I force myself to ride on his motorbike and even watch Jeremy Clarkson… my marriage works by putting my husband first

With almost half of marriages destined for divorce, Samantha Brick, 52, says it’s time women stopped putting their men last.

Here she reveals the lengths she will go to in order to keep her husband happy.

Alamy

‘MASSAGE oil and relaxing music. Check. Candles lit and fairy lights hung in their usual spot – absolutely.

This isn’t a spa evening with the girls. It’s all for my husband, Pascal, 61, and I go through the same ritual every single night.

When he comes to bed it’s my job to help him unwind. I give him a head-and-hand massage using his favourite lavender oil because it lowers his blood pressure and helps with insomnia.

Friends think I’m bonkers. But here’s the thing . . . according to the Office of National Statistics, 42 per cent of UK marriages end in divorce — but after 14 years I am still married while most of my friends are not.

I have been called subservient and a Stepford Wife but at least when I say I am happily married, I really do mean it.

It’s down to the toil I put in to make my husband happy. He is at the top of my list of priorities, not buried at the bottom beneath the lawn that needs mowing and the elderly parents who need visiting.

Unlike some, I don’t treat my husband like the hired help. If the bins need emptying I’ll do it and I don’t need to scream and shout simply to make a point.

At the weekend, it brings me pleasure to make Pascal breakfast in bed.

He loves a cup of tea and a croissant which I’ve lovingly warmed.

I manage the household accounts, care for our seven dogs, oversee home improvements and do most of the housework — Pascal has no idea how to work the heated clothes dryer we bought and I wouldn’t expect him to.

What’s more, I do all of this with a smile on my face.

Putting my husband first means we’re equal in our relationship because I don’t see him as an add-on.

He isn’t just a provider and neither is he a plus-one at social dos or someone to check why the car alarm is blaring during the night.

We don’t have kids together but I do have a stepdaughter in her mid-thirties and a stepson in his early twenties.

During the turbulent teenage years, we not only survived but thrived.

I took on what some would see as the thankless grunt work — homework, school runs and made-from-scratch meals.

It meant Pascal could focus on his gruelling, physical job as a carpenter while maintaining a decent relationship with his children.

Why did I do it? I’ve seen the consequences of treating your husband like an annoyance on the bottom of your shoe.

One friend, who is married to a builder, makes him change out of his work clothes before he can cross the threshold of their porch.

She’s sending the wrong message to their three kids: Daddy might be the breadwinner but he’s no higher in the pecking order than they are.

Then there is the friend who has parted from her husband but shares important stuff via shouting matches only: Their youngest needs a new sports kit or the landlord needs to get the damp patch in the kitchen sorted.

Little wonder they are now living in separate houses, with one child each.

Not forgetting another friend who refers to her husband as “Daddy” in front of their children and her wider family.

It’s as though she forgot he was her husband first. 

I’m not perfect. I confess I got it wrong with my first husband who I married in my early thirties and put last in my life and our marriage.

I had worked hard for the brilliant career and curated the perfect circle of friends, while he was left somewhere at the bottom of my list.

Back of his Yamaha

We’d known each other for years before we married.

I figured I didn’t need to put in any effort during our two-year marriage because of course he “knew” I loved and respected him.

If he went out with the lads, I begrudgingly drove him to the pub.

If I went out, it was with my friends only.

We were like passing ships and I never stopped to think whether he’d like me to spend time with him and his friends.

Although we enjoyed the occasional meal out together, I’d have my work phone on the table.

On holidays, I focused on getting a tan — and my book.

I was so busy with my own life I forgot to give any importance to the one we were supposed to build together.

Little wonder, then, that we became more like brother and sister.

It was only during the stages of divorce that I put more effort into being nice to him.

Only then did I have “could have, should have” thoughts.

When I married Pascal, at age 37, I was determined to do better.

While he loves motorbikes, they fill me with fear.

But I force myself to join him on the back of his Yamaha. I can’t say I will ever truly love it but I know it makes him happy.

He’s a petrolhead and adores all things Jeremy Clarkson.

I have forced myself to take an interest, getting to know his shows and it turns out I now love him too.

Thanks to Pascal, I’m widening my own interests as well.

As for my appearance, I refuse to let myself go, because no husband wants to see their wife slob around in a onesie. 

I’m the same weight as I was when we first met and, while I haven’t succumbed to Botox or fillers, I put my best beauty foot forward every day.

I style my hair, wear makeup and buy nice clothes because, ladies, if you don’t keep making an effort for your partner, someone else will.

Nothing screams “I love you” more to a man than making an effort with the way you look.

It’s also my duty to help other women put their men first.

I’ve banished one friend from wearing fleeces and tracksuit bottoms around her partner and I pester another to have her hair cut regularly.

Some might argue that I belong in a pinny, tied to the kitchen sink — but I disagree. 

My marriage works and if that means putting my husband first, so be it.’

Rex Features