There is a deep loneliness in knowing you could become more and still choosing not to. Maybe you got tired. Tired of starting over. Tired of disappointing yourself. So... you settle. Tell yourself you’re fine. Make peace with a smaller life. And nobody notices. But somewhere inside you is a quiet grief for the person you know you could have become. And you watch yourself slowly give up on them. That shit hurts.
Working lady. Honestly, there aren’t many duties that require a house wife anymore.
Washing machines, air fryers, microwaves, rumbas, dishwashers, fridges etc… we’ve advanced so much. Any tasks left can be shared between each other.
I need my woman making bread like me, contributing to this ever growing cost of living. I need us having a solid emergency fund and enough to afford 3.5 trips in a year. House wife my foot.