My wife and I married in the mid-2000s. I’m Asian American, she’s white, and we built a happy life on the West Coast, where my family lives and where I feel deeply rooted. Just before the pandemic, my wife — who is from the South — asked to move closer to her aging parents. Without much discussion, we bought a house in the South. At the time, I told myself, “Happy wife, happy life.”
Now, years later, I’m filled with regret that I didn’t think more carefully about the downsides. As an Asian American in the South, I often feel out of place, and I miss the belonging I had in the Bay Area. Along with regret, I feel resentment: I sacrificed a great deal to honor her desire to move, but she seems unwilling to reciprocate when it comes to my longing to return.
When I raise the issue, she says we might revisit it in 2030, after our daughter graduates from high school. But that feels unbearably far away, and I fear she’ll resist even then. I’ve tried to find compromises — like more trips or a second home in the Bay Area — but the truth is we spend nearly all our time in the South. Meanwhile, I carry the financial load for a lifestyle that doesn’t feel like mine.
I feel stuck between three options: accept this life in the South, try to create a bicoastal arrangement, or keep pressing for a return to the Bay Area in 2030. How do I honor my own needs without damaging my marriage further? And how can I talk with my wife in a way that moves us forward, instead of deepening resentment?
From the Therapist: What strikes me about your letter is what you told yourself at the time of the move: “Happy wife, happy life.” This common phrase, offered as marital advice, can lead to a profound sense of dissatisfaction. It suggests that in service of your wife’s happiness, your own needs are negligible. Of course, taking your partner’s happiness into account is both healthy and necessary in any marriage. But “happy wife, happy life” amounts to a costly bargain: Resentment is the price you eventually pay for abandoning yourself.
So far, it sounds as if the conversations between you and your wife have circled around logistics — what arrangements can be made to be in which location, and for how long. But to move forward, you need to initiate the unspoken conversation taking place underneath: What kind of marriage do we want to have?
You can start by owning your part in the current impasse. You might say something like: “I said yes to this move, but I didn’t help you understand what it would mean for me. Talking about this issue has made me realize that we haven’t checked in with each other in a while about our marriage in a way that doesn’t get lost in the day to day, and I feel like doing this would bring us closer. Are you open to that?” This frames the conversation not as another geography debate, but as an invitation for connection.
Here are some conversation starters: What’s going well for us? What do we love most about each other? When are we happiest together? How is parenting going for us — the joys, the struggles? What are our pain points that we haven’t shared, and can we do so in a gentle, compassionate way? What are we each longing for and what are we afraid of losing? How do we imagine our future when our daughter grows up?
You can also talk about the inherent tension in every marriage related to how a couple balances their respective desires in life. Try asking: How does each of us view the difference between equal and fair? (You mentioned the financial load. What does fairness mean to each of you in the ecosystem of a marriage?)
When you start conversations that are less about immediate decision-making and more about each other’s perspectives and inner worlds, you’ll be able to talk about the issue at hand in the same spirit of discovery and curiosity. What does living near your wife’s parents provide for her: daily connection, peace of mind, or something about her own identity and history? Does she feel as out of place in the Bay Area as you do in the South?
What is it like for you to miss being somewhere where people look like you and where you feel at home in your community? Can you describe your sense of isolation and loneliness? You can also share any feelings you have about what your biracial daughter might be missing out on. Are you concerned that she’s losing the opportunity to know and celebrate the Asian American part of her identity?
As you shift from “Whose needs win?” to “What kind of life can we build that honors both of our needs — not perfectly, but genuinely?” you’ll begin to see each other as teammates tackling a shared problem rather than as adversaries. Then you can get creative together.
Maybe that means an arrangement where you spend a significant amount of time on the West Coast, not just quick visits. Maybe it means your wife firmly commits to moving in 2030, but you both actively build more connection to both communities now — regular extended stays, maintaining your networks, actively seeking out Asian American communities that exist in the South (activity groups, cultural organizations, food communities, professional networks, even establishing gatherings for others who feel similarly isolated). This way you can also make sure your daughter knows all the parts of her heritage, and expose her to traditions, holidays and family history that get carried forward.
The geography certainly matters, but what matters more is the sense of mutual recognition that you and your wife create. If you can start from there, the place you end up — whether the South, the Bay Area, both or neither — will feel less like one person’s exile and more like a choice you made together.
Want to Ask the Therapist? If you have a question, email [email protected]. By submitting a query, you agree to our reader submission terms. This column is not a substitute for professional medical advice.
Lori Gottlieb is a psychotherapist and the author of the best-selling book “Maybe You Should Talk to Someone.” She offers readers advice on life’s tough questions in the “Ask the Therapist” column.
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