12/09/2025
. To the Man Who Holds Money Over Her Head
You asked her to stay home.
You said it was best for the kids.
You told her not to worry—you’d take care of everything.
And she believed you.
She gave up more than just a job.
She gave up her independence, her identity, her own paycheck.
She shifted her entire world to care for yours.
She became the one who wipes tears, kisses scraped knees, tracks appointments, folds laundry at midnight, and carries the weight of motherhood quietly—without recognition, without breaks.
And now?
Now you use that choice as leverage.
You throw money like it’s proof of power.
You remind her that you’re the one who provides, as if that erases what she’s doing every day just to keep your home and children safe, healthy, and whole.
You act like you’re owed something.
Like she should feel grateful.
Like she’s lucky to be taken care of, instead of being treated like an equal.
But let’s be clear:
You’re not “taking care of her.”
You’re taking care of a family—a family she sacrifices for just as much, if not more.
You go to work? She never leaves hers.
You get a lunch break? She eats last—if at all.
You get to clock out? She never does.
And the cost of her “not working”?
It’s her financial freedom.
Her ability to leave if she’s ever mistreated.
Her ability to say no without worrying what it might cost her or the kids.
That’s not partnership.
That’s power imbalance.
And when you use money to control, shame, or silence her—that’s not love. That’s abuse.
She deserves more than survival.
She deserves to feel safe.
To feel valued.
To feel like her choice to stay home wasn’t the beginning of her disappearing.
So if you want to be a provider, be one.
Provide stability.
Provide kindness.
Provide space for her to breathe without fear that her existence comes with a price tag.[09/11, 08:17] Nadia: Snaaks vir my dat ñ pa nie sy kind se belange eerste stel
[09/11, 08:17] Nadia: Sy het gesê sy kan nie hoorTo the Man Who Holds Money Over Her Head
You asked her to stay home.
You said it was best for the kids.
You told her not to worry—you’d take care of everything.
And she believed you.
She gave up more than just a job.
She gave up her independence, her identity, her own paycheck.
She shifted her entire world to care for yours.
She became the one who wipes tears, kisses scraped knees, tracks appointments, folds laundry at midnight, and carries the weight of motherhood quietly—without recognition, without breaks.
And now?
Now you use that choice as leverage.
You throw money like it’s proof of power.
You remind her that you’re the one who provides, as if that erases what she’s doing every day just to keep your home and children safe, healthy, and whole.
You act like you’re owed something.
Like she should feel grateful.
Like she’s lucky to be taken care of, instead of being treated like an equal.
But let’s be clear:
You’re not “taking care of her.”
You’re taking care of a family—a family she sacrifices for just as much, if not more.
You go to work? She never leaves hers.
You get a lunch break? She eats last—if at all.
You get to clock out? She never does.
And the cost of her “not working”?
It’s her financial freedom.
Her ability to leave if she’s ever mistreated.
Her ability to say no without worrying what it might cost her or the kids.
That’s not partnership.
That’s power imbalance.
And when you use money to control, shame, or silence her—that’s not love. That’s abuse.
She deserves more than survival.
She deserves to feel safe.
To feel valued.
To feel like her choice to stay home wasn’t the beginning of her disappearing.
So if you want to be a provider, be one.
Provide stability.
Provide kindness.
Provide space for her to breathe without fear that her existence comes with a price tag.
Because she’s not dependent.
She’s holding the foundation.
And if you ever lose sight of that, you’ll lose more than just money.
You’ll lose the woman who gave up everything—for a love that wasn’t supposed to make her feel less than.
Because she’s not dependent.
She’s holding the foundation.
And if you ever lose sight of that, you’ll lose more than just money.
You’ll lose the woman who gave up everything—for a love that wasn’t supposed to make her feel less than.
