A bad case of indigestion woke me at 2:30 this morning. Typically, when this happens, I prop myself
up in bed, grab my computer and mindlessly surf the internet, waiting for
things to settle down again so I can go back to sleep. Last night, one of the things I read not only
didn’t settle me down, I think it added fuel to the fire in my gut.
The headline read: The
Day I Realized I Was No Longer The Woman My Husband Wanted. I don’t know why I clicked on it. It is not the kind of story that I routinely have
any interest in whatsoever. Intestinal
distress makes one do inexplicable things, I guess. In fact, I knew the story would probably be
stupid even before I went there, but something made me do it anyway.
And I was not disappointed.
The piece was written by a forty-year-old wife/mother/entrepreneur who,
cleaning out a closet one day (I don’t know how she found time to indulge in
THAT bit of housewifely drudgery), finds a box of love letters she wrote to her
husband when they were courting.
Honestly, the letters were stupid, soppy and looked like something passed
in high school study hall.
"Hello gorgeous, how's my darling, sexy, charming, romantic,
thoughtful, loving man doing?"
Really??!?
Instead of wondering
why she had never destroyed these ramblings of a lovesick adolescent, she goes
all gooey and nostalgic, wondering whatever became of that “encouraging,
always laughing, dancing, singing” girl her husband fell in love with.
I’ll tell you what happened to her, you twit! She GREW UP!
She left her laughing, singing, dancing girlhood behind and got a life,
like a responsible adult.
The author goes on to concoct a list of surefire ways to drag
your relationship out of the toilet and give it back the spark of “newness” it
obviously needs to keep your spouse interested in you. “Offer compliments! Make it fun!”
In short, do everything you possibly can to show your spouse
that your years together had turned you into a selfish-centered, exhausted
harpy and you wish you were 21 again. God
forbid that growing up and growing old together should be satisfying enough to
keep the relationship healthy.
Now, I am not saying that adulthood is all work and no play,
all seriousness and responsibility and no opportunity to break out of those restraints
once in a while and just have a goofy good time. If that were the case, I would never have
signed up, myself.
But every woman I know who is in a long-term relationship
knows that these relationships are not for the faint of heart. Time
is not always kind; it has some hard and some valuable lessons for us. The tightrope we walk is this: We don’t let
ourselves or our marriages become destroyed by these changes, but neither can
we pretend that we are not changed. We
cannot, nor should we, set up our young, careless selves as the prototype--the model to which we must always return when things seem to go wrong. We cannot concede that the maturing process
has somehow “ruined” us. We must
acknowledge and value the changes, sand off some of the rough edges and cherish
the changing shapes of our selves. We must be who we are NOW, and then figure
out how to make a relationship between this person, and the changed and matured
person to whom we are voluntarily bound, work.
Perhaps if I had not been primarily occupied with that exact
task for most of the last four years, I would have looked a little more kindly
upon this girl’s (she’s forty to my almost-sixty…yes, she’s a girl) regressively sexist, 1980’s Readers’
Digest-esque tutorial on How to Keep Your Man.
The opinion expressed in this essay not only disrespects the changes naturally wrought upon women by years on the planet, it disrespects the partners who, theoretically, have undergone their own changes as well. I'm pretty sure men change with time, too. The worthwhile ones do, anyway... I can't think that my husband would suddenly love me more if I became an exact copy of the twenty-year-old he met and fell in love with. Seems like he'd be more likely to want to parent me than partner with me, should that change miraculously transpire.
All I can do is sigh (and grab the bottle of Tums) when I read an article like this one. The writer really thinks she’s
on to something. But she needs another decade or two under her belt before she can presume to write a "how-to" for modern marriages. Too bad she--and her publisher--haven't figured this out yet.
On my blog sidebar there's a link to a blog titled Defeating the Dragons. The gal is a fundie survivor and whe reviews certain books so the rest of us don't have to read them. She did one written by the (now) disgraced pastor of Mars Hill Church in Seattle and his wife. Fundie culture puts everything on the woman in the relationship.If he's dissatisfied, or straying or whatever IT'S YOUR FAULT. Oh yeah, Mark Driscoll.
ReplyDeleteJudeo-christianity has traditionally put the blame for disaster on woman... Eve and the serpent, anyone?
ReplyDeleteIsn't growing older together and acknowledging and appreciating the changes and maturity in each other part of the "will love and honor till death do us part" bit when we married? Pity the person who feels the need to return to their younger, inexperienced self to try to recapture the magic in their relationship. Revel and love what you have here and now and go forward.
ReplyDelete