How I Stopped Being the Wife to My Woman

…and set my wife’s gorgeous feminine spirit free.

There was a time in my marriage when I operated almost entirely from the feminine. I didn’t have the language for it then, but in hindsight, the dynamic was unmistakable.

I was emotionally attuned, expressive, intuitive. I found safety in openness, in feeling deeply, in flowing with what was. Mushky, on the other hand, moved with clarity and decisiveness. She was grounded, practical, and direct. She knew how to get things done. In many ways, she led.

And that was part of what drew us to each other.

We were a perfect match—because neither of us challenged the other’s comfort zone. I didn’t threaten her control, and she didn’t confront my passivity. I could remain in the realm of feeling without stepping into direction, and she could manage without surrendering into trust. Our polarity was reversed from the beginning, and we both unconsciously relied on it to protect us from what felt unfamiliar or unsafe.

I in my feminine. She in her masculine.

And for a while, it worked.

Mushky managed the finances. She tracked the spending, set the boundaries, determined what we could afford and when. She made the plans, made the decisions, held the container of our life—not because we ever formally agreed to it, but because that’s how we unconsciously arrived. It was the arrangement we both slipped into without discussion, because on some level, it made us feel secure.

At the time, I resented her for it. I felt pushed out of leadership. I felt like she didn’t trust me. But the truth was more confronting: I had not yet become trustworthy.

It took the near-collapse of our marriage for me to begin understanding what I had forfeited—and what I had never claimed in the first place. I began the work of reclaiming the masculine within me, not through force or control, but through presence. Through discipline. Through clarity, consistency, and care.

Slowly, the polarity began to shift.

I took responsibility for our finances, not just as a function of adulthood, but as a form of love. I began to hold boundaries around time, money, and energy—my own and ours. I stopped waiting for her to lead, and I stepped into that role with humility and devotion.

And something in her softened.

She no longer needed to carry the invisible weight of control. She didn’t need to scan our bank account each morning. She began to trust me to hold it, to hold us. And in that trust, she made a conscious choice to surrender—not out of weakness, but out of strength.

I’ll never forget the moment our daughter Malka asked Mushky something—something simple, like whether she could do or have something. And Mushky responded, “You’ll have to ask Tatty.”

Malka looked surprised. She turned to her mother and said, almost protectively, “Mommy, you know you’re also allowed to make decisions.”

It wasn’t rebellion—it was care. She was looking out for her mother’s autonomy.

And Mushky, without hesitation, replied with calm and confidence, “I know that I can. But I’m choosing not to. Tatty makes the decisions now.”

It wasn’t a declaration of submission. It was a statement of trust. Of devotion. Of energetic alignment.

It wasn’t a declaration of submission. It was a statement of faith.

Today, Mushky rarely knows what’s in our account. Not because she’s disengaged, but because she trusts that I am. She feels free to dance again. To sing. To glow. She’s no longer managing from a place of survival, but living from a place of expression.

This is the power of polarity restored.

In my own marriage, that restoration didn’t begin with a shift in her. It began with a reckoning in me.

It’s why I created The Masculine in Relationship—for men who are ready to stop asking why their partner won’t trust them, and start asking how they can become more trustworthy. For men willing to look honestly at where they’ve been passive, avoidant, or self-protective. For men who want to lead—not from ego, but from depth, clarity, and grounded devotion.

This work is not about control. It’s not about reclaiming some outdated notion of masculinity. It’s about remembering what it means to hold with honor. To bring structure where there is chaos. To be the calm in the storm. To offer safety, not by demanding obedience, but by being the one who doesn’t flinch when life gets intense.

Most men were never taught how to do this. But we can learn. And when we do, the feminine begins to relax. The home begins to soften. Our children begin to glow. And we begin to feel what we were made for—not power over, but power with.

This is the work of our time.

—Saadya

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