I think I do feel the most sympathy for my DH over myself. He married an energetic strong near Barbie doll (my hips are smaller ) and ended up in a few short years with a crippled and weak stay at home pillow, whose quickly beginning to resemble the stay puff marshmallow man.

I mean I used to be able to lift 200lbs with ease, and could lift up to 400lbs without really straining myself. I could run 5 miles without being winded, sprint a mile without issue. Work 60+ hours a week training horses and still keep the house spotless and ensure there were freshly baked goodies everyday.

Now we have to buy milk by the half gallon because I can't lift a gallon of milk. Baking... forget about it, unless it's a really, really good day. And trust me, the house is far and removed from spotless. It's not quite a health hazard as of yet, but if I get too much worse it probably will degrade to such.

But he's a dear who doesn't complain much, and refuses to divorce me. I've asked for one many a time, hoping he can at least go out and find someone a bit more capable than me.

At least he's some help around the house, he'll wash the laundry (never puts it away but hey) He'll wash the dishes (sometimes putting them away) He'll vacuum (like a man) We both go grocery shopping, and he brings in all the groceries and puts them away. He cooks (amazing cook!!! my parents are often over seeking dinner) He tries to clean the bathroom (that's to say he sprays the tub with scrubbing bubbles and spritzes the room with Lysol)

And everyday when he gets home from a long day at work, rather than complain about it, he asks me how I'm doing, and if there's anything he can do for me. (He's an A/C repair man, so he's coming home drenched in sweat, covered in mud and insulation with a look of sheer exhaustion) Even if there was something I needed when he gets home, I can't bring myself to ask him for it half the time. And I feel terrible because we used to get home about the same time. Most of the time I would bring him a cold drink, give him a nice back rub, help him relax as I listened to his day. Those days are gone.

Instead I'm left irritated because he'll tell me he cleaned the bathroom, and you can't enter it for the heavy scent of Lysol, scrubbing bubbles will still be dissolving on the bathtub walls and the toilet looks like it hasn't been cleaned since the Nixon administration. He'll want a pat on the back because he did the laundry, and I'll go into the bedroom to find a mountain of clothing piled up on the bed, generally with two cats playing in it.

So it's a weird kind of mix of sympathy, guilt and disgust. The kind of thing that I guess only really comes about when you're married to someone you're supposed to be with. While completely different circumstances, my mother feels about the same when it comes to my father. She can sympathize with him, has a bit of guilt, a ton of disgust (over cleaning habits same as me ) but they've held up for 40+ years, with no sign of ever going their separate ways until one is in their grave.