How I Feel When I'm Asked This One Thing

I was in my office, replying to email number fifty of the day, when I noticed a voice mail awaiting me. A professional connection asked me to give her a quick call about a project we'd worked on together. Glad to move away from the screen for a few moments, I returned the call. We chatted for about five minutes about the project before she shared that she had a favor to ask of me. She's been trying to get in touch with my husband Andy, for many days. She tried calling his work number, cell phone, and emailed him several times, yet he never replied. "Can you ask him to call me back?" she inquired. I held my breath for several seconds before gently exhaling. "You are still married right? I mean, you're not..." she trailed, caught off guard by my lack of immediate response. Of course, I reassured her, I am still married, and I would speak to him that evening about her request, but I warned her that my nudge may have little effect on his taking action. After ending the call, I furrowed my brow, sensing my heart rate escalating in the way it does when I start to get fired up. With my arms crossed and my foot tapping the floor, I stewed in my seat, unable to focus on the remainder of emails and tasks on my to-do list. Nothing blocks my thought flow like someone asking me to ask my husband to get back to them about something. Andy has several jobs that are high profile in the community, including holding public office. His work serving non-profits and as a country representative make him a familiar name and face to many regular. He is regularly contacted about anything and everything from potholes to program funding. After twenty years as a couple, I stopped noticing the incessant buzzing of his cell phone or the regular chime of an email push notification. He wears earbuds around the house, creating awkward moments where I reply to him, not realizing he is on a call. I learned to keep a notepad by the land line to take messages from his county constituents, who are the only ones, besides his college alumni fundraising office, and social security scammers, who call that number. He can't go to the grocery store or post office without being stopped to answer questions. He has his own "public figure" Facebook page. His schedule is jam packed with events, activities and meetings that overlap. He often attempts to be in two places at once, a fete he has successfully accomplished in the COVID-era, thanks to Zoom. If our tiny town is a small pond, then Andy is a sturgeon. By the time I pulled into our driveway, on the day of the call, I convinced myself I would not tell Andy about the conversation and I would therefore, not follow up on my promise to remind him to return his messages. My guilty conscience won the battle I had with myself over dinner and, while washing dishes, I put a dirty spoon in the sink and turned to him from across the dish washer door, where he was loading plates and bowls. "So and So called me today. She emailed you. She called you. She'd like for you to call her back." I let the running water in the sink drown out his excuse-laden story for not replying to her sooner. This was not the first time that week when someone asked me if I could speak with my spouse about following up on a communication. The day prior, my own co-worker stopped by my office, telling me about a frustrating experience she was having, noting that she'd reached out to Andy for support, yet hadn't heard back from him. I empathized, acknowledging her frustration about the experience, and for my husband ghosting her. I never want to let anybody down. Our family is my personal team and I am one of the managers. Andy not following through on something means that I’m not following through on something. I don’t have a great memory. I confuse dates and times all of the time. I am not sure why people would trust me to remind Andy of something when I can’t remember to remind myself of anything. Our collective inability to follow through on requests made of Andy makes me feel like our team is falling short. When someone asks me to do something that Andy should have done for himself, I immediately think of the dynamic between my mom and my dad because my mom has done everything for my dad. My dad has never done the laundry or gone grocery shopping, and he has never cooked a meal before. He never took my brother or me to doctor's appointments or to pick out school clothes. He couldn't tell you the names of our teachers or whether we studied French or Spanish in high school. He's never ironed a shirt or cleaned a toilet. I watch my mom try to break free of the gender roles that were instilled in her since childhood. It is a very slow and cautious process to undo decades of a sexist upbringing. She no longer puts his clothes away for him; she leaves them on the bed after they’ve been folded. He schedules his own doctor's appointments and picks up his own medications. Yet, she makes his bed. When she goes away for a weekend, she doesn’t make any of his meal in advance. She still does his laundry, but she tells me that, if he runs out of clothes while she’s away, he just buys more. It turns out that she is pretty resentful of him and I am, too. Sometimes I am angry at my mom for not fighting harder to reverse their roles, or at least for not trying to bring more balance to their division of labor. However, I am a mother, and I know how hard it is, as a mother, to work, feed your family, do the laundry, kiss boo boos, go to parent teacher conferences and soccer games, help your aging parents, carry the mental and emotional load, and be all things to all people. She chose survival over battling the patriarchy and I respect her, while also fighting to change the path for myself. When Andy and I met, we were attending the same master's program and pursuing the identical degrees. When we graduated, we accepted entry-level, professional positions in the same field. Yet, overtime, he climbed the career ladder in both status and salary. He is a respected leader in our community, known for his skills, experience, and dedication. I chose to leave the full-time work force at twenty eight, when my first child was born, and my salary took a major nose dive. I decline many opportunities to participate in community service leadership because I struggle to manage my home and work responsibilities, and my mental health. I hold a management position at my organization, but I am a middle manager. Andy is a Vice President. Remember I said our family is a team? When someone asks me to ask Andy something, their intentions are pure and simple, they just want an answer. I think about where I came from, where I've been, and where I want to go. Will I ever get there? Their innocent question reminds me that Andy and I started out on equal ground, but I learned quickly that the ground was uneven because he is a man and I am a woman. When I am asked to do something Andy should have done himself, I feel like, on our family team, I am the middle manager and Andy is the Vice President. If our tiny town is a pond, then I am a minnow. I am proud of Andy and thankful for the impact he makes on our community, and the impact his salary makes to our budget. I am proud to be married to Andy and I appreciate and value the skills he offers in service to others. I am proud to be a mom and I would never change my decision to work part-time when my kids were little. I know my salary has helped my family live a higher quality of life. I am proud of the impact I make professionally, even if my reach is smaller, and I gain less public attention and notoriety. My work matters, and I bring value to those around me, just like Andy. I am proud that we both do laundry, make the bed and take the kids to the doctor and soccer games. He grocery shops. I am not resentful that he is successful. I am resentful that he doesn't follow through and it falls to me, his wife, to remind him. I am not resentful that he is a man, but I am resentful that the fight for equality is endless and sexism exists everywhere, in everything that we do. In our tiny town, I resent when others don’t treat us as the same kind of fish. He may be bigger, but this little minnow is just as resilient. Andy and I blend our roles much more than my parents ever did, but we still have work to do. Like my mom and dad, some couples take years to change, and I can only do so much in one day. Often, cutting snarls out of my kid's hair comes before stomping out gender role stereotypes. Andy does not know the name of every teacher. He recently asked me which door to enter at the school for a pick up. Every email from the school used to be sent to me until I replied, and copied Andy every single time. I carry the mental load, like worrying about grades and monitoring healthy eating and behaviors. I am the one who brushes away their tears after a fight with a friend, and brushes their hair and braids it every night before bed. He mows the lawn, snow blows and knows how to do all the mechanical things around the house. He pays the bills and manages our budget. We are still discovering which gender roles we are willing to accept and which we want to flip. We are still learning if we agree on the other's desired role. A week after the phone call, we puttered around the kitchen, throwing together a haphazard dinner after a long day. I mentioned a follow up story to the project I'd worked on with our mutual, professional colleague. He interrupted with excitement, "Hey! I called her back!" He told me he, sadly, had not yet followed up with my co-worker. I could see relief that he was able to check off a box on his running to-do list. "That's great," I replied. "Because So and So called me today and asked me to remind you to reply to that email they sent you."