised as a serious form of coercive control.

5. The loneliness of an emotionally isolated marriage

Perhaps one of the greatest contrasts between my two marriages was the presence or absence of family life.

In my first marriage, there were family gatherings, Christmas celebrations, holidays, shared interests and a sense of belonging.

In my second, there was very little of that.

Social connection is an important part of emotional wellbeing.

Family, friendships, shared activities and positive experiences provide opportunities for enjoyment, support and a sense of identity outside the relationship.

When these are absent, or when a partner discourages or restricts them, emotional isolation can develop.

You can be surrounded by people in one chapter of your life and feel profoundly alone in another.

And being married does not automatically protect you from loneliness.

Sometimes the loneliest place to be is inside a relationship where there is no emotional companionship.

Why did I stay, and why was it difficult to leave?

This is a question that people often ask about abusive relationships.

Why doesn’t someone simply walk away?

The reality is that leaving can be psychologically, practically and financially complicated.

There may be fear of the consequences, financial restrictions, emotional attachment, uncertainty, intimidation or the hope that things will change.

Repeated cycles of tension, cruelty, temporary calm and renewed conflict can also make it difficult to understand what is happening.

Some people experience what is commonly described as a trauma bond, although this term should not be applied automatically to every abusive relationship.

It can describe a powerful attachment that develops in certain relationships involving repeated harm and intermittent periods of affection, reassurance or relief.

The contrast between distress and temporary calm can make emotional separation particularly complicated.

But an important point needs to be made:

Leaving an abusive relationship is not simply a matter of deciding that you no longer love someone. It can involve recognising that remaining is damaging your safety, independence and wellbeing.

What I understand now that I didn’t understand then

Looking back, I can see that I made two very different sets of decisions at different stages of my life.

In my first marriage, I experienced a great deal of what I associated with family life: children, celebrations, shared experiences, generosity, laughter and companionship.

But there were also betrayals and controlling behaviours that eventually made the marriage unsustainable.

In my second marriage, I entered a relationship while still grieving the first. I had not given myself enough time to recover, rebuild my confidence and establish what I wanted and needed from a future partner.

I now understand that I should have spent more time getting to know myself again.

I should have rediscovered my independence, established stronger boundaries and learned to recognise the difference between someone wanting a relationship and someone being capable of sustaining a healthy one.

I have also learned that shared values, generosity, family connections, humour, interests and emotional availability are not superficial extras.

They are important parts of a fulfilling partnership.

A relationship does not have to be extravagant to be wonderful. But it does need mutual respect, kindness, companionship and a willingness to share life.

A final reflection: Two marriages, but one continuing capacity to love

The most interesting thing about comparing these two relationships is that neither changed my fundamental capacity to love.

I still value family, laughter, music, dancing, companionship, generosity and shared experiences.

I still believe that relationships should bring something positive into our lives.

I still believe that love should involve kindness, respect, affection and emotional security.

But I now understand something that I perhaps did not understand at 17 or even at 34.

Love alone is not enough.

You can love someone and still recognise that the relationship is unhealthy.

You can build a family with someone and eventually decide that the marriage cannot continue.

You can enter another relationship believing it will bring happiness and discover that it does not.

And you can spend years trying to make something work before finally recognising that your own wellbeing must come first.

I am grateful for my two children and the family memories from my first marriage. I do not need to rewrite that entire chapter as unhappy simply because it eventually ended.

Equally, I do not need to minimise the seriousness of what happened in my second marriage.

They were different experiences, with different consequences and different lessons.

If there is one message I would give to another woman who is leaving a marriage, it would be this:

Don’t rush to fill the space left by one relationship. Give yourself time to grieve, heal and rediscover who you are.

Learn to enjoy your own company. Reconnect with family and friends. Find the things that make you laugh. Revisit the interests you may have put aside. Rebuild your financial and emotional independence.

And when you eventually consider another relationship, look beyond attraction and promises.

Look at how someone behaves when they are frustrated, how they treat your independence, whether they welcome your family, whether they enjoy sharing experiences and whether you feel free to be yourself.

Because the right relationship should not make your world smaller.

It should give you the freedom and confidence to enjoy it.

I have learned that I would rather have a peaceful life on my own than share a life with someone who takes away my peace.

And perhaps that is the greatest difference between the woman I was when I first fell in love and the woman I have become.