On Feminism and Traveling Husbands
When my husband is away on a business trip, I miss him.
Now – being exceedingly and relentlessly vaccinated in the 1970’s with Feminism, I feel ashamed of my loneliness. A woman should stand on her own and be self-actuated. Pah! on the lily-livered unfortunate who must have a man to validate her existence. Bother! to a woman who cannot fill her time with pursuits that fulfill her solitary goddess-ness. Disdain! heaped high on females for substandard performance.
Ouch.
When I stand on the outside of Paradise, looking in at sun-drenched raptures, I thank my mother for her gifts to me. My culture would have me bow my head and shoulders but even as I do, my mother’s voice interrupts the debasement.
Whaaaaat? What are they talking about?
My mom was a pistol, an especially independent woman, not so easy to live with or grow up under, exacting, humor-filled, tough, unconventional, and much in love with my father.
My brother, who knows me well, says that I have Mom’s stubborn independence – as does his daughter, my niece. And to that I would add a few more of Mom’s granddaughters to the list …
And we love our husbands.
(Now – I, of all of them, have had more than the current husband, just as my mom was married before she married my dad. And I loved my former husband, truth be told. Still, he didn’t love me. So, I am my mother’s daughter after all and will not be treated just any ole way, I closed a door. Sometimes you break your own heart to do what’s right.)
And we love our husbands.
When he is away, I miss him. Of course I love the first night. I call out for wicked pizza, I leave my clothes and shoes just wherever, and I stay up until God-knows-when watching every girl-movie produced. Ahhhhh!
But then very soon life encroaches and I have things to share with him. Or I wonder what’s happening with him. The house is too quiet. Cooking for one is too much trouble. Walking these two head-strong Scotties is a trial. Nights are too long without him
I am content to be much in love with my husband. I long, on another level, to be accepted by women of my culture but how can I betray my own heart? I am, after all, in love. Perhaps that will gain me mercy with them.
Still, if alienation is the price, I will pay it – with joy and sorrow.
Now – being exceedingly and relentlessly vaccinated in the 1970’s with Feminism, I feel ashamed of my loneliness. A woman should stand on her own and be self-actuated. Pah! on the lily-livered unfortunate who must have a man to validate her existence. Bother! to a woman who cannot fill her time with pursuits that fulfill her solitary goddess-ness. Disdain! heaped high on females for substandard performance.
Ouch.
When I stand on the outside of Paradise, looking in at sun-drenched raptures, I thank my mother for her gifts to me. My culture would have me bow my head and shoulders but even as I do, my mother’s voice interrupts the debasement.
Whaaaaat? What are they talking about?
My mom was a pistol, an especially independent woman, not so easy to live with or grow up under, exacting, humor-filled, tough, unconventional, and much in love with my father.
My brother, who knows me well, says that I have Mom’s stubborn independence – as does his daughter, my niece. And to that I would add a few more of Mom’s granddaughters to the list …
And we love our husbands.
(Now – I, of all of them, have had more than the current husband, just as my mom was married before she married my dad. And I loved my former husband, truth be told. Still, he didn’t love me. So, I am my mother’s daughter after all and will not be treated just any ole way, I closed a door. Sometimes you break your own heart to do what’s right.)
And we love our husbands.
When he is away, I miss him. Of course I love the first night. I call out for wicked pizza, I leave my clothes and shoes just wherever, and I stay up until God-knows-when watching every girl-movie produced. Ahhhhh!
But then very soon life encroaches and I have things to share with him. Or I wonder what’s happening with him. The house is too quiet. Cooking for one is too much trouble. Walking these two head-strong Scotties is a trial. Nights are too long without him
I am content to be much in love with my husband. I long, on another level, to be accepted by women of my culture but how can I betray my own heart? I am, after all, in love. Perhaps that will gain me mercy with them.
Still, if alienation is the price, I will pay it – with joy and sorrow.
posted by PajamaGirl at
4:03 PM
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