I don’t really tell people much about my relationship anymore.
I used to.
Whenever Hector and I had an argument or I was struggling with something, I’d call a friend. I’d vent. I’d ask for advice. I’d overanalyze every conversation. For a while, I even stopped sharing so openly on this blog because some of the people in my life had access to it. I don’t hide my blog posts from people, but I started realizing that not everyone reading them—or hearing my side of things—actually had mine or Hector’s best interests at heart.
So I stopped.
Today, there’s really only one friend I tell everything to. She knows both of us well and is honestly more like a sister to both of us than just a friend. She isn’t looking for someone to blame—she wants our relationship to succeed.
Looking back, Hector and I never had the kinds of issues people automatically assume. There was never cheating. There was never infidelity. There was never lying.
Our biggest struggle has always been communication.
Hector tends to shut down when he’s overwhelmed. He’s like a pressure cooker—everything builds up inside until eventually it has to come out. I’m the complete opposite. I grew up in a house where we talked through problems immediately. We didn’t go silent. So when he would withdraw, I’d push harder. I’d ask more questions. I’d keep trying to get a reaction because silence made me feel like nothing was getting resolved.
Neither of us was handling conflict in the healthiest way.
One of the biggest things I wanted was for Hector to go to therapy. For a long time, he wasn’t really open to the idea. I think some of that came from machismo and the idea that you should just deal with your problems yourself.
I also made it very clear that I wasn’t willing to have children until we saw some progress.
There were practical issues too.
Hector had lived with his parents until we moved in together. I had moved out at 21, so paying bills, grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning, and running a household were already things I had learned. They were newer to him, and that caused frustration for both of us. There were moments where I felt like too much of the mental load was falling on me.
But here’s the thing…
People don’t always get to hear the updates.
After living together for over a year, he’s grown so much. He pays attention to the household now. He’s become more intentional about our partnership and what we both need—not just emotionally, but practically too.
Another issue was money. I made more than he did for a while, and that affected his confidence. Again, that wasn’t really a relationship problem—it was something he needed to work through personally, and therapy has helped him start unpacking those feelings.
Those were our “big three.”
Communication.
Learning how to be partners in a household.
Working through personal insecurities.
None of them were dealbreakers.
But if you only tell people about the hard days, that’s all they’ll ever know.
I had people telling me to leave him.
Not just when we first started dating, either.
Even pretty recently—before we announced we were married—I still had people telling me I deserved better or that our relationship wasn’t going to work.
And eventually I realized something uncomfortable.
I wasn’t just carrying the weight of our relationship.
I was carrying everyone else’s opinions about it too.
Every disagreement suddenly felt bigger because I knew someone was waiting to say, “See? This is why you should leave.”
That pressure made me put even more pressure on Hector. His lack of communication made me feel like I wasn’t a priority, when in reality he simply didn’t know how to express what he was feeling.
I started listening to everyone else’s version of my relationship instead of trusting my own experience.
At one point I was so overwhelmed that I genuinely thought maybe I was done.
Then I stepped back.
And I realized… maybe the biggest problem wasn’t actually our relationship.
Maybe it was the constant outside commentary.
It started to feel like high school, where everyone has an opinion about your life based on one story they heard.
Now I’m almost seven months pregnant.
Soon, Hector and I will be living in different states for a couple of months while I stay with my parents before the baby arrives.
People immediately ask why he isn’t coming with me.
The answer is simple.
Life.
We still have bills to pay.
He’s keeping his job because someone has to.
We’re trying to buy a home, and it doesn’t make financial sense for both of us to completely uproot our lives when everything is still in California.
For a while, I let other people’s comments get to me.
“What if he misses so much?”
“He’s going to miss the beginning of your baby’s life.”
“Who’s going to help you?”
Yes, we’ll be apart for a little while.
But I won’t be alone.
I’ll be living with my parents.
My mom is absolutely thrilled. This is her first granddaughter and her first biological grandchild. She adores my nephews, but she’s also a total girly girl, and she’s been dreaming about bows, dresses, and all the pink things.
Now, our daughter may grow up and decide she hates pink, bows, glitter, and rainbows—and that’s completely okay.
But while she’s a baby?
Sorry, sweetheart.
Mom already has opinions.
And yes… I already know what I want her first birthday theme to be. She won’t get much say in that one.
I’ve also realized something else.
Therapy wasn’t just something Hector needed.
I need it too.
I have things I still need to work through—my relationship with my biological father, my fear of commitment, and this deep-rooted anxiety that no matter what I do, it will never be enough.
We both had work to do.
I’m incredibly proud that Hector took the first step because he knew his struggles weren’t just affecting our relationship—they were affecting every part of his life.
And I’m ready to take my own steps too.
I don’t think we’re perfect.
I don’t think every problem magically disappears once you go to therapy.
But I do think we’re choosing each other every day, and that’s worth something.
It’s strange writing all of this because it still makes me sad.
Some of the people whose opinions affected me the most were people I’d known for years. People I loved. It wasn’t everyone—just a handful of voices.
But sometimes it only takes a few.
Those few voices made me start questioning my own relationship instead of experiencing it for myself.
So now, I protect my peace a little more.
Not because I have something to hide.
But because I’ve learned that not everyone deserves a front-row seat to your life.
Sometimes the healthiest thing you can do for your relationship is let it belong to the two people who are actually in it.
