I Never Signed Up To Be The Primary Breadwinner

From Redbook

At 23, I'd just graduated from the University of Texas and moved to New York City, where everything felt fabulous and new. And then I met Aaron.

When he first asked me out, we had dinner at a candlelit Italian Trattoria. He had a great PR job for the city's hippest gym franchise and wanted to treat. I let him-after all, he made more money than I did. I was struggling with my junior copywriter paycheck and had some debt. On our next date, he showed up with yellow roses from the corner deli. I was smitten.

After three years, we decided to co-habitate. Or rather, he rationalized that I should move into his studio apartment. "It's only for one year and we could save a lot of money," Aaron argued. This was hard to debate when the average neighborhood rent was 50 percent of my meager salary. I began packing.

One month before the move date, Aaron lost his job. A bolt of nerves struck me. Should I reconsider? My optimistic side assured me everything would work out. "It's fine, you're so talented," I told him in my pep talk voice as I unloaded my belongings into the 500 square foot box we'd now be sharing.

After his sudden layoff, I assumed Aaron would immediately find another position. Friends and family would often forward along interesting opportunities they thought Aaron might like, but he never followed up. I didn't realize the loss had been so ego-crushing. His career was stalled and he didn't seem to want to jump start it.

Meanwhile, I had snagged a new senior copywriter gig with a pay increase and negotiated a substantial raise after a year. To add insult to salary, my moonlighting career as a professional voice-over talent took off when I landed a national T.J. Maxx campaign and residual checks frequented our mailbox. Now I was the one treating to dinner. By the end of our first year of co-habitation, Aaron was still unemployed. He was depressed. I was more depressed. After all, I didn't sign on for this. I'd fallen for a mover-and-shaker. It didn't seem fair that he'd switched to a sitter-and-sulker.

Aaron picked up occasional freelance PR work that first year, giving me some confidence. His parents helped him out too. Then he surprised me with a gorgeous engagement ring. I said "yes," expecting he'd soon rebound.

In a Texas-sized, flower-laden affair gifted by my parents, we got married.

Another year passed. My unwanted breadwinner status did not.

I'd always been ambitious and fancied myself a feminist, concerned with equal pay for women and lobbying for a female to finally take her rightful seat as a U.S. President. So I was taken aback by my sudden affinity for traditional gender roles. I had no idea how much I enjoyed being a girly-girl taken out by a chivalrous, successful suitor-until it was gone. Now I just wanted some paycheck equality. Looking in the mirror one morning, my reflection defiantly hollered I don't WANT to support him! Apparently a feminist can also be sexist.

Unemployment had historically been first on my "Dealbreaker List." But Aaron had a job the first three years we were together. Now, though, I obsessed over where the extra money I was making could be going-into savings, a decadent Michelin Star meal or those leather leggings I'd been eye-stalking-instead of supplementing the wages my guy wasn't making. Afraid of hurting his feelings, I kept quiet and prayed for his no-job jaunt to end.

While my beau grew up in a big, loving family in a nice two-story suburban home, they rarely splurged on meals or bought things that weren't on sale. He was also frugal and believed shopping for clothes you didn't need and fancy dinners were frivolous.

I didn't want friction, but as the sole operative of our dual-income household, I felt trapped by his perspective on money. I also felt judged by friends, family, and colleagues who'd constantly inquire, "Did Aaron get a job yet?" Instead of telling him how I felt, I sulked alone in the bathroom, the only room with a door that closed.

Aaron continued to flounder in a jobless funk for the next four years.

I found comfort and solace in mini shopping sprees (even drugstore toiletries!), concerts and outings with girlfriends. Though I was spending the money I made, I was afraid Aaron would find out and feared he'd disapprove of or criticize my splurges. So I used my corporate Amex, a bill that came to my office. Each time I layered new pieces into my clothing collection, I was attempting to fill the holes in our relationship….feeling horribly guilty with each charge.

Then one day Aaron needed my bank information for an appointment with our accountant. I got busted and had to come clean. Aaron was furious and couldn't believe my deception, rightly so. My rendezvous with my credit cards had cost me his trust. My spending wasn't wrong, but hiding it was. Instead of confronting what was really affecting us, I cheated on him, even if it was just with my Amex.

Our marriage eventually ran its course. As I began dating again, I worried the income imbalance might pose problems again. Then I met Dean. After three loving years, I now know that salaries don't have to dictate who has the "power" in a relationship. Being partners means treating each other as equals, and as long as everyone is working hard and contributing equally, things will feel balanced.

I can't wait to marry Dean this April. We're splitting our wedding 50/50.