When you grow up in a culture that teaches you that you, as a woman, are to be taken care of, financially-speaking, you have nothing else by which to set your standard. That is the norm.
My brothers are all breadwinners in their homes. My brothers-in-law are all the breadwinners in their homes. My father was a loyal and amazing breadwinner. I really hate the word “breadwinner”, but it is the only way to make you both, as the reader, understand what I mean as well as gag a little, at the same time.
It is a troubling thing to have been programmed to think this way. Mostly because I married a man who was not interested in doing any such thing. To make enough money for a family was quite miserable for him, even though he never had blue collar jobs and his teaching jobs were hardly 40 hour a week obligations.
I am the oldest girl of 9 children, raised in the countryside, in a small town, Midwest US, to convert Mormon parents. It was a fabulous life, full of some of the best things: big family, amazing family friends, numerous traditions, music, lots of love and hard work.
The shadow side to all that BIG goodness is not small, either. For every gift we are given, there is something expected in return, be it pride, a little glory, obedience, even perfection.
The last one on this list of shadows was where I got caught, and even suffocated, for many years.
I was told a lot of things about myself; that I was capable of doing it all “right”, if I just obeyed the rules; that I would find the perfect man to marry for eternity, if I just obeyed the rules; that I would be happy and be a successful parent, if I just obeyed the rules.
You get my drift.
So, I obeyed the rules. I did as I was told. I went even further than that, really. I went to the college I was supposed to. I dated the men I was supposed to. I met “him” my freshman year. And I got married half-way through my second. All, in order to obey all of the rules.
But, he wasn’t the perfect man. I wasn’t happy. In fact, I was nearly suicidal the first year of my marriage. Never had I ever been even depressed before, let alone suicidal. I had no idea what I had gotten myself into.
Fast forward many years…
All the while, there was complaining about his unhappiness, his job or school situations…whatever. He never made enough money, his boss was a feminist bitch…there were always things that were upsetting to him, therefore, to me and the kids as well. None of us ever remember him going to work and being happy about it.
If he did “take care” of us, it came at a price. And that price was never worth it. No matter what stage of our life together, I took on more work to take more pressure off of him, all the while still continuing all of my former work at home and elsewhere.
27 years in, after finally getting up the nerve to leave him, the divorce was final. Now what?
The dream, the hopes of a man who would care enough to truly take care of me-perhaps try to save me from anything-needs to die.
But it doesn’t want to. There is something so alluring to my core, conservative little self. To have someone WANT to care for me and love me too? That is unimaginable, especially now. Now that I have heard in the court room, repeatedly, what I was to him. Now that he offered me literally nothing except 5K as his most generous offer. No house…just 5K. And he made 6 figures last year, for the first time ever.
I want someone to take care of me. And I don’t want someone to take care of me. All at the same time. It is a real struggle.
I don’t want to answer to anyone anymore about my budget or expenditures. I don’t want to need anyone else’s money to help pay bills or save for a vacation.
But I do need it, even if I don’t want to need it. I’d like to be self-sufficient. I’d like to have my finances all together. But, like most other homemakers, I have put everything on hold for a man for so long. Yes, I have worked my whole life. I averaged 3 jobs at a time for the past almost 30 years. But they were just jobs, not careers.
They had no 401K offerings. They were mostly self-employment jobs, selling things off the farm or teaching after school lessons. There is no vertical movement possible from there.
The knight in shining armor is a fairy tale with no happy ending for me. It has been happy for other women I know. But, more often, it is not.
I followed the rules and did what I was supposed to do. The equation was never balanced, however.
What is the moral of the story? Maybe NOT to listen to other people’s ideas about your life? Maybe NOT to deny yourself your dreams for the sake of someone else’s? Maybe NOT to blindly follow rules…because the promise is simply too good to be true?
I don’t know for sure. But for many of us, disillusioned, middle-aged women, to think that a man is going to show up and “make it all better” is not helpful or hope-filled. And it shouldn’t be.
Sometimes I feel like I need to stab the damn dream to death. Others, to lull it to sleep is most attractive. There is no end to the cycle today.
As the dream dies, the grief wells up and dies back down. Struggling to grasp for promised security continues to fail.
If it doesn’t die on it’s own soon, you’ll find me here…with my knife in my hand, waiting for the right moment.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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White Fragility: Talking to White People About Racism | Escape the “Act Like a Man” Box | The Lack of Gentle Platonic Touch in Men’s Lives is a Killer | What We Talk About When We Talk About Men |
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