The WFH dance
When a couple works from home, it's both liberating and chaotic. How do we perfect the choreography so everyone gets their ideal work week?
When I met G, I worked full time in an office. I’d spent much of the prior two years ‒ thanks to, first, the world shutting down in the pandemic and, second, redundancy. So I was jazzed to be schlepping into an office full-time, the London Underground still quiet, the novelty of having colleagues around you not yet worn off.
We moved in together in summer 2022, and when I decided to go freelance, it posed a potential problem: we’d both be working from home. G is an easygoing guy and had no problem with it; we knew Milo would like having both of us at home, with the added bonus of the flexibility to give him a little walk some afternoons. The house is just about big enough for one of us to be working the spare room and one in the living room, with not too much disruption (though I do accuse him rather unscientifically of “stealing my wifi particles” when the signal drops ‒ he’s nearer the router).
Yet, however chilled the couple-colleagues, working from home and living together can create a bit of a clash. You’re on top of each other a lot of the week (and not in a sexy way). Your office is also your winding-down space. You have to create your own commute (I find a good half-hour-to-an-hour’s walk breaks up waking up from getting down to business ‒ also not in a sexy way). You have to get good at predicting when you might have a stressy morning, or need absolute quiet, or might have to make a phone call where you whip out your firmest “Now see here, Karen, you and I both know that’s not what’s in the contract” voice (sometimes in a sexy way) and ask for space in advance. I tend to choose to work out of the house, in the library or a cafe, on days when I need zen focus on a big piece of writing.
The house is just about big enough for us to both work there without too much disruption (though I do accuse him rather unscientifically of ‘stealing my wifi particles’ when the signal drops)
G has quite a free-form, varied looking work day ‒ he might have six or seven phone calls about various things that are progressing, more rarely the odd Zoom meeting, and lots of document reading and emails exchanged. Mine are consistent: I tend to write, write, write, with very little other human contact, so I really have to get in the zone for big chunks of the day.
What is the best synonym for “luxurious”?
We do okay with both of us in the house. If I had endless budget I’d splash out on a coworking or member’s club membership, somewhere within an hour or so of home where I could really be in work mode for a solid few hours and also have the delicious distinction of desk from sofa. We’ll probably move out of London in the next year, and I’m really drooling over the thought of a fully “office” spare room or even one of those converted sheds you can wander over to and pretend you’re a real, grown-up professional.
But really, I love the flexibility of WFH. You can stick a load of laundry on between spreadsheets, take a bath at lunchtime, get through a dull read with a platter of fridge-raided snacks. You can dye your hair at 3pm and start getting ready for an evening out at 4.45. When I work in the library, I do miss Milo curled up on my feet, gently snoring and twitching with squirrel dreams. But I miss a permanent desk. When I got my first permanent office job at 24, I proudly created a little set-up, with boxes of herbal teas, nice books and a cute pencil pot framing my computer. When media companies started switching to hybrid work and hot-desking, a little of that magic, the ability to create your own little creative scene, was lost.
Before I was in this relationship, I thought love needed maximum mystery. I never wanted to be too intimate; to know someone in all their mundane, day-to-day, hoodie-wearing, toenail-clipping glory. But now I have that kind of intimacy, even down to knowing their work-phone-call voice and how loudly they smash the keyboard, and I still want more of it. I suppose being able to stand both being at home 80% of the time might be a good test of your relationship’s potential?
I love that we’re both people who have squeezed as much flexibility out of our careers as we possibly can
I do worry about whether we’ll have enough stories for each other over the years, especially if we move to somewhere more remote with fewer options on our doorstep. At the moment I can potter round to the arthouse cinema five minutes away or go to meet a friend for lunch, coming back full of tales and breathless, I-did-a-thing vigour. Will there come a day when the only thing we’ll have to update each other on is whether the bins have started to pong, or the Jehovah’s Witnesses that knocked at 11am?
As with so much Relationship Stuff, I’m probably overthinking it. And I love that we’re both people who have squeezed as much flexibility out of our careers as we possibly can. We each worked as hard as we could in our lane, straight out of uni, living the office grind through our 20s and early 30s, but eventually got to the point where people will pay us to do the same thing in our chosen hours, from our chosen location. That IS a sexy concept. The variety of working wherever I want, and taking a break whenever I please, has never gone stale. (Though my favourite location remains in a bathrobe on the balcony of a five-star hotel somewhere sunny.) And seeing a bit more of my favourite face? That’s never a bad thing on a dull work day.
Get chatting!
I’d love to make Commitment Issues more of a community. Do you wfh with your significant other? How do you make it work (or make it NOT feel like work)? Send me your tips and tales and I’ll send out a follow-up. Comment below or message me on the Substack app.