I am a mother full-time. I quit my work about a year ago to care for our three-year-old daughter, who has autism and needs a lot of help. My typically feminist husband has started attacking me in a group chat lately, I’ve noticed.
It wasn’t something I had planned for myself to become a stay-at-home mom (SAHM). I used to love the fast-paced world of marketing, where ideas were generated over coffee and campaigns were all around me. However, everything changed a little more than a year ago when my spouse, Jake, and I made a big choice. Three-year-old Lily, our autistic daughter, required more care than her daycare could offer. Given her extensive needs and ongoing attention, it became evident that one of us needed to be with her full-time.
I’ll be honest; giving up my career was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever had to make. I miss having the independence to make my own money and the fulfillment that comes from a job well done. But now that I’m here, I spend my days preparing food, baking, and cooking. These activities have brought me joy, and experimenting in the kitchen has replaced other creative outlets for me.
I handle most of the home chores, and under my care, our backyard has become a little horticultural haven. Jake contributes fairly as well; while he’s at home, he actively participates in parenting and household tasks. Up until last week, I believed that we rejected traditional gender norms and saw ourselves as equals.
On this typical Thursday, I was cleaning Jake’s home office while he was at the office. As one might expect from someone working in software development, it’s crammed with electronic devices and mountains of papers. I glanced at his computer screen; it was still on, softly glowing in the dark room. Usually he left it on by accident, but what I witnessed immediately after wasn’t at all accidental.
He had his Twitter account open, and I froze when I saw a tweet with the hashtag #tradwife in it. As I read the post, I felt confused. It extolled the virtues of having a conventional woman who takes pride in her household responsibilities. A picture of myself, looking exactly like a 1950s housewife, taking a batch of cookies out of the oven was attached. I continued to scan through posts, which made my stomach turn. Once more, there I was, taking care of the garden and reading to Lily while, luckily, hiding our faces.
This was Jake’s story, and he had been creating a completely fictitious picture of our lives. He painted me as a mother who enjoyed being at home with her kids and would gladly forgo a successful profession in favor of aprons and storybooks. There was no mention of the reality of our circumstance, which is that this arrangement is essential to our daughter’s welfare.
I felt duped. It was weird to me that the man I had loved and trusted for more than ten years was now sharing our life with total strangers. The knowledge that he was fabricating these glimpses of our lives to support an online identity stung just as much as the lies about the nature of our connection.
I turned off the computer, shaking from frustration and confusion. I struggled with my feelings all day, trying to figure out why Jake would do this. Was he unhappy with our circumstances? Did he feel offended because I stayed at home? Or was it something more profound—a change in his opinion of me now that I wasn’t making a financial contribution?
The remainder of the day seemed to fly by. His posts would not go away from my thoughts, and finally I was unable to ignore them. I made the decision to give him a call and confront everything.
At last, striving to maintain a calm tone, I continued, “Jake, we need to talk.”
With a worried tone, he replied. “What’s off?”
With the weight of my discoveries pressing down on me, I inhaled deeply. “I noticed you on Twitter today.”
His face darkened, and he sighed deeply, as though he already knew exactly what this conversation would involve. He opened his mouth to reply, but I cut him off.
He dismissed it as “just harmless posting” and urged, “Calm down.” That was the last straw. I called him out on his dishonesty, informed him I wanted a divorce, and hung up.
Jake left for home right away. We had a disagreement, but I couldn’t let it continue because of Lily’s tight schedule. After getting Lily ready for bed, he begged me to sit down and have a genuine chat. I reluctantly gave in. He revealed to me that night that he had deleted the Twitter account when he showed me his phone. However, the harm had already occurred.
After a week, my rage had not lessened. This was not an easy miscommunication. A betrayal of trust occurred. In an attempt to clarify, Jake said he got carried away with the attention it received and that it began as a joke. Excuses, however, fell short.
I wanted to expose him because I was driven by a combination of hurt and a need for justice. I posted screen grabs of his tweets to my Facebook page. I wanted the truth to be known to our friends and family. “Your husband belittles you in front of his friends behind your back,” was the simple message I posted. Does this sound familiar?
It was answered right away. Relatives were surprised and commented in droves. Jake’s phone was ringing nonstop with texts. Again, he left work early to ask for my forgiveness. With tears in his eyes, he fell to his knees and begged that it was all just a “silly game.”
But I was unable to let it go. The mutual trust that kept us connected was shattered. It was about the mutual respect and understanding we were meant to have, not just a few incorrect posts. I informed him that I needed time and room to process and recover. Lily and I moved out to a different apartment.
Jake asked for forgiveness for half a year. To express his regret, he made little gestures, left voicemails, and sent notes. Sorry, though, wasn’t enough. I told him we had to start over if he really wanted to make things right. He had to court me the way he had when we first met years ago since, in my opinion, we were no longer strangers.
So we started over, cautiously. We went on dates, going from coffee dates to dinner dates. We spoke extensively about everything but the past. It was similar to rediscovering who we were as a pair and as individuals. Maybe knowing this was his last chance to salvage our once-loving relationship, Jake remained patient.
I can’t believe how much I’ve changed as I sit here and think back on the previous year. I had to reassess not just my marriage but also my wants and myself as a result of this betrayal. I’ve discovered that forgiveness is about feeling safe and appreciated once more, not just about taking an apology. We’re both devoted to this steady approach, step by step.
If you had been in my position, how would you have responded? Post your ideas on Facebook.