'I'm a mum of 2. For the last few years, I feel like I’m living with a roommate. Not a husband.'

My husband walked through the door and greeted our children with open arms as they ran to him. 

He then stood up and gave me a hello peck on the lips and a lacklustre, “Hi”. I asked about his day. He said, “Good”. I give him some time to decompress after a long day of working and commuting instead of launching into an excitable, solo-parenting word vomit. 

During dinner, I carefully ask his opinion on a tile I had been looking at for our house renovation. He says, “Yeah” and not much else. 

I tell him a cute anecdote about something funny our son said earlier today. He musters a smile before taking his phone out of his pocket and mindlessly scrolling through Facebook. 

Ok, he’s not up for talking right now. I instead focus on getting the kids fed. After dinner, we ‘divide and conquer’ the nightly bath/pyjamas/bedtime dance by being responsible for one child each. 

Finally, the kids are asleep and I retreat to the couch for a moment of solace before tidying up. My husband has gone to the *ahem* men’s room and I don’t expect to see him for another hour. 

Afterwards, he doesn’t join me downstairs. Instead, he goes straight to bed to scroll on his phone. I join him upstairs in bed and I notice he has his headphones on. Message received. I mouth, “Goodnight” and so does he. He goes to sleep. I console myself with some “positive self-talk”: He’s had a long day. He’s probably just tired. I haven’t said anything wrong, have I? Maybe I shouldn’t have asked him about the reno again. Excuse. Explanation. Excuse. Explanation. Sleep. Wake up. Repeat.

This has been my life for the last two years since our second child was born. And I can’t help but feel like I’m living with a roommate. Not a husband.

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He’s a great provider and a doting, involved and loving father to our two boys. He does odd jobs around the house. He picks up bread on the way home. But then that little niggly feeling pops into the pit of my stomach, my head, my heart: Is it enough? Truly, is it? Many would argue a resounding, “Yes!” “What more do you want from a husband?” “My husband doesn’t even know how to turn the dishwasher on.” And my personal favourite, “You should feel lucky that he helps with the kids”. Christ. 

While I recognise that these are problematic, outdated rationalisations at best, a piece of me does feel guilty for wanting more, for wanting what we used to have. Conversations. Fits of laughter. Affection. Spontaneity. Planning outings together. Sex. Just anything that doesn’t feel like I’m living with my brother, basically. 

I tried the old “communication is key” approach and casually opened up a teeny chat about our relationship. He looked utterly bored and stared at me like I was speaking underwater. He stifled a scoff, then retreated upstairs at the first opportunity. Is he just tired? Am I asking too much of him? I should just be happy, and not think about it too much. Be grateful. Excuse, explanation, excuse. ENOUGH.

Is the bar THAT low for men? Do they get to be absent partners because they’re “good dads” and “tired from work” (and I’m well aware of the entrenched patriarchal dismissal of unpaid domestic work largely performed by women. Holy misogyny, we are tired too). 

Don’t women deserve more than that, for f**k’s sake? I for one am sick of minimising my feelings, heck, my needs to accommodate a man’s. 

I deserve respect and support and admiration. I deserve a partner, a true partner who celebrates my wins with me, asks me about my day with enthusiasm and not out of obligation, who supports my career aspirations and doesn’t roll his eyes when I mention with great trepidation that I want a career change after my mat leave ends. 

A partner who enjoys conversations with me and values my opinions. A partner who thinks I’m smarter, possibly (definitely) smarter than him and not feel threatened by it. A partner who is loyal and tactfully but precisely defends me when his sister makes a wayward comment about me. Jesus, don’t women deserve more than a husband bot when we as women are expected to be everything to everyone all the time? 

I refuse to feel ungrateful because there has to be more. There WAS more. Do women no longer present value after marriage and kids and career breaks (read: unpaid work) to raise said kids so men can work, career uninterrupted? Because, honestly, that’s what it feels like. 

Feminists would say throw out that man, the whole man, and put him in the bin! Divorce! Truthfully, I still feel and hope that we can work through this.

So, for now, I will bide my time during this busy life chapter of small children, exhaustion, renovations, tiny pockets of self-care in the form of 5-minute doom scrolling, and financial strain. But this, this right now, this numbing existence will not go on forever, one way or another.

The author of this submission is known to Mamamia but has chosen to remain anonymous for privacy reasons. The feature image used is a stock photo.

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