My friends often rave about my partner, and honestly, they have a point. “Jamie’s partner is the kind of guy who unloads the dishwasher without being asked,” one of my closest friends once said. And it’s true—he handles the dishwasher solo, loading and unloading it each day without a hint of complaint. He takes out the trash and recycling, including the diaper pail from our baby’s room, which has a smell that could make anyone gag. Sometimes, while I’m engrossed in a show, I can hear the sweet sound of the vacuum in the next room. He’s quick to clean out the fridge at the first sign of mold, goes grocery shopping, and whips up delicious meals.
If he were a fitness enthusiast, he’d fit right into a fantasy series that showcases attractive, muscular men—often without shirts—doing household chores, complete with lines like, “Once I finish folding the laundry, I’ll take the kids out for groceries so you can have some downtime.” Unlike many wives I know, I never have to nudge him into action when it comes to household tasks; he just takes care of them.
So, am I the luckiest person alive? Well, here’s the rub: living with this domestic angel sometimes makes me feel like a total failure.
Deep down, I’ve always thought of myself as the “housewife.” More specifically, I envision a good mother as someone who is overwhelmed by domestic responsibilities. I’ve read countless articles about how mothers still shoulder the bulk of household chores, even when both partners are working full-time. Since both my partner and I have jobs, am I somehow getting off easy? I contribute in many ways that don’t involve scrubbing or sautéing, but I still feel a twinge of guilt.
Growing up, I wasn’t exactly neat, and my family didn’t emphasize the importance of cleanliness. My father was a collector of various odds and ends, and he would get upset when housekeepers moved his belongings. As a result, our home was often in a state of chaos. My mother, focused on her career as an artist and her intellectual interests, was less concerned with domestic upkeep. To her credit, she did care for my brother and me part-time throughout our childhood, but the laundry often piled up.
In contrast, my partner’s family didn’t rely on takeout as much as mine did, nor did they have a housekeeper. I’ve never seen his mother leave dirty dishes lingering in the sink as my own often did.
Years ago, I penned an ode to my mother for a publication, celebrating her ability to pursue her passions, even if it meant neglecting some household chores. Her approach was a sort of feminist statement, I argued—not a model for being the perfect housewife.
A recent article in New York titled “The Feminist Housewife” discussed a survey from the Families and Work Institute, where women expressed their disdain for housework and desire for more free time. Yet, paradoxically, when given that time, they turned to cleaning.
Psychologists have suggested that American women may feel an innate pressure to demonstrate their worth through domestic perfection. After my daughter was born, I found myself identifying with mothers who feel guilty for not doing enough cleaning or cooking, despite my admiration for my mother’s non-traditional approach.
As a freelance writer and part-time caregiver for my daughter, my partner and I have managed to divide childcare responsibilities fairly well. However, during the newborn phase, I became obsessed with cleaning during her naps and at night. I began cooking more frequently and would boast to my fellow new moms about the laundry I managed to tackle.
In the process, I lost touch with my identity as a writer and didn’t carve out time for myself to read or jot down thoughts in my journal. I overlooked my valuable contributions to our household. In my home office, I manage finances, sort through mail, and pay bills. I handle our health insurance, a daunting task for self-employed individuals, which involves hours of plan comparisons. I pay our taxes and take on research for travel and childcare. Between our wedding and welcoming our baby, I’ve penned over 125 thank-you notes (I’m a staunch believer in Emily Post’s teachings). These are significant tasks, and ones my partner doesn’t excel at.
I do have my set of household responsibilities, like doing laundry and cooking a few nights a week. However, I often fall behind on folding baby clothes and frequently suggest ordering takeout. Many of my contributions aren’t visible; they don’t involve scrubbing the fridge or hauling trash bags down the stairs. Even though my husband is always grateful for my efforts, I know he sometimes feels resentment over the physically demanding work he does. He’s even joked with my brother about being the “custodian” of our family—a fancy term for janitor.
My therapist pointed out that I need to embrace my “21st-century marriage,” where my partner takes on more cooking and cleaning while I handle tasks traditionally assigned to men. She also mentioned that, as a new mom, I have a skewed perception of what makes a “good mother.” I need to redefine this term on my own terms, just as my mother did. For me, it means dedicating time to my writing; I want my daughter to be proud of her mother’s creative and professional life. I’ve started utilizing my daughter’s nap times for writing and finding other moments to tackle laundry.
To accept my modern marriage and approach to motherhood, I must stop apologizing for being a less-than-perfect laundress and an inconsistent cook. I need to truly hear my partner’s thanks for ensuring our bills are paid on time. I must remind myself of the countless unseen ways I contribute.
My new mantra is, “This family would not function without you. You are essential.” Sure, my partner might sometimes feel resentful about doing the more physically demanding tasks while I work from a desk. But is any marriage free from some level of resentment? I’m a perfectionist, but perfection doesn’t exist in motherhood or partnership.
So what if my partner embodies more of the “housewife” or “house-husband” roles? Then again, those terms are so outdated. Why should we define marital roles by associating them with household tasks? We both contribute to our family’s functioning in unique ways that defy gender norms.
In conclusion, embracing the dynamics of our partnership means recognizing the value of both visible and invisible contributions to our home and family life.
If you’re navigating similar challenges and seeking support, be sure to check out resources like March of Dimes for pregnancy and home insemination guidance. And for insights into self-insemination, consider visiting Make A Mom, an authoritative source on the topic.
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