Last April, amid the initial shelter-in-place orders, I finally transformed my makeshift home office into a proper workspace. For three years, my desk had been crammed into a corner of what used to be the playroom/exercise room, accompanied by an elliptical machine my partner occasionally used on weekends. Thankfully, this was pre-Zoom, so my background didn’t matter much. But after both my children started full-time school (or so I believed), I was eager to claim the space as my own.
We took apart the elliptical (a choice my partner would question later with gym closures looming). I chose a soothing jade green for the walls, a color said to spark creativity. We removed the old, stained carpet and laid down carpet squares we had stored from a past renovation.
As I admired the new setup, I felt a surge of pride, anticipating how productive I would be in this revamped space. Unfortunately, by the time it was ready, I had already stopped working.
Like over 2 million mothers nationwide, I surrendered. I recognized I needed to prioritize my family’s needs. Continuing with my usual routine during those challenging months felt impossible.
As a writer and collaborator, I had worked from home for nearly a decade, so the transition during the pandemic wasn’t drastic. However, juggling remote school for two elementary-aged kids while trying to write proved to be a different story. Writing isn’t easily accomplished in twenty-minute bursts while navigating endless Zoom mishaps.
After submitting a manuscript on May 1, I decided to pause my work until my kids were less demanding. With summer approaching and all camps canceled, I believed this would help ease the strain on my marriage by eliminating the exhausting back-and-forth over office time.
But I didn’t foresee that this sacrifice would complicate matters further. In May, when I chose to stop working, I thought schools would reopen by August. As summer faded with no return to school in sight, I realized I had unwittingly committed to this new reality indefinitely.
Initially, I blamed my husband for not contributing enough, for not realizing how draining the day had become. By evening, I found myself wanting solitude, craving the chance to escape into my bedroom with a book and some Netflix. Please, just let me be until tomorrow when this monotonous routine begins anew.
Of course, I adore my kids, but their presence can be overwhelming, especially during a pandemic when there’s no respite. I kept hoping to hold on until they could return to school. In November, that finally happened: both kids attended in-person classes two or three days a week. It felt like a miraculous gift, especially since many families were not so fortunate. However, those precious hours amounted to only fifteen a week on good days—not nearly enough to dive into a new project. The kids were still home on other days, and I was back to managing their online classes, troubleshooting tech issues, and ensuring assignments were submitted.
During these chaotic days, I felt trapped and claustrophobic in my own life. Meanwhile, I watched my husband leave for work, sometimes just to retreat to my home office (MY home office!) and shut the door. I couldn’t help but feel resentment stir within me as I watched him walk away.
I’m married to a good man who genuinely wants to support me; he never expected me to shoulder such a disproportionate share of parenting duties. He is an involved father and attentive partner. If I’m struggling, I can’t imagine how others are coping who may not have such supportive spouses.
It’s not just the significant issues that complicate things—like sacrificing work or navigating parenting without breaks. The constant presence of our partners can grind on us. Annoyances that once seemed trivial—like a towel left on the floor or a dish in the sink—can grow into mountains of frustration when there are no distractions to shift our focus. In “normal” times, we might overlook these minor grievances, but in quarantine, they loom large, festering as we remain confined together.
By day’s end, those small irritations haven’t faded; instead, they magnify into major grievances. We find ourselves stewing in frustration, drifting apart in a sea of unmet expectations.
Some people appreciate the pandemic’s changes. For instance, my friend Alex used to manage her part-time job while her husband traveled frequently for work. She loves having him home for dinner every night and sharing parenting duties. Many have found comfort in a more grounded family routine without the usual activities filling their calendars.
But I suspect most of us feel overwhelmed by the reality of parenting and partnership during this time. We can’t simply revert to old patterns; they are no longer applicable. We must adapt to survive this prolonged state of uncertainty.
Fortunately, there seems to be a growing acceptance of the need for self-care during this challenging period. Messages from schools and community leaders remind us to prioritize our well-being, but recognizing what we need is often the hardest part. My husband encourages me to ask for help, but first, I have to identify my needs. I must learn to listen to my feelings instead of brushing them aside. It’s essential to acknowledge that it’s okay not to do it all.
I now know that I need to carve out time for myself—whether it’s taking a short walk or asking my husband to come home early because it’s been a tough day.
I’ve been conditioned to suppress my own needs, believing that being “good” means sacrificing for others. But I refuse to continue this way. My marriage cannot withstand it, and neither can I.
If you find yourself struggling in a marriage that previously thrived, you’re not alone. This doesn’t signal the end of your relationship; rather, it’s a call for additional grace and understanding. We must create space for ourselves and our partners during this time of heightened tension.
Typically, in a partnership, support is shared. One partner may grieve a loss while the other provides strength. But what happens when both partners are at their breaking points, with no breaks from the stress?
This won’t last forever. Eventually, the pandemic will end, and people will return to workplaces—though perhaps not as they once did. We’ll reclaim our time, passions, and routines, allowing us to breathe again. We’ll once again enjoy dates and trips with our partners, reigniting feelings that may have faded during this time of survival.
But until then, how do we proceed? We breathe deeply. We offer hugs, even when we’re not in the mood. We learn to express our needs. My husband and I now have designated nights off each week, allowing us to recharge while the other handles bedtime. Even if it often means retreating to our bedroom without much to do, just knowing I have time for myself has been life-changing. It makes me feel more gracious towards my partner.
And I finally told him I want to return to work. I know it won’t be easy balancing the kids’ schooling, but it’s what I genuinely want and need. It’s time to prioritize my sanity. There’s no award for those who sacrifice the most.
So here I am, writing in my office. In a world that feels so off-balance, it’s one of the few things that feels right.
For more insights on navigating these challenges, check out this related article on our blog.
Summary:
The pandemic has tested countless marriages, leading many to question their relationships. Challenges like balancing work and parenting, coupled with emotional strain, have made it difficult for couples to connect. While some find joy in newfound family time, others feel overwhelmed. Recognizing and addressing personal needs is crucial for maintaining a healthy partnership during these trying times. Couples must find ways to support each other and carve out individual space to thrive.