PAMELA HANSON/TRUNK ARCHIVE/SNAPPER IMAGESAftera painfulseparationfromhis
wife,writerDavidLesercomesclean
aboutthehiddeninequalityinhis
marriage—andaskswhether,inthis
post-#MeTooera,menareanycloser
to confronting their privilegee yearsagomywifeandI separatedafter 23 years
whathadbeena predominantlyhappymarriage.
I walked out the door and intoa 15-month
lf-imposed exile in the Australian bush, not
causeI didn’tloveher,norbecauseI wasindif-
rentto thesilentrainoftearsstreamingdown
hter’sfacethatdreadfuldayofdeparture.Quite
thecontrary.I washauntedforyearsbythepainI’dcaused,and
thatreflectedimageofparentalbetrayalinmydaughter’seyes.
I leftbecauseI’dgivenup.I leftbecausetherewasnothingI feltI
coulddoto dislodgetheviewmywifehadformedof meovermany
years:a husbandwhohadrestrictedheropportunities,thwartedher
professional ambitions, sought his
own rewards and successes at the
expenseofhers.A manblindtothe
howlsof protestfromwomen,despite
allhisdeclarations—indeedhiswrit-
ings—tothecontrary.
I couldn’t recognise theman she
sawmeas,becauseI sawmyself as
someone quitedifferent. That man
wasa goodproviderandanevenbet-
terfather. Hewasprogressive,respectful, sincereandkind.He
supportedwomen’sequality,andhewouldnever dimhiswife’s
lights—orallowthemtobedimmed—inorderforhisownto
shine brighter. Yet apparently that’s what I did, without ever
meaningto—althoughjustasnothingis everentirelyclearin
nature,neitheris it everentirelyclearina marriage.
Whatdoesseemclear,however,is thattheverythingshefeared
mostwastheverythingshebecameduringour23-yearmarriage.
Shewouldserveaschiefcookandbottlewasher.Shewouldpre-
paremostofthefamilymeals,takecareofthelaundry,tendthe
garden, do our finances, while also working asanartscurator and
urbandesigner,together withraisingourtwo daughters.I lost
countofhowmanytimessheaskedmetotakeovertheaccounts,
preparea mealoncea week,joinherintheflowerbed,cleanthe
pool... onlytobemetwiththesameexcuse:I hada storytowrite
andthedeadlinewasurgent.
Asbothjudgeandpartytotheseepisodesyoumighttakethis
witha grainofsalt,butI didvacuumthehouse.I didcleanup
afterdinnermostnights.I didreadtomy daughtersandhelp
themwiththeirhomework.I didcooktheoccasionalmeal.I also
spenttoomuchtimetravellingforwork,livinginmyhead,lost
in my self-absorption, thus breaking whatever fair division of
labourI’dpledgedmyselfto.
It’s takenmea longtimeto face
this,butthedeeper,hardertruthof
our marriage is that it was never
equal,despitemyproteststo thecon-
trary. The reciprocity and sharing
were never there, because I never
reallystoppedtofullyexamine—let
alonerelinquish—myownentitle-
ments. I hadthewindat myback;
whyaltercourse?
“Ibelievethatwhatwebecomedependsonwhatourfathers
teachusatoddmomentswhentheyaren’ttryingtoteachus,”
wroteUmbertoEco,theItaliannovelistandliterarycritic.What
myfathertaughtmewhenhewasn’ttryingtoteachmewasthat
myjobwasmoreimportantthanmywife’s,myroleas breadwin-
nermoreimportantthanhersand,insofarasanyadjustments
wouldneedtobemadeforthoseearlyyearsofchild-rearing,they
wereherstomake,notmine—evenif shewasearningmorethan
meorhercareerwasona sharperupswingthanmine.
Myfatherrosetothetopof hisindustryas a magazinepublisher
and rarely, if ever, cooked a meal. I never saw him carry his dishesCONF E S SIONS
OF A
GOOD MAN
62 HARPERSBAZAAR.COM.AU September 2019