So I was going to post this as a reply to a comment on Reddit, but it got pretty long, and also became less a reply and more a love letter about my wife, so I figured I’d shout it out from the rooftops here.
Dear redditor who was arguing with my wife and thinks her decision to be a stay-at-home mom is “demeaning” and that giving her husband the leadership role in the family is a “servile relationship”: I understand where you’re coming from. Honestly, these days men are mostly jerks. The checks and balances society used to impose to mold men into, well, men, are gone. Porn has been normalized. Birth control allows men to seek out what they want at the basest level without consequences (and when consequences come they blame the woman and push for abortion). Women are viewed through a utilitarian and lustful lens more often than not. Even when men give lip service to female empowerment, they tend to do so in a way that empowers them to maintain their independence while enjoying those things that used to require commitment and sacrifice. And then there are the Red Pill jerks and their chauvinism, who give lip service to old ideals while twisting them to their own selfish ends. There are men who invoke “headship” to lord it over their wives and puff up their own egos. I’ve known families ripped apart by such men. Usually, in fact, it is the men who abandon their families.
If I were in your shoes, would I trust a man, any man, to step into the role outlined in Casti Canubii? Probably not. I could try to tell you about myself and try to say I’m an exception, yadda yadda yadda, but honestly the only pertinent qualification I have for the role is that I love my wife. So let me tell you about her instead. :)
My wife is the most beautiful woman in the world, inside and out. That is no exaggeration. I really believe that, at the very least, no woman is more beautiful than her. She started out as an 11 out of 10 when we were married, and she’s only gotten more beautiful since, which surely violates some law of physics. She has long, dark hair that falls in waves across her shoulders and back, and eyes that squint into half-moons when she smiles. She exercises regularly so that even after having four kids in five years her figure is stunning, especially in the beautiful skirts and sundresses she wears. She moves with grace, and can make me dizzy with admiration by just walking across a room. She’s so beautiful that I can’t fully take in her beauty or process it properly; I’m not big enough to contain it. Trying to comprehend her beauty is like sitting under a waterfall and trying to catch it in a plastic bucket.
But beauty alone would not make her who she is. She’s deeply intelligent. She’s highly educated — she has a doctoral degree in physical therapy — and that has given her an evidence-based approach to life. She’s always looking for the whys. She wants to understand everything, seeking the rationale behind our Faith and desiring to know God with both mind and heart. And she’s intelligent enough to parse the good information from the bad, and to recognize the biases and worldview that she brings to the question and how that will impact her search. She won’t accept a source just because it agrees with her, but examines it for authorial expertise and whether its arguments really makes sense. As an instruction librarian at a university, who specializes in information literacy, I can tell you that this quality is rare. I love the conversations we have about philosophy, theology, medicine, and even, ha, psychology (as in, “Why do people get wrapped up in alternative medicine and medical conspiracy theories?”). She has a keen insight and gets quickly to the heart of the question, often while I’m still plodding methodically along at step one. I would be so unhappy if I’d married someone I couldn’t discuss philosophy and cool ideas with!
My wife brings a vocational focus to her whole life. She is deeply empathetic and caring. She became a physical therapist because she wanted to help old people, and she worked for a time in a nursing home, and still corresponds with some of her former patients there, people who do not get much attention, if any, from their own children and families. Unfortunately the nursing home itself treated both its caregivers and its patients as cogs in a money-making machine (for instance, my wife was told to do her paperwork while she was with the patients so that the nursing home could bill their Medicare for the time my wife used to do said paperwork. That meant they made more money, while my wife could not give her full attention to her patients, but was told to just put them on a machine while she worked).
Now my wife has chosen the vocation of motherhood, and, in doing so, she jumped in without reserve. She holds nothing back. Inspired by the example of saints like Louis and Zelie Martin, and also by the joyful and close-knit large Catholic families of her parents and grandparents, she has said an unqualified “yes” to everything God has sent her in this new vocation. We’ve had four kids in five years, and each child is a beautiful, unique, wonderful soul and a blessing — and a ton of work.
Let me tell you about my experience watching the kids for an hour and a quarter yesterday, because it’s typical of how her whole day goes. I put the boys in their high chairs for lunch, thinking, “While they are busy there I can get some of my own stuff done. Oh, but I should clear away the dishes first.” While clearing away the dishes, I’m interrupted by the three-year-old who wants to go potty. This necessitates taking him down from his high chair, wiping ketchup off his hands, and standing next to him as he pees so he won’t go on the floor (he’s potty training). Then I get him back up in his high chair. Now the one-year-old has dropped his cup, which must be picked up and the water cleaned from the floor. The four-year-old wants another granola bar. Back to dishes — did three of them. Now the three year old has to go potty again. He’s potty training so I can’t just tell him, “You should have gone when you had the chance, now go in your diaper” though I want to. So I repeat the whole process again. Got a few more dishes done. But the infant is awake and needs to be rocked and soothed. Where did her pacifier go? Oh, there it is. Please take it, baby; Daddy has to get some stuff done. Okay, fine. If you’re going to fuss, you can at least get some tummy time. Now there’s a baby crying in the background, and three little boys calling that they are done and want to be cleaned up. Well, they can wait while I finish loading the dishwasher and wash this pan. Oh, but I should make my lunch for tomorrow and get the iced coffee ready so my wife doesn’t have to do that tonight. I’ll let this pan soak and do that. But now the one-year-old has thrown a ketchup-y plate on the floor. Okay, let me clean the kids up and turn them loose. Gosh, that took a while. Where was I? Oh, dang, the bread for my sandwich got kinda stale. Oh well, it’ll be okay. Oh, hey, kids, don’t go near the baby! I know you want to coo about how cute she is but she just went to sleep. No, don’t touch that computer cord. Why did I leave that out? Let me put that away. And now back to the sandwich. But the dishwasher is still hanging open. Let me finish that real quick. Okay, washed the pans and started the dishwasher. Now back to the lunch. Oh, shoot, the coffeepot dribbled over. Gotta clean that and pour it into the jug and put it in the fridge. But it needs to cool a little before I put it away. Where was I? Lunch? No, child, I cannot watch you jump off the couch onto your head; Daddy needs to finish making his lunch. Oh, wait, he was jumping off on his brother's head. Now they’re fighting, and I need to put the coffee away, and finish this blasted lunch, and oh thank God their mother is done with her break!
My wife does all that with far greater efficiency all day long, and even manages to get all the kids out to parks and to the Y on a regular basis!
To all this, my wife has added taking care of three more young children twice a week for nine hours. Our friends are in a rough financial spot, the husband having lost his job, and the wife needing to return to work until the husband can build up his new job enough to be self-sufficient again. my wife volunteered to watch the three youngest who are not in school: an infant, a five-year-old girl, and a three-year-old boy with brain damage from birth, who is a happy child but a real dynamo. She’s already had two of these day-long sessions in which she alone cares for seven children ages five and under, and she’s still sane by the end of the day! Amazing.
You’re probably thinking, “I’d never want to do something so thankless.” And you’re right: it is thankless. Our children are too young to thank her yet, and the outside world often sees her more as a weirdo or even a threat than an inspiration. (I thank her, but for some reason a husband’s opinion isn’t given much weight because “You have to say that,” ha ha!). No status comes from it, and little recognition. Often the best she gets is a “you’re braver than I am” from someone in passing.
But it’s true: she is brave. Astonishingly brave. For example, in March I was hit with post-operative depression. After a hernia surgery, my brain went haywire, and I could see no light or goodness anywhere, but only blackness and horror. I was falling apart, having panic attacks. I flew to prayer even though God seemed distant and uncaring and cruel, and by the grace of God and the intercession of Our Lady the cross was removed a month later and the light and joy returned. But in the meantime my wife put aside all her own emotional needs. All her tiredness, all her own worry and growing fear about the situation, all her tears were put aside and she was the steady rock I needed to lean on. My love and respect for her skyrocketed (but boy am I glad to being back to giving her a shoulder to cry on instead of crying on hers!).
But even outside of special circumstances like that, how many women voluntarily take on what she has? How many women ignore the messages from the outside world, the messages that tell them that their worth is tied to how much money they can make or the kind of job they have or the kind of house or car they have or how many people work for them or what their boss or co-workers think of them? My wife could out-earn me almost two-to-one but she gave that up to toil in obscurity. Why? Because she believes in the vocation. She understands the worth of what she’s doing, even if few other people do. When she stands before God at the end of her life, he’s not going to ask her, “So, how much money did you earn? Did you break any glass ceilings?” He’s going to say, “How did you serve others in your life, and how did you serve me?” And she’ll be able to say, “Lord, see the family you have given me; they are yours.”
Now, I’ve probably painted family life in too severe colors. It’s a curious dichotomy that family life can be so chaotic, so stressful, and yet also so peaceful and rewarding. Chesterton would have been delighted by such a paradox. Despite all the work and chaos in the home, there is also happiness and a settled joy. The kids are maddeningly selfish and unformed and also oh-so-cute and capable of such sweetness (and how the boys love their baby sister!). And while my wife and I are, basically, in the trenches, it is in the trenches that the greatest fellowship is formed. We are united in our vocation, united in the struggle, and that brings us very, very close. Our life is wonderful. It is rich, meaningful, and filled with love, which is the giving of self.
In know someone who has their sights set on the upper echelons of academia. I know another person who worked like a dog to become a high-powered lawyer and DA. And you know what? Nobody cares. Nobody is going to remember them for that. On the wall in one of the conference rooms at work hang pictures of all the past deans of the library. The latest one is remembered because she passed away (at least until the people who knew her retire). But the others? Nobody cares. They’re just pictures on a wall.
But family, now. Family cares. My dad is a self-employed auto mechanic, a blue collar, largely self-educated, quiet man. My mom is a housewife who still has her youngest child in the home. They are thoroughly unimpressive people to those who don’t know them well. But they are loved. They are hugely important and deeply respected within the circle of their family, and, because they had nine kids, that’s a pretty big circle, and growing. In fact, I’d be hard pressed to think of anyone else who has that many people care for them that much. The only ones I can think of who have them beat are my wife’s grandparents!
Now, my wife is not perfect, of course. When she’s tired, she can get moody, and when she’s feeling down, she often takes it out on me! (Or at least, that's how I see it, ha ha!) We’ve had our share of fights and blow-ups. But I’m far from perfect myself, and she makes me a better person. I’d be miserable without her. As for all the “headship” stuff: we’re always on the same page, and if we’re not we discuss it until we are. My “headship” is more a responsibility than a privilege. Basically, it means that if anything happens to her or our kids, in an eternal sense . . . well, it’s on me. Which is very sobering. The only time I’ve ever invoked the role has been to get us both on our knees in front of a picture of Mary when we were fighting. Which ended in us making up. :)
I am incredibly privileged that my wife chose me for her husband, and that she traded her title of “Dr.” for the title of “Mrs.” I thank God for her daily at my morning offering and at every mass, and often spontaneously during the day when I think about her.
So before anyone characterizes my wife as some brainwashed and ignorant, “barefoot and pregnant” victim of the patriarchy, get to know her. She is whip-smart, highly educated, deeply caring, and braver than a lion. She is a warrior and a hero.
And she’s my wife. I am the luckiest man in the world.
