‘I don’t feel overjoyed when her boyfriend visits’: the exes who still live together | Relationships

‘I don’t think I will ever feel romantic love for Yanna again, but I want to get back together’ – Michael

Michael, 55, and Yanna, 50, met in 1995, married in 2001 and broke up six years ago. They live together in Athens with their daughter, Roza, 19

My relationship with Yanna was rocky before we found out she was pregnant. We decided to stay together for the sake of our daughter, Roza. In my head, I imagined Yanna and I separating by the time Roza turned 18, but she’s 19 now and I’m still here. I haven’t had sex with Yanna in six years, and we argue almost every day – but I can’t imagine life without her. Apart from anything else, we can’t afford to live separately. When Roza turned three, the financial crisis hit Greece and our mortgage payments doubled. Sixteen years later, we’re still paying that same mortgage. Roza will actually leave us before Yanna and I leave one another. She goes to university next year, and I think she is glad to see the back of us.

When I met Yanna 30 years ago, she was this scrappy, curly haired girl in outsize clothing. I felt immediately enchanted – and I still love her, in a way. She is the only person who makes me feel totally known. But our romantic relationship disintegrated about four years after we first met, because I lost my libido. I have never been unfaithful to Yanna. It’s not as if I desire other women; but I don’t feel desire for Yanna, either. Yanna has been patient, but my problem has caused her a lot of pain. For about 20 years, sex was a continual point of conflict between us. We divorced in 2018, and, after that, Yanna gave up on initiating sex with me – which helped take some of the dysfunction out of our dynamic. But we still argue about the mortgage payments and the chore rota, like a husband and wife.

Recently, Yanna and I have become a little gentler with one another. We are about to become empty-nesters, and perhaps that has woken me up to the reality of how it might feel to live alone. Yanna has a boyfriend whom she has been seeing for two years, and, while I’m not exactly jealous, I don’t feel overjoyed when he visits. He cares for his elderly mum, so there’s no chance of him being able to live with Yanna any time soon – and I’m grateful for that. We still can’t afford to live separately, and I’m grateful for that, too. I love the familiarity of Yanna’s presence. Making breakfast alongside one another, and listening to music in the kitchen gives me a feeling of comfort. I’m happier when she’s in the flat. I would miss her desperately if she ever left for good.

My parents had a very difficult relationship. They argued through my childhood, but in their 60s they moved to a village by the sea and developed this late-life, very tender bond. Part of me hopes Yanna and I will end up like that. I don’t think I will ever feel romantic love for her again, but I want to get back together. I know how ­selfish that sounds, after what I’ve put Yanna through, and when I can’t offer her passion. But that’s the future I want.

‘The conflicting emotions I feel for Michael probably makes our situation more draining’ – Yanna

I still think Michael is the most beautiful man I have ever met, which makes living together more complicated. I don’t think the chemistry between us will ever come back. I’ve been hurt so many times that I’m almost not capable of feeling romantic attraction to him any more. Where desire used to be, I just feel pain. But sometimes I look at him when he’s absorbed in a book, or playing the piano, and I can see the kindness in his face, and I remember how much I love him. I’m glad I don’t feel pure rage or hatred for him – because I certainly have at some points. But the conflicting emotions I feel for Michael probably makes our situation more draining, day-to-day.

In many of my friend’s marriages, the woman stopped wanting sex after she had children. Michael’s lack of interest in me was difficult to accept, because I’d never heard of a man going off sex, and it made me feel there was something wrong with me. Maybe women just don’t talk about this situation because of the shame. Michael and I were determined to make it work for Roza’s sake, but in the last 19 years I have broken down many times about our lack of intimacy, and asked him to leave. The problem is that since the financial crisis, separating has become financially impossible. Michael and I are still paying off our mortgage, and can only just afford those monthly payments with our two salaries, combined.

I feel a lot happier since Michael and I officially divorced in 2018. I’ve met someone new, and once a fortnight he spends the weekend with me in our house. Michael has been sleeping on the sofa for seven years, but it’s still awkward when my boyfriend comes to visit. Usually, Michael sleeps in his carpentry workshop for a couple of nights, so we can have privacy. Michael will greet my boyfriend at the door before he heads off, and, while he is perfectly polite, there is discomfort in the air. If my boyfriend and I were able to move in together, it would solve a lot of problems. With his financial support, I could afford the rent for another flat and continue to pay the mortgage on the family home. But my boyfriend cares for his mother, so that’s not an option. It’s a very Greek dilemma: three people in their 50s who simply can’t afford to live alone.

I often worry about the effect Michael and I have had on Roza, because she has witnessed so many fights between us. Since the pandemic, we have been living together more peacefully – because, after decades of resenting Michael, I started to imagine what it would feel like if he were to get sick, or die. Stranded together with Roza in our house, we began to watch movies together, and appreciate one another, like a proper family. But I would still like to separate, ultimately. We have four years left of mortgage payments before we could technically do that, so there is an end in sight. Michael has this dream of us staying together for ever, as platonic life partners – but, even though that idea is strangely comforting, I think it would be wrong. If we continue to live in this way, we will both remain trapped. Roza is moving on, but our lives are on hold.

‘I would think long and hard before even moving in with a partner, because I’ve seen how badly it can go’ – Roza

There were some sweet family moments when I was growing up, but they were usually undercut by a feeling of tension between my parents. I still like being on the sofa, all three of us. I’ll listen to my parents bickering about the characters on TV, or the plot, and there’s a warmth to that bickering. It’s domestic, and it feels familiar. But there is always a potential for things to turn nasty. Family car journeys are probably the worst triggers. Neither of my parents have a sense of direction, and they’re always late, so within five minutes of getting on the road, they will both be screaming.

Sometimes I wonder whether I would have preferred for my parents to live separately, like other divorced parents. It’s a lose-lose situation, I suppose – but at least distance affords some form of peace. Close proximity can create problems between people who genuinely get along, and I’m not certain my parents ever really did get along. My father always says to me, “We loved each other”, but if this is love, it hasn’t turned out very well. Perhaps they didn’t know each other very well when they got married. Add a child to the mix, and money troubles – and it’s a nuclear bomb waiting to go off.

Since their divorce, the arguments are less frequent, but then when they do happen, they’re almost more intense. My mum will come home after being out with friends, or her boyfriend, and I can see that when she gets through the door she starts to feel trapped, and then she will snap. My dad is much less outgoing than my mum, so he fears losing her. He won’t have a social circle to fall back on. I think if she ever does force him to leave, he’ll try to sneak his way back in. I worry about them both being alone, but I think they would be happier that way.

I’m not certain I will ever get married. I would think long and hard before even moving in with a partner, because I’ve seen how badly it can go. I’m definitely going to have a serious talk with any future partner about money, and scheduling, to make sure we are compatible. My ideal scenario, if I can ever afford it, is to live alone.

‘He is a better partner to me as an ex than he ever was as my husband’ – Clair

Clair, 49, and Lee, 50, married in 2005, broke up four years ago and live together with their two children in Potsdam, Germany

When colleagues and acquaintances ask after my “husband”, I still feel a strange sort of pang. It seems dishonest to say, “Lee and I aren’t together any more”, because in many ways, we are. I haven’t felt romantically attracted to Lee for a long time, and we officially broke up four years ago – but we still share a home. I sleep in the master bedroom and Lee has a single bed in our youngest son’s room. I can’t imagine waking up on Christmas morning without Lee here. The four of us still go on family holidays together.

A few nights a week, Lee sleeps in a small apartment he rents nearby, so we do spend time apart. He will often let himself into the family apartment at 5.30am, so I can have a lie-in. He’ll get the boys up, and make the school lunches, and clean out the filthy football bag – I can wake up to a sparkling, child-free flat. Lee is actually a better partner to me as an ex than he ever was as my husband. He experienced serious depression after our first child was born. For years, I was the sole earner and caregiver. That’s the main reason we broke up. I’m not trying to paint myself as a martyr; in many ways, I emotionally abandoned Lee, because I was so angry with him for not helping. I focused entirely on our children, and left no space for him to contribute – and then I resented him for leaving me alone.

When we separated, I was almost egotistical about how well I was going to handle the split. It became a point of pride for me that Lee and I would become this cool, unconventional “separated couple”. Things got complicated when he had a fling with our neighbour. I had to explain to everybody in the street that we were breaking up but staying under the same roof – and I definitely tried to make myself sound more blase about the situation than I was. I may not have felt romantically interested in Lee any more, but I didn’t want to see him holding hands with a young, skinny neighbour, yards from our front door.

At that point, we couldn’t afford to rent a second apartment, so we were trapped together 24/7 in the flat. Sometimes I felt so claustrophobic I would take a sleeping bag and spend the night in a shed on my allotment, just to get some breathing space. It was April, which is cold in Germany. I was still paying for the entirety of the rent for our apartment, and it enraged me that Lee was spending any money he did earn on our neighbour, while I was freezing in a shed. I confronted him, which was a turning point – I let go of this idea that we had to have the perfect breakup, and started being honest with myself about what I could take.

Economically, our dynamic now feels more fair. The cost of running the family apartment is €3,000 a month, and we spend €2,000 a month on the children. Lee now contributes to those costs, and he pays for the apartment he rents alone. He has also broken up with our neighbour, and is now seeing someone I really like, who has a great relationship with our children. I don’t feel jealous. The most I feel when I see them together is a hopefulness that I will meet someone myself.

I remember a family friend calling me a couple of years ago, saying: “Change the locks; don’t let Lee into your house. Just pretend he’s dead.” The way that most breakups work is to do exactly that: behave as though this person you loved, and shared so much with, has died. The path Lee and I are trying to tread is more complicated, but it feels more honest. I don’t want to pretend Lee is dead. I want him in the boys’ lives, but I want him in my life, too. Many of the things that made me fall in love with Lee – like his intellect and creativity – I still love. In fact, now I’m not officially married to him, I love him more.

‘Things turned sour when we agreed to start seeing other people’ – Lee

Four years ago, on our wedding anniversary, Clair and I did a little ceremony in our kitchen. We lit a candle and made vows to one another. We promised that we would continue to love one another not as husband and wife, but as co-parents who live together. Clair even mixed a special incense, to mark the occasion. The ceremony was Clair’s idea. She’s so creative and off the wall in the way she thinks. Her ability to dream up a breakup ceremony is, ironically, exactly why I fell in love with her. That moment in our kitchen felt sad, but also hopeful. Of course, the reality of living together has not always been so harmonious.

Things turned sour when we agreed to start seeing other people. The only rule was that we had to be open about it. I told Clair I was attracted to our neighbour, which didn’t go down very well. But we live in a small community, and I felt it was unreasonable for Clair to expect me to travel to a different town to date a woman neither of us had ever met. Looking back, I see why my behaviour was hurtful – but, at the time, I felt tired of trying to accommodate Clair. I had struggled professionally for years, and Clair had become the main breadwinner, which meant I constantly felt guilty, and never felt able to insist on any rights or space for myself. Clair said that if I continued to date the neighbour I would have to leave the apartment for part of the week. So I started sleeping a couple of nights a week in my office, where there is no running water, and when I came back to our flat, Clair would sleep in her allotment. That was a low point.

I experienced terrible depression after our first child was born, and that’s what broke our marriage. In my parents’ relationship, my father went to work and my mother stayed at home and looked after us, so that was my model – and I felt desperately ashamed and frustrated that I wasn’t bringing in any money. I wanted to be an academic, but I couldn’t find a position – so I ended up doing freelance work that didn’t fulfil me. Clair had a permanent position, so she made all the financial decisions. Sometimes she would go on holiday without me, because I couldn’t pay my way. Clair did her best with me, but it was hard for her. She didn’t know who she was going to wake up with: the driven, positive man she had married or this person who couldn’t get out of bed.

Our flatshare works much better now, because I have found meaningful work I enjoy, and can contribute financially. It’s still not entirely equal: the split is more like 60/40. I rent a small apartment nearby, but sleep two nights a week at the family apartment. Sometimes when I arrive, I see all three of them on the sofa watching a movie, surrounded by all these crazy art projects – and I feel so grateful that I get to sit down with them, and be close to Clair. But, honestly, I also feel comforted by the knowledge that I have my own space, down the road.

‘I built this home with Mark, and I simply don’t accept that I should be the one to uproot my life’ – Sabrina

Sabrina, 49, and Mark, 59, married in 2008, broke up 10 years ago and live together in Boston with Mark’s girlfriend, Shannon, 52

Mark and I divorced 10 years ago, but we still live together in his Boston house. We share two French bulldogs called Carmine and Cricket, and they are like our children. I can’t bear the idea of separating our dogs, which is the main reason I’ve never moved out. What makes our situation even more complicated is that for the last two years Mark’s new girlfriend, Shannon, has been living with us – and she is the woman he cheated on me with. Shannon and I haven’t always been the best of friends, but she has a French bulldog, too, so at least our dogs get along.

I can only tolerate living in this way because I don’t blame Mark for cheating on me. For the entirety of our marriage, I deliberately held a part of myself back from him. He loved me with an open heart, but I was too frightened to truly make myself vulnerable. I had been in a difficult relationship before I met Mark, and I was wary of being hurt again. We only stayed together because we were both devoted to the first French bulldog Mark bought me, Marshall. But by the time Mark started seeing Shannon, we were more like dog parents than husband and wife. Mark slept in our bedroom alone and I slept on the sofa, with Marshall.

Marshall died in 2015, a few months after I found out about Mark’s affair. Perhaps this sounds strange, but it was the experience of grieving with Mark that allowed me to forgive him. He was the only person who understood what I felt for Marshall, and didn’t think I was crazy for not being able to get out of bed. Mark bought us both two new French bulldog puppies, and once Carmine and Cricket came into our lives we were bound together, as dog parents, all over again.

For years, I never mentioned Shannon’s name to Mark. I dealt with our situation by channelling all my energy into our dogs, and didn’t even really speak to Mark about anything non-dog-related. But then Shannon moved into the house during lockdown. At first, Shannon and I were at one another’s throats – but I built this home with Mark, and I simply don’t accept that I should be the one to uproot my life and leave. A one-bedroom apartment in Boston is $2,000 a month, and if I had to pay that I would barely be able to afford anything else.

The bizarre thing is that as the years have gone by, I have actually grown to appreciate Shannon’s presence in the house. The ice thawed between us because we started petting one another’s dogs. Shannon’s dog, Boston, is so affectionate, it’s become impossible for me to hate Shannon. In many ways, I get on with Shannon better than I do with Mark. We have a good gossip in the evenings – mostly about him. Carmine would be distraught if Boston ever moved out.

‘My ex-wife and my girlfriend like each other more than they like me, which is a plot twist’ – Mark

Sharing a house with my ex-wife and my new girlfriend, I often feel pulled in different directions. On a typical day, I will probably have an argument with both Sabrina and Shannon. It’s got to the point where Shannon and Sabrina seem to like each other more than they like me, which is a plot twist. They behave as though every domestic problem or disagreement is my fault – and, to be honest, they’re right. I’m the one who got us into this mess, and I’m the one who keeps buying the French bulldogs. I’ve bought Sabrina two Frenchies so far, and Shannon one – and once you buy a woman a French bulldog, you are wedded to her for that dog’s entire life.

Marshall was the first bulldog I bought for Sabrina, and he formed an unbreakable bond between us. Sabrina never really let her guard down with me, which is part of what drove us apart, but she poured out affection on Marshall. Over three years, Sabrina became gradually colder with me, and it got to the point where I only felt close to her when we were both petting Marshall. We had stopped having sex, and Sabrina had started sleeping on the sofa, but some mornings, Marshall and Sabrina would join me in our California king bed and we’d have coffee together, and talk about him.

I started seeing Shannon about five years into my relationship with Sabrina, and, in my defence, Sabrina never seemed that bothered about losing me. Her main concern was Marshall. Neither of us wanted to take him away from his home or be apart from him, even for a few nights a week, so split custody wasn’t an option. When he died, the grief brought us closer together. And then I bought two new bulldogs for us to try to get over the pain. I wonder whether I bought Cricket and Carmine because I didn’t want Sabrina to leave.

What I definitely shouldn’t have done was buy Shannon a French bulldog, too. That really complicated things. Shannon moved in during lockdown, and I still can’t get over the fact that Sabrina allowed her through the door. In a strange way, it hurts my feelings that she didn’t put up more of a fight. I suppose Sabrina must see me as a kind of brother now, rather than an ex-husband. Shannon’s dog, Boston, immediately liked Sabrina, and vice versa, so that helped their relationship. But it’s dangerous – because we all now love each other’s dogs so much that no matter how badly we get along none of us can ever leave.

Sometimes I think that if anyone is going to leave this house, it’s going to have to be me. They’re both so settled, and they don’t bicker – the only person who gets it in the neck is me. It sucks, because the house is in my name and I pay all the bills. Sabrina and Shannon have only recently started paying for their own dog food. In the last eight years I’ve probably spent $100,000 on vet bills, alone. I have this vision of striking out alone, but the reality is I would never be able to bring myself to say goodbye to the dogs. I could only conceivably leave after our Frenchies had died, and then the only way to get over the death of a dog is to buy another dog. So the cycle will begin all over again.

‘Mark thinks we gang up on him, but he’s no angel’ – Shannon

Mark and Sabrina would fight a lot more if I didn’t live with them. They don’t appreciate it, but I am the glue that holds this household together. They argue daily about money and our dog-schedule – and I am the middleman and voice of reason. We went on vacation last summer together to Cape Cod, all three of us, so the dogs could play in the sand and swim in the sea. There is no way they would have been able to get through that together if I hadn’t been there. They wouldn’t have lasted even one day.

Mark and I were together before he met Sabrina, and that’s how I justify the infidelity to myself, in my head. I’ve known him for 20 years and see him as the love of my life. By the time I moved into Mark’s house, in 2019, Sabrina knew all about me, and our affair was an open secret. Mark suggested I stay for a few weeks with Boston, so we could quarantine together – and I’ve never left. The situation hasn’t always been easy. Mark and I don’t even have sex in the house, because it’s just not possible. We get creative, and occasionally book hotels. Mark and I sleep in the basement and Sabrina is on the floor above, but even when our bedroom door is closed, I can feel Sabrina’s presence.

For the last year or so Sabrina and I have been getting along really well, which Mark hates. At first we had to force ourselves to get on, because if there’s tension or pain in the air, the dogs suck it all in. But I also think Sabrina and I have grown close because we have Mark in common. Neither of us pay rent, and Sabrina is kind to me because she understands how it feels to be financially and emotionally dependent on Mark. She has my back. Mark thinks we gang up on him, but he’s no angel. Sabrina and I need each other.

Some people think I’m crazy for living in this way, but there are special moments. The other night, the three of us made a pork roast together, and watched a movie afterwards. Mark tends to take charge of the meat, I cook the vegetables, and Sabrina washes up. The bulldogs are the centre of our world, and the six of us are a weird little family.

‘Getting married without at least considering divorce is a bit like trying crack without considering that you might become a crack addict’ – Helena

Helena and Jun married in 2010, broke up two years ago and live together with their three children in Los Angeles

I always suspected that Jun would make a lovely ex-husband. That’s a big part of why I married him. I’m not saying I was planning to divorce Jun, because for the first few years of our relationship I was obsessed with him. But my parents had a messy divorce, so I was hyper-aware of the risks. To my mind, getting married without at least considering divorce is a bit like trying crack without considering that you might become a crack addict. My father left, and I was determined never to marry someone who would abandon his family like that. Jun can be a doughnut sometimes, but he has a very kind and gentle heart. The first time he slept over at my house, I remember waking up in the middle of the night and hearing him whispering politely to my cat, “Please move over” because it was sitting on his neck. I mean, who doesn’t just kick the cat off the bed at 3am? I think I decided to have a baby with him there and then.

I put Jun on a pedestal at the beginning of our relationship, which is a recipe for disaster. I built him up in my head as the perfect partner: entirely selfless, totally devoted and nothing like my father. So I rushed in. Within five months of meeting him, I was his wife and pregnant. I ended up having three children in three and a half years, and we couldn’t cope. Jun felt like a failure because he wasn’t able to make enough money, and emotionally he shut down. I felt like he had double-crossed me by changing so completely, but, honestly, I didn’t know him very well, did I? I had married him after only five months!

Around the time our eldest had turned 12, I told Jun I wanted a divorce – but he refused to accept it. I had gone back to work by that point, so started saving for my own place to move into with our kids. But in the process of signing the paperwork I had a change of heart. I couldn’t bear to separate Jun from our children, after losing my own father after my parents’ divorce. I raised the idea of officially breaking up but continuing to live together, in my new home. Jun wasn’t thrilled, but I think he recognised it was the best he was going to get. He never even officially agreed. But when the moving vans came, he started dejectedly packing up his stuff.

We’ve been living this way for the last two years, and our house is cleverly split, almost as though it had been designed for two separated spouses. There’s an area upstairs with an office, bedroom and bathroom, where I live. But downstairs there’s another unit with its own kitchen, for Jun. The kids’ bedrooms are on the floor directly between us. They start the day with a cuddle in bed with me and I’m in charge of breakfast and the school run, then Jun takes the afternoon shift: pickup and sports practice.

Our new setup is not without its challenges. We are both allowed to date other people, but Jun hasn’t been with anyone else yet. I was seeing someone last year, and one night I came in and Jun confronted me. I felt strangely calm while he was shouting at me, because in a way I understood it. It’s such an unusual situation, so of course we are both going to have emotional outbursts at some point. But talking to me like that with our children within earshot felt unacceptable. The next day I drew up a contract for him to sign, saying that if he ever loses it again, he has to move out.

One of the main reasons our new situation works is because my name is on the paperwork for the house, so I have more power – and that’s an unspoken thing between us. If he pisses me off, I can do what I never felt able to do when the house was in his name: ask him to leave. But Jun and I get on so much better since we broke up. I feel like I get all the benefits of a marriage, but none of the dysfunction of pretending that it’s like it is in the movies. I still see us as a family. We even still send out a family Christmas card, all five of us. We just position the boys in the middle, so Jun and I aren’t holding hands.

‘I’m grateful the boys still have a family unit, but it’s emotionally painful spending every day with your ex’ – Jun

I find our current living situation much harder than Helena does. Of course, there are beautiful things about it. I get to wake up every day and see my three boys, and I cook for them and talk nonsense about the day. Helena and I even go on family holidays together. We just got back from Las Vegas. But living in this way is also very challenging. The five of us still eat at least one meal a day together, and I sometimes look around the table and feel the weight of what we have lost. I’m grateful that the boys still have a family unit, but it’s emotionally painful, spending every day with your ex.

I don’t blame Helena for what happened. I became overwhelmed by the financial pressure I was under, trying to provide for three kids, and I didn’t communicate with her. I grew up in Japan, in a household with an old-school mentality. I thought that as a man I was expected to work 11 hours a day to put food on the table – even if that meant leaving Helena alone with the kids, and never seeing my children. In the end, I became so depressed I couldn’t even go to work. Helena did try to get through to me. She’s extremely caring. But I wasn’t able to be present at all.

The most difficult part of continuing to live with Helena is watching her date other people. She had a boyfriend for a few months last year, and I struggled with that. I would witness her leaving, all dressed up, to go on date nights. It took me a while but I have now accepted our relationship is over.

Our new shared house is in Helena’s name, but I pay most of the bills. I’m doing much better financially now, and in some ways it feels fair to me that I shoulder the burden. Helena was the primary carer of our children for years. I feel like she calls the shots: sometimes she just books a holiday for her and the children without me. But when she was going out to see her boyfriend last year and I was at home babysitting, the fact that I was paying the bills began to really bother me. I’m sure I would feel differently if I met someone, but I don’t feel ready to do that yet. I’m in therapy, and I feel a lot happier day-to-day, but my central priority at the moment is spending time with the boys.

Practically, living in this way makes sense. The rent and expenses for our home clocks in at about $10,000 a month, and there is no way I could afford a place like this on top of child support, which I would have to pay if we lived separately. Sometimes I do the mental maths and ask myself a series of questions: would I prefer to move out, or buy a new car? Would I prefer to move out, or pay for the boys to go to college? So far, the answer has never been to move out.

Most importantly, I hate the idea of being apart from the boys, even for a few nights a week. I’ve reorganised my working hours so I can do pick-ups, and I make them the centre of my world. If Helena and I had kept living as traditional “man and wife”, I probably would have just kept letting her be the primary carer. This isn’t the life I pictured for myself, but in many ways the divorce was my wake-up call