(Healing With A Side Of Guilt)
There’s something surprisingly wonderful about having D home.
I didn’t expect that. I didn’t know just how much of the daily weight I’d been carrying alone until suddenly, I wasn’t. For most of our relationship, we both worked full time. But when our kids were small, it was always me who had to leave work in the middle of the day for doctor’s appointments or school calls or fevers that came out of nowhere. I was the one running the daycare drop-offs and the midday pickups. D’s jobs didn’t come with flexibility — leaving early or taking time off was marked against him. Even when our kids were being born, it felt like a minor miracle that he was “allowed” time to be with us.
So when his mental health took a turn, and he had to step away from work, I was terrified — but it turns out, it’s also been a blessing in disguise. He’s been off work now for nearly three years. It started with medical leave, and we’re currently navigating what feels like a never-ending maze of paperwork and assessments to get the support he needs. Financially, yes, it’s tight — living on one income means we have to think carefully about every single expense. But emotionally? It’s changed everything.
D being home means there’s someone to help with all the things that used to fall to me by default. He’s able to take the kids to their appointments. He can step in for drop-off or pickup when someone’s schedule changes last-minute. He’s there when things go sideways during the day. And — maybe most importantly — I know he’s okay. Not just surviving. Healing.
That said… I’m scared.
He’s doing so much better, and I’m grateful for that. But the thought of him returning to work? It brings up so many fears. What if the progress he’s made unravels under the pressure of deadlines, toxic work culture, or the rigid structure of a job that doesn’t allow for therapy appointments or bad mental health days? What if we end up right back in that soul-sucking routine — him clocking in as a shell of himself, and me juggling flaming chaos while whispering “it’s fine” through clenched teeth?
But… is this selfish? Am I holding him back by hoping he stays home longer? Maybe he’s ready to return to work. Maybe he’s ready to have purpose beyond the house. And yet, every time I think about that, a knot forms in my stomach.
He worries, too — but for different reasons. He feels like he’s not contributing right now, especially financially. Even though I tell him, over and over again, that him being home is contributing. The kids love having him around. I love having him around. Every time we even mention D going back to work, the kids immediately wail, “Nooooo!” like we just told them their favorite cartoon was canceled.
The mental load is lighter, the house feels steadier, and I’m not constantly one sick kid away from a meltdown. That matters.
But eventually, we’ll have to decide what comes next. I don’t know what the right answer is yet. But I hope we can find a way for D to stay home longer, to keep healing, and maybe even find something meaningful that doesn’t crush his soul.
Because right now, I’m not mainlining coffee just to survive and finally at a place where I can sit down for five minutes without wondering what disaster I forgot to handle.
Why Are We Crying? 