Confessions of a Terrible Wife

I haven't written here because I got hacked. I felt so invaded, so vulnerable, so I stopped. Part of me got really angry, and part of me felt so hurt. Why hack this blog? Nothing I say is of any real importance except that I relate to people on an emotional level. Anywho, I decided that I can't not write because some a-hole hacked my account. I did what was necessary in order to secure my account again and here I am. I am confessing to being a terrible wife. I am not saying this in order to gain sympathy. I don't want any. I am saying this because I really don't think I am the only one who thinks they are terrible wife. Don't get me wrong, I think there are things I am good at, such as, I am a good friend, a tender lover, a brilliant interior designer, a stellar dog walker, but this wife thing, yeah, I am really terrible at it. I am not sure of what it means to be a good wife. I don't believe in that whole "stand by your man" thing. I resent when my decisions are whittled down because I am obligated to someone else and their work, or life choices. I am fiercely independent, incredibly stubborn and often selfish. As a female who grew up in a confusing time of having to work and maintain a 1950's home with perfectly appointed furnishings and a freshly scrubbed floor, I am the worst. My belief is if you want to have a perfectly clean house I will point you to the vacuum. If you want a delicious meal, I will show you where to shop, hand the coupons and the directions to the range. I love to cook, so most of the time I do it, but when I don't feel like it, I don't. Mike and I have been having some very real discussions about what my life is going to look like since I am having to move across country again. I had to relinquish my position as a financial aid advisor at our community college in order to be in the same state as my husband. It's not a decision I am happy with. I should not have had to choose between being married and being employed, but there it is, and I was bitter as I made the choice to be with my manfriend. It's not my job that moved. It isn't my choice to move to the city where my manfriend now works. None of what we have been going through has anything to do with me, except it does. Thoroughly pissed off by my lack of choices, my lack of support as a spouse rather than an employee in this, I started to really stew. "What about me?" I mumbled around the house. Yeah, what about me? In my head a good wife would take all this in stride because Mike is the primary provider. But he is not the sole provider, no married man ever is, regardless of what his wife does for a living. I felt invisible. At nearly fifty years old, I began to notice in this relocation how very little I was being considered on any level. Recently, I applied for jobs doing what I did down here. I have no degree, never finishing college, but opting for family life instead, so I am now considered unqualified for a job I already had been doing. I would like to say I handled well, but in truth, I got angry all over again. I thought about what a good wife would do. Would a good wife be waitress at 50 in order to help her family or would she opt for the housewife title, staying home, cleaning, cooking shopping, doing the Rosary every Tuesday morning with the elder women of the church. How would we financially survive if that is my chosen option? If I don't work, will we make it in the big city? Besides, I am not a motivated housewife. I don't care if we have dust bunnies. I would rather try and make them pets than lug the vacuum up a flight of stairs to suck them up. I look terrible in house dresses, almost never go to the salon, and hate grocery shopping with a passion. While there are aspects to being a good wife I like, there are more that I tend to push against. Tell me I am obligated to do something and every fiber in my being begins to rebel. I was sitting outside, taking a "union break" sipping some extra strength coffee, when I looked down at my wedding ring. I like being married to Mike, I do. On the inside of the ring it is inscribed, "for my Kel". Yes, I am my beloved's and beloved is mine,blah, blah blah. But I am starting to think I need another wedding ring, one I give to myself. I need something that says while I like being married, it is not the definition of me. While I choose to be with Mike, I don't need to choose all his life and he doesn't need to choose all of mine. I will be the first one to tell you that living on my own, without my Michael, has been pretty awful, so this isn't about being single again. Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt and worn it out. What I am talking about is how to make a cross country move that is meaningful for me. While the bottom line is we are doing it for Mike's job, I need to find a way to own my decision to join him. I fear, otherwise, I may get restless or bored, or resentful that I HAD to move for HIM. A good wife moves for their husband and makes it work for them. In my head, that's how I see it. They pack up their life, hop on a plane and then proceed to unpack, making life comfortable for their spouse. But I am not a good wife. I am thoughtless about Mike's comfort, assuming if he wants his pillows fluffed, he will fluff them. Michael, my Michael, knows I am a terrible wife. He knew it long before we got married. My first marriage crashed and burned partially due to me being a terrible wife. Danny needed a traditional wife. I tried, I did, but ultimately, I failed miserably and then went about the business of swearing off marriage. I knew I was terrible at it. I didn't understand it, or even really want it. I wanted kids, a home, some creature comforts, and a partner, but not necessarily a husband. Husbands are obligations, filled with ultimatums, like the one I am faced with now. One of my young ones asked me, "Why do you call Michael your manfriend and not your husband?" "You want me to be totally honest?" The young one nodded their head. "I am not fan of marriage, and really not fan of husbands. It's a bit of a trap and I am not wholly convinced, either is worth the hassle. It's a lot of give for women, and I am, maybe too selfish to give that much, so by making Michael my manfriend instead, I am choosing to be with him rather than out of obligation." The young one looked at me as though I had grown an additional head. "But Miss Kellie, why get married then?" It dawns on me that I look a bit like a liberated hypocrite to my young one. "Because it was important to us that we are bound. He asked, and when the love of your life bends down on one knee and offers up a beautiful diamond ring, showing you how very much you mean to him, you make the compromise. Love trumps ideals." The young one nods, but I am skeptical if she really gets it, so I say this, and mean it, "Look, I am a terrible wife. I am not good at most traditional things that are expected of wives. I never wanted the title, but the commitment is something different.I am not standing up raging against the institution of marriage, I am recognizing my own short comings. I am not criticizing those who get married and do it really well, I am admitting to myself and to others that being tethered to someone is difficult for me, so while I am not totally opposed, I do have to tailor it to me, and my quirkiness. Some of it comes from not wanting to owe someone anything or feel as though I am bought and paid for. I rarely ask for anything because I never want to owe anyone. Believe me when I say, this my bad." The young one looks deep into my eyes as if trying to discover some other information. "What?" I ask. "May I make an observation?" the young one asks, quietly. "Yes, of course." I try and open myself to this young person who I am fairly certain is about to lay some truth on me. "This way of thinking makes you look very insecure. Is that why you don't like the wife thing? I never saw you as insecure before..." the young one trails off and looks at the floor as if I am about to punish her for saying something offensive. "Bingo! Yatzee! You got it! That is exactly why, so now you can see this really is my bad. I really am a terrible wife. I may never truly get the hang of it. The only thing I can do is make sure when I am my most terrible that I apologize to Michael when it happens." I embrace my young one, squeezing her tight, knowing we just shared a very human moment where we got to look at me as a girl rather than just a grown up. "Miss Kellie?" "Yes, darling girl," I release my hold on her. "You may be a terrible wife, but I really like who you are as a person." I hug my young one again. "Yeah, me too. I have really grown on me." Together we laugh and release all the serious that had built up between us. I look into the face of this young woman who will one day have to discover for herself what marriage and being a wife means, and say, "Define your life for yourself. Never allow anyone to tell how you think or feel. You are not only allowed to be who you are, but I want you to know we will celebrate it!" I am by most standards, a terrible wife. I am OK with that. It's the thing in me that allows me to continually question, to keep trying new things, to push through and discover my own path. This thing that is happening to us, this forced march of sorts, it's causing me to be a really terrible wife and ask myself to find out what I really want to do next. By the time we settle in our new town, my terribleness will reach an all time high. The good news for Michael is his girlfriend will be back in full force, and there is nothing hotter than that.