I spend all day at work holding it together—smiling, nodding, being productive like a well-adjusted adult who definitely has their life together.
And then I come home… and it’s like my soul clocks out before I even get my shoes off.
The switch doesn’t flip so much as it short circuits. One minute I’m “professional team player,” the next I’m staring into the void like, “ah yes, my second shift has arrived.”
My husband notices it every time. I don’t have to say anything—he watches the light leave my eyes in real time. It’s romantic, really. Nothing says “marriage” like your partner witnessing your personality quietly exit your body at the front door.
To be clear—he helps. A lot. He shows up, he does the things, he carries his share and then some. And somehow that almost makes it worse, because there’s no villain here. No one to blame. Just… this situation that still drains me anyway.
And that’s the part I hate the most—he’s the one I actually want to be present with. Instead, he gets the leftover version of me. The clearance rack. Final sale. No returns.
There’s no decompression time. No “let me just sit here and exist for a second.” It’s straight from employee of the month to unpaid, overtime caregiver. Love that for me.
Home used to be where I recharged.
Now it’s just… where I plug back in and keep draining.
And yeah—some days I don’t want to walk through the door.
Not because of who’s inside.
Just because I already know there’s nothing left of me to bring with me when I do.
Edit: I’m a caregiver to my elderly mother…not my husband.