I am thirty years old, and my husband and I have been married for seven years now. We have a daughter who just started first grade this year.
Before I met him, I was studying at a prestigious university in the city. To cover my tuition and living expenses, I started working as a model for trade shows and runway events for up-and-coming designers. I also did some promotional work in the nightlife scene, essentially getting paid for my appearance. It was all strictly professional—no "extras." I stuck to modeling and photo shoots.
When we met, I realized that my line of work wasn't exactly ideal for family life, so I quickly wrapped up my career. The timing turned out to be perfect because about six months after we started dating, I found out I was pregnant. Following my husband's advice, I landed a position at a good firm and began working in my actual field of study.
Then he proposed. For a while, I wondered if it was a mistake. I really didn't want a "shotgun wedding," with relatives whispering behind my back and spreading rumors. But my husband reassured me, saying he had already been thinking about proposing for a few months anyway. The pregnancy just gave him the final push to take that step.
He is five years older than me. He says he always wanted children; being the oldest of three, he had dreamed since he was young of one day having his own family that he could build and manage exactly the way he saw fit.
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When our little girl was born, I naturally went on maternity leave. Once it ended, I decided not to return to the office. Instead, I chose to immerse myself fully in managing our home. By then, I knew for certain that this was what I wanted out of life—to care for my husband and child and to make sure the pilot light of our home never went out.
My husband didn't mind the idea. In fact, he even offered to hire a nanny so I wouldn't overextend myself. I turned him down; I wanted to do everything myself. Occasionally, when I felt overwhelmed, my mother would drop by to help out. Our daughter grew up to be surprisingly bright and precocious. Even though she's only six, her vocabulary and reading level are well beyond her years.
After she was born, I didn't let myself go. Whenever I have the time, I head to the gym or the salon. However, I've started to lose my professional edge. Lately, I've been hearing more "jokes" from my husband about my intelligence—comments that sometimes don't feel like jokes at all. I don't consider myself stupid. It's only logical that a person might forget the nuances of their profession after spending several years at home.
Recently, I took the initiative and asked him to help me get back into the workforce. He has some solid connections in my field. He just brushed me off rudely, saying he wouldn't embarrass himself in front of his friends. Now, he frequently talks in front of me about women at his office whom he admires "strictly for their intellect." I don't just dislike it; my self-esteem has hit rock bottom.
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