Well, it’s official! I’m a “trad wife.” Not because I took a pledge or joined a secret apron society — it’s just that I cook, clean, and make lists for people who will never read them. Apparently, that’s enough these days to earn a label.

Our modern culture tends to label and categorize almost everything, often with catchy shorthand terms. It helps label people to show what tribe, identity, or worldview they belong to. It’s also efficient in dividing people. And since humanity seems to be so easy to divide, why not label women who devote their lives to their family and their homes?

Our culture also can’t resist slapping stickers on people. You can’t even bake a pie without someone deciding what political party it belongs to. Suddenly, “homemade jam” is code for “handmaiden,” and “vintage dress” means “voting like it’s 1952.”

But who does being a homemaker–or a traditional wife–conveniently offend?

Well apparently, several groups, including feminists and equality advocates, modern progressives, and even religious conservatives who think trad wives are just tending to the farm to get Instagram clicks. Honestly, if you can irritate that many groups just by fluffing pillows, you must be onto something.

I don’t tend to my home for kudos, although I wouldn’t mind a few pats on the back once in a while. But I happen to think that running a household and providing a stable, organized life for the people I love is not just important for my family, but also good for the world.

I’ve worked outside of the house and travel for a living, and it’s not easy to come home and resume my duties in the house. I don’t always relish this role. My husband doesn’t care if the bacon is sealed tightly or if the towels are folded in threes or fours. He’s a good man — but let’s just say Martha Stewart won’t be calling him for a guest segment. His mom was a trad wife too, so he figures there’s a mysterious homekeeping fairy who just takes care of things while he’s in the garage.

This morning I was cleaning out my microwave and I asked myself “Is this all there is for me?” I thought about unfinished writing projects or unclaimed goals and acknowledged how much effort it takes to keep a home running smoothly. It’s a battle for a lot of women–who feel unappreciated or unfulfilled, even while believing in their purpose.

The decline of the traditional family structure has been one of the most measurable and far-reaching social shifts of the past 60 years. It has reshaped society economically, emotionally, and demographically. There are more single-parent homes, there is more poverty, more demand on social services. There are fewer marriages and births, and less day-to-day family connection. That means greater isolation and more mental health struggles. The family used to be the smallest unit of civilization; now, many people try to fill that role with institutions, screens, or the state — and none have proven to be a perfect substitute.

So, for me, being a trad wife is almost an act of rebellion. In a world that prizes hustle over harmony and convenience over care, choosing to invest in my home feels downright countercultural. It’s not about submission; it’s about intention — about saying that family life, home-cooked meals, and a sense of order still matter. When I choose to bake bread instead of buy it, or to sit down to dinner with presence instead of scrolling through it, I’m quietly voting for connection in a disconnected world. If that offends someone, well, I’m sorry.

My daughter is choosing to stay home with her daughter for the first few years. Yes, they’re making sacrifices as a family: no new car, no big vacation, eating out is a treat. But she can’t get over how hard her days are, and says she’s constantly moving, fixing, caring, cleaning, cooking and driving. This trad stuff is not a vacation. A lot of the work is tedious, repetitive, even dull, unless you enjoy scouring your sink. But there’s a purpose behind it. Because the truth is there are always people quietly caring for others behind the scenes. That’s important—they’re important.

So, for me, being a trad wife isn’t a manifesto–it’s just Tuesday. I’m not trying to turn back the clock; I’m just trying to keep the laundry from getting up and walking away by itself. Maybe it’s not glamorous, but someone has to remember where the scissors are and who still eats gluten. Quietly caring for others may not trend on social media, but it does keep the wheels from falling off.

To all the naysayers, I say, ” My life, my choice.”