My husband’s job crisis is over. This whole rock-and-roll episode brought a boatload of lessons. It forced me to face my neediness. Hesitantly, I am becoming more comfortable with it. The experience made me see how our decades-long marriage has evolved, and how I have evolved along with it. Most of all, it revealed the psychological safety of the home I’ve built with my spouse and our kids.
This essay is also about how the experience helped me become better at emotional regulation. If you grew up with dysfunctional parenting (who doesn’t?), maybe you can relate.
The job crisis meant I had to be far more conscious about spending. A few years back, I admitted how wasteful I had been. Three years ago, I threw out a Balikbayan box of unconsumed goodies. Grocery shopping to the point of hoarding was my drug. That moment catapulted me into an intentional shopping journey, and nothing crystallizes that shift more than a real cash-flow problem we have just now surpassed.
A continuous thread running through the experience was gratitude. I noticed more of what we already have and actually use. Frugality became important because of the acute awareness that I am a non-breadwinning spouse, a hausfrau. I take accountability for not overspending.
The crisis put a hard stop on my grocery-shopping vice. So what did I do instead? I folded inward. I became more of a self-soother. This time, soothing didn’t involve material objects or the thrill of chasing them. It’s true: we don’t actually feel that good once we attain the sought-for reward. It’s the hunt that hooks us. The old me—the grocery-sale-item, Buy One Take One, imported-item hoarder—is mostly gone. In her place is Melany the Intentional Shopper. I still get hypnotized eyes at a BOGO sign, but I now ask myself one question before putting anything in the cart: Would I buy this at full price anyway?
I’m genuinely pleased with the progress. I count it as a big win, especially since I’ve been trying to fix this behavior since 2021 (kickstarted with AussieDebtFreeGirl’s Shelftember challenge). It means I’m better at not using shopping to manage my anxiety or create a sense of security.
I’ve also become more aware of my internalized voices—the guilt, the urgency, the reflex to put others first. I’m practicing kindness toward myself: patience, generosity, gentleness. As a therapist, I preach emotional attunement. This is me putting my money where my mouth is.
In psychology, externalization means using objects—or the chase for them—to soothe oneself. Internalization is the opposite: learning to soothe from the inside as a path to emotional regulation. If you struggle with mood swings, impulsiveness, or ADHD-like patterns, this is an essential skill to master. I call it functionally becoming an adult.
During the crisis, my husband was in my space all the time. I missed the private hours that used to be mine, when the kids were at school and he was at work and I was just me. More people in the house meant more unpredictability. It’s natural that when a familiar schedule disappears, anxiety levels ratchet up.
I often tell clients that self-care doesn’t always feel good—like eating vegetables or cleaning your room—but it serves your higher self. I’ve said the same about inner strengthening and tapping into the inner nurturer. For me, self-soothing meant facing anxiety directly instead of shooing it away. I now speak to myself with a kind, maternal voice, asking, “What do you need, honey?” This kind of self-mothering is something I deeply need.
One thing I’m especially grateful for is the added bonding time with my spouse. Our money-free dates turned into long walks to the nearby mall—a kilometer away—where we mostly just walked and talked. If we went inside, we bought only necessities. We liked it enough that we’ve kept it as a regular mini-date. Sayang yung steps!
I still sometimes feel put off, shut down, and rejected whenever he shrugs off my overtures for words of affection or reassurance. Any kind of syrupy sentiment, he pushes away. But when I make my overtures, my main goal is not sexual; I want love, affection, and fuzzy words. He has rarely reassured me with words of love since we married. I am starved for it—still am.
Despite this, I’ve never looked elsewhere, never strayed. I still want the sweetness, but I’ve come to terms with the fact that this need may not be met. Even so, I am safe and secure in this marriage. Because I am bounded, I am free. (That’s an irony!)
This trial and tribulation has made me more attuned to his moods—when he’s overwhelmed or on edge—and, consequently, compassion comes more easily. The crisis clarified how big an ask our arrangement is, and for this, we take accountability and responsibility. I am the non-breadwinning spouse. He is the breadwinner. His earning role doesn’t mean I contribute less, and contribution doesn’t need to be equal. We agree that in marriage, emotional labor and time matter just as much as finances.
I think often about how statistically, husbands die before their wives. It sobers me. I see clients leaving abusive marriages and others who have left and are now deeply lonely. I’ve met women who would give anything for a steady companion. I have that. I can enjoy it while it lasts. I take till-death-do-us-part seriously.
All signs point to us staying together. When he talks about the future—retirement, investments, plans—I’m always there.
I’m editing my vision board to match the person I’m becoming: more at ease with less, with waiting, with herself. I’m still wrestling with doubts—about marriage, about being a hausfrau, about motherhood—but I feel more secure now. Seeing myself reflected clearly in my spouse’s eyes helped.
Sometimes we need another person to help us see what’s so obviously true.
In hindsight, this period of being somewhat starved was a palate cleanser.
It brings to mind the Buddhist parable of the man in the well, also called The Honey on the Branch. A man falls into a well. Below him, a tiger waits. He clings to a branch while two mice, one black and one white, gnaw at it as day and night pass. Near his hand, honey drips from a hive. He tastes it. In savoring that sweetness, he stops panicking. His mind clears. He notices a foothold he hadn’t seen before and climbs out.
Savoring the moment while trapped is a skill. In my case, I found my foothold, and more importantly the process to find the foothold. The honey tasted sweet as well.
