This weekend the elastic band between my imaginary self and my actual self stretched so far it finally snapped. I was passive aggressively making and freezing cubes of baby food for my son (a task that probably invites passive aggression), huffing and puffing louder and louder, banging pots and theatrically checking the time on my phone every few minutes to demonstrate that I was very busy, in a rush and not happy about it. My husband, who this little theatre was aimed at, made a pretty good fist of ignoring the whole performance and reading the paper, until I finally snapped about how much work I had to do, how little time I had to do it in, and how little help I was getting. The first two were sort-of true, I was busy and I didn’t have a load of time, but it was nothing a bit of reprioritising couldn’t sort. The third point was categorically untrue, my husband does his fair share of the domestic chores, plus a decent chunk of mine. Mainly I was just jealous and annoyed that he is capable of sitting down and reading the paper for 20 minutes when the opportunity presents itself without a panicked and ever-expanding to do list forming in my head. I, on the other hand, am constantly searching for end-of-the-list Nirvana, a state of almost-impossible-to-reach total bliss that comes from knowing you’re truly at the end of your to do list. It’s a bit like empty inbox Nirvana, but about a thousand times better.
A study released this week claims that constantly criticising your partner - nitpicking - could actually shorten their life. The research, carried out by the Lafayette College in Pennsylvania, found that older people who reported higher levels of criticism from their partners were more likely to die in the next five years. I’m pretty sure my low-level stomping around hasn’t reached life-threatening levels just yet, but it’s made me wonder, when did I become so negative? Why have I become - and I know the word is gross - a nag?
For starters, the person I sound like here - a highly strung, tense box ticker - is nothing like the person I think I am in my own head. I think I’m laid-back and fun, I’ve never been a bit of a slob, but maybe a bit of a domestic disaster (up until this time last year I couldn’t have told you with any confidence where our dustpan and brush lived). I’m someone who’s always up for a night out, a random adventure, one more drink for the road, or a stupid impulse purchase. My husband has never ‘asked my permission’ before going out with his friends, I don’t ‘run the household.’
But then again, I’ve never seen myself as someone who snaps at my husband, or does chores performatively to make a point. And yet in the last year - and certainly in the last three months since lockdown began - I’ve done all of these things, a lot.
Partially it’s because we had a baby. We’re both more tired, and we’re constantly vying to see who’s the most shattered, who’s had the least sleep and who’s been the busiest. When I was off work, the balance of domestic chores naturally tipped more towards me, and the equilibrium in our relationship shifted. And now I'm working again, less sleep and even less time mean I’m also less forgiving about how I spend the time I do have. So if I’m unloading the washing machine in a rush before work, when someone else could have done it the night before, I'm very aware that's time I could otherwise be using to catch up on emails, having a wee or, more ambitiously, gazing out of the window for 45 seconds of me time.
I don't even think it's about the division of labour per se, which if anything has always tipped towards my husband doing slightly more than me, by dint of the fact that he's a better cook and more organised. It's more than now, when things aren't done my way (who even knew I had a way?) then we all hear about it.
Whatever the reason, what my husband would probably describe as me being slightly snappier, a little less patient since our son was born feels to me like a massive shift in my self image. It’s become an internal battle I’m constantly fighting - do I bite my tongue and feel cross with everyone else, or vent what's on my mind and feel cross with myself? Apart from anything else, it raises the possibility that my sense of self as a laid-back, spontaneous, fun person is borne from from circumstance - aka 36 years of being able to please myself - than anything innate in my personality.
According to Clinical Pyschologist Linda Blair, I'm right, because almost all of our personality traits are developed from a combination of nature and nurture; very little is innate. 'This is great, because it means we can change,' she tells me. But adds 'one of the main tenants of the humanist psychology movement is that the bigger difference between your ideal self and your actual self, the less balanced you are, psychologically.'
I asked a couple of friends who've had children recently if they've noticed a similar shift and the answer was an almost unanimous yes. 'I've travelled loads and never thought of myself as a princess' Gina tells me. 'I've slept on beaches, I've slept on busses, but when it comes to my daughter, the temperature of her room has to be spot on, the sheets have to be perfectly folded, and if if my partner doesn't do it the "right" way, it drives me mad.'
Another agreed, 'I'm a classic control freak, micro manager, which for the most part I'm able to keep in check with my partner, but being permanently knackered which means my "is this is a dickhead thing to say?" filter has been compromised, so now I just say it. Basically, I'm really fun to be around.'
Another friend adds:'Oh God, I've become that person who constantly 'educates' their husband on how do childcare the 'right way' - from making her breakfast, to changing her nappy, plus all the nagging comments in between.'
As much as I'm relieved that it's not just me. I think the problem is, when you see conflict in someone else's relationship or life, it's easy to convince yourself that you wouldn't fall into those traps, because you believe you're a difference type of person. It's harder to admit that we're all capable of being a bit of a dick, or unkind to the people we love, or, in my case, monstrously passive aggressive in the right circumstances.
I keep thinking about The Cool Girl in Gone Girl - the fictional woman the protagonist Amy talks about, who represents an idealised version of the perfect girlfriend that she believes many women pretend to be. Maybe there's a slightly more harried, late 30s version: The Cool Wife, who sales through long-term relationships and parenthood without getting pissed off about anything, but I suspect she's entirely fictional too.