My Partner Was the Stay-at-Home Parent—Now I Am. Here's the Difference.

I don’t typically have a ton of marriage wisdom to impart, but one of the most important things my husband and I have learned in our 14-plus years together is this: We understand the value of taking turns. Whether that means handing off the Nintendo Switch so we can build our virtual homes on Animal Crossing; planning out the dinner menu for the week; or taking nights out alone to revive ourselves, the most functional patterns in our relationship revolve around that familiar lesson we all teach to our kids: Just take turns. 

None of this is more apparent than in our relationship to our careers, which have risen and dipped throughout our marriage. Within months of getting pregnant with our daughter, my husband suddenly lost his job. We felt betrayed, then grateful, because there was severance and time to figure out our next steps. 

The most functional patterns in our relationship revolve around that familiar lesson we all teach to our kids: Just take turns.

But one month turned into two. Soon, we realized my husband would be staying home with our daughter. We were fortunate to be able to thrive on one income. Additionally, there were many advantages to having my husband care for our child. He is a phenomenal parent: involved, patient, and wildly fun. I’ve never felt more trust or ease than those early years when he was with our daughter. Even now, I can hear their peals of laughter in my memory; a sound that will be a sort of magic balm for the rest of my life.

When my husband got a job he was excited about and went back to work, we hired a lovely nanny and changed the patterns of our lives so that we both could focus on our careers. But by then, I’d begun to feel discontented in my own work. Not long after, I decided to make a change—I wanted to stay home part-time with my daughter. It was my turn to be her primary caregiver. 

I left my job, yet struggled at home

I’ll be honest: I thought it would be a cinch, because we’d been there before. I’d watched my husband do it. Our family had thrived back then, hadn’t we? Yet, I struggled mightily. I wanted to do it all so well that there would be no argument about my fitness to be my daughter’s caregiver, as if taking a career pause was something to be earned with an invisible grading structure by … whom? Family and friends? General society? The patriarchy? I’m sheepish to confess it now, but I was desperate to become my own version of Supermom. 

I felt my day was only worth something if every second was accounted for and validated by some nebulous Good Parenting Committee.

Those first weeks after I left my full-time job, I laid out intricate crafts, planning out our days down to the minute. I set a schedule full of workbooks and outdoor activities and library visits. I zipped around doing as much housework as I could while my daughter was occupied with something else; no dish unwashed, no load of laundry un-folded. I even volunteered for the PTO, an endeavor that turned out to be too much for my introverted soul. I felt my day was only worth something if every second was accounted for and validated by some nebulous Good Parenting Committee.

Then at the end of the day, as I was decompressing with my husband, I’d list my completed tasks like he was my manager, and this was my annual review. I never felt any sense of accomplishment, though, only a dull sense of never understanding where the hours went. He often gave me puzzled looks, unsure of why I was being so intense about it all. It was clear to everyone but me that I was quickly wearing myself thin, trying to balance the part-time work I had with being Supermom and Superspouse and Superhousemaker. 

One day, I broke down in the midst of all this listing. “I feel like I’m doing it all and it still isn’t enough.”

“Enough for who?” my husband asked. 

“Everyone!” I sobbed.

He said, “It’s enough for us. And why do you feel you have to do all this? I never did. Why should you?” 

I’d fallen into the trap of thinking of myself as a human who is only allowed to give; never daring to ask, much less take, anything from anyone else.

This question took my breath away. Why should I feel the need to take on the responsibilities of my family—the world—without help, especially when it was so readily available in my partner and loved ones? Perhaps I’d absorbed some cultural girl-wash-your-face bravado after all. That old, misguided reliance on grit. In wanting to prove myself, I’d fallen into the trap of thinking of myself as a human who is only allowed to give; never daring to ask, much less take, anything from anyone else.

As a man, he was praised for doing the unexpected

I thought back to my husband’s time as a stay-at-home dad. He was an incredible caregiver for many reasons, but he never tried to overextend himself. He seemed immune to the urge to perform parenthood. Moreover, he didn’t volunteer to do anything he didn’t want to do. He also didn’t do any more housework than I did, as the working parent back then—nor did I expect him to. I was only grateful for what he did do—as he was grateful for my contributions. For him, and I suspect other men, there was no Instagram measurement of perfect Montessori playrooms and picturesque, kid-friendly day trips. No invisible specter of critique and self-justification plaguing his mind. As a man, he was consistently praised for doing the unexpected. And he did it damn well. But he was always confident that he was enough. Enough partner and enough parent. 

I had never, ever felt that way in my life. The realization washed over me.

“We’ll take turns getting it all done,” he reassured me. “Like we always do.” 

All my muscles, held taut for so long, drooped in relief. Since then, I’ve thrown off many of the shackles I kept in place. My days with my daughter are looser, full of discovery and, yes, some screen time amongst the craft projects and outdoor adventures. I clean up when I can, but I also make time to sit next to my daughter and relax while she plays. The laundry waits for the weekends. I only volunteer for PTO activities that feel doable and fun (which often just means Venmoing money to the fundraiser du jour). When my husband is able to, he steps in and takes my daughter to appointments so that I can get work done. He cooks on weeks when I have tighter deadlines. I handle the grocery shopping when he has to travel for his job. 

But to make it work, I had to first let go of all the invisible accounting that I was holding onto. All the wondering about my own worth, my need for validity in accepting the privilege to choose the shape of our lives. In order to find the freedom to shape the life I wanted, I had to accept that there was no blueprint of perfection I was obligated to follow. And I had to give my husband a turn to absorb some of our household responsibilities too. It was only then that we could live our own full, beautiful, blueprint-free lives together.

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When You’re Afraid of Losing Yourself to Stay-At-Home Motherhood

Thao Thai is a writer and editor living in Ohio with her family. She's curious about all things parenting-related, and is passionate about exploring the intersections of motherhood and identity. Thao’s debut novel, Banyan Moon, is forthcoming in 2023 from HarperCollins.

Editor’s note: This article was originally published in December 2021.