There are other ways too in which I am invisible. I often feel that the work I do around the house is the work of an invisible person. How else could my husband consistently leave his underwear tucked behind the bathroom door? His wet towel on the bed? Surely, he does not imagine me, swearing, swooping to pick up his damp, crumpled briefs with a child on one hip as I listen to a podcast and ponder going gluten free. He is not making a statement with his actions, saying, “Here, wife, pick up after me.” Instead, I think that on some level he believes that he lives in an enchanted castle where the broom comes to life and sweeps, and the teapot pours itself.
My mom became a hero when she turned the family business around. She had spent over a decade working as a certified personal trainer. She had all her clients in the morning and then spent the afternoons going for runs on the boardwalk, reading books, and cooking gourmet dinners. But when my dad came to her one day saying that the interior design business that had been in our family for over 85 years was coming to an end, my mom dropped her sublime afternoon routine and turned the entire business around. For the next year, my mom continued to see clients in the morning, while cleaning up the showroom, organizing their finances, and becoming a self-taught interior designer in the afternoons.