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Willing, able, capable. I’m surprisingly strong for my small stature. Gymnastics as a child followed by yoga, barre class and spinning as an adult has certainly helped, but much of my ability is a result of impatience more than anything else. Married with a larger, stronger, partner, I was still the one putting together bookcases and lugging luggage. I’d rather get something done myself than wait for someone else to do it at his or her leisure.
Then divorced, I was the only option for fixing, doing, replacing and building. I became a smoke detector ninja and pottery barn, kids expert assembler. Every time I climbed the ladder in the middle of the night, I’d grumble. An hour later, batteries replaced I’d fall back to sleep proud of the silence that my can do ability created. I didn’t enjoy doing it all by myself, but I sure was happy I knew I could.
When I started dating my second (present and final) husband, he opened the car door for me. Not just opened, he got out of his seat, walked around the car and opened my door. Then he closed it, walked back around and got back in his seat.
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At the beginning of our courtship, I rejected many, (too many) offers of assistance. “Nope, I can do it. I don’t need help. Thanks anyway, I’ve got it.” Accepting help was a challenge. For the most part, I could do it myself. I didn’t want him to think I needed him; I didn’t want to need him. Dating turned into love and with that came the lowering of armor and crumbling of walls. Surely if I can accept this man’s love, I can welcome an extra hand. I might not need my husband to take some of the literal load off my shoulders, but since he’s there and willing, why not let him?
I love how my man loves me. Part of his love means ensuring that I know my happiness is his priority. So he opens a car door, mails a package for me or brings home chocolate or wine he knows I love. These small ways let me know he’s thinking of me during his busy day and build goodwill as we get bogged down in the muck of raising kids, dealing with exes, working and being married. It goes both ways. When I get him shaving cream or pick up salsa he loves, that’s me opening the door for him. Sure he can do it himself, but it sure is nice when I go ahead and do it for him.
Yes, the archetype of a male is that he opens the door. I suppose that behavior can be argued as outdated and stereotypical, but there’s no doubt it’s also polite and chivalrous. I value equality between the sexes and consider myself a feminist. I also think it’s nice when someone, male or female opens the door for me and I love that my husband, five years in, still makes this small effort.
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If you want to open a door, go ahead. But if someone wants to do it for you, why not leave your judgments on the outside, walk through and say thank you?
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