If you’ve been in my world for a while, you know I’ve always been a “machine.” I’m a builder, an entrepreneur, a woman who handles things. But when I got pregnant with Jack, I was offered something I had dreamed of forever… but never found a way to make it work: the chance to stop.
Papi wanted me to stay home. He wanted me to slow down, to raise our five boys, and to lean into the softness of domestic life. For the first time, I wasn’t the CEO of a company; I was the CEO of “Mommy Day Camp.” To say I was jumping out of my skin with excitement was an understatement. This man, this person I looked up to with every ounce of my being, was giving me the greatest gift I could ever ask for. This was everything I had ever envisioned and then some!
That spring and summer of 2022 were, in many ways, the most beautiful months of my life. We were at the splash pads and the parks. We were tie dying t-shirts and going on little adventures to the local parks, the zoo and trampoline park. For the first time at 40 years old, I had the luxury of being fully present with my boys for an entire summer.
It felt like a blessing. But looking back, it was a blessing with a hidden, staggering cost.
The Quiet Bleed
When we started dating, I was established. I had a career and an income that Papi often joked about. “I’m going to make Diana money one day!”. He too had a good job to start, then quickly after I become pregnant with Jack, he got that dream job he had always wanted. A high paying consulting role, in one of the most respected sectors in the world. He did it, I was so proud of him!
Though we both had the world at our fingertips, at that point in our relationship I had a more solid foundation. I owned a home, was not able to relocate, and life was a well-oiled machine. He on the other hand had decided to move his children from their family 3hrs north of me, and said he was ready to leave that entire world behind when he moved to my town. So it only made sense that he had moved into my house and assumed my lifestyle. And as the “provider” I had always been, I carried the household. The mortgage, HOA, utilities, insurance, housekeeping—it all came out of my accounts. On top of that, I was paying $1,600 a month in child support and alimony to my ex-husband. And while Papi was quick to buy a new dirt bike, furniture, or other items, there wasn’t an offer to cover any of “my” bills. So, yes, I had a great income, but I also had some pretty big bills to carry.
So there I was, about to give birth, giddy with excitement to just enjoy every single little baby smell and snuggles from the big boys. Life couldn’t get any better! While we never spoke about the details of me leaving my high paying corporate job, when I stopped working to stay home to fully invest in raising the boys, I assumed the “structure” of our life would shift to match my new role.
It didn’t.
The bills didn’t stop hitting my account. There was no conversation about him taking over the mortgage, utilities. There was no talk of a joint account or a restructured family budget. I was “staying home,” but I was still paying for almost everything.
I sat there, month after month, watching my life savings—the money I had worked so hard for—quietly drain away.
Meanwhile, Papi was earning more than enough to carry a family of 7. He wasn’t struggling. He wasn’t broke. In fact, because he wasn’t carrying the household load, his savings were actually growing. And he was so happy to tout how well he was doing with his savings.
“We’re Doing Better Than Ever”
I remember the panic starting to set in. When I tried to bring it up—when I tried to explain the anxiety of watching my safety net disappear—he would tell me we were doing “better than ever.”
And he was right. He was doing better than ever. His net worth was climbing while mine was evaporating.
I felt so confused. I didn’t want to be ungrateful. I didn’t want to be the woman who “couldn’t receive” or the one who ruined a beautiful season by talking about money. I sat in the toy room, watching the 5 boys jump around and play on the gymnastics bars, and I thought that maybe this was just what “trust” looked like.
But deep down, something in me was screaming: This isn’t safe.
I realized then something I’m still processing now: Being “taken care of” isn’t a feeling. It’s a structure. It’s not a man saying “my money is your money” while he watches your bank account hit zero. It’s logistics. It’s shared responsibility. It’s transparency. It’s a joint plan that ensures both partners are protected.
Listening to the Fear
By August, when the big boys returned to school, that internal scream got too loud to ignore. I know I came off as ungrateful. I’m sure Papi looked at me like I was throwing away the greatest gift. But sadly, he wasn’t looking at me at all. He didn’t see the worry. He didn’t feel the anxiety. He didn’t realize I started to view him the same way I viewed my ex-husband, someone who prioritized his own needs while purposefully rejecting mine.
So, with much sadness and fear, I decided to start my own business. I told myself it was because I “wasn’t meant” to be a stay-at-home mom—and that’s partially true; I love to build. And I convinced myself that standing up something on my own would allow me to work part-time, still invest in the boys and still be the mom that got to experience everything with her boys.
But the raw, honest truth? Depending on Papi financially terrified me. I didn’t even fully understand why at the time, because there was no obvious “threat.” But I am so incredibly grateful I listened to that fear. As I built myself back up, and surpassed his income again, the shared dream he pounded his chest about quickly faded.
All of our talks began to center around his dream to quit his job and start his own business. And when he did quit his job, with nothing lined up, began hiding in the garage and claiming he was learning day trading, the fear reared its gigantic head again, only louder. In an effort to keep our family alive financially and feed the dream that we were “meant to be”, I began paying Papi a salary even while he was not contributing in a meaningful way, financially or otherwise. I all out allowed him to continue to live off of me and also enjoy every vacation or outing that was also paid by me. This was no longer a confused attempt at a new structure; this was pure financial hell for any woman to endure.
And when the end finally came—when the relationship shattered—the “quiet drain” became an explicit one. Just prior to the separation, a significant amount of funds were removed from my business and it remains unresolved. I don’t think he’ll ever understand the impact our finances had on our family. This wasn’t my dream he stole. It was the boys’ gift of having a full-time mom at home. It was the soft, snuggly kind of love our boys deserved. This was the lifeline to the biggest cheerleader and supporter in our boys’ lives. Their mom had to endure this, had to go without, and she’s the one person who gave them all the love and softness in a harsh world. Ultimately, the boys paid a higher cost than I did and that’s the part that still keeps me up at night.
A boy’s mother is his greatest gift. She is the most capable to love unconditionally, but to also hold him accountable. If that were my son, if I watched the man I raised inflict this pain on the woman he claimed he loved, on the children he swore to God he’d take care of, I would have had something to say about it. I wouldn’t enable the behavior; I wouldn’t stay quiet to make sure I didn’t upset this grown man. It’s bad enough when men aren’t taking care of women, but when we are doing this to ourselves, not standing up for and protecting other women who are trying to help raise the next generation of men? How can this be the world we live in?
So when I reflect back and cry the still flowing tears of the “cost” of believing in someone, it’s not just the dollar amount. It cost me my trust.
Love Should Cost Both People Something
I’ve learned that a family isn’t built on love alone. It’s built on the boring stuff—the spreadsheets, the bills, the shared weight of the world. If a man is willing to let you carry the entire financial and emotional load while he builds his own safety net, that isn’t a partnership. That is extraction.
Love is a beautiful thing, but love should cost both people something. The next time I build a family, it will be with someone who builds with me—not someone who benefits while I bleed. I will never again confuse “I love you” with “I’m safe with you.”
And lastly, I don’t believe everyone who hurts us is evil. I don’t want to villainize anyone; I just want to tell my story because I know there is another woman out there watching her “soft life” drain her bank account while she smiles for the camera. Girl, I see you. I cry for you. I vow to raise my sons, all 5 of them, to never look at what happened to their mother as ok. While it was painful for me, and is painful for you, our children will grow to be a different kind of man. That’s a promise.
Disclaimer: This post reflects my personal experience and perspective. It is not intended to disparage any individual, but to share the lessons I learned about financial safety in relationships.