**Turning on the Girl**
“Have you ever thought, Emily, that when things get tough, the simplest solutions are often the best?” her friend asked. “The kind we women dismiss as weakness because were too proud to admit we need help.”
“What kind of simple solutions?” Emily sighed. “Asking my ex-husband for a favour? Hed either brush me off or lecture me about being irresponsible.”
“Thats exactly what I meanasking, but not like youre giving orders at work. For strong, independent women like us, asking for help feels humiliating. But we forgetmen actually need this. They *want* to feel needed.”
Emily scoffed. James, needing her to ask for help? Please. If he needed anything, it was to be left alone. Hed paid the billsthat was his one and only duty, as far as he was concerned.
***
Now, three years after the divorce, Emily saw their marriage differently. The cracks had been there from the starttheyd just ignored them.
Theyd met at a party: Emily, the life of the gathering, quick-witted and vibrant; James, tall, charming, freshly promoted. He saw her as the perfect partnersmart, beautiful, independent. She saw him as her rock. Their wedding was everything people called a “dream come true.”
But dreams fade into routine, and arguments went unresolved.
Emily grew up in a household where love was measured by chores. Her mother, a single parent after her father left, did it allwork, bills, raising a daughter. Her mantra was: *”Rely on no one. Men come and go, but your independence is your fortress.”* So Emily built hers youngcooking, fixing sockets, choosing her own university. Yet beneath it all was a quiet longingto find someone she could finally lean on. She wanted partnership, a safe space to be vulnerable. Her expectations of marriage were simple yet impossible: emotional security. Not financialshe earned wellbut the freedom to shed the armour of the “strong girl.”
James came from a traditional home. His father was the breadwinner, his word law; his mother, the homemaker, the emotional core. Problems were solved the same wayMum voiced them, Dad threw money or connections at them. No discussions, no shared decisions. James learned one model: a man provides; everything else isnt his concern. In marriage, he wanted comforta clean house, a pretty wife, problems handled quietly so he could relax.
They never talked about it. From the start, James saw Emily as the strong, self-sufficient woman who wouldnt burden him. She saw him as the reliable man whod be her foundation. They spoke different languages without realising it. They planned honeymoons, baby names, home decorbut never *”How will we handle problems?”* or *”How will we share responsibilities?”*
Neither wanted to ruin the romance. Emily feared seeming weak by voising her need for partnership. James assumed things would work like his parents marriage. They were sure they were heading toward the same futurebut they were on entirely different continents.
When their son, Oliver, was born, Emily took on everythingremote work, night feeds, doctor visits. James existed in parallel, retreating into work, collapsing on the sofa at home. His involvement boiled down to *”Whats for dinner?”* and the occasional playtime when Oliver was happy and clean.
At nine months old, Oliver spiked a fever of 39°C. Panicked, Emily shook James awake at 3 AM: *”Help me, I dont know what to doshould we call an ambulance?”* Eyes still closed, he muttered: *”Youre his mother. Handle it. Ive got negotiations tomorrow.”* That night stayed with herrocking Oliver alone, crying from helplessness.
Things piled up. Small, ordinary things. James always prioritised himself; Emily kept a mental ledger of slights. Once, he skipped Olivers nursery play. Their three-year-old had learned his first poem. Emily had reminded James all week. *”Of course, love,”* hed said. That morning, as she tied Olivers little bow tie, James called: *”Sorry, client emergency. Film it for me.”* He never watched it. To him, it was work. To her, another nail in their marriages coffin.
That winter, sick with flu and a fever, Emily asked James to pick up basicsmilk, bread, medicine. He agreed. Came home at 9 PM with a bottle of expensive whisky and chocolateshis secretarys birthday. *”Forgot the groceries. Youll manage.”* Staring at the whisky, shivering, Emily realised: she wasnt just tired. She was dying inside, suffocating in emotional silence.
She left abruptly. While James was away, she packed up and moved out. Her text was curt: *”Done. Tired of doing it all alone. Oliver and I are living separately.”*
For James, it was a gut punch. He didnt understand. Hed provided! What more did she want? His confusion and resentment matched her exhaustion.
***
At first, Emily stayed with her mum. Then she took a second job, rented a tiny flat, joined a gym to burn off stress. Life stabilisedshe felt alive again. But one issue remained: money. Raising a child, even with child support, was expensive.
Over coffee, Emily vented to her colleague Margaret, a grandmother with decades of wisdom: *”Its all on me, moneys tight, Olivers needs never end…”*
Margaret sighed. *”Emily, youre strong. But even athletes need spotters. Stop carrying it all. The simplest solution is often bestlearn to delegate. Ever heard of turning on the girl?”*
Sometimes, its not about demandingits about *asking* so the other person *wants* to help.
*”Seriously? James needs me to whine?”*
*”Not whineshow you cant do it alone. That girl side? Men dont see it as weakness. Its what they craveit makes them feel strong, needed, *heroic*. And that boosts their confidence. Youre giving him a chance to be your knight. Even in small things.”*
*”Sounds nice, but I dont buy it,”* Emily said. *”James would call it manipulation.”*
*”Its like when we want compliments,”* Margaret countered. *”Some men roll their eyes, call it flattery. But we *melt*, dont we? It fuels us. Men are the samethey *melt* when we make them feel capable. Why not give that to each other? Its not manipulation if its real. Its love. Try it. Why are you handling Olivers schooling alone? James is his father.”*
*”On paper, maybe. But… fine. Ill think of a way.”*
***
The chance came when Olivers speech issues required a specialist. Emily texted Jamesno blame, just facts: *”Hi James. Nursery did assessments. Oliver struggles with sh and r sounds. Specialist says without help, hell fall behind in school. What should we do?”*
James hesitated, as expected: *”Dunno… maybe itll fix itself? Its pricey…”*
Emily waited. Two hours later, she sent another message: *”I checked three clinics. Speech Masters charges £50/session, twice a week. Little Voices is £40 but has a waitlist. Found a private tutor near us£45, with availability.”*
She imagined him reading it. Saw him exhale in relief. The problem wasnt vague anymoreit had numbers, options, a *plan*. No extra work for him.
Then, the key line: *”James, Im really struggling to manage this alone. Can we split it? Ill take him to sessions, but I cant afford it solo.”*
The reply was instant: *”Alright. Send the tutors details. Ill cover it. Let me know if you need anything.”*
No arguments. No insults.
Emily smiled. She was *proud*. If shed demanded *”Pay for this”*, hed have resisted. But presenting the problem, then stepping back? Letting him *choose* to help? *That* worked.
*”Turning on the girl is *powerful*,”* she thought. *”State the problem, then stay quiet. Let him feel the weight of it. Then your solution isnt an orderits a lifeline. One he *wants* to take.”*
She tested this new strategy like an experiment.
When her laptop diedessential for Olivers speech exercisesshe didnt panic or max out her credit card. She texted James: *”Hi James. Disasterlaptops dead. Oliver cant do his exercises. Im cluelessany advice?”*
She used *”clueless”* and *”advice”* on purpose.
James didnt bristle. He felt *useful*. *”Dont panic. Send the model, I
