There’s a prevailing notion among my friends that my husband, Mark, is the ultimate partner. In many respects, they’re not mistaken. “Mark is the kind of guy who will unload the dishwasher without being asked,” my closest friend once remarked. And she hit the nail on the head. Mark takes charge of the dishwasher, managing the loading and unloading each day without a hint of complaint. He handles the recycling and trash, including the dreaded diaper pail in our little one’s nursery, tackling its unpleasant odor with grace. Occasionally, while I’m engrossed in a show, I can hear the soothing sound of the vacuum running in the background. He’s quick to clean out the fridge at the first sign of mold, and he’s also our go-to grocery shopper and chef, whipping up delicious meals with ease.
If he were a fitness model, he’d fit right into a series like “Men Who Do Household Chores”—a collection showcasing handsome, muscular men doing chores while saying things like, “Once I finish the laundry, I’ll take the kids out for ice cream so you can enjoy some downtime.” Unlike many of my friends, I never have to remind Mark about chores; he simply takes care of them.
Am I the luckiest woman alive? Well, sometimes, cohabitating with this domestic angel makes me feel inadequate. Deep down, I harbor the belief that I should be the quintessential “housewife.” My image of a good mother is one who juggles endless tasks, exhausted by the demands of the home. I often read articles about how mothers shoulder the bulk of household work, even when both parents are employed full-time. So, is my husband doing too much? I contribute in ways beyond household chores, yet I can’t shake this feeling of guilt.
Growing up, I was never the tidiest, and my family didn’t emphasize the importance of cleanliness. My father was a collector of various items, and he would often become agitated if housekeepers moved his belongings. Our home usually reflected that chaos. My mother, passionate about her career as an artist, prioritized her creative pursuits over domestic duties (though she did care for my brother and me). This resulted in a never-ending pile of laundry.
In contrast, Mark’s upbringing was vastly different. His family rarely ordered takeout and never employed a housekeeper. I can’t recall ever seeing his mother leave dirty dishes in the sink, which was a frequent sight in my home.
Years ago, I penned an article for a publication about my mother, celebrating her ability to pursue her passions, even if it meant postponing household tasks. I viewed her actions as a form of feminist expression, showcasing that one doesn’t need to conform to the ideal of a perfect housewife. An article in New York titled “The Feminist Housewife” highlighted a survey revealing that many women despise housework and crave more leisure time. Yet when given that time, they often end up cleaning.
After my daughter was born, I began to resonate with those women who felt guilty for not meeting certain domestic standards, despite my admiration for my mother’s unconventional path. As a freelance writer, I balance my work with caring for my daughter part-time, and Mark shares those responsibilities. However, during the early days of motherhood, I became obsessed with cleaning during my daughter’s naps and at night. I wanted to prove myself as a “good” mother by cooking and doing laundry, often boasting to other new moms about my accomplishments.
In the process, I lost sight of my identity as a writer. I neglected my own needs, failing to carve out moments for reading or journaling. I overlooked my significant contributions to our household, such as managing our finances, sorting mail, and paying bills. As self-employed individuals, navigating our health insurance options is daunting, and I take on that responsibility. I handle taxes and have written over 125 thank-you notes for various occasions—tasks my husband finds challenging.
While I do have household duties like laundry and cooking on a few nights, I often fall behind on folding clothes and am usually the one suggesting takeout. Most of my contributions are behind the scenes, lacking the visibility of scrubbing floors or hauling trash bags down stairs. Mark expresses gratitude for my efforts, but I sense his occasional resentment towards the physically demanding tasks he undertakes. He has humorously referred to himself as the “custodian” of our family.
My therapist encouraged me to embrace my “modern marriage,” where Mark takes on more of the cooking and cleaning, while I manage responsibilities traditionally assigned to men. She pointed out that my perception of being a “good mother” needed redefining, much like my mother did. For me, that means pursuing my writing career, as I want my daughter to be proud of her mother’s professional achievements. I’ve started using my daughter’s naptimes more productively, allowing me to write while finding other opportunities to tackle laundry.
To accept the dynamics of my marriage and motherhood, I must stop apologizing for being a less-than-perfect laundress or cook. I need to genuinely acknowledge my husband’s gratitude for my contributions, reminding myself of the invaluable ways I support our family. My new mantra is, “This family could not function without you. You are essential.”
Sure, Mark might occasionally grumble about the differences in our roles, but is any marriage free from a bit of resentment? I tend to be a perfectionist, but perfection in parenting and partnership is a myth. So what if Mark takes on more of the household chores? Wait—using terms like “housewife” or “house-husband” is outdated. Why should we label our roles based on household duties? Both Mark and I contribute to our home in our unique ways, and those contributions shouldn’t be confined by gender stereotypes.
In summary, while my husband excels in household responsibilities, it’s essential for me to recognize my own contributions and redefine my version of motherhood. Embracing our individual strengths allows us to create a balanced partnership, free from outdated gender roles.
Keyphrase: Household Duties and Parenting Balance
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