02/12/2025
A big change happened in my spouse’s workplace. The ground beneath my feet feels unstable—nothing is what it seems, as if we had an earthquake and everything shifted, never again to return to its proper place.
As a result, my spouse has been around the house more, moping about. He’s a tad depressed, very touchy. Understandably. He doomscrolls twenty hours a day, it seems. A part of me shudders with disgust. But I know too well that this part is the one who judges harshly, and I shouldn’t judge myself too for being judgy.
News from his workplace says we’ll be back to regular programming soon, but there is no surety. For me, it means I have to stay a bit more patient and endure my spouse invading my territory more. The Japanese have a peculiar term for this: nureochiba—wet fallen leaves that cling to one’s shoes. The image is of retired salarymen with no hobbies trailing after their wives all day. These days, my husband looks deflated and just as stuck.
It reminds me of the pandemic, when the kids were little and we were all trapped in one house for months. Back then, his office mandated work-from-home every other week. His constant presence piled onto the burden of having children around 24/7. I lost my alone time.
Now, years later, here we are again—but this time his workplace is fully disrupted. Indefinitely. When things go back to normal is a very big unknown. I miss my solitude more and more as the days drag by.
The pandemic sucked, but it also ended. I’ve got to have faith this moment is temporary too. Until then, all I can do is wait. Maybe this period can teach me something as powerful as what I learned back when the world shut down in 2020.
Still, I can’t deny the visceral effects of uncertainty. Every morning we wake up to the tattered pieces of our shared roadmap. We keep asking, “Is today the day? Will things get back to normal today?” Sometimes we talk about it directly, sometimes we avoid it. I try not to bring it up first.
A few days ago, I had a client who lost his job and attempted to kill himself. Family man, married, kids. I had to physically walk away after that session, pushing away the thoughts about my own husband. A man without a purpose is a man who loses his identity, his self-respect, and the respect of others. All of it goes. It scared me more than I want to admit.
It’s been more than forty days now, but we haven’t collapsed yet. There’s still plenty to be grateful for. But hope can only carry a family of four so far.
I used to soothe myself with grocery and school-supplies shopping. But because of the financial worry, that had to go. These days, I’ve found “fat-free” alternatives: journaling, intentional buying, and a gratitude practice.
And then there’s the working. I’ve been working more than usual—nonstop,
Monday to Sunday—for the entire period of my spouse’s job conundrum. I opened my calendar wide, taking as many clients as I could physically, emotionally, and mentally handle. Only recently did I understand why.
Before I consciously understood it, my psyche responded intuitively. My being sensed the instability as a threat to our home’s order. Nawala yung boundaries ko. When my spouse lost his external structure, I became the structure-bearer. Someone had to hold the world together at home.
Work also became my anchor, my territory, the only place where I am fully sovereign.
When I was a child, idleness during unsure moments felt unsafe. So when my current environment became unpredictable, my nervous system shifted into hyper-productivity as a way to regulate. Work gave me order, rhythm, and a good dose of control. By working more than usual, I attempted to outperform chaos. Just like I did when I was younger. This is an old pattern, my default mode. It kicked in like generators during a power outage.
In a sense, there was a power outage. We can call it lowered animus in the Jungian sense. Because of the lower go-getter energy at home, my animus got activated—I became the Warrior with the urge to fight.
From the moment I opened my calendar wide, there’s been a whirlwind of work. The clients keep coming, and it feels fortuitous. Just when I need it, opportunity is backing me up.
Meanwhile, my husband, the temporary nureochiba, won’t stop doomscrolling. He took home some of his stuff from the office a few days ago, and the boxes are still on the floor. I used to tsk tsk my way around his mess, but these days, there’s more compassion.
Maybe this pagsusubok (challenge) will give us bonding time and a clearer assessment of where we are as a couple. It’s not long until he hits retirement age, so I can think of this moment—this Job Purgatory 2025—as my Spouse’s Trial Retirement.
Another thing to be thankful for is that this period taught me about my actual working limits. Because of the daily bookings, I learned the maximum number of hours I can give clients without losing myself, and that’s only three hours a day. Beyond that, I feel spent. Now I can say it without shame or guilt. This is my boundary—it’s a hard truth.
In the meantime, we’re both still waiting for normalcy. Our struggles are ongoing. He doesn’t talk too much about his emotions (as all blokey blokes don’t), but I know. Twenty years married and I can read him quite well.
I struggle too. My desire for solitude is in a tug of war with my desire to be a supportive spouse and a responsible mom. More of this struggle in the next essays to come.
Blog link: https://melanyheger.com/nure-ochiba-trial-version/
Using Nure Ochiba as concept, a wife reflects on her husband’s job crisis, lost solitude, and work boundaries during a period of uncertainty.
