‘Came out Swinging’ from the Wonder Years has become my anthem. The song I play when I need to slap myself out of whatever lethargy I’m falling into.
New years eve of 2024, me and my husband spent the evening in, eating takeaway and chatting on the couch, he set it up so that the the titular lyric ‘I came out swinging’ hit at exactly midnight. We danced round the coffee table together, more like chased each other, until he caught me into an embrace, it was lovely.
On the 17th of January this year we went to see the Wonder Years in London. It was perfect. 3,000 people sang out the lyrics that resonated with them for their own reasons. I sang them for my reasons. My husband caught me in an embrace, it was lovely.
Talking about my memories of a band is easy to do, but how about a super cheesy dissection of the lyrics? Seems like a logical blog post to write while sitting out on the balcony, or is it terrible, it’s probably terrible. Anxiety is fun.
‘I spent this year as a ghost, and I’m not sure what I’m looking for….’
Fuck me, does that lyric hit me at the moment. I have no idea what I’m doing, what I want to do, or what I can do. I just drift through, trying to make myself busy, I have 18 hours free each day, and somehow I’m still not on top of the washing up.
‘I guess you’d call this regression’
I had a view of myself, I knew who I was, I don’t now. I was managing various high profile projects, mentoring people, and still having a home cooked meal on the table by eight: I’d prefer dinner at nine, my husband would prefer seven, so eight it is. Having a job isn’t what matters, it’s that I could pay my way, do what I want and feel secure. I feel like I’ve regressed. I have a whole bit of my life and personality that has been gone for nearly a year. Fuck.
‘Spent the winter writing songs about getting better, and if I’m being honest, I’m getting there’
You’ve got to leave any post on a high right? So, I’m getting there.
Today started like all days. Wake up, open emails, check for new vacancies. I have alerts set up to numerous job sites, for numerous job titles. So when an algorithm says my CV meets the requirements of a role, I get an email notification of the job. Recently I’ve had ‘Head teacher’, ‘Roofer’ and ‘Dubai based executive assistant’ suggested as being ‘excellent fits’ for me.
Isn’t AI great?
My scepticism of AI is growing daily. Me, and the other 1.81 million people job searching in the UK, might genuinely be competing with software. I got that stat from an LLM, not because I wanted to, but because it’s the first result on Google. What a positive sign for our future that search engines now seem to prioritise results that cause the most environmental impact.
I’m a hypocrite. If I’m offered a job where I need to use LLMs and manage AI designed learning tomorrow, damn right I’d take it.
I’ll move on from that rant.
Last night, we ripped up our bedroom carpet to see whether there was salvageable parquet flooring beneath. A couple of weeks back, we pulled up the laminate in the hallway and found a mish-mash of parquet and concrete, but still had hope for the bedroom. Underneath the cheapest ‘Landlord special’ bedroom carpet, the parquet is intact. It needs a lot of restoration, but bringing back the 1960s charm is worth it.
This morning we planned on being really productive, get the mass of carpet and laminate to the tip, organise all the ‘under the bed’ stuff and sort through various piles of clutter. None of this happened. We went to B&M to stock up on cleaning supplies and then went to the pub for lunch.
Over a disappointing lunch of oven chips and microwaved nachos, another job pinged up in my emails. I asked my husband ‘How far away is Havant?’ For a hybrid role of two days a week in the office we looked at trains and it’s absolutely commutable. The role looked good, really good: double pension matching, private healthcare, 33 days holiday. I was ready to apply. I mentioned the company to my husband; he laughed, a lot. He finally explained, it was a weapons company. Against my morals, I still considered it for the rest of my glass of Sauvignon. Clarity hit me at the last sip, fuck no.
I just wrote a blog that I hated. Seven hundred and fifty words of self absorbed blithering about what purpose is and why I may be lacking it. You’re not missing anything. In essence, people need purpose, people lack realisation of their purpose and I threw in some classic millennial references about what purpose is blah, blah, Fin.
Instead, I’ll blog about my cottage pie.
I love cottage pie. It is the ultimate comfort food; hearty, warming, and just simply a hug in a bowl. My husband is not a fan of this beautiful dish, so every time he’s working away for a couple of days I make myself a cottage pie. It’s my little treat, just for me.
I had thought about my cottage pie for a couple of hours this morning and knew what ingredients I needed. I put on my shoes ready to walk to the shops, and the skies opened. So, I stayed inside and ordered a Tesco delivery instead. Mince was out of stock…so I ordered a couple of rump steaks, cheddar was out of stock…so I ordered parmesan and mozzarella. An unexpected bougie cottage pie.
I browned the beef, and cooked it up in red wine, garlic, chorizo and onion. Then I went back and sat on the couch and started watching a documentary about spousal abuse.
Half an hour later, I got up, did the washing up for last night’s dinner, and threw some potatoes in the oven for the mash. Then I went back to the couch to continue the documentary. People can be awful, cottage pie is always good.
For the next hour or two I got up every 20 mins to stir the beef and turn the potatoes. I went back to the documentary between food checks; figures show every five days a woman is killed by their ex or current partner…I feel I should put something less factual on while I eat.
I got up and mashed the potatoes with some butter, mustard and milk and forked them on top of the slow cooked beef. The pie is now in the oven and I’ve topped it off with mozzarella, parmesan and a generous amount of olive oil and salt.
I’ve changed my watching to the new Netflix documentary on Michael Jackson. I’ll let you know how it pairs with cottage pie.
‘Another day another rejection’, I WhatsApp’d my husband. He came through from his home office set up in the spare room, to talk to me. I was horizontal on the balcony listening to the audiobook of Lord of the Rings.
I’m quite enjoying the story, I have never felt the urge to read, listen to, or watch it before; it’s long. But I suppose I’ve got the time now. I like the Hobbits. All the eating, drinking, adventuring and singing sounds quite ideal.
I took my headphones off. My husband suggested trying something completely different.
‘Why don’t you become a yoga teacher?’
I laughed. ‘I’m not exactly a fit Instagram influencer with abs am I!’.
‘That’s why people would sign up to you.’ he said, honestly.
He’s got a point. I don’t feel comfortable enough to go to a gym with all my wiggly and jiggly bits, it’s not a stretch to think I’m not the only one.
I don’t think it’s for me. But…maybe?
Being overweight in a rare British heatwave is hard. Do you try not to care, and just wear what’s coolest? Or do you cover up your flabby bits and overheat? Neither is comfortable, but I tend to err towards the former.
I’ve been holding an extra stone or so for the past few years. I probably can’t keep saying it’s just Christmas weight. BMI would tell you I’m overweight, but at 5 foot 8, I hold it reasonably well. Maybe I’m trying to excuse it? I’d like to be thinner. Social norms dictate I should probably say fitter, or healthier, but in truth I’d like to be thinner.
But I like food. And I like wine.
I’m a UK size 12, OK, sometimes a 14. My relationship with food is currently good. It hasn’t always been though. Like many people, I’ve collected my badges in all the diet fads. Low carb – check, low calorie – check, swigging apple cider vinegar for no logical reason – check, raw food – check, smaller plates – check. Mum, if you’re reading this and falling into a worry spiral, you’re not the influence. Relax.
I’m smart enough to know that all of these are about calories in, and calories out. But somehow I, and others, still try them, with hope of a miracle. Ozempic now seems to be the miracle, but, without judgement on others, it’s not for me.
I’ll leave it there, and serve up dinner: spiced chicken, rice and broccoli. Food I like, and I’m hoping hasn’t been influenced by any trend. But really, who knows?
It’s my 39th birthday. I’m lying on the terrace of our flat sunbathing and drinking a Sauvignon blanc. It’s French, not New Zealand, but my mind might be changing as it’s delightful, and a beautiful gift from my in-laws.
I think I last blogged about 7 months ago. I wanted to write again, but what do I have to say? Maybe sitting in the sun has made me nostalgic? I’ve not succeeded at getting a new job, and I’m no longer doing the ‘Trad Wife’ thing. I was looking for a hook to write about. The job seeker? The millennial coping with their mental health? The (let’s be honest) bloody brilliant cook? Maybe it’s OK to blog just about being a human, just doing human stuff? An online diary perhaps?
I’ll try it.
What do I have to catch you up on since my last blog? I have numerous CVs ready to send off for every job that pops up in my inbox. Every email that comes in I feel hopeful…until I get to the word ‘Unfortunately’. I wish I’d had less than a dozen or so of those. But we’ve had some amazing city breaks. Shout outs to going to Krakow and Sicily, if you go, expect to put on 3lbs in good food. Our house sale went through so I’ve been painting various walls and fences. That might be it. Life is normal, and I am content. Not what I thought it would be, but I’m OK. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve cried, I’ve been angry and I’ve probably not been the best wife at times. But I’m Ok. Maybe I was better when I was acting the Trad Wife?
Today has been nice. My poor husband has the flu, he feels terrible we’re not doing anything for my birthday as he’s stuck in bed. We walked out and got pastries for breakfast from my favourite bakery, and some overpriced bits and bobs from M&S for lunch. Heat wave bank holiday weekend advice, avoid M&S.
My dad came over to take me for a birthday drink. It made my day. We sat outside in the shade of the dingiest pub in our area, I had a New Zealand Sauvignon, he had a Thatchers Gold. We talked about life, money, stress and love. We avoided politics. My views are known, I’m not proud to be British currently, no more needs to be said. Don’t worry, this won’t become a political blog, although maybe I’ll have a view to throw in here or there. I’m really not proud.
So I’m now out on the balcony. Appreciating the warmth, listening to ‘The Wonder Years’ and as always a bit of ‘Counting Crows’ and thinking it might be worth writing again. Who knows? Maybe I have something to say? More likely a flow of random thoughts. No forced timelines this time. So, the diary of an unemployed 39 year old. That might be what I have to share.
Rage Against The Machine has just started playing ‘Bomb Track’ on Spotify. I’ll shortly head inside to play Mario Kart with my husband and order a takeaway for dinner. I’m content.
How has this come around so quickly? I have lots of thoughts, feelings and learnings to share. But I’ll leave that to a final round up post tomorrow, maybe Tuesday. Today, I’ll finally introduce you to my nameless husband. We sat down on the sofa and I interviewed him on his thoughts of the experiment. Here’s what he has to say.
What was your favourite meal? I don’t know, I can’t remember what happened earlier today. But probably freshly cooked pasta.
Who’s the better cleaner out of us? Me. Genuinely though, we both have our strengths. But the second you get a job, you’ll stop the same level of cleaning. I’ll go back to doing more after work, I find it relaxing, you don’t.
Is there anything you’d like to continue into our ‘normal’ lives? It would depend on what you do for work. I wouldn’t expect you to do something that just benefits me. Having a lovely home and freshly cooked meal has been great, but I couldn’t expect you to continue doing it. But we are happier with that lifted stress. When you get another job I think we should get a cleaner for a couple of hours a week.
Has anything surprised you? I don’t think it’s changed anything about us. Did you think it would? Yeah, I guess so, as you’ve got someone doing more for you. As nice as it is coming home to a nice home and having things done for you, it feels a lot like living at home with your parents, the bed would be made and dinner cooked for you, it was all just done. But as an adult you have to do it yourself and it’s time and effort, and not fun and enjoyable for most people. You get used to it, and I think we got used to this.
What have you liked the most? You’ve seemed happier.
What have you liked the least? I don’t like doing joint washing. It might be because I think I’m on the spectrum. But I think that when I do my washing, I know I’ve got everything I want when I want it, but when it’s joint it just goes more in order. Also, you changed the tog on the duvet too early!
Did you learn anything new about me? I don’t think I necessarily learnt anything new, but it’s interesting when we’ve had conversations about what you want to do next, I was surprised by what you’ve said. As you’ve been so career driven and focussed, I was surprised that one bump in the road would make you reconsider your employment so much. But I guess it’s not until you’re faced with adversity that you think about why you’re doing something, and step back. It can be like a sunken cost fallacy, where you’re so far into a career you feel like you can’t stop pursuing it.
Has this shifted your views on Trad Lifestyles at all? No. I’ve always thought there was a place for them. Women should have the choice of what they want to do, but no woman should be looked down on if their choice is to stay at home as a wife, or homemaker. And there’s nothing wrong with a man who wants to be a provider either. Marriage is important, it provides certain protections and support. I don’t see any negatives to marriage, as you know when you’ve found your person. I would have been fine if you didn’t want to get married and I’d have still stayed with you, but marriage is important to me and something I wanted. It’s a nice way to show commitment. People give a lot of reasons for not wanting to get married, but for me, if you’re saying someone’s the one, marry them. Marriage doesn’t need to be a 50k party. Don’t spend more than you can, don’t bow down to social media pressures, just do what feels right for you.
Is our marriage better, or worse, for the experiment? I don’t think you can base this on 6 weeks, when marriage is meant to be for a lifetime. The only thing I’ll say, is it’s made parts of my life easier, but marriage isn’t about one side.
Would you recommend this experiment to any other couples? There’s a lot of dependencies to be able to do something like this, kids, dogs, commitments. We have been very lucky that we’ve been able to do this financially. If someone else was in the same position as us, there would be nothing wrong with trying it. I think this is also quite specific to us, as you’ve been career focussed, and never wanted this lifestyle.
How would you rate me as a Trad Wife? Cooking: 10, Cleaning: 9, Listening to me rather than talking at me: 9, Happy mood and demeanour: 10, Making my life easier: 10, Looking Trad and caring more about your appearance: 5
Do you have any questions for me?
After interviewing my husband for an hour, I gave him the chance to ask me some questions. Here’s what I had to say.
Have you noticed any changes in me? You definitely seem happier, and you’re less stressed. I think you like having a nice home and nice dinner and those kinds of perks. But really, I think it’s because you don’t have to take on my emotional baggage every day. I don’t finish work and insist on being immediately taken out for a glass of wine to moan at you before you’ve even taken your shoes off.
Would you trade our DINK lifestyle for a happier but less glamourous SINK lifestyle? It’s hard to know, I’ve still got money coming in, so I don’t know what it would be like if I didn’t have my own money. But yeah, probably, as long as we had enough money to allow for luxuries . What do you count as luxuries? Meals out, holidays, being able to do things at the spur of the moment. Not worrying about food costs and having to eat boring meals. There’s an element of swapping work stress to financial stress isn’t there? Absolutely.
I asked my husband for his final thoughts on having a good marriage:
“Look at your marriage as a life, not just a term. In the world at the moment, things are seen as disposable, like throwing away your old phone as soon as a new one comes in. If you have a health issue, you’d see a doctor to address the issue. You should do the same for any issue. Divorce is an easy option when things are tough, but often problems can be solved. You need to say when you’re wrong, act like adults and work through things. Be receptive to criticism. It’s not always easy.”
Answers like this are why I love him.
The Final Trad Wife round up:
Rating of my husband: 9.8/10 View on Trad lifestyles: Changed Plans for my future: Uncertain Hours spent cooking and cleaning during this experiment: 40 hours a week/full time work that
Awake, kiss at the door, Monster, Duolingo. This sounds much like yesterday.
Clean kitchen, clean bathroom, put a load of washing on. This also sounds much like yesterday.
I don’t mind the routine at all, I may go as far as to say I like it. I definitely prefer it to my old routine: wake up, shower, open laptop in bed while doing skincare, answer last night’s emails, try to work out a space to have a lunch break, move to lounge, answer an ad-hoc phonecall with hair still wet, send a happy gif on Teams, look at the 25 browser tabs I have open and try to remember what’s most important to start with, get another ad-hoc phone call, stare blankly at a PowerPoint I’ve made for some initiative that I’ll have to talk through at a meeting with no one really listening, reply to Teams messages, stare blankly at an Excel document…then 9am hits and the first of at least seven meetings begin. Fuck.
Writing that down makes it seem awful. Maybe it was, but it didn’t feel it, I loved my job. But who really wants to do that? Staying in Trad Wifery is very appealing. I’m bringing love and warmth to the home. That’s appealing. I still get it. I really didn’t think my views would change so much.
After the cleaning and reflection on life, I got ready to go out and meet some old colleagues.
One of my old colleagues from three companies ago messaged me a while back and we are meeting for a drink and chat this afternoon. She said she and another old colleague wanted to pick my brain about digital learning futures. I hoped I wasn’t too out of practice.
We met, hugged and caught up about how all of our lives had both changed and stayed exactly the same over the last six years.
After the standard catch up, I expected them to explain what new idea or change they needed help with. But they said, “We’re starting a business in e-learning”. I asked about their USP, planned costs, and target market. They were unsure. They have a company name and logo though.
The conversation was nice, I gave them advice about different technology, competitors to research and courses to improve their skills. For context, not arrogance, I’ve been in digital learning for over a decade, they’ve been dabbling on and off since I left that employer six years ago. Towards the end, they asked me if their idea was worth pursuing. I answered as nicely as I could “There’s a reason I’m not doing it.” It’s AI, AI is often the reason now.
I felt I’d put a dampener on their dream.
I never said “Don’t do it!”, or “That’s an awful idea.” Just, it has an end date, and it’s on the horizon.
We caught up a bit more socially, then I wandered back home, stopping in at Tesco to pick up some bits for dinner.
I could tell they wanted to be out of the stress of work. But not everyone has the privilege of choosing a Trad life.
I got home and my husband was already back, an hour or so earlier than usual. We chatted for a bit while he was designing a new road network on the game he’s currently playing. He’d had a hard day, his job today isn’t as secure as it was yesterday. The new budget is looming.
I made us Yorkshire puddings, sausage, mash and broccoli. Sometimes comfort food is the answer.
Clean the kitchen, clean the bathroom, put on a load of washing.
Dusting, hoovering, take down the recycling.
Hang up the washing, start cooking, watch an hour of a crime documentary.
I don’t think I need to write more than that. It’s my routine, you’ve probably heard about it enough by now, it’s been 39 days.
But unlike Tuesday, I wasn’t bored today. Maybe my playlist was better? Maybe I had a more interesting documentary on in the background? Maybe I was just not dwelling on the future? Whatever it was, I had a nice day.
I sat down at 1pm and ate a cheese toastie in front of the TV.
Over the last few weeks, I’ve realised that it’s often the small things that make a good Trad home. So, here’s some of the small things I now do:
I light a candle or incense stick about an hour before my husband gets home from work. Then the house smells lovely, but not overwhelming.
I try to make sure I’ve got a good stock of my husband’s favourite drinks, and keep them chilled in the fridge. I have failed at this a couple of times, but as a couple we get through in excess of 25 bottles of apple and raspberry fizzy water a week. It’s hard to keep up. It’s excessive, we know.
Even if I’m not leaving the house, I spritz myself with perfume. When I kiss my husband at the door he immediately smells something familiar, at the moment it’s Jo Malone English pear and freesia. Although, today he told me I smell like a pie crust. I guess that’s a compliment. I think.
I make sure the prep for dinner and cleaning is done at least 20 minutes before my husband is due home. Then I can sit and relax for a little bit, so I’m not flustered or in the middle of something when he gets back. It means he can have my full attention, without distraction if he wants to talk about his day.
Doing these little things, change it from me just doing the cooking and cleaning, to putting thought into little acts that make the home a lovely place to be.
It’s nice, this life is nice. There’s only a few days left of the experiment, but I imagine there’s lots of things that will continue. Or maybe, I’ll get another corporate job, work long hours, and stress drink wine. I’m undecided, still lost, and still finding myself. And still in a good way.
I made a tapas style dinner, not 100% traditionally Spanish, but small things and lots of them: crispy chicken wings, tortilla Espanola, stuffed mushrooms, patatas bravas, broccoli with black pepper and butter, steak pasties and what my husband likes to call his ‘Famous hot hotdogs’ don’t ask about that one.
We ate dinner, while watching The Office and Somebody Feed Phil.
It’s just been a day of routine, comfort and warmth.
The Trad Wife round up:
Bottles of fizzy water: 3 for me, 1 for my husband Hours cooking and cleaning: 6.5 Current fragrance: I think English Pear and Freesia, my husband thinks pie crust Feeling: Comfortable and warm
Today is my first day officially unemployed, and I think the world is trying to tell me something.
I sat in bed chatting to my husband, and our family group WhatsApp was pinging in the background about my brother’s well deserved new job. I’m really proud of him, getting to a management level in a big company isn’t easy. Then I started my daily Duolingo practice and today’s lesson is all about explaining your job.
We had our kiss at the door and I went back to bed to continue my Italian practice for an hour or so with my can of Monster. I’ve nailed saying “I am a doctor and it’s interesting but not easy.” Another useful phrase for the repertoire. I didn’t learn to say “I’m unemployed” though.
I got up and cleaned the kitchen and bathroom. While I was bleaching the toilet I got an email through about getting my CV professionally reviewed. Today is definitely hinting at something. I feel like I’m being pushed out of the nest too early. I have one wing that’s taking me east to Teams meetings and new initiatives, and one west to domesticity. If I leave the nest now I’ll just fly in circles and quite possibly be eaten by a cat.
My mum was due round at midday, so I jumped in the shower and left the rest of the cleaning and tidying for the afternoon.
My mum and I went out to get lunch in our favourite dive bar: brisket fries again for me, and mushroom tacos and salad for mum. We were going to spend the afternoon baking, so we chatted about what we were going to make. We decided on each making a quiche, a very traditional and apt thing to make. I also decided to make some arancini for my brother to celebrate his promotion.
We picked up ingredients from M&S. The public seemed weird today, people just seemed off. I’ve found that shopping has been less stressful recently, as I’m never out at peak times, everything moves slower and people have time to chat. But we must have been at the shop during an office lunch break, as everything felt rushed and agitated.
Back at home in the kitchen we started our mother, daughter, baking afternoon. My mum lost her confidence in cooking and it’s just starting to return now she’s retired. I imagine that can easily happen when you’re a single mum, working as a Deputy Head teacher and trying to feed two horrible teenagers. Who would have the energy to cook up more than a stir fry when as soon as your back is turned your daughter’s skipped school and invited all the neighbourhood goths round to drink White Lightening? She’s good, my mum is. Very forgiving, and very good.
We had a nice role reversal, where I was advising her and she was happily baking. I handed her the butter “I’d put some more butter in.” I washed the mixing bowl, “Are you planning on greasing the oven dish with butter or olive oil?” She said neither, I handed her the olive oil. “Do you need some seasoning?” I put the salt and pepper down next to her.
My mum sat on a little blue stool in the middle of the kitchen eagerly watching her quiche cook through my very clean oven door.
The quiche looks great, she took it home to have for her dinner.
My husband briefly came home, took some co-codamol for a headache, packed a bag, and got back in the car to drive up to a job in the Midlands somewhere.
That used to be both of us. Just two stressed out people, in a somewhat messy house. The experiment has made a lot of things better. He feels looked after, I feel happy. I’m not ready to leave the nest. I’m lucky, I’ve got a few months to work out what I want to do. I’ll make sure everything is lovely for when he walks in the door tomorrow, I think he might need it.
My brother messaged and said he enjoyed the arancini. My mum messaged and said she enjoyed the quiche. I sat down and had a glass of wine and some cheese, I enjoyed today.
The Trad Wife round up:
Eggs used: 8 My mum’s rating on her quiche: “It was delicious! I’m amazed!” Favourite Italian word: coinquilina Duvet Tog: Upped from a summer 4, to an autumn 7.5
The Accidental Trad Wife 