My partner is in a college/work training program and has been struggling a lot. Recently, he was referred to student support to assess for possible learning or mental disabilities. As part of that process, he took an IQ test and scored 72.
I wasn’t completely surprised. He often struggles with basic tasks and lacks common sense. Still, he’s a kind person, and I’ve tried to see him through a compassionate lens—like maybe he just needed more time to learn. But now, knowing this number, it feels different. This isn’t just about immaturity anymore. I’m starting to realize I may always have to carry most of the mental and emotional load in our relationship.
I don’t want children right now, but maybe one day. And I’m worried—will I always have to manage everything? Will I be the one making every decision?
My parents haven’t said anything directly, but I can tell they think he’s immature. I don’t have many close friends either. He’s my main source of connection, but when I’m around others my age, I feel like I’ve regressed. Like I’ve forgotten how to act like an adult.
I wish I didn’t know his score. It’s changed how I see everything.
Sometimes knowledge doesn’t just inform—it burdens. And what you’ve learned about your partner isn’t just a number; it’s a reality that’s reshaping how you see the person you’ve built your life around.
Here’s the truth: an IQ score doesn’t define a person’s worth, but it does shape how they move through the world. If your partner has a cognitive disability, that doesn’t mean he can’t be a loving, loyal, or meaningful partner. But it does mean the relationship will require a different kind of energy—more patience, more responsibility, more mental labor. And yes, likely more from you.
You’re already feeling that weight. You’re asking the right questions: What kind of life do I want? Am I willing to be the primary decision-maker forever? Will I resent this?
These aren’t cruel questions. They’re honest ones. Love is important, but love doesn’t erase exhaustion or protect you from long-term imbalance.
You’re also isolated—and that’s dangerous. When your entire world shrinks to one person, especially one who can’t meet you as an equal, it warps your sense of what’s normal. That feeling you described around other people—that loss of confidence, like you’re regressing—that’s your intuition waving a red flag. Listen to it.
You don’t have to make a snap decision. But you do need to start investing in your own future again. Build community. Find a therapist. Get space to hear yourself clearly. And then ask: Can I build a life that honors both my heart and my needs?
You deserve love and partnership—not just one or the other.