Let me preface this entire post with the following: I love my husband and my life. Anyone mentioned in this post is in my life because they are amazing people who keep me questioning and guessing, which, in my opinion, is a very good thing. So this is not meant to piss anyone off. Although, it might. So, apologies if you’re upset with what I say here. But I’ve got to keep it real. My street cred is very important. Without it, I’m just a young, blond idiot with a computer.
OK, lets just dive right in, shall we? I just finished reading this post (and the subsequent comments and threds) on Work It Mom. The short version is Elle/MSNBC did a poll of working women to find what prevalent opinions are found throughout the community. It was found that many working women, especially those who provide the primary income for their families, feel resentment about that position. Whether it is because they aren’t able to stay at home with their kids or because they don’t like their demanding jobs or because they’re just plain jealous of the freedom of their significant others, 1/3 of those surveyed resented their role.
As many of you know, I worked at a very demanding job before Lu was born. And after my (pathetic) maternity leave, the Bearded Wonder and I decided that I would quit my job, work freelance, and continue to stay home for an additional 6 months. At that point, I would get a new job, put Lu in daycare and he would quit his job to start his own business. It was the deal. We shook on it.
But when the time came for me to go back to work, I was not only resentful, I was flat out mad. My gorgeous daughter would have to go to someone else’s house all day while I sat at a computer, so that my husband could do “what made him happy.” Lu and I would sacrifice so he could have his dream. At least, that’s how I felt. I was so jealous of him, and angry for making me go back when Lu was so young. Eventually I got over these feelings, but admittedly, some negative thoughts still pop up here and there.
When I realized I was the main breadwinner (not only the main, but the only) it gave me a sense of empowerment. Especially when I started at my new job, which, in no uncertain terms, gave us a better income than we’d ever had before. By a landslide. I felt like the most powerful, independent, strong, badass woman on the planet. I could do it all. And I do.
I work my ass of during the day, I go home, I make dinner for my family, I clean, I take care of my daughter, all while my husband works his butt off days and nights at his office. He pitches in, and many tasks are his alone, but I feel like I do more than my share when it comes to our life. Do I resent that? Absolutely, sometimes.
I think it’s human nature to be a bit resentful of this circumstance. Most of us were raised in a situation where the male figure provided the income. Yes, my mother did work, but because she wanted to, not because she had to. Trent was raised by an incredible woman who was a single mother. For him, the way we live is not foreign or strange, it’s the status quo. And I go back and forth on how I feel. Some days I love working. Other days, I just want to stay home with my daughter and go to playdates at the park. Every time she does something new I wonder where she learned it. She spends most of her day with her teacher and her friends, and hardly any time with me. But we make it work. And the time I have with her is so precious and fun, which I’m not sure it would be if I was with her 24/7. That is a blessing. I appreciate my time with her and we make the most of it. And she doesn’t love me any less than she did when I was home.
As for Trent and I, it’s always going to be a struggle. Money is hard, and it always will be. When I was at home I felt constantly guilty that he made all our money. I always felt I had to ask him if I needed or wanted to buy something. Now that we’ve switched positions, I know he feels guilty as well. Someday (sooner than I think) he’ll be making more money than me. And when we have another child, I’ll probably be home again for a bit. The tables are constantly turning. That doesn’t mean I’m not resentful sometimes. I’m not perfect. But I am happy. And so is Trent. And so is Lucy. So I’d say we’re doing a pretty good job with the hand we were dealt.
