I am thirty years old, and my husband and I have been married for seven years. We have a daughter who started first grade this year.
Before meeting him, I studied at a prestigious university in the capital. To cover tuition and living expenses, I worked as a model at presentations and showcases for emerging designers. I also occasionally participated in the nightlife of the city, earning money, so to speak, with my appearance. Everything was respectable—no intimacy involved. I simply took part in fashion shows and photoshoots.
When we met, I realized that my job wasn’t exactly suited for family life. So, I quickly wound down my career. My decision came at the right time, as six months after we started dating, I found out I was pregnant. On my husband’s advice, I joined a reputable company and began working in my field of study.
He proposed to me. For a while, I wondered if it was a mistake. I really didn’t want to get married, as people now say, because of a pregnancy, with relatives whispering behind my back and spreading rumors. But my husband reassured me, saying that he had been thinking about proposing in a few months anyway. The pregnancy just pushed him to take that step sooner.
He’s five years older than me. He says he always wanted to have a child, having been the eldest of three in his family. Ever since he grew up, he dreamed of one day having his own family, which he could build the way he saw fit.
When our little girl was born, I naturally went on maternity leave. When it ended, I decided not to return to work and instead fully immersed myself in household responsibilities. By then, I knew for sure that this was what I wanted from life—to care for my husband and child and ensure the fire in our home never went out.
My husband didn’t object to this plan. In fact, he even offered to hire a nanny so I wouldn’t overwork myself. I declined, wanting to do everything myself. Sometimes, when I was overwhelmed, my mother would visit and lend a hand. Our daughter grew up to be a remarkably bright and lively child. Now, even though she’s only six, she speaks English exceptionally well for her age.
After her birth, I didn’t let myself go. When I have time, I go to the gym and the salon. I’ve started to forget the skills from my old profession. I’ve been hearing my husband’s jokes about my intelligence more often, some of which can hardly even be called jokes. I don’t consider myself foolish. It’s only natural that someone might forget much of their professional knowledge after years of staying at home.
Recently, I took the initiative and asked him to help me find a job. He has some connections in my field. He brushed me off rudely, saying he wouldn’t embarrass himself in front of his friends. In my presence, he often talks about women at his workplace who he admires purely for their intelligence. Not only do I dislike this, but my self-esteem is now practically nonexistent.
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