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My wife stayed home from work yesterday, taking a sick day. She does not often do so, so the fact of her taking a day marked off how poorly she had to have felt. Consequently, I got our daughter dressed and off to school in the morning, which marked off for me how much she does in the mornings--and, by extension, throughout the rest of the day. (It also highlighted to me Ms. 8's attachment to her mother; our little girl was in tears about her mother being sick, and she repeatedly noted being worried as I took her to school.) I do tend to do more in the mornings--I am the family's alarm clock and breakfast- and lunch-maker, among others--but I am able to do what I do in large part because my wife serves as an emotional anchor for us. And I have to wonder about what it means for us that she carries that burden.
I am well aware that many families operate in such a way, wherein the wife and mother carries out more emotional labor than the others in relationships with her. In the case of a minor child--Ms. 8 is four as I write this--it is to be expected; a young child should not be expected to do as much as an adult. But I, at least, am not such a child and have not been for as many years as I was one. For her to be the anchor she is for me gives me pause; while it is appropriate that those who love one another will support one another, I have to wonder if I am offering support in measure to her as she does to me. And I am concerned that if I ask her, she will work to spare my feelings if I am not doing as I ought to do...
I have been fortunate in having my wife in my life, I know. While I was working on the dissertation, she did much to help me access materials and resources. (Different institutional affiliations allowed us different borrowing privileges, hers more useful in many cases than mine for scholarly work.) When I took the summer off after completing my doctorate, she kept our household afloat. When I found myself out of work in The City, and when I was out of work again upon the wind-swept plains, she stood with me, moving into what still feels like exile and moving again in what still feels like a defeated retreat--and she did what she could to soothe me then and after as I struggled again and again to find work along the way. And she remains with me, encouraging me to do things like play in the community jazz band and maintain my tenuous hold on academe insofar as it still brings me pleasure to do so. On days like yesterday, when I am obliged to take up some of her work, I am reminded of how much of it she does--and I am both humbled by it and driven to do more to be worthy of it.