At this time in my life, I am seeking knowledge about my role as a wife and mother. I find that even though I am home with my children, I am conflicted about what I am all about as a woman. I was raised an independent woman with feminist ideals, one who would never be dependent on anyone, least of all a man. I am a child of divorced parents, and that child will always be within me. I am conflicted, and I am searching for the truth.
I find that my mind has been opened to truths that even in the recent past I would have scoffed. These truths roll around in my mind like pebbles in a polisher, chipping away the cultural rough spots that have coated the inside ...
I find that my mind has been opened to truths that even in the recent past I would have scoffed. These truths roll around in my mind like pebbles in a polisher, chipping away the cultural rough spots that have coated the inside ...
At this time in my life, I am seeking knowledge about my role as a wife and mother. I find that even though I am home with my children, I am conflicted about what I am all about as a woman. I was raised an independent woman with feminist ideals, one who would never be dependent on anyone, least of all a man. I am a child of divorced parents, and that child will always be within me. I am conflicted, and I am searching for the truth.
I find that my mind has been opened to truths that even in the recent past I would have scoffed. These truths roll around in my mind like pebbles in a polisher, chipping away the cultural rough spots that have coated the inside of my mind over the years of my life. When the polishing is done, hopefully by the time I die an old woman, the revealed surface will be the true me, not a changed me—although outwardly I will appear a changed woman. I am motivated at this time to speed up the process, as I watch the mother-me coat the inside of my daughter’s mind. I want to give her pebbles, not rough spots.
One pebble that I would offer my daughter is to not strive to be equal to a man, but rise to be equal to her femininity. Perhaps if she knew this truth as a child, she would never have to spend years searching for herself, only to end up looping back to where she started, living the years of internal conflict in between. I spent so many years trying to be equal to men that I had no idea how to be a woman. I swore to never be dependent on anyone, emotionally or otherwise, and that I would always take care of myself. This self-absorbed attitude protected me well as a single person, but caused nothing but conflict in the sacrament of marriage. It caused further pain within parenthood. I found myself resenting taking care of others, angry over any perceived inequality with housework or parenting tasks, or time for myself. If I was not getting what I perceived I needed, I certainly would not give anything back. I did not know the role that I was supposed to fulfill, yet expected those around me to fulfill theirs with precision and grace.
I am learning that my husband was not given to me to fulfill my needs. My marriage does not exist for the sole purpose of providing me with a constant supply of intimacy, romance, and companionship. I am praying that I can internalize the truth that I am my husband's helper, and that together we can create a ministry whose product is a testament to God's love through our unity and through our children, whole and complete. When I am patient and kind to my husband, he esteems me. When I am patient and kind to my children, they esteem me. When I selflessly turn my energy to completing the tasks within my care, I am rewarded with the satisfaction and nobility of purpose to which every woman is endowed.
I am cleaved to my husband, and could no more choose another as I could my right arm. If we inherited one jewel from our Catholic marriage preparation, it was the sense of no turning back. The only thing that got us through our difficult first year of marriage was the thought that “well, we’re stuck with each other—we might as well make the best of it.” And make the best of it we did, and still do. We do not succumb to the American belief of the disposable marriage. Popular culture has sold us a bill of goods by first making us believe that a marriage must be defined by passion, intimacy, and romance, and then by making us believe that there is always an out if all else fails. Of course it will fail by that definition, because that is the description of a good Saturday night date, not the basis of marriage. True passion, intimacy, and romance are merely the occasional results of a solid marriage.
Marriage is defined by commitment to God and to each other. This commitment means following the natural law in our role as women. Marriage is carried by patience and kindness. Marriage is fulfilled through the blessings of unity and any children who come along.
I am finding that in the infancy of my living these truths, happiness follows. It’s funny, when I sought self-fulfillment and my own version of direct happiness, I attained self satisfaction and internal conflict. As I begin to seek to do what God has prescribed for me as a woman, I find resistance from cultural norms, fear of coloring outside the lines, and a strange sense of peace and wholeness. Maybe that’s happiness. All I know is that whatever it is, I want more of it.
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I find that my mind has been opened to truths that even in the recent past I would have scoffed. These truths roll around in my mind like pebbles in a polisher, chipping away the cultural rough spots that have coated the inside of my mind over the years of my life. When the polishing is done, hopefully by the time I die an old woman, the revealed surface will be the true me, not a changed me—although outwardly I will appear a changed woman. I am motivated at this time to speed up the process, as I watch the mother-me coat the inside of my daughter’s mind. I want to give her pebbles, not rough spots.
One pebble that I would offer my daughter is to not strive to be equal to a man, but rise to be equal to her femininity. Perhaps if she knew this truth as a child, she would never have to spend years searching for herself, only to end up looping back to where she started, living the years of internal conflict in between. I spent so many years trying to be equal to men that I had no idea how to be a woman. I swore to never be dependent on anyone, emotionally or otherwise, and that I would always take care of myself. This self-absorbed attitude protected me well as a single person, but caused nothing but conflict in the sacrament of marriage. It caused further pain within parenthood. I found myself resenting taking care of others, angry over any perceived inequality with housework or parenting tasks, or time for myself. If I was not getting what I perceived I needed, I certainly would not give anything back. I did not know the role that I was supposed to fulfill, yet expected those around me to fulfill theirs with precision and grace.
I am learning that my husband was not given to me to fulfill my needs. My marriage does not exist for the sole purpose of providing me with a constant supply of intimacy, romance, and companionship. I am praying that I can internalize the truth that I am my husband's helper, and that together we can create a ministry whose product is a testament to God's love through our unity and through our children, whole and complete. When I am patient and kind to my husband, he esteems me. When I am patient and kind to my children, they esteem me. When I selflessly turn my energy to completing the tasks within my care, I am rewarded with the satisfaction and nobility of purpose to which every woman is endowed.
I am cleaved to my husband, and could no more choose another as I could my right arm. If we inherited one jewel from our Catholic marriage preparation, it was the sense of no turning back. The only thing that got us through our difficult first year of marriage was the thought that “well, we’re stuck with each other—we might as well make the best of it.” And make the best of it we did, and still do. We do not succumb to the American belief of the disposable marriage. Popular culture has sold us a bill of goods by first making us believe that a marriage must be defined by passion, intimacy, and romance, and then by making us believe that there is always an out if all else fails. Of course it will fail by that definition, because that is the description of a good Saturday night date, not the basis of marriage. True passion, intimacy, and romance are merely the occasional results of a solid marriage.
Marriage is defined by commitment to God and to each other. This commitment means following the natural law in our role as women. Marriage is carried by patience and kindness. Marriage is fulfilled through the blessings of unity and any children who come along.
I am finding that in the infancy of my living these truths, happiness follows. It’s funny, when I sought self-fulfillment and my own version of direct happiness, I attained self satisfaction and internal conflict. As I begin to seek to do what God has prescribed for me as a woman, I find resistance from cultural norms, fear of coloring outside the lines, and a strange sense of peace and wholeness. Maybe that’s happiness. All I know is that whatever it is, I want more of it.