John said that he had nothing to give me because he knew his life was harder than mine. I poured tears for a whole hour. He told me I was acting like a spoiled child, that the postpartum period was so much easier than his life, working at the bank instead of being an artist. He refused to take antidepressants, claiming it would take too long to find the proper dose. I wanted neither a divorce nor a disdainful partner, so there I was, hoping for a third option.

Hannah and her second husband had had a baby two years earlier. She said that her husband had also failed to recognize the invisible work of nursing and caring for their child, and that they’d had the same arguments about whose life was harder and why Hannah wasn’t getting any work done.

To solve the problem, she said, I became a lot more patient.