Women are not rehabilitation centres for men

There, I said it! But it took me eight years of marriage and constant reassurances from my husband to truly come to terms with the fact that we, as women, are not responsible for fixing broken men. And yet, I can’t help but wonder: how many women, like me, are still living under the delusion that it’s their duty to shoulder the burden of their spouse’s mental struggles? Who will tell them that it’s not? Recognising the importance of addressing this issue openly, I decided to write about it so that no other woman has to go through the emotional ordeal I endured as a married woman. But it’s not really our fault that we believe this way – this is what we’ve been indoctrinated to believe.

Historical context: Where did this mindset come from?

It’s important to understand where this mindset came from. Historically, women have always been seen as nurturers and caregivers. From the time we’re little, we’re taught that our greatest strength lies in our ability to take care of others—whether it’s siblings, parents, or, eventually, a husband and children. This expectation has been so deeply ingrained in our culture that many women internalise it without question, believing their worth is tied to how much they can give, heal, or endure for others.

In South Asia, this mindset was reinforced during colonial rule, where rigid gender roles were imposed through the introduction of Victorian ideals about family and gender roles, the setting up of schools that largely excluded women from formal education and the Widow Remarriage Act of 1856, which while protecting widows, also reinforced the idea that women were supposed to be submissive and dependent on men. These gendered norms were later internalised by South Asian societies long after colonial rule ended. And it’s not just a problem of the past—this notion still thrives today.

Project 'Broken Men'

Then there’s this infamous idea of men as 'projects'—something broken that women are supposed to fix. It’s like society hands out a manual at birth, saying, “Here’s your future husband. He’ll be emotionally distant, maybe even reckless, but don’t worry—that’s your job to fix.” 

Women are subtly (and sometimes not-so-subtly) conditioned to believe that love means sacrifice—that patience and perseverance can transform any man into a prince. This narrative doesn’t just trap women; it excuses men from doing the work they need to grow and thrive on their own.

There's also this heavy pressure from elders to accept men with their flaws as if it's simply a part of the deal. We all have grown up seeing such people around whose maxim is: larkay ki shadi karado, sudhar jaega. [Get the boy married, he’ll improve] And, if you ask them, kon sudharega? [Who will improve him?] The answer is, of course, uski biwi [wife].

So the message is clear from day one: marriage is not about finding a compatible partner but about taming your husband, fixing his mental hurdles, and sacrificing personal happiness for the sake of tradition and family reputation.

The 'Bas guzara karlo' [Just survive it] syndrome

We also romanticise this idea of sacrifice and perseverance in marriage. We’ve all heard the stories of women who quietly endure their husbands' temper, neglect, or emotional baggage with the expectation that somehow, over time, love will fix everything. 

The concept of sabr [patience] is often elevated to a saintly virtue in this context (read: sabr-kay-agay-jeet-hai illusion) as if a woman’s selflessness in putting her own needs second is a sign of moral strength. 

And the problem is we see this mindset glorified everywhere, in our TV shows and films. In Pakistan, dramas like Humsafar and Zindagi Gulzar Hai portray women who suffer in silence but are expected to stay patient for things to get better. Take Humsafar, for example, where Khirad endures emotional neglect from her husband, Ashar, yet in the end, the story suggests that her patience is what saved the marriage. And in Zindagi Gulzar Hai, we see Kashaf’s mother forgiving her husband after all the emotional turmoil he put her through—once again perpetuating the same mindset.

In India, shows like Balika Vadhu and Woh Rehne Wali Mehlon Ki portray women enduring challenges in their marriages and family lives at the hands of selfish husbands, all in the name of adarsh [ideals] and sanskar [tradition]. Their sacrifices are celebrated, with the underlying message being that patience and enduring hardship will ultimately lead to happiness.

Even popular films like Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham and Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge feature women who go through tough times for the sake of love, believing that their perseverance will fix everything. 

Global Perspectives: Parallels Across Cultures

This idea of women being expected to “fix” their husbands isn’t just a local phenomenon—it spans across cultures and societies. Whether it’s in Hollywood, Bollywood, or media in the Middle East, the narrative often remains the same: women are seen as the emotional saviours or the ones who can help men improve their lives. In Western cultures, movies like The Pursuit of Happyness show a woman’s support as a form of emotional rehabilitation for her struggling partner. 

But this mindset doesn’t only deal with emotional issues—there are also career and economic factors at play. In many societies, women are expected to "help" their husbands grow economically or professionally, sometimes at the cost of their own dreams. 

And this pressure varies across socioeconomic classes, with wealthier societies focusing more on emotional rehabilitation and poorer societies often tying women’s role to economic survival. 

Consequences of the ‘Fixer Fantasy’

When women are expected to "fix" their husbands, it often leads to emotional burnout and disillusionment. Studies indicate that 40% to 70% of family caregivers experience clinically significant symptoms of depression, with about a quarter to half meeting the criteria for major depression.

In Pakistan, divorce remains a taboo, and the fear of social stigma prevents many women from seeking help. Approximately 56% of abused women have never told anyone about their situation. This societal pressure can lead to marital dissatisfaction and, in some cases, divorce. 

As per research, divorced women in Pakistan often face psychological crises, including feelings of insecurity and health issues like insomnia and panic attacks. The unequal emotional labour expected from women in these relationships can erode the foundation of marriage, leaving both partners unhappy and unfulfilled.

How to break the cycle?

It all starts with recognising unhealthy patterns in relationships. We, as women, must understand that we don’t need to "fix" anyone and that relationships should be about mutual respect, not one-sided sacrifice. The media also plays a key role by showcasing healthier relationships where both partners support each other. Additionally, we must incorporate relationship education in schools and communities to help everyone understand what a balanced, respectful relationship looks like. 

This can be done through age-appropriate content in school curriculums, such as emotional intelligence, empathy, and conflict resolution, seminars and workshops for students, parents, and teachers that address healthy relationships, communication, and gender roles, involving psychologists and educators. 

Moreover, we can organise community discussions or sessions in madrassas, mosques and local event venues like T2F, TDF Ghar, Pak Tea House or The Black Hole Islamabad. Arts Council Pakistan and NAPA can also play a huge role in this regard by organising plays that can teach people the essence of a healthy relationship. While it’s often said that our shows reflect real life, why not depict an alternate reality—one that could inspire positive change and ultimately become the norm? After all, if art imitates life, life also imitates art.

On top of that, we need to remove the stigma around seeking counselling or therapy. There are still many men, in particular, who hesitate to admit to having mental health issues, let alone seeking therapy due to bad experiences with previous therapists or the fear of opening up to someone new. They must be encouraged to talk openly about their mental health for the sake of themselves and their partners. Because if they don’t, we women—being hopelessly empathetic—will try to help them, constantly finding flaws in ourselves and our methods for not being able to fix them, and how is that fair to us?

So, let’s break the cycle—one step at a time. We all are in this together—no gender war, no blame games—as two passengers supporting each other to make the journey all the more enjoyable, all the more peaceful!

Fizza Abbas is a co-founder of Aurat Kahani, a freelance journalist and an award-winning poet with over 100 publications across several literary platforms.
She can be reached at fizza_abbas@outlook.com