I remember standing outside after a dinner with some brilliant academics. “I’ll finish this year,” I declared. “But I’m not returning. I want to be at home with the baby.” My husband, Jake, nodded, and just like that, I decided to leave my PhD program for motherhood. Our hopes of adoption didn’t materialize, but miraculously, I found out I was pregnant during my final semester. I was overjoyed, yet anxiety soon washed over me. A threatened miscarriage led to an emotional ultrasound where I wept—not from happiness, but from the sheer weight of my fears. I struggled with prenatal depression, and while Jake tried to support me, he was clearly baffled and overwhelmed. We were not functioning well as a team.
During my pregnancy, I often felt unwell and it was strange to step away from the academic world. Jake returned to his teaching role, and suddenly, I was without a class. I felt aimless, contributing nothing but my pregnancy. Despite Jake’s reassurances that I wasn’t a burden and that I needed rest (given my condition), I couldn’t shake the feeling of being a drain on our family.
The following year brought some relief; I finally had something to contribute—childcare. But with Jake off to school, I was left alone with a tiny human who felt more like a fragile creature than my responsibility. I felt terrified and overwhelmed, and when Jake casually dismissed my fears, it only fueled my resentment. The psychic toll of being alone with the baby was exhausting, and I held onto that frustration for years.
As time passed, I grew more comfortable in my role as a mother, made friends, and regained my confidence. I missed the academic rhythm, but I vicariously lived it through Jake. However, financial discussions became a source of stress. Suddenly, issues like budgets and savings felt critical, and I struggled to understand why. Jake often lost his patience, pushing me to handle simple tasks like signing checks. We both sulked; the mention of finances would trigger my anxiety, while he felt paternalistic. I was not being helpful, and it strained our relationship.
Then, I became pregnant again, and again. While I managed through the first two pregnancies, the third was a nightmare of nausea that left me bedridden. I was a stay-at-home mom who couldn’t care for her kids. Watching Jake take adorable Easter pictures of them made me weep; I felt like a burden rather than a partner. Despite his reassurances that I contributed, it was hard to see it from my sickbed. I felt like an anchor, and Jake was left juggling everything.
When the baby finally arrived, I resented how quickly Jake returned to work. I was left alone with three young children, feeling weak from illness and overwhelmed. He wished I understood his need to return to work; I felt he could have given me more support. This mutual resentment created a challenging dynamic for a while. Simple tasks like cooking and laundry became monumental obstacles, and we struggled as a couple and family.
Fortunately, over time, we found our rhythm again. I embraced being a stay-at-home mom, balancing homeschool co-ops and playdates. Jake admires my writing and often tells me, “You do so much.” I’m not always convinced, thinking that I could do more. Our differing perceptions about household responsibilities create friction at times, but ultimately, our love for each other remains strong, and we manage to keep moving forward.
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In summary, being a stay-at-home mom brought various challenges to my marriage, from feelings of inadequacy to the strain of daily responsibilities. Over time, we found a balance, and while we sometimes disagree on roles and contributions, our love continues to thrive.