My wife gets a couples’ counselor after getting diagnosed with severe depression, and I think it’s for our good—until she tries to convince me to allow her to see other people while I stay loyal, because she “deserves to explore both her married life and single life at the same time.” When I refuse, she insults me in front of the entire family for being conservative, insecure, and possessive. So I do this.

About five months ago, my wife, Sarah, was formally diagnosed with severe depression. It wasn’t shocking to me; I had suspected for a while that she wasn’t doing mentally well. This year she seemed to be deeply mourning the loss of both her ex‑boyfriend and her best friend. Both had once meant a lot to her; she had been incredibly close to them.

Before Sarah and I ever dated, she and her ex were in a serious relationship for a long time. Then, out of nowhere, he cheated on her with her best friend—someone she considered like a sister. The betrayal cut her deeply, ending two of her most important relationships at once. After that, Sarah stayed single for a long time, afraid to trust anyone else. She needed time to deal with the pain and sort through her emotions. By the time I met her, she seemed to have made peace with it and was trying to move on. Still, the hurt from being betrayed lingered, making her cautious.

We dated for four wonderful years—ups and downs—before deciding to get married. We had a beautiful wedding, surrounded by friends, family, and the people who mattered most. The day was filled with joy and love. Initially, Sarah was an incredible partner: supportive, kind, understanding, deeply caring. Marriage brought us even closer, and for years we built a life together that felt strong and promising.

Then, earlier this year, tragedy struck. Sarah’s ex‑boyfriend and her former best friend died together in a car accident. The news hit her hard. For years she had held onto resentment, but faced with their deaths, she was overwhelmed by grief she hadn’t expected. Something inside her seemed to shatter. She shared that she wished she’d resolved things with them. She expressed remorse for not reconciling, not forgiving them, not speaking her piece. Knowing they were gone forever without a chance for closure weighed heavily on her heart.

I reassured her that it was okay to feel this way. They had been part of her life. But she started to blame herself for not mending things. Her best friend had reached out multiple times over the years, apologizing and trying to make amends, yet Sarah couldn’t bring herself to forgive—which I don’t blame her for. It’s not every day your best friend sleeps with your partner. Even with the apology, the pain wasn’t something she could just set aside. I reminded her that what happened wasn’t her fault and that she had every right to protect herself from further hurt. No amount of reassurance helped. The grief grew, spiraling into something darker.

She spent hours in bed, losing entire days—TV on, or just staring at a wall, a beer in hand. She began skipping work, calling in sick, or staying home without explanation. She sank deeper into despair, and I tried to get her out of the house—to do anything that might help, even a little. My words fell on deaf ears. With her lack of motivation, she lost her job. I became the primary breadwinner.

Slowly, her behavior changed in other unsettling ways. Her mood was unpredictable—irritated one moment, shut down the next. She grew distant and defensive, snapping at me over small things. On top of not working, she stopped helping around the house. Responsibilities piled up; I carried the weight of daily life while watching her drift further away. I still loved her, so I thought we could make it through.

Then it got worse. Sarah began picking fights if I stayed out “too late,” whether for work or to unwind with friends on a Friday. I’d come home to find her waiting on the couch, demanding answers about where I’d been and who I was with. Even when I answered honestly, she hinted she didn’t believe me and accused me of sleeping with coworkers or friends—“that’s why you’re never home.” Hearing baseless accusations hurt. No matter what I said, she wouldn’t listen. We had intense, exhausting arguments. She demanded I come straight home after work, stay home on weekends—as if my time belonged to her alone. I felt suffocated.

Her frustration began to spill over physically. Twice, she crossed lines I never thought she would. In one argument, she punched the sofa just above my head. The real breaking point came when, during another heated moment, she slapped me. That moment told me her grief and depression had morphed into something darker and dangerous. I realized I couldn’t stay where my safety and well‑being were at risk. I packed my bags to leave.

Seeing me ready to walk out brought her to desperation. She pleaded with me to stay, promising she’d change. I stood firm and told her that if I were to consider staying, she needed real help. She agreed to see a doctor if it meant saving our marriage. Reluctantly, I decided to give us one last try.

Sarah was diagnosed with severe depression. She started medication and weekly appointments, and began meditating to manage anger. Slowly, I saw positive changes. Her mood stabilized; she made efforts to be present and helpful around the house. Little by little, I saw glimpses of the woman I fell in love with, and it gave me hope. She seemed more willing to reconnect, and I felt relief that, with time, things might improve.

But one issue remained: her reluctance to return to work. She hasn’t held a job since the diagnosis, which has been a source of tension. I don’t mind being the only one earning, but I wanted her to try. Anytime I brought it up—part‑time work, remote roles—she pushed back, saying she felt too low to commit. The disagreement escalated into yelling. I knew she was struggling, but the financial strain and refusal to explore options left me frustrated and alone.

Last month, Sarah suggested couples counseling. With our ongoing issues, she felt we should see someone to help us communicate and work through things. She had already reached out and made an appointment; all I had to do was show up. I agreed, thinking it could strengthen us—and maybe encourage her to take first steps toward rebuilding.

Counseling made things worse. In sessions, Sarah admitted that a big part of her depression came from “the life we’ve built together.” She felt she hadn’t lived the way she wanted since marriage brought responsibility. She said she still missed her ex sometimes and wished her best friend hadn’t “taken him” with her. After that betrayal, she “never really healed,” and now she felt she’d missed out on life. The more she shared, the more I felt like a bystander in my own marriage.

She said she rushed into marriage with me without enjoying being single or exploring what she wanted for herself after that heartbreak. I reminded her that she proposed to me, and we dated for a long time before marrying. How was it rushed? The counselor interrupted and encouraged Sarah to “speak her truth,” even if it hurt my feelings.

Over the next sessions, Sarah confessed—right there in front of the counselor—that she wanted a redo of her single life. Since we were already married, she asked if I’d consider allowing her to see other people while I stayed committed.

I scoffed, hoping it was a joke.

She argued she “deserved” to experience both single life and married life at the same time, and that it was only fair she have the opportunity to “find herself” before it was too late.

I told her her demand was outrageous and unacceptable.

“If you want to live like a single woman and explore,” I said, “I can make that happen by leaving. I’m not staying loyal while you do whatever you please.”

My words struck a nerve. She fired back that I could “never understand” her feelings because, unlike her, I’d been with multiple people before we got together. I reminded her I’d had only two previous relationships, both serious. Using my past against me didn’t make me less entitled to expect commitment in our marriage.

“If you feel so strongly about living single,” I said, “you should have thought about that before we walked down the aisle.”

I reminded her of my sacrifices: holding down our home, supporting her financially and emotionally through depression—because I believed in our marriage and in her. Now she wanted the security I provided without the commitment that came with it. I told her she couldn’t have it both ways. It was either a committed life with me or a single life without me—but not both. She couldn’t keep me in limbo.

Since that confrontation, Sarah has sulked around the house, acting like I’m unreasonable. She keeps trying to convince me I’m “too harsh” and “selfish” for refusing to let her “have some fun.” She insists if I truly loved her, I’d be “open‑minded” and supportive of her desire to explore. The guilt trips made it clear she didn’t understand—or refused to understand—how disrespectful and unfair her request was. I stood firm. I can be compassionate and supportive, but there are boundaries I won’t compromise. Open‑minded doesn’t mean sacrificing my self‑respect and the integrity of our marriage.

So: AITA for refusing to let my wife see other people while we’re married?

UPDATE ONE

For everyone wondering if Sarah might already be cheating and using this to justify her behavior: I honestly don’t think so. She barely leaves the house—TV all day or lost in her thoughts. Ironically, if she were having an affair, at least I’d have clarity and a straightforward reason to walk away. Yes, it would hurt, but I’d know she could move on without me. Instead I’m stuck in this painful, confusing situation.

As for why her ex and best friend’s deaths hit her so hard all of a sudden, I’m not sure. Maybe it gave her a reality check—people she knew well gone unexpectedly. I don’t fully understand why it made her spiral like this or why she thinks destroying our marriage and sleeping around will fix depression. One commenter suggested maybe Sarah never truly loved me—maybe I was a safety net after her ex, a reliable and loyal option she liked. Maybe she has unresolved feelings and now regrets not giving things another chance with him. Whatever the case, her wanting an open relationship is ridiculous. I’m committed to monogamy. If she had ever hinted at wanting this, I would never have married her. The sudden shift feels like a betrayal of the life and values we built.

Why haven’t I already left? I worry about her mental health. For years it felt like it was her and me against the world. She was never this mean or selfish. She never raised a hand or yelled like this. When she changed so drastically after the accident, I told myself it was a phase. I wanted to believe the woman I loved was still there, just buried under grief and pain. Now, after everything, I’ve accepted it’s time to choose myself. This marriage is at an end.

UPDATE TWO

It’s been two weeks since my last update. I reached out privately to a lawyer to start the divorce process. Sarah and I own our house together and have a joint account. Given she’s still unemployed and our finances are strained, I needed to secure my assets first. Once my lawyer told me the preliminaries were in place, I prepared to break the news.

Yesterday, Sarah crossed a line I couldn’t ignore, and I realized I couldn’t keep quiet.

We were at her sister’s house for a family lunch. Her family is incredibly kind to me, and we’ve always had a good relationship. For context, they know we’ve been having issues, but not the whole story. During lunch, I noticed Sarah was continuously drinking. She’s been strongly discouraged from alcohol because of her medication, so seeing a glass of whiskey raised red flags. When I gently brought it up, she scoffed, ignored me, and kept drinking. I felt disrespected and let it go.

Later, as everyone chatted, Sarah’s mother asked how things were between us and how my work was going. I mentioned we’d been doing couples counseling and that Sarah still needed to work through her issues. I continued talking about work when Sarah interrupted me with a comment that caught me off guard. She said her depression could be cured faster “if my husband understood what I really want in life.” Her mother asked what she meant.

Sarah declared—right there—that I was the reason her life was miserable. The table went silent. We could all see she was drunk. She said I refused to give her what she wanted and that I’m a “conservative, insecure, possessive” husband who makes her feel suffocated.

Her sister asked why she was talking about me that way. The rest of her family stared in shock. I felt humiliated and betrayed. Sarah kept going, explaining that she “only wanted a small thing” from me and I refused “out of stubbornness.”

I snapped.

“Why aren’t you being honest?” I said. “Tell them what you really asked me for.”

I turned to her family and laid it out: how Sarah wanted to explore other relationships—basically sleep with strangers—while I stayed loyal and supportive. I told them she expected me to continue being a husband while she “enjoyed her life unburdened.” I revealed the truth.

Her family was stunned. Her mother asked if that was really what she wanted. Her father, who’s always been kind to me, scolded her for being ridiculous and asked if she’d lost her mind.

Sarah tried to justify it. She insisted every marriage “goes through a stalemate” and that her solution would help. She said it was only temporary and that I should feel “lucky” she was asking for permission when “so many women simply cheat without anyone finding out.”

I yelled that I was sick of her excuses and selfishness. I told her I was done.

“Our marriage is over,” I said. “You’ll be getting divorce papers.”

She looked dumbfounded, blinking, staring at me. I handed her my lawyer’s card and told her I’d be moving out that day. If she wanted to talk divorce, she could contact my attorney.

Her parents tried to console me. They said Sarah was probably acting this way because of medication—that she didn’t really know what she was saying. They wanted an excuse, something temporary to blame. I told them their daughter had been dragging me down for months with talk of depression and grief while disrespecting me again and again. There would be no more waiting. I’d given everything; she gave only demands.

Sarah protested that I couldn’t walk out “over something as silly as this,” and that we needed to go back to counseling. I laughed bitterly.

“You absolutely need a counselor,” I said, “but that doesn’t mean I do. I’m not the one making reckless demands or blaming my partner for my choices. I’m not wasting any more time trying to fix a marriage I no longer want to fix.”

I walked out of her sister’s house, went home, and began packing. By the time Sarah got home in an Uber, calling my name, I was ready to leave. She begged, said we could work through this, even tried holding my luggage to stop me. I told her if she prevented me from leaving, I’d call 911 and make the process harder for her. I asked her not to stop me. Begrudgingly, she let go. I left for a motel.

UPDATE THREE

Thank you for your comments. I feel better after reading them. Since that day, I’ve been living out of a motel. Sarah has sent multiple voicemails—one moment accusing me of being heartless, the next apologizing. It’s a roller coaster, obvious manipulation to get me to reconsider. I’m not giving in. Her words don’t change who she’s become. I’m not going back. I’ve heard enough excuses and false promises. I need to move forward and heal.

To be clear: I’m not leaving my ex because of her depression. I respect anyone dealing with mental health conditions. Depression is serious, and I won’t minimize it. But in our relationship, I’m exhausted by her lack of accountability. She’s used depression as an excuse to demand whatever she wants. That’s not fair. I’ve given more than enough to help her, but one person can’t carry it all. Since leaving, I’ve felt better—more focused, less anxious. It’s heartbreaking to end a marriage, but I have to walk away for my mental and emotional health.

UPDATE FOUR

It’s been five months since my last update. Nothing was finalized until this month. Sarah and I are officially divorced. I’m a free man. We split the proceeds from the sale of our house equally. Thankfully, no major liabilities or children, so no alimony.

This day didn’t come easily. There were countless moments when Sarah and her family tried everything to change my mind, to convince me to stay, to believe things could go back to normal. Her mother visited several times after I moved out, firmly on her daughter’s side, trying to guilt me into staying because of “marriage vows.” At first, I tried to be polite. As she kept coming back, I got more direct. I told her Sarah once slapped me in anger and that I should’ve left long before. I asked if her own husband did that, would she stay? I told her I stayed despite everything. She was shocked, and she never came again.

During proceedings, Sarah sank even deeper into depression. She looks worse than before. I hope her family gets her the right help. Her sister is the only one who believes I did the right thing. She and I have remained friends.

I’ve moved into a place of my own. As a newly divorced man, it’s liberating to be free of my ex. I’m proud I trusted my instincts and left a toxic relationship before it spiraled further. Now I wake up when I want, answer to no one. I focus on my career without distractions. I spend time with coworkers and friends, guilt‑free. I come and go as I please. For the first time in a long time, I’m living for myself again—without the weight of someone else’s sadness and demands dragging me down. And that, for me, is worth everything.