My Husband Bought Himself a Christmas Gift

Dear Ani,

I’m a stay-at-home wife/mom married to a very successful man. He’s 55, still working, still ambitious, still very aware of what his income allows him to do.

Lately, something has been happening around the holidays that leaves me feeling smaller than I know I should.

Twice now, my husband has bought himself a Christmas gift, wrapped it, placed it under the tree, and then opened it himself on Christmas morning. Not quietly. Not awkwardly. But cheerfully like it was a clever moment I was meant to smile through.

The first time, he put my name on the tag, as if I’d given it to him. The second time, he didn’t bother. When I asked why he didn’t just tell me he wanted it, or let me buy it for him, he said he saw it, liked it, and didn’t want to wait.

I don’t think he meant it to be cruel. But it landed that way.

I don’t earn an income. He does. Most days, that difference stays in the background of our marriage. But in moments like this, it suddenly feels very loud, like a reminder of who has the power to choose, to spend, to decide.

What makes it harder is the comparison. He’ll talk about what he bought himself or something a colleague gave him, then look at what I chose, almost instinctively, like it’s being measured against something else.

I live a comfortable life. I know that. I’m grateful for it. And yet, after these moments, I feel oddly erased like I’m present, but not quite participating in my own marriage.

I don’t know if this is thoughtlessness, control, or just a blind spot that comes with always being the provider. I only know it leaves me hurt and quietly angry, and I don’t know how to name it without sounding ungrateful.

What am I really reacting to here?

– Uneasy at Home During Christmas

Dear Uneasy at Home During Christmas,

Hmm. Okay. So.

Your husband buying himself gifts isn’t a crime. Actually, there’s something kind of refreshing about a man who knows what he wants and just gets it. No guessing games. No dramatic sighs over the wrong shade of blue. No “surprise me” that ends in visible disappointment. Just clarity.

The tag, though. That’s where this gets weird.

The first time he stuck your name on it? I don’t immediately hear villain music. I hear a man who’s been dropping hints and figured everyone got the memo. Maybe he mentioned it at dinner. Three times. Maybe he left the catalog open. Maybe he texted you a link and assumed that was basically a formal request.

The second time when he skipped the tag entirely that reads more like, Fine, we’re apparently done pretending.

Which matters.

Before we decide this is about control or money or some slow-motion power play, I want to ask you something: Is it possible he’s been leaving clues you didn’t pick up on? The “I really like this” comments that some people genuinely think count as instructions?

Because some people hint. They don’t announce. And when nobody picks up the hints, they eventually just handle it themselves.

I’m not saying that’s what happened. I’m just saying it’s worth asking before you decide this whole thing is about who gets to matter.

Because look, you’ve got two separate problems here, and they’re getting tangled up in a way that makes everything feel worse.

Problem one: the self-wrapping situation. The cheerful unwrapping. The whole performance, which I’m guessing felt surreal, like you’d walked into someone else’s Christmas special and couldn’t find the door.

Problem two: what that moment kicked up for you. The stuff about income. About whether you’re actually participating or just sort of there while someone else runs everything.

Connected? Sure. But not the same conversation.

Let’s start with the comparison thing, because that’s where the real hurt is.

When he holds up what he bought himself or what some colleague gave him, then looks at your gift like he’s mentally grading it? That’s the part that would make me want to set something on fire. Not actually. But in my head, definitely.

Because that’s not about the gift. That’s about being measured. And when someone’s measuring your thoughtfulness against dollar amounts or brand names, especially when they also control the money? That’s not fair. That’s not partnership. That’s one person running both the bank and the scoreboard while you’re trying to prove you matter with their credit card.

Not okay.

So if that’s happening regularly, if there’s a pattern here, you need to say something. Not while he’s holding a gift. Not on Christmas morning. But soon, and clearly:

“I need to talk about something. When you compare gifts or comment on what I chose versus what you got yourself, it makes me feel evaluated. Like I’m being graded. And that doesn’t feel good. I think about what I give you, and I need that to be enough.”

Not ungrateful. Honest.

Back to the self-gifting.

I don’t think this is necessarily about control. Could be impatance. Could be assumptions. Could just be that you two have completely different ideas about how gifts work.

Some people think gift-giving is sacred. It’s how you show you know someone. The gift is the message. The surprise matters. The wrapping matters.

Other people think gift-giving is practical. They want the thing. They don’t care who buys it. They’d rather skip the whole guessing game and just get what they actually want instead of dealing with returns and forced smiles over stuff they’ll donate.

Neither’s wrong. But when two people with different approaches share a marriage and a Christmas tree, it gets awkward fast.

Your husband might genuinely not get why this bothers you. He got what he wanted. He wrapped it. He played along with the ritual. From where he’s sitting, problem solved.

From where you’re sitting, he cut you out entirely. Turned gift-giving into a one-man show where you’re just watching.

And yeah, that feels bad. Of course it does.

But here’s what I don’t want: you sitting there hurt, rewriting this whole thing in your head, wondering if you’ve been demoted somehow, and then saying nothing because you’re scared of sounding ungrateful.

You’re not a guest here. You didn’t wander in off the street. This is your marriage too.

But you can’t participate without talking. So talk. Calmly. Clearly. Not on Christmas morning with everyone watching.

Try something like:

“Help me understand something. What’s going on with the gifts? Did I miss hints? Are there things you’ve been wanting that I didn’t catch? Because when you buy something, wrap it, and open it yourself, I feel completely left out. And that hurts.”

You’re not attacking. You’re asking him to help you understand so you can both figure out how to move forward without you quietly resenting him.

Maybe he’ll say, “Oh, I didn’t realize that bothered you. I just wanted the watch.” Great. Talk about how to handle it differently next year.

Maybe he’ll say, “I mentioned it five times and you didn’t hear me.” Also fine. Talk about how to communicate better when something matters.

Or maybe he’ll say something that shows this is actually about control or money or respect. And if that happens, you’ll know you’re dealing with something bigger.

But you won’t know until you ask.

This doesn’t sound like you need couples therapy or a mediator. It sounds like a communication gap. The kind you can close over coffee if both people are willing to be direct.

Sometimes it’s not about power. Not about income. Not about who matters more.

Sometimes it’s just two people speaking different languages. And those can be learned. Translated. They can even become funny stories you tell at dinner parties when you’re seventy.

But only if you actually talk.

So talk. Not because you’re ungrateful. Not because you’re overreacting. But because you deserve to feel seen and like an actual participant in your own marriage.

If it goes well, maybe you agree on a system for next year. A wish list. An actual conversation in October. A mutual decision to skip the performance and just be honest.

Or maybe you’ll discover the real issue isn’t the gifts at all. Maybe it’s something deeper that’s been hiding under wrapping paper, waiting for someone to finally name it.

Either way, you’ll know.

And knowing beats quietly angry every time.

-Ani