Unlearning Provider: A Journey to Enough
While attending graduate school in 2011, my scholarship covered tuition, housing, and $400 for food each month. For single students, this was likely manageable. But for our small immigrant family, who couldn’t work and had to subsist on just the $400, it was a different story. This writing isn’t about financial planning; it’s about how I felt about it.
“P is for Provider,” the twenty-something man began at the male-only church group lesson. Most of the attendees were barely of legal drinking age, married, and some already had young children. At 32, I felt ancient in that room. “A father’s role is to be a Provider, Protector, and Presiding Priest,” he continued. I ate up every word. I was in graduate school to earn more money, to be a more awesome Provider—capital P.
The mood was comfortable, friendly even. I felt deeply connected to the idea that my role as a man was to provide, to carry the badge of honor as the family’s sole wage earner. I believed it was my duty, despite being raised by a mother who worked all her life. As the lesson went on, my agreement grew, and so did my shame. I was earning so little, and it didn’t feel like enough.
Enough was not an option, and shame became my motivation. As the end of the month approached and the $400 ran out, the shame would return, sharp and unforgiving. My sense of duty was rooted in teachings like, “By divine design, fathers are to preside over their families in love and righteousness and are responsible to provide the necessities of life and protection for their families” (Family, a Proclamation to the World). I tied my worth as a man and my value as a husband to my ability to provide. How much? As much as possible. At what rate of growth? Infinity percent YoY. For how long? In perpetuity.
Just writing it feels heavy. Planning it was daunting. Delivering it? Impossible. There were some exceptions: “Disability, death, or other circumstances may necessitate individual adaptation.” But I was healthy, alive, and capable. There was no excuse for failing as a Provider.
That was over a decade ago. Today, I make many times that $400, yet the shame still returns when the end of the month looms. It doesn’t matter that we have a growing 401(k), a college fund, and that we invest in our family’s needs and dreams. Enough is never enough.
P is not for Provider. P is for Patriarchy, and capital P is for Capitalistic Patriarchy.
The Industrial Revolution and the Rise of the Sole Provider
The idea that men alone must control all means of production is not ancient; it was born with the Industrial Revolution. Before industrialization, most communities understood that the household needed to share the burden of providing. Economic roles were fluid, and tasks were divided based on who was best positioned to do them—be it mothers, fathers, or even children. Households were units of production, not just consumption.
“Industrialization changed the family by converting it from a unit of production into a unit of consumption, causing a decline in fertility and a transformation in the relationship between spouses and between parents and children. This change occurred unevenly and gradually, and varied by social class and occupation” (Accampo, Fuchs, and Stewart, Gender and Politics of Social Reform, 1995).
With industrialization came wage labor, and with wage labor came the separation of work and home. Men became the breadwinners, while women were relegated to domestic spheres. This division wasn’t about biology or divine design; it was about economic efficiency under capitalism. Patriarchy became the ideological justification for this arrangement, asserting that men were naturally suited to dominate the public sphere, while women belonged in the home.
But this ideal—the solitary male breadwinner—was never fully real. Women have always been there, producing, protecting, presiding, and providing. To believe men have unique roles—to provide while women care for the family—is to erase the value of women’s work, both paid and unpaid. It also ignores the reality of countless households where women provide and parent alone.
Capitalism, Patriarchy, and the Illusion of ‘Enough’
I was taught that a man’s value was directly tied to his ability to provide. This wasn’t just about money—it was about power, control, and status. Patriarchy demanded that I earn more, always more, never enough. But the relentless pursuit of ‘more’ isn’t just about masculinity. It’s capitalism’s engine, fueled by insecurity and the promise that the next purchase, the next raise, the next title will finally be enough. But it never is. And that’s by design.
Capitalism thrives on dissatisfaction. The myth of the sole male provider sustains consumption by tying a man’s worth to his purchasing power. Infinite growth isn’t just a corporate imperative—it’s a personal one, stitched into the fabric of masculinity. To challenge this is to challenge both patriarchy and capitalism.
Redefining Enough
Over time, I’ve begun to change my relationship with money and the concept of ‘enough.’ “Like water, money is a carrier. It can carry blessed energy, possibility, and intention, or it can carry control, domination, and guilt. It can be a current or currency of love—a conduit for commitment—or a carrier of hurt or harm” (Lynne Twist, The Soul of Money).
As the last week of the month arrives and the balance approaches zero, I feel less shame. I reflect on the good that money has brought to our family, on memories created and needs met. This realization feels new, almost foreign. It’s like remembering an event and then finding a photo of it, seeing it from a new perspective.
My partnership with Debs allows us to sustain a family rooted in shared values. Our children witness the value in all work—paid and unpaid, shared and solo. Together, we orient our spending toward worthwhile goals. We are redefining enough, and in doing so, I am learning to feel that I am enough.
“When you let your money move to things you care about, your life lights up. That’s really what money is for” (Lynne Twist, The Soul of Money).
I am no longer just a Provider. I am a partner, a parent, and a person who values connection over consumption. P is not for Provider. P is for Partnership.
P is not for Provider. P is for Partnership.