There is one chapter of my life I rarely speak about, and that's Chubby.

We met at the rugby. Mum introduced us, then spent the whole game sitting between us while we talked over the top of her. Looking back, I think I loved the attention more than I loved him. I probably should have realised that when I ditched him later that night at the club. I didn't even feel guilty.

Then life had other plans.

I was in Melbourne for work when he surprised me by flying over to see me. No one had ever done something like that for me before. I came home early, quit my job, and chose him. At the time, I genuinely believed he was the missing piece I'd been searching for.

We had so much in common. He worked hard, and his motto was always, "Happy wife, happy life." I wasn't a woman who wanted flashy things or expensive gifts. I never have been. I wanted time, laughter, affection, and to build a life together. His family never really liked me, but honestly, I didn't care. I wasn't marrying them.

Looking back at our photos, you'd think we were the happiest couple in the world. Maybe, for a while, we were.

Somewhere along the way, we stopped making each other a priority.

His work meant months away from home. When he did come home, instead of coming home to the three people who loved him most, he'd head to the workshop and drink with his mates. I tried to compete with it at first. Eventually I gave up. If I couldn't beat them, I'd join them. I'd say, "Bring the party home." I thought if I joined his world, maybe I'd get my husband back.

The first time he called me the c-word, something inside me snapped. I picked up a small hard plastic T-Rex and threw it. It caught him just under his left eye. He still carries the scar from that night.

The second time was on my thirtieth birthday.

It was around seven o'clock. He was drunk, and all I wanted was for him to eat his steak sandwich and drink some water. The year before, I'd organised his thirtieth birthday, making sure he and all his mates had an amazing night. I never asked for much in return. Not presents. Not expensive jewellery. Just appreciation.

That word changed something inside me.

It wasn't the word itself. It was what it represented. Respect had disappeared, and once respect leaves a relationship, it's incredibly difficult to bring it back.

By then, we had drifted so far from the couple who met at the rugby that I barely recognised us anymore.

Then I broke.

Postnatal depression stole parts of me I didn't know I could lose. In the moment I needed my husband the most, he turned his back on me. That was the straw that broke the camel's back. My heart, my world, my vows, and even his feelings no longer mattered. I simply couldn't survive by continuing to live that life.

Leaving cost me far more than my marriage.

I lost much of my family too. Some judged me without ever asking why. My uncle stopped speaking to me because I didn't stay "for the boys." People saw a woman who left, but very few cared to understand the woman who had already been left emotionally.

If staying was meant to save my sons, then I believe leaving did.

They grew into good men. Strong men. Like all of us, they have their struggles, but they have kind hearts, and I could not be prouder of them. They know I would do absolutely anything for them, and that has never changed.

When I compare what I felt with the Golden Boy and Blue, I realise something that took me nearly sixteen years to understand. I don't think I ever loved Chubby in the way I've loved them. I cared deeply. I was committed. I honoured my vows. I chose him, and I chose our family every single day. But I never truly let him into the deepest parts of me. I kept control of that relationship because somewhere inside, I never felt completely safe enough to surrender.

After I left Chubby, I lost my sense of worth. It took years to find it again. Nearly sixteen years later, I can honestly say I feel healed. Free. Liberated in a way I never thought possible.

Chubby will always be part of my greatest achievement because together we brought two incredible sons into this world. For that, I will always be grateful.

I forgive his ignorance. I forgive the mistakes we both made.

What I don't forgive so easily are the people who judged a marriage they never lived. Every relationship has two sides, yet so many chose theirs without ever hearing mine.

The irony is that three months before our divorce was finalised, after we had been separated since September 2010, he still wanted me back.

By then, I had already chosen myself.

And that is a decision I have never regretted.

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