Hidden Struggle
My thumb, scrolling aimlessly on Facebook, as it does multiple times a day, stopped on an article that was particularly noteworthy for this time in my life. An article written by a mother, noting the struggles that many mothers face, even though those around us can't or don't see them.
The article struck me today, in particular, after overhearing my great grandmother speaking to a male visitor while I was cleaning her bathroom. She was telling him about how her and I are related, how charming my three year old is, and how I am working my way through school. He asks her, "what does her husband do?"
After I was able to peel my eyeballs from the back of my head after a major eye roll, I was certain the conversation would cease after my grandmother told him I was not married.
"Well, her boyfriend? What does her boyfriend do? She looks pregnant. Where's her boyfriend?"
For the love of all that is Holy, this guy had better stop talking... More eye rolls ensued.
I could hear in my grandmother's tone of voice that she probably shrugged her shoulders as she said, "I don't know." She knows very well that I don't have a partner of any kind, but in that instant, it was easier to shrug at the question than explain that a woman is fully capable of raising a family, achieving a higher education, and providing for that family all at the same time; something that men from his generation cannot easily comprehend.
I could feel my blood was starting to bubble over, starting in the pit of my chest up to the crown of my head. My palms were sweaty from contemplating action versus inaction in this situation. I chose to continue cleaning, as if I hadn't heard a thing. The silent struggle.
Here's the thing: yes, I had sex with a man (Holy Shit, can you believe it?), and yes, my method of contraception failed (99.5% effective is not 100% effective). Yes, it happened twice. Do I feel ashamed of my choices? Only when I sort of begin to care about the opinion of others. In my heart, I do not feel shame in the conception of either of my children. I do not feel shame in my biological urges to engage in sexual activity.
I do not feel shame that the men who happened to contribute to my children's DNA did not stick around. Why should I? They are the ones who left. I take pride in allowing them to also choose their own paths, even though I wish they had chosen different paths to take. However, in my heart, I also know that my children are loved deeply, cared for fully, and are meant to be right here with me.
As I walk down the aisles of the grocery store, taking a deep breath before telling my toddler that he cannot crawl around on the floor for the 8th time, you wouldn't understand the capacity of patience I have as his only parent. You wouldn't understand that I am carefully picking only items that we really need because I don't have more than $20 to spend this time. You wouldn't see that I was crying the night before wondering how on Earth I am supposed to continue being patient with him while also caring for a newborn solely on my own. You wouldn't know that my neck and back go completely untouched for ages until I can scrape up the extra cash to pay somebody to touch them. You wouldn't comprehend that I am the only person responsible for paying for the electric bill or switching the laundry.
But I hope you see that I'm doing it, whatever it is. And I don't need a man to do it.
The article struck me today, in particular, after overhearing my great grandmother speaking to a male visitor while I was cleaning her bathroom. She was telling him about how her and I are related, how charming my three year old is, and how I am working my way through school. He asks her, "what does her husband do?"
After I was able to peel my eyeballs from the back of my head after a major eye roll, I was certain the conversation would cease after my grandmother told him I was not married.
"Well, her boyfriend? What does her boyfriend do? She looks pregnant. Where's her boyfriend?"
For the love of all that is Holy, this guy had better stop talking... More eye rolls ensued.
I could hear in my grandmother's tone of voice that she probably shrugged her shoulders as she said, "I don't know." She knows very well that I don't have a partner of any kind, but in that instant, it was easier to shrug at the question than explain that a woman is fully capable of raising a family, achieving a higher education, and providing for that family all at the same time; something that men from his generation cannot easily comprehend.
I could feel my blood was starting to bubble over, starting in the pit of my chest up to the crown of my head. My palms were sweaty from contemplating action versus inaction in this situation. I chose to continue cleaning, as if I hadn't heard a thing. The silent struggle.
Here's the thing: yes, I had sex with a man (Holy Shit, can you believe it?), and yes, my method of contraception failed (99.5% effective is not 100% effective). Yes, it happened twice. Do I feel ashamed of my choices? Only when I sort of begin to care about the opinion of others. In my heart, I do not feel shame in the conception of either of my children. I do not feel shame in my biological urges to engage in sexual activity.
I do not feel shame that the men who happened to contribute to my children's DNA did not stick around. Why should I? They are the ones who left. I take pride in allowing them to also choose their own paths, even though I wish they had chosen different paths to take. However, in my heart, I also know that my children are loved deeply, cared for fully, and are meant to be right here with me.
As I walk down the aisles of the grocery store, taking a deep breath before telling my toddler that he cannot crawl around on the floor for the 8th time, you wouldn't understand the capacity of patience I have as his only parent. You wouldn't understand that I am carefully picking only items that we really need because I don't have more than $20 to spend this time. You wouldn't see that I was crying the night before wondering how on Earth I am supposed to continue being patient with him while also caring for a newborn solely on my own. You wouldn't know that my neck and back go completely untouched for ages until I can scrape up the extra cash to pay somebody to touch them. You wouldn't comprehend that I am the only person responsible for paying for the electric bill or switching the laundry.
But I hope you see that I'm doing it, whatever it is. And I don't need a man to do it.
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