How I fell down and escaped the tradwife pipeline before the age of 30.

My journey from trad wife to radical feminism.

The resurgence of the “tradwife” lifestyle has made a splash online, but the cottage-core aesthetics obscure a much darker reality. In this Culture Bite edition, writer and content creator Minnie Isaac generously shares her own harrowing experience of tradwifedom - and most importantly, how she got out.

Minnie praying on her wedding day in front of the bible, wearing a cross, and holding hands with her now ex-husband (credit: supplied)

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Content advice: the following article contains discussions of domestic violence, sexual assault, and suicide in general terms.

It’s days away from my 29th birthday, and I’ve been legally divorced for two years. My very Christian marriage lasted for four.

Up until relatively recently – and as the norm in many countries still – strict gender roles go hand in hand with culture, religion, and often law.

Four waves of feminism later, that’s supposedly changed. So what draws young women who have a choice right back into regressive gender norms?

What is a trad wife, really?

In the simplest terms, a ‘trad wife’ (traditional wife) refers to the wife-at-home, man-at-work arrangement. The resurgence of this lifestyle is often framed as a freely-made choice – but that framing does a lot of heavy lifting.

It glosses over the economic reality that leads many women to this arrangement, and ignores what the ideology actually demands: that the man leads (controls), and the woman follows (submits). In many cases, wives have no access to finances, aren’t earning income or building careers, and are solely responsible for cooking, cleaning, raising children, and much more.

Image: (Left) Hannah Neeleman of @ballerinafarm wearing the egg apron that sparked online controversy. (Right) Nara Smith of @naraaziza doing a “body check” days after giving birth.

The version you see online is curated. Creators like Nara Smith make it aesthetic – hyperfeminine, from-scratch, aspirational. But the frilly aprons are an echo of a much darker reality for many women not posting. The deeply sexist demands of a traditional marriage are all-encompassing - including regulating how women look while performing their ‘role’even days postpartum.

The rabbit hole I fell down

The appeal, at least for me, had little to do with temperament or meekness. Barbies weren’t allowed in my house. I watched Lara Croft younger than I should have. I didn’t want kids – and felt strongly about that, even at eight. I had studied, worked full-time, and had previous romantic relationships. Yet at 22, I found myself freshly married and about to enter lockdown as a very doting wife.

The women around me were moving in the same direction – some worried about time ‘running out’, others were exhausted by family pressure, and most felt completely done with the dating market. Friends started changing how they dressed at their partner’s request. One stopped wearing makeup. Another grew out her signature bob. Another stopped painting her nails black because it wasn’t ‘feminine’.

I’d have scoffed if you’d told me at 21 I’d be going shopping with my fiancé for clothes that he approved of. But I did – happily.

My first step into this space was the promise of safety, predictability, and ultimately the belief that this was the Godly, Christian way. Before my marriage, I’d already escaped an abusive situation, and had been let down by multiple systems – both Christian and legal – trying to navigate the aftermath on my own.

Traditional roles were justified via the Christian faith, and feminism was demonised by the media I consumed and the people around me. The feminist ideas that leaked into my conservative circle were always, by design, the most inflammatory points – reframed by bad-faith commentators.

Misleading statistics filled the gaps: “Women initiate 90 per cent of divorces.” “Promiscuous women report higher rates of depression.” “Traditional gender roles lead to better outcomes.” I internalised them, almost relieved at the clarity. That was something I could control, unlike everything else. At the entrance of the trad wife rabbit hole, there is a strong focus on these supposed shared truths.

In a Diary of a CEO debate between feminist and non-feminist women, one speaker makes a compassionate and relatable point about social pressure on college-aged young women to be sexually active. What’s not immediately visible is that this apparent empathy is intertwined with far more extreme positions – positions that, if stated explicitly, would be rejected by most reasonable people.

Deborah Frances-White identifies the sleight of hand, returning to the same speaker’s previous suggestion that people shouldn’t have sex until they’re engaged - at which point marriage is presumed the next step. The perceived problem is presented with warmth; but the solution – which most people would find extreme – is only revealed later, once there’s enough buy-in.

These ‘honest conversations’ that happened on repeat in my circles were a gateway to my vulnerabilities, and led me deeper into the belief system. So, I got married young by most people’s standards. I was considered a trad wife, though I worked part of my marriage at my ex-husband’s request, through unforgiving chronic illness.

“Home loans are expensive because women want to work” was an actual belief he held, having heard it first from another man at our church who worked in finance. During the COVID-19 lockdowns, even more extreme views bubbled up, always echoed by the church.

Abusive behaviour was often justified by bible verses, and so I responded with humility and submission, hoping it would bring me relief. I dressed a certain way, cooked a certain way, spoke a certain way. No final decisions about my life were made by me, and I had no access to my own savings.

A mirror to my future life, the women around me who were years ahead on the trad journey that felt set in stone were deeply unhappy - often plagued by chronic health issues exacerbated by stress. Their husbands would say unkind remarks the second they left the room about their bodies and weight, and any expression of stress or struggle was shamed. I now know this process as “crazy making” - it was one of many ways women were controlled into submission.

How I left, and how to reach your friends

Near the end, I was suicidal – moving between panic and numbness. I contacted 1800RESPECT because I was worried I was the problem. But slowly, I learned that you can’t love someone out of hurting you, or into treating you better.

Getting out was slow and gradual. It began when I reconnected with my brother Manny, who I hadn’t spoken to in years. Here’s how he reached me – and how you might be able to reach someone in a similar situation.

1. Take it slow, put them first. Don’t psychoanalyse the abusive partner.

When I saw Manny for the first time in years, I told him some of what my ex had said to me. He was the first person in four years to acknowledge how I felt, rather than telling me what I was doing wrong and how I could try to fix it. “That doesn’t sound kind at all,” he stated plainly.

He didn’t hold space for my ex’s perspective, or try to give me solutions. He labelled the behaviour for what it was and kept his focus on me.

2. Keep calm, and hold back your anger.

It’s natural to feel furious on someone’s behalf. But criticising their partner too quickly can put them on the defensive and make them pull away.

Your anger, however justified, isn’t helpful in a sensitive situation when someone first opens up. This is especially true if someone has already had to deal with tempering their partner’s anger.

3. Remove pressure, remove roadblocks. Don’t speak in final terms.

After a short while, Manny gently suggested I spend some time away from home, just to reset, without any ultimatum or timeline. External pressure to leave can feel more paralysing than staying. I can promise you, as scared as you are for them, they’re more terrified.

Assume their partner controls their finances and their connection to their world - which may include kids, pets, ability to travel, health care, friendships, family, etc.

Manny had a spare room in a shared house. He told me when I was ready to take some time away that he’d cover rent, medication, and come pick me up from the house, even offering to speak to my partner. He gave me the safety net I needed to make the first step.

The time away wasn’t framed as permanent, and that mattered a lot. I didn’t feel pushed into a decision I couldn’t take back, and I felt safe to take the first step out, even when I was unsure.

4. Remind them of familiar things that feel safe.

My world had gotten very small. So much so, it was hard to imagine a different life, even for a few days.

Manny told me about the shared house, who lived there, the good food and coffee spots nearby, and about the local rock climbing gym.

Small, ordinary details that meant I could picture time away.

5. Don’t push them back into their pre-trad life.

Most importantly, Manny made clear that leaving didn’t mean rejecting my faith or my church.

It also didn’t mean reconnecting with people who’d hurt me or opening old wounds. I wasn’t choosing one life over another, or returning to all the things that had led me to choose that life in the first place.

So I took the leap... I made the decision to leave. The first morning after I left, I woke up feeling lighter.

How I got to radical feminism

Once I was out, the question I kept returning to wasn’t ‘why did he do this?’ It was ‘what made it so easy for him and other men to do it?’

Radical feminism gave me a framework that could hold that question – one that looked beyond individual behaviour to the structures that enabled it. The religious and “trad” ideology that had drawn me in was the same one that had empowered him.

I learned women can be both victims and play a role in upholding systemic abuse – and that was clear throughout my marriage, but also in the weeks after I left. The women’s ministry leader at my church asked me to get coffee. She wanted to know if there was any chance I’d go back to my husband, and told me he was crying at church every week.

That same day, my ex-husband texted me – thrilled, having heard I might return, noting that the women’s leader had offered to host us for mediation.

She had checked in to gauge my willingness and reported back to him. I had told her clearly there was abuse in the marriage.

Women, on average, return to an abusive partner six times before leaving permanently. The structures around them – church, community, finances, ideology – are often part of what makes leaving feel impossible.

There are women all around us in traditional marriages, some of whom feel trapped. They might not wear frilly aprons, but they are entirely at the mercy of their partners, hoping they will act in kind.

The mainstream visibility of trad wife culture gives us two options: loudly shame the women posting clips online, pushing away the ones who are still on the fence feeling disillusioned; or clearly name what the pretty entry point leads to, putting the responsibility back on the institutions that don’t protect the women they claim to provide shelter for.

As disturbing as the idea of a trad wife is, I can promise you that they pale in comparison to a trad husband.

Some vetted resources

• Visit fullstop.org.au for free chat with a counsellor, or call 1800 FULL STOP (1800 385 578). Note: you can request to stay anonymous when contacting most services.

• You can access a Centrelink crisis payment for family and domestic violence. Important: contact Centrelink or make a claim within seven days of your living arrangements changing.

• Lifeline: Call 13 11 14 for 24/7 crisis support for suicidal thoughts or distress.

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About the author

Minnie Isaac

Minnie is an Assyrian-Australian writer, content creator, and founder of White Rabbit Social. She’s dedicated to building digital spaces where women can slow down and enjoy beauty content more mindfully, while also sharing resources that support career growth and wellbeing with a focus on safety and accessibility.