The Tamesis
My husband and I sat on opposite sides of an unfamiliar leather couch: Alex on the far right, me on the left. This was the first time we met Bruce Almo, a highly recommended couples therapist whose hourly rate was well beyond what we could afford.
We were there for one reason only: to negotiate my salary.
“So…” Bruce began, spreading his hands toward both of us like a Catholic priest welcoming his parishioners.
I know not to speak first—never speak first. Alex jumped in.
“We’re not really here to talk about our marriage,” Alex clarified. “What we have is more of a business issue.”
Bruce smiled calmly again. This is clearly a marital issue.
Two years ago, my husband, Alex, and his identical twin brother, Mike, started a clothing company called Faherty Brand (named after their last names). Alex has a background in finance, Mike’s expertise is in fashion design, and my background is in social justice and mindfulness. I joke that we each only have a third of a brain, but together we might be able to solve the problem.
Before long, the queen-size bed Alex and I shared essentially became our conference room. Conversations about business were our pillow talk, morning chats, and, dare I say, sometimes even our foreplay.
“We’re actually here to figure out how much I should be paid,” I said. Then I laughed, realizing that asking a couples therapist to mediate something like this was ridiculous—and because I always laugh when I’m about to cry.
“Look, I value Kerry, I really do,” Alex assured Bruce. “But I should make more money than she does. I work more. I care more. I’m the CEO, which means I have to manage almost every part of the company to make sure we survive financially. That’s very stressful for me. Also, this brand has been a dream of mine and my brother since we were kids.”
Alex wasn’t wrong. He does do more work than me, he does care about the company more, and he does manage more people. But the three of us together were completely consumed by the desire and need to make sure Faherty started. If salary reflects value, Alex has confirmed his belief that I am less important than he is, and that hurts. In addition to the fact that I work nearly every moment to make his and his brother’s dreams come true, I make some invaluable, albeit often unseen, contributions to the company: building a healthy culture, building meaningful relationships with partners and nonprofits, creating a broad community of customers, and ensuring our family values are reflected in the brand.
What about emotional labor? I want to say. Heck, even mental labor?
“And,” Alex added, “Kerry just isn’t that determined.”
The words hung in the air. It’s true that I’m no longer as committed to my career or, frankly, to my marriage as I once was. Recently, I drove to Ojai on a Sunday night and checked into a spiritual retreat, where I filled my journal with thoughts and dreams beyond the brand: creating a music and meditation event series, writing a book of poetry, hosting retreats, starting a farm, running away.
Alex continued talking. “Anyway, you’re not what you used to be. You’re not the woman I married anymore.”
We’re not talking about money anymore, but Alex has solved one of the main issues at hand. I finally interjected.
“Well, you’re exactly the same as before, Al. You’re the man I married.”
