The Folder Labeled "Good Wife": How I Finally Divorced the Role
As I was looking through my bookmarks last week, I stumbled across a folder labeled “the good wife.”
At first, I laughed, thinking back to a time when I would search for article after article to tuck neatly into that folder for safekeeping. Then I opened it—and felt my chest tighten. Inside were articles, checklists, little “how to be better” notes I had saved. On how I could get him to change by becoming the change myself (spoiler: that wasn’t going to happen, nor was it my job). How to show devotion as a faithful wife. And one of my favorites: how to have the house tidy, food prepared, kids bathed, calmed, and fed—EVERYTHING just “perfect”—so his only focus would be on wanting to spend intimate time with me.
Now, I’m honestly laughing all over again as I type this because it astounds me to realize how I once thought morphing myself into something more would fix a marriage where my husband was giving less and less and couldn’t even reciprocate what I was already giving.
And it hit me: I used to believe being a better wife would save us.
The Skewed Idea of “Good”
Yes, of course, we want to love, respect, and honor our partners. I am a romantic and lover through and through—a Scorpio. We love intensely. I wanted a partner who would allow me to love him in the ways that speak to him, and I desired to be loved in the same way.
But somewhere along the way, the definition of “good wife” got twisted into unconditional sacrifice. And this honestly is where being a Scorpio became a drawback for me—because we also don’t know how to let go. We will give chance after chance because we know that once that love is gone, only feelings of disgust and indifference are left. Basically, we hold a mock funeral for you while you’re still alive.
I prioritized him at the expense of myself. I excused laziness as helplessness. I overcompensated for what he refused to carry. And when I finally reached my breaking point and pushed back, this is where weaponized incompetence showed up. Bare minimum disguised as effort. The avoidance of big issues covered up with little side tasks so there would be evidence of “See, at least I tried.” The wounded rallying cry of “Nothing I ever do is good enough for you” to deflect accountability and diminish the valid feelings I expressed.
And if you don’t shower gratitude for crumbs? Suddenly, you’re the ungrateful one.
My Part in It
Let me be absolutely clear: I wasn’t perfect. Still not and I have gladly let go of the exhausting task of trying to be. And once again, I’m a Scorpio. We can be dangerous when our intense love isn’t valued. I stonewalled when I didn’t feel appreciated. I played passive-aggressive games as my defense mechanism. I shifted blame, downplayed my role, and in the thick of it all I wanted to believe I was always “right.” I allowed boundaries to be crossed. And I carried too much because that’s what I thought good wives did.
But as I sat with that folder, the ridiculousness of it all made old anger bubble up. I remembered how the cold of indifference seeped in over time when my performing went unoticed. How the broken promises were followed by predictable waves of disappointment and anger, not only with him but with myself for that small glimmer of hope that this time would be different. The slow and quiet ways I didn’t even realize I was divorcing myself from him emotionally with each sting of feeling unsupported.
And in that moment I could almost feel the old, familiar weight of the marriage that I felt like I always carried alone while guilt told me I had no right to feel angry. Because “at least” he provided for us financially. “At least” he was a good person. “At least”… well, you get it. Those two words kept me settling for breadcrumbs when I was starved for a meal. (Read more in The Most Dangerous Words Keeping You Stuck in Good Enough).
The Conditioning Runs Deep
It reminds me of a line from The Simpsons Movie. Lisa cries to Marge, “But I’m so angry.” And Marge responds, “You’re a woman. You can hold on to it forever.”
That conditioning is real. I used to stew silently, thinking he knew exactly what he had done. He didn’t. In his mind, he was being a “good husband” because he provided financially, wasn’t cheating, wasn’t abusive, engaged with the kids here and there, and otherwise stayed out of my way.
To him, that was enough. To me, it felt like neglect.
This is where I had to pause—not to silence myself or be ‘the bigger person,’ but to actually feel what was happening in my body. That chest-tightening wasn’t just anger at him. It was my system screaming: You’re doing it again. You’re carrying what isn’t yours.
I call this the Sacred Pause—that necessary space where you are no longer silencing your pain but disrupting the cycle and asking what your feelings are really trying to show you. It’s not pretty. It’s ofen not peaceful. But what follows is clarity.
Alchemizing the Anger
The difference now? I don’t stew. I don’t become the anger. I use it.
When the folder triggered me, I journaled. Then I went to the pole—my grounding place, my moving meditation. Movement brought me back into the present, into my body. When I returned to the journal, I could see the clarity inside the emotion.
I realized how a current situation with my soon-to-be ex was repeating old patterns. His avoidance. My overcompensating. The familiar weight on my chest. And I caught myself. I remembered why I walked away, why I set boundaries, why I no longer equate sacrifice with love.
Because when we don’t alchemize those feelings, when we just swallow them, we leak our power to people and patterns that cannot or will not give back to us.
Practices for Calling Your Energy Back
When I’m in it—really IN the anger or resentment, because let’s be real: no amount of healing and deep inner work is EVER going to completely prevent these feelings—here’s what helps me transmute it instead of drowning:
I move it through my body. Often it’s pole, lyra, or silks. That feeling of feet off the ground, defying gravity, instantly puts me in the present moment—where I get to choose whether the past still has power over me. And sometimes it’s aggressive kitchen cleaning or getting into a hot shower, swaying my hips while I sing along to my favorite playlist. Your body knows how to metabolize what your mind keeps spinning on—you just have to let it guide you.
I journal differently now. I used to write “Why is he like this? Why am I so mad? Why am I not worthy of him fighting for our marriage?” Now I ask from a more empowered, curious, compassionate place: “What is this anger trying to protect me from? What pattern am I about to repeat?” The question shift changes everything.
I rewrite the story I’ve been carrying. I take the old narrative—”This is just how marriage is” or “I’m asking for too much”—and I write the truth I know now: “I am no longer carrying what isn’t mine, nor will I shrink or deprioritize my needs to keep others comfortable.” This isn’t a one-time event either. I often have to write these new stories over and over until I can alchemize the past and create different timelines for my future.
I trace the pattern back. This is what I do in my Timeline Alchemy Blueprint—I map where this feeling showed up before, how I responded then, and where I’m being given another chance to choose differently. Because if you don’t interrupt the cycle consciously, your nervous system will just loop you right back to the familiar.
the invitation
So allow me to ask you what my conditioning almost made me afraid to ask myself:
Where are you overcompensating?
Where are you carrying the weight and calling it love?
Where are you leaking power into a pattern that no longer deserves you?
And what would it look like to call your energy back?
If this feels raw, I wrote more about what it takes to choose the scary unknown instead of the familiar weight in Why I’m No Longer Afriad to Start Again. And Again.
