(Welcome to my blog of rambles! Come along as I take you through my general observations and the rough road to publication – Jen)
A Sick Feeling in the Stomach – Fearful Worries of a Spouse
In this moment, I feel strong, powerful and at ease. Of course, if I so chose, I could begin to detract from this by pulling rabbit after rabbit from my hat of self-doubt. But no, that hat is collecting dust right now.
It occurred to me recently that I have so many men in my life whom I love and respect, from my father to my boyfriend to my friends. However, along with this realization came the forceful knowledge that the majority of men act as though they do not have a ‘hat of self-doubt’. I am not trying to generalise, but more to rationalise for my own sake. No matter which way I approach this, It comes back to that age old but rarely spoken knowledge that most men are indoctrinated with pride, and women with guilt.
At first, I did very little with this knowledge but tucked it away as a wisdom worth knowing. To me, knowledge is part of my arsenal of strength that make it impossible for self-hatred to ever re-enter my life.
Things changed just at the moment I was journaling this nugget of thought in my pocket notebook, when one of my best friends sent me a message containing a story which rings full of truths of an experience she had with an older man. At the time I laughed so hard I snorted as graciously as any other human (women are not grace alone, to be human is to have grace; man or woman). As our conversation lengthened a knot formed in my stomach that writhes with discomfort whenever I picture my friend slowly morphing into the millions of women and men this has likely happened to.
My descriptive skills will never be enough to tell you of the beauty of my friend. She is both funny and charming; ingraciating and absurd. She is one of my kindest supporters and understands the beauty of a writing life as spacious and ever-growing with room for each person to shine. It is perhaps obvious then why this man was attracted to her directly off of her very witty Twitter profile.
The story is simple; a series of extremely flirtatious messages were sent back and forth as both my friend and this man seemed to have so very much in common. My friend felt like she had nothing to lose, and that she was lucky this seemingly successful and kind man chose her. That is until his wedding ring crept into view in a photo on his profile. As in any just world, the benefit of the doubt exists in spades, and my friend told me that she simply assumed he was separated. Unfortunately for this man the power of the social media prevailed to reveal that he was still very much married and living with his beautiful, outgoing, funny wife whom appeared as in love as ever. And yet this didn’t stop his messages becoming all but blatantly suggestive to which my friend swiftly stopped replying.
(Sadly just because she stopped, this does not mean he has done so.)
Burned on my friend’s mind is the wedding ring on his finger and the sheer weight of the fact that he stood and said vows eight years ago to a woman whom is peacefully unaware of a truth that no woman wants. When I think of this woman, discomfort gives way for raw boiling anger that liquefies and cools until I am able to acknowledge that the one emotion I do not feel is shock.
Writing this blog will do nothing for the situation or to satiate my need to act because the world lives in a comical state of a Mexican-wave style shrugging. Our acceptance of such discrepancies is the same blind eye we each individually turn to being treated at all less than another or what we should expect. This serves for both men and women.
And so we reign; the Kings and Queens of Acceptance. We do not, as a worldly population of humans, practice tolerance. The dead homosexuals, religious minorities and racially different laid at our feet cannot be denied. There is no carpet large enough to sweep this under. No, we shall don crowns and hold hands at court. We shall move to the music of what we have allowed to become the norm where marriage is a mere figurehead on the social expectations of adult life.
There is so much in my mind and yet all I can see is the possibility of myself in either my friend’s, the man’s or his wife’s position. For one to either act or accept such behaviour is to have become desensitized to love of others, and heightened to love of ego. Valuing all that you are is not wrong, nor will I ever agree with a system that tells me differently. It is when this value is translated to a love of ego that the balance of kindness in one’s mind tilts. And thus, collateral damage begins to rise as high as Everest.
There is no conclusion to be drawn from this, but to look at your own views of this. Indifference or a knot of anxiety in the stomach speak volumes to who you are, as I have learned from curbing my own cutting thoughts to empathy.
Instead I will leave you with what I cannot get to leave me. The image of his wife is all I see. Perhaps it is evening time and a fire is lighting. It has likely been a long day at work. She speaks with her mother on the phone and grudgingly and embarrassingly admits her worries of her husband’s ill-temper, as the world has told her that to be married is to be incandescent with happiness. These spoken worries vanish as fast as they come, brushed off with the mutterings of stress at work or the bills sitting on the kitchen counter.
Man or woman, sitting in the half-light speaking with the tense fear that your spouse is distant in every sense is a horrible, active denial of happiness.
As a King or a Queen, don’t you think you deserve better?
More from me soon. #BornWithPride