Am I a good woman?
I just finished an interview with a man who lost his wife to Cancer. His story moved me as he described how much he had not realized that she contributed to his life until she was gone.
She was the type of woman who took care of everything. He and his sons never thought about dishes, laundry or meals being prepared. She lovingly cared for them without ever complaining.
A year after his wife’s death, he began dating again. This woman was there for him in ways that he needed, not simply being beautiful and caring, she met him on an emotional level, understood his grief due to her own grief over a lost relationship, and connected with him, taking care of him much like his wife.
As I listened to him praise her, appreciating the split between the gender roles and how it makes him happy, I realized that damn, I don’t do any of that stuff.
I don’t cook. I barely clean. It is certainly not my pleasure. My kids live with their Dad so, I don’t even care for the kids.
How am I useful? How can I add to someone’s life? By his standards I wouldn’t be labeled a good woman. All I can do is write stories, encourage others, help set up social media profiles and promote your business through creative branding.
I’m not a wife. I’m a business partner.
This partnerless journey has taught me to be okay with that, except, I want to feel that I am valued too and not just for brainstorming ideas to increase your profit.
But honestly, I’m not cleaning shit. I hate standing in the fucking kitchen. I’m not having anyone’s baby.
Damn.
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