It struck me one day: why aren’t there more stores dedicated to selling beads? In a city overflowing with shops offering e-cigarettes and artisanal lattes, it feels absurd that finding a decent polymer-coated glass bead is nearly impossible.
I should clarify that I’ve never actually tried my hand at beading; I’m not particularly artsy. Yet, for a brief period, I found myself fixated on launching…an artisanal bead shop. This bead shop idea represented my lowest point, a silent plea for help.
As a writer, husband, and father of three, I was navigating an identity crisis during those surreal weeks of dreaming about beads. My background included roles as a journalist, author, speechwriter, web developer, and music supervisor—an eclectic mix of jobs that led to a career of dabbling. Like many men my age (in my 40s), I had followed my strong-willed mother’s advice to pursue my passions, resulting in a series of creative but financially unstable ventures.
On the other hand, my partner, Sarah, had been steadily climbing the ranks in the television industry since she graduated from college. She diligently honed her craft, ultimately creating the acclaimed series Life Stories and later the hit show Behind Closed Doors. As her career flourished, my financial contributions to our joint household began to seem inconsequential. Like many spouses of successful partners, I stepped back, immersing myself in domestic life. I took care of carpool duties, home repairs, and family activities, becoming the go-to person for school events and healthful meals.
I discovered a community of men, whom I affectionately called the “Plus Ones,” who were navigating similar dynamics, married to women whose careers overshadowed their own. We bonded over coffee, sharing stories and experiences.
While I cherished this time spent with my children, a lingering sense of insecurity plagued me. Simple tasks, like filling out insurance forms that asked for the “primary cardholder,” made me uneasy. I found myself acting out—losing my cool in the minivan during carpool runs, or leaping off rooftops into pools, all in a bid to feel something. It was during this tumultuous time that I developed an unexpected obsession with beading.
Fortunately, I eventually regained my clarity. I can’t quite recall what snapped me out of it, perhaps a guiding conversation with my more grounded partner. I remember her raised eyebrow and knowing tone. It dawned on me that my imaginary bead shop would likely be the most dismal in existence—a fleeting distraction that wouldn’t provide the engaging conversation starter I hoped for at dinner parties.
Instead, I returned to my writing but with newfound purpose. I crafted a narrative about male caregivers and female breadwinners, exploring themes of identity, family, and the complexities of modern relationships. I delved into the lives of men who embrace nurturing roles while their partners thrive professionally. This time, I wrote for the joy of storytelling, without an assignment or deadline looming over me. It was exhilarating and therapeutic.
My writing began with personal anecdotes but soon expanded to fictionalize the insecurities I harbored as a stay-at-home dad. My main character, much like me, struggled with his identity, but he acted out his worst impulses. He flirted with temptation, kept secrets, and engaged in reckless behavior, an exaggerated version of my own thoughts and fears.
In essence, I confronted my midlife crisis through fiction instead of engaging in self-destructive behavior. I found it a much healthier outlet than the typical routes of crisis management. With my novel now complete and published, I’m back to supporting my partner as she excels in her career.
While I’d like to claim I’ve completely reconciled my feelings about being the supportive partner, I still grapple with bouts of insecurity. I sometimes feel a strange shame that my partner shoulders the financial burden of our family. Intellectually, I understand my role is vital, yet I can’t shake the knot in my stomach when my daily achievements include managing carpools or planning dinner.
Nora Ephron astutely addressed this subject in 1972, highlighting that despite societal progress, we still carry “dreadfully unliberated” fantasies. She noted how our upbringing creates lingering illusions we struggle to shed.
However, since I navigated my male ego through my writing, I find myself in a happier place. I’ve come to recognize that neither men nor women should feel diminished by their roles in family life. Caregivers are often marginalized, especially men, and I refuse to let that define me.
I could dwell on my insecurities or lament that I haven’t met my own expectations, but I’m grateful for my three wonderful children and an extraordinary partner who leads our family. Whether by chance or the efforts of trailblazing feminists, I now find myself alongside a formidable woman steering our shared journey.
In moments of clarity, I remind myself that my worth isn’t measured against hers. My partner is not just a successful professional but my soulmate, the person I believe I’m meant to be with. Holding her purse may still be a challenge, but when we share simple moments, like enjoying Vietnamese pho together, I realize that we complement each other perfectly. I might be a Plus One, but there’s truly nowhere else I’d rather be.
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Summary:
This article explores the dynamics of a supportive partner in a relationship where one partner earns significantly more. It reflects on identity, insecurities, and the societal expectations surrounding gender roles. The author shares personal experiences of navigating these challenges and emphasizes the importance of valuing both partners’ contributions, regardless of financial status.