If A Diplomatic Spouse Ran Into Socrates…

She spots him in the corner of Café Nicola on a Monday afternoon. She has escaped the house for an hour, which already feels like a small rebellion. She orders a coffee and asks if she can join him. He gestures to the chair.

Socrates: You look tired. Whom have you been carrying today?

Spouse: Everyone. The children. The house. The school WhatsApp group. The embassy event. My husband's schedule. And the feeling that I have somehow disappeared inside all of it.

Socrates: And where are you on this list?

Spouse: Somewhere between laundry and planning dinner. And even that feels generous.

Socrates: That sounds like a demotion.

Spouse: It is worse. I agreed to move. I knew the system was unfair; other spouses warned me. “This life needs one person to pause,” they said. Fine. But I did not expect how fast it would erode me. How quickly I would feel like a guest in my own life. All the work at home is simply assumed to be mine. All major financial decisions need my rubber stamp only. And when I try to raise it, I find myself defending...

Socrates: Defending yourself?

Spouse: Yes, against being seen as ungrateful or dramatic. Against being accused of distrust. Against disappointing him, his family, and even my own parents. Everyone acts as if this is the natural order of things.

Socrates: Is it natural for one adult to need another’s permission to live her own life?

Spouse: No. But it is happening. And honestly, the worst part is that I feel that not earning makes me unequal to him, unequal to me in the past. I fear the future I refuse to look at directly. I know I am not imagining it; I hear the same whispers from other spouses. But when I try to speak with him, he hears a completely different story. He hears criticism.

Socrates: And what are you actually saying?

Spouse: That I am vulnerable. Scared. That I sometimes feel… worthless. That my life feels like a side project to his career. That I am grasping for equality, but I feel like running on the treadmill that goes faster every day. That I need structures that make me safer. The right to feel like an adult again.

Socrates: You are asking him to give you power. Is that how power usually works?

Spouse: No. But when you have no job, no income, no pension, everything becomes a favour. And people who depend on favours learn to keep their voices low.

Socrates: Before you moved, did you know you were agreeing to give up your security, both present and future?

Spouse: Of course not.

Socrates: Then why speak as if the arrangement is fixed?

Spouse: Because conflict scares me. Because once you depend on someone, conflict feels dangerous. And because in this world, other spouses “cope.” And the ones who do not cope look like failures.

Socrates: Do you admire the ones who cope?

Spouse: I admire their resilience. But I also see the cost. The shutdown, their grief and numbness that lurks in the background. I do not want that. But I also do not want to become the spouse who burns everything down in the name of fairness.

Socrates: Are those your only choices?

Spouse: No. But that is how it feels at 2 a.m. I want partnership, not dependence. I want transparency with money. I want him to help level the ground. Shared responsibility for the household. The ability to say, “This is too much,” without paying a price.

Socrates: What stops you from asking for this directly?

Spouse: Fear he will say I am making a fuss. Fear he will walk away from the conversation, like he has done before. Fear he will not understand that this is about safety, not love. And even more - fear that in ten years, I will not recognise myself.

Socrates: Then maybe the question is not whether he will understand. Maybe it is whether you are ready to speak clearly enough to be understood.

Spouse: And risk the upset?

Socrates: And risk your life continuing exactly as it is.

She looks at him. Not impressed. Irritated. Because she knows the difference between a philosophical provocation and the real cost of conflict inside a diplomatic household.

Spouse: I cannot flip the table. I cannot rewire the whole system. But I also cannot keep doing this alone.

Socrates: So what can you do?

Spouse: The smallest thing that counts. We do the weekend food shopping together. And then I ask him to take the children to school before work.

She does not say the rest: not to him, maybe not even fully to herself yet. That she needs change if she wants to stay and follow. That it may be time to get uncomfortable and stop avoiding thoughts and conversations because they drive them apart.

Socrates (he reads it in her eyes): That sounds like someone who has stopped waiting for permission.

Spouse: It feels like someone trying to remember she never needed it. And for now, that is enough.

He nods: someone recognising that the hardest part of reclaiming your life is rarely the conversation with your partner. It is the decision to stop disappearing.

Photo by Etienne Boulanger on Unsplash