I am listening to a book on CD "Saboteur" about a small-town guy turned OSS spy in WWII France (**Sidenote: my absolute favorite genre is WWII spy fiction or non-fiction, for reasons entirely unknown). My ephiphany had nothing to do with the novel itself (no worries - no desire to be a spy here!), but had to do with the conflict of a woman in the story, Whisper Harris, and her deisre to marry, raise a family and keep house while her friend, Adele, just wanted to BE somebody - in her opinion, a totally different path altogether.
It made me think of one of my favorite pieces of Americana - the "I wish I were a man, I'd join the Navy" recruiting poster and the Rosie the Rivters - the women who joined the workforce in unprecedented numbers, started wearing slacks and (gasp!) blue jeans, and learning they could indeed make the world go 'round while the men were off soldiering. The women who taught their daughters there was more to life than housedresses and three meals a day, who grew up to teach their daughters that they could "have it all."And that is where the epiphany came in. After years of wanting it all, and firmly believing it was possible, I've come to realize it is the greatest myth perpetuated to women. For a second, I longed to be Whisper Harris - to know what was available to me - to know what expectations existed: Marry. Have children. Keep house. Hold the family together.
Of course, me, the idealist, longed for the June Cleaver or Donna Reed version, not the version where one slaved to the whims of the man of the house, who came home at the end of a long day, sat in his favorite easy chair, read the paper, smoked the pipe, demanded dinner and then retired to bed while the wife cooked, served, ate, cleaned up, bathed and entertained the children and put them to bed, before getting ready to start the whole thing over.
I realized that somewhere in our campaign for equality of opportunity and equal treatment and respect, we failed to realize we were just asking for MORE, not something in exchange of something else. Society (albeit slowly) gladly heaped more and more upon women - "Okay, you want to work? Sure. Here is a job, then here comes inflation, things to make your life easier, convience items, luxury goods - now you have to work, but wait ... who is going to take care of the children? You can't shirk those duties, you know."
My epiphany is a "grass is greener on the other side" kind of thing - I realize that I am fortunate in so many ways for the opportunities, the education, the respect ... but at the moment, I'm so overwhelmed at having to do it all, that a tiny part of me wants to be able to be the pregnant woman who isn't allowed to do anything, who stays at home and nests, who has no expectations beyond caring for her family and the house. A big chore. Exhausting. But limited in scope. Finite.
Because guess what? I'm the primary breadwinner, and I still care for my family and the house and everything else. I still find msyelf feeling the need to be doing everything (like many, many, many women). Himself does a lot, to be sure, but it is still that unwritten "expectation," that I also be the nurturer, the caretaker - provider or not. Because society, while telling me I should be independent and liberated and look out for myself, doesn't make provisions for everything else women are.
It doesn't make provisions for days like yesterday when I couldn't keep food down and was tired and hurting and really just wanting to spend time with Himself, whom I've seen for a few hours in the last four weeks. It doesn't make provisions for providing for women who are growing or raising children who, like me, can't take time off or it takes away from the little paid time I get when Baby Girl comes. And I was mid-stream on a big project, but I couldn't concentrate.
I sat and realized I HAD everything (except a husband who has a job, but who's beeing picky?). An education. An ability to take care of myself. A career. A husband. A daughter on the way. A decent apartment, even one named The Hobbit Hole. A car. Stuff. Potential.
But I also had everything else: A realization that I HAVE to work. I have no choice, therefore Baby Girl will be with someone who is not a parent 5 days a week. A realization that I have two laundry baskets full of laundry. Boxes galore to be unpacked. Two weeks' worth of menus and a grocery list on the fridge. A stack of bills to pay. A realization of the finite resources in the checking account that will possibly tide us over until Himself finds a job. A husband to be a wife to. Sooner or later, church responsibilities. That I am not going to get a paycheck in September. That I won't get a paid day off between having Baby Girl and May of next year. And on and on.
I want to be a great wife, a great mother to Baby Girl, but I wonder how we as women got ourselves into the "have to do everything" mindset and failed to realize why it was a really dumb idea. Sometimes, it's so overwhelming. Sometimes I wonder if I'm missing out, if I actually resent being pregnant, deep down, because it limits me physically, emotionally, mentally - and it shows the cracks in my super woman facade. The facade I've worked for years to build.
The recruiting poster may have had it right - "I Wish I Were a Man" - if I were, I could join the Navy, sail away and leave someone else to handle the world and play superhero. Somehow, it sometimes looks like they got the better end of the deal.
Yes, I HAVE it all - but I realize, at the ripe old age of a late twentysomething, that I'm pretty sure I don't want it all, and I'm even less sure of how to give the unnecessary stuff back and start over.
1 comment:
Bravo, you.
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