The Hausfrau with a BATNA

I’ve been married twenty years. Sometimes, because I’m bad with numbers and therefore dates, I forget the exact day and year. No matter. Today I want to talk about a recent hardship with my long-term husband. Maybe you can relate, because the ideals you once had about being a wife (or a long-term partner, to use a neutral term) may have changed too over the years.

We got into this situation because of a massive change in his workplace, one that he has been working for twenty-odd years. The change meant a disruption in our normal household dynamics, one that meant more responsibility shifted to me. Overnight, my identity as a non-breadwinning partner was shaken.

While writing this essay, an odd phrase stuck with me: kept woman. The dictionary defines it as a woman who doesn’t work and is financially dependent on a man. The term appealed to me because of the word “kept.” I like to believe I am being kept, as in safeguarded and treasured in this marriage. I could just as easily use full-time housewife, hausfrau, or 太太.

The workplace problem made me wonder: what if I lose the security I’ve been so used to, this largesse that fuels my life as an artiste? If I lose that, I lose a status I’ve laid claim to. Embarrassingly, I acknowledge it now as an integral part of myself. I’ve gotten so used to it. But I chastise myself: I shouldn’t have lost my sense of independence.

I’ve retained the hausfrau / 太太 branding because when I was a full-time stay-at-home mom for twenty years, that was my sole identity. My husband provided, I took care of the house and the kids. We had a good deal. It wasn’t just chores either, it was also emotional labor. The Woman in the House knows that the effort of carrying everyone’s moods and needs at home is real work, work-work, but it’s invisible, and often, seldom acknowledged.

But times have changed, the kids have grown up, and I have a career now. And still, this “kept woman” component is a cherished part of me. I’m a “kept woman” because it means I’m safe, protected. Barricaded from the pain of being financially responsible for one’s family. It’s a big worry that main breadwinners like my husband carry every day.

These days, I yearn for him to rise up to the occasion: to fulfill his duties as a father and as a man. All men (and women, but I’m talking about the animus expressing itself here) want to complete a mission, and the mission he set upon himself is inextricably linked to our family.

But is that a fair thing to ask of him as my equal? Is it compassionate to ask this of my life partner?

I During one of our lowest moments in this job crisis he told me, “Now it’s your turn. Ikaw naman. Your turn to take the plow.” My honest response was, “I can’t do it, not totally. Not as much as you do.” That’s weak, isn’t it? Unfair, isn’t it? Maybe even cruel.

But I insist.

It’s easy to judge someone when they keep on doomscrolling and they’re not actively trying to solve the problem (him). It’s easy to judge someone who denies their financial responsibility for their family (me).

It’s harder to see things in gradients. My husband and I had an initial agreement. And because times have changed, we need to make amendments.

In business studies, there is the term BATNA—Best Alternative to a Negotiated Agreement.

My main conflict is that I’ve evolved to the point where I choose myself, and that means boundaries and self-definition.

Living my BATNA means putting my foot down. Yes, I am keeping my hausfrau identity, I’m not giving it up. But also yes, I can rise up to the occasion and contribute financially to support my family. Many of my psychotherapy clients who experience financial abuse do not know the limits of their help; they fawn.

I’ll stick to my core values: Imma be a good-enough mom; Imma be a good-enough spouse. Good enough is all they get unless they want a mom who’s a pushover martyr, a wife who doesn’t know her worth. This is about self-respect. And about modeling self-respect to my kids.

I end up telling my husband, “No, I can’t take the plow a hundred percent. I can only give you this sum.” I specified an amount—one that lets me help without losing the ground beneath my feet. That money (and the time used to earn it) represented all my love for him and our kids. I give it wholeheartedly. But I keep something for myself. I will uphold my BATNA until the situation changes again.

As an Asian parent, sacrifice is in our DNA. If dire straits come, I’ll be open enough to go beyond my boundaries. But that’s a bridge we’ll cross when we get there.

One poignant part of this experience is realizing my husband has a needy side after all. I see The Spouse Who Gets Tired and Wants to Rest. But that doesn’t cancel out the Provider side. They coexist. Just like our inner child coexists with our adult selves.

When my husband asked me to be the main provider in his stead, he wanted to see if I could provide relief. If I could be the partner who carries the load during bad times. I think I failed that test—because my answer wasn’t an all-encompassing yes.

A few days passed. I didn’t bring up the topic and let him doomscroll a bit more. I needed time to think. After a day out doing frugal groceries, we were computing expenses when I poked my finger at the money issue again.

The truth is, during those days of pondering, I had jitters he would surpass his (legendary) patience with me and abandon me—not physically, but emotionally—because I failed him. Growing up, telling my parents what I wanted instead of what they wanted meant banishment and condemnation. I had to remind myself who I was dealing with: my spouse, my new fam. Not that old home, not those old ties.

This vitiginous period showed me he can be unpredictable and irresponsible, and yes, there’s a part of him that wants to abscond from responsibilities. It scares me that even him, rock-solid for decades, could fail me. That he could be unreliable. But I surrender.

I do not ever want to be a person without a home to belong to, and he is my home.

We built a home together. There’s a saying: “Your house, your rules.” So how do the rules apply now? Do I still have a place here? 

Turns out he forgave me for my supposed trespass. He said our original agreement still stands, the one we made as young newlyweds. He said I spoke in panic, that I denied him in panic. I repeated my BATNA, my limits, and he accepted it. My stance remains unchanged to this day. So our original agreement now has amendments and a special clause. When I do couples therapy, I see this happen all the time because partnerships evolve.

I surrender to the reality that changes in his workplace have happened. I cannot control him, his crisis, or the future. I can only accept him as he is, with his many sides, even the clashing ones. I can only choose how to respond to whoever shows up each morning—Mr. Responsible or Mr. Very Tired.

After twenty years together, our marriage has transformed because we ourselves have transformed like evolved Pokémon, never returning to our base forms. The crisis forced me to see him holistically. And the same truth applies to me—we are all fragmented, with contrasting parts that don’t always match.

No matter. This crisis also forced my hand. Now I know I choose me too. But not at the expense of wrecking my marriage. We are husband and wife, two people rolling with life’s changes, learning how to stay with each other in new ways until one or the other expires.