emotionally unavailable husband

It’s hard to explain to people without sounding dramatic. From the outside, everything probably looks fine. We’ve been married for eight years, we don’t fight often, we keep the house clean, pay our bills on time, and take care of the kids. But behind all that routine is this empty space between us that keeps getting wider. He’s here, but he’s not really here. My husband is emotionally unavailable, and it feels like I’m married to a shadow. When something upsets me, he doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t comfort. He just nods or says “Sorry you feel that way,” and moves on like I didn’t just open uup my chest and hand him my heart. I’ve learned to stop expecting warmth. I’ve learned to cry quietly in the bathroom so I don’t make him uncomfortable. And that’s the part that breaks me—how me feeling something seems to bother him more than it bothers me.

I didn’t always notice it this deeply. In the beginning, it was just little things—him brushing off serious conversations, or giving one-word answers when I tried to connect. But back then, I thought maybe he just needed time, that maybe it was hard for him to express himself. He had a rough childhood, he never really saw healthy communication growing up, and I gave him grace for that. Maybe too much grace. I thought love would soften him. I thought my patience would eventually make him feel safe enough to open up. But years passed, and I realized I was building a bridge alone, with no one walking toward me on the other side. Every time I tried to talk about our lack of emotional closeness, he’d say, “I don’t know what you want me to do.” As if connection was a task, and not a part of being in love. I’ve begged for something deeper, and all I get is distance in return.

Now I just feel tired. I feel lonely in a house with someone who promised to be my partner. I scroll through my phone, seeing couples who laugh together, cry together, talk—and I feel like I’m watching life happen from a glass window. I envy people who feel seen. I try to bring it up sometimes, gently, hoping something clicks, but it never does. He shuts down, gets quiet, or changes the subject. I’m not asking for grand romantic speeches or poetry—I just want him to notice me. To feel with me. But it’s like there’s a wall I can’t break, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep knocking. I still love him, but I don’t feel loved in return. And I wonder, often, if this is all marriage will ever be—doing life together, but never really together.

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