What happens when your husband loves his gear more than you?
Every relationship has its own challenges. And, sometimes, the things that bring us together can also end up pushing us apart.
In my case, my husband’s love for sound quality used to make me happy. Now, five years into our marriage and two years after having a child, his audio obsession is testing our family’s patience and understanding.
I’ve learned that sometimes, love isn’t enough when passion becomes all-consuming.
Love and Music
When we first met, I found his love for vinyl records and high-end sound systems absolutely charming.
I liked how dedicated he was to finding the perfect audio setup. It showed how passionate he was.
I loved when he’d take my hand and guide me to the best spot in his living room, where he had carefully arranged the furniture for the best listening experience.
His effort to create the ideal audio space seemed like a harmless hobby that made him happy.
After we got married, I watched him turn our spare room into a mini-studio. He filled it with shiny equipment and walls of vinyl.
It was cute, really. I even felt a sense of pride in his dedication and creativity. I was impressed by how he could turn a simple room into his personal audio heaven.
In those early years, I imagined us growing old together, swaying to the warm crackle of records on lazy Sunday afternoons.
Expectations vs. Reality of Parenting
Then our son arrived, A.K.A. a bundle of joy that I thought would shift our focus.
I dreamed of taking turns for late-night diaper changes and sharing excitement over first words. But instead, I found myself more and more alone in this new adventure.
Don’t get me wrong – my husband wasn’t a bad father.
He’d play lullabies on his guitar to help our little one sleep. He’d introduce our toddler to different types of music.
Sometimes, he’d hold our son while soft jazz played in the background. Or he’d take him into the listening room to explain how sound works.
Adorable was not a strong enough word to describe it! Our son obviously couldn’t understand a word, but they both pretended he did.
But more often than not, I’d be rocking our son to sleep while my husband tinkered in his studio, oblivious to how much time he was spending there.
The simple moments I craved – family dinners, bedtime routines, weekend outings – became solo activities.
My husband was physically there but mentally lost in a world of amplifiers and speakers.
All in all, I started feeling like a single parent with an occasional babysitter.
The Tipping Point
Small disappointments started piling up like a tower of vinyl records.
Missed bedtimes, skipped bath times, and absent weekend brunches became the norm.
For example, the day our son took his first steps, my husband was in the garage, fixing a vintage turntable he bought on a whim. I kept calling for him, but by the time he came inside, the moment had passed.
As time went on, my husband started working from home more often.
At first, I thought this would mean more help with our son. Instead, he’d lock himself in his studio during the day.
I’d juggle work calls and a cranky toddler while the low thrum of music vibrated through the walls. It was frustrating to say the least, especially since my voice and calls for help just kept getting drowned by his music.
One night, our son had a high fever.
I was frantic, trying to calm him and get him to sleep. I called for my husband, but he was in his studio, testing new headphones.
He hadn’t even heard me. I felt completely alone, and my resentment grew even more.
I began to realize how much I was sacrificing while my husband seemed to sacrifice nothing.
I didn’t even notice it myself, but, eventually, I stopped asking for help, knowing it would only lead to frustration.
But it was the speakers that broke me.
We’d been saving up for a long-overdue anniversary trip. We both knew we needed it, especially since we hadn’t really been anywhere or done anything as a couple since our son was born.
Yet, a month before our fifth-year anniversary, a delivery truck pulled up, bringing huge boxes to our front door.
Finding out he’d spent our anniversary trip savings on audio equipment felt like a betrayal.
Working Towards Balance
That night, I didn’t yell or cry. I simply told him, quietly but firmly, that things couldn’t continue this way.
“I’m not asking you to give up your passion,” I said, “but I need a partner who’s present, who cares about this family as much as I do.”
It wasn’t an easy conversation, but it was necessary.
My husband was stunned, finally seeing how his obsession was hurting our family.
Since then, we’ve been trying to find balance. He now sets limits on his studio time and makes an effort to be there for bedtime stories and family dinners.
Of course, I’m learning too.
I’m trying to understand his need for this hobby, seeing that it’s part of who he is. I’ve even started joining him sometimes in the studio after our son is asleep.
We’re finding ways to reconnect with the passion that once brought us closer. I’ve begun to see his love for audio not as something that needs to be given up, but as something that can fit into our family life if managed well.
It’s not perfect, and our marriage wasn’t magically fixed overnight.
There are still times when I feel a pang of frustration as he disappears into his studio. But we’re making progress, rebuilding what was strained with patience and effort.
Some days, when I see him sharing his love of music with our son, I catch a glimpse of the man I fell in love with – the one who could make my world come alive with sound.
Our journey isn’t over. We’re still working on it, but at least we’re talking about it.