That'll be your rendition of things as you head to divorce court to
battle your disgusting, cheating, narcissistic, soon-to-be ex. It’s the
same version you’ll tell all of your friends, who, predictably, will
rush to your side to offer support and comfort in the form of red wine,
Oreos and the validation inherent in their unwavering belief in your
side of things. You'll conveniently leave out ancillary details about
the years you spent demoralizing, demeaning, insulting, and vilifying
your once Dream Man.
You won't tell your friends that you married
him because he would be a "good provider", but you didn't, deep down,
actually respect or admire him, and you certainly won't reveal that
after you knew you had him nailed down, you dropped the pretense of
everything you portrayed yourself to be and let your true self emerge - a
petulant child with Daddy issues, an insatiable sense of entitlement,
and a level of passive-aggressivity not even Menninger
could fathom. You and your circle of BFFs will also steer clear of the
fact that you've gained 50, 60, 70 pounds since your wedding and you
will definitely not mention that you hung up your freaky-deaky "Fuck Me"
pumps a long, long time ago.
You'll all nod in agreement at every
fucking bullshit excuse as to how and why you iced your husband out,
denying him the one thing he's biologically programmed to desire,
forcing him to choose between life as a eunuch or to be that guy, the stereotypical "cheating man" guy - a guy he may very well have never wanted to be.
It's
a two-way fucking street ladies and you are NOT exalted princesses who
bear no responsibility for carrying your portion of the relationship.
Am I advocating a return to the (perceived) subservience of the
archetypal ‘50s housewife? Am I saying your worth as a woman is somehow
less than that of a man, and that you are somehow commanded to put out
each and every time your Misogynist Overlord™ wants it? No, but that's
what some of you are going to insist I mean. I can already smell the
smoke of the torches being lit and hear the metallic whine of pitchforks
being sharpened. Here is where some of you will stop reading, because
you feel that you've been triggered.
Of course you do, sweetheart. You're
triggered because no one wants to say this to you. No one wants to
piss off the fucking Pitchfork Mafia™ that you belong to; and you belong
to it because that's what you've been instructed to do. I'm not afraid
of your ire, your angst, your bruised little egos; I'm too old for that
shit and, more importantly, I came of age in a world that didn't give
much of a fuck about your (individual) little fee fees. And honestly,
thank GOD for that.
I didn't have to grow up hearing that if I
failed, it was not because I wasn't good enough, I didn't work hard
enough, I wasn't smart enough, brave enough, talented enough but because
of some ginned-up construct like "because you're a girl!" or "because
PATRIARCHY!!". I grew up hearing, loud and clear, that "YOU ARE THE
AUTHOR OF YOUR OWN FATE"; that I, and I alone, was the captain of my
ship and there wasn't another option beyond "learn the rules of the game
and use intellect, cunning and skill to progress through that game, to
work that system". The reward for learning and successfully navigating
the system was the deep satisfaction that comes from triumph; from
overcoming obstacles, challenges, barriers and yet succeeding in spite
of those things.
Before you get too excited, let me just
interject here that I did not grow up with the Mike & Carol Brady of
parents. (I can already hear you whining that I must have had some
privileged upbringing to turn out with such a strong sense of self. On
the contrary, darlings, I grew up quite alone, quite lost, quite
UN-normie. So, put that in your pipe and fuck right off then.)
Where
marriage and/or relationships are concerned, I chose a partner who
unambiguously proved himself worthy of trust, respect, admiration and
loyalty and, perhaps even more importantly, didn't cower in the face of
my "strong" personality. There was no doubt when the time came to
decide.
After hearing that, perhaps you wonder if I'm yet another
brainwashed, delicate lady flower, a subservient housewife -- let me
assure you, I am the exact opposite of all of those things. Read some
of my other ramblings if you're not convinced. There is a critical
distinction to be made between being a strong, independent-thinking
woman and being a straight up bitchy twat.
Things today just
aren't rooted in merit the way they once were; somewhere along the line,
achievement and excellence and strength became dirty words and vilified
concepts. I ask you this: If you don't have to strive for anything,
really sweat and work and burn for a goal, what the fuck is the point;
and if everything is handed to you because of some irrelevant, arbitrary
criteria such as gender, deep down do you actually feel like you worked
for it?
We are all broken in ways, some of us in many ways; just
about all of us are the inhabitants of the Island of Misfit Toys. You
are, I am, we all are, and if you believe otherwise, here’s a link to my
Patreon*, because I definitely, totally agree with and validate the
entirety of your belief system, so please contribute, because as
glamorous as being a writer may appear on the surface, it’s not nearly
as lucrative as say, stripping or escort work, both of which I’m long
since retired - er, excluded from. Because I’m old. And fat
"curvy", or maybe “zaftig”; zaftig sounds much more...genteel. I own
it though - I don’t lie to myself and say I’m just a big, beautiful,
curvy woman who is perfect the way I am. No, I will tell anyone who
asks, unabashedly, that I’m a short, squat, middle-aged, booze-loving
agoraphobe, and you can have my vodka when you pry it out of my cold,
dead hands.
Emasculating your man never, ever works, but rather,
does the exact opposite of what you're goal likely is. Constant
nagging, harping, demeaning and belittling just pushes him further into
his man-cave hidey- hole; you know, the one you hate and take personal
offense to, because you're not self-aware enough to comprehend that if
you abuse anyone long enough, they're going to need respite from your
bullshit. You and your enabling friends, wine and comfort food in hand -
if you married for security or because you simply figured it was "time"
or you gave up on the game of life and just settled for the poor shmuck
you were able to nail down at the appropriate time, and NOT because you
genuinely loved, admired, and respected that man - you have absolutely
no one to blame but yourself should you find yourself in a shitty,
loveless, boring, unfulfilling marriage. There are caveats, of course -
physical or emotional abuse, addiction, debilitating accidents,
cheating pieces of shit, etc., but that's not the type of situation I'm
referring to here, and I think you know that.
Mmmmmm, MISANDRY. A
term hardly seen in print today unless in the context of something
pro-MRA (another group you disparage, malign, etc., because MEN, the
evil patriarchy, never, ever suffer abuse or discrimination or
prejudice, right?). Misandry is the poorly-veiled mechanism of 3rd
Wave Feminists everywhere!! It is no surprise that "Feminism" is an
increasingly pejorative term these days, and rightfully so, as it is
absolutely antithetical to the nature of equality. When a movement
seeks to subvert a gender or a race based solely on a single criteria,
how on earth can that be considered "equality" in any way? When
neo-Feminism seeks to subvert men simply because they're men, because
"PATRIARCHY!", that is absolutely NOT equal, and is in reality the
antithesis of equal.
I could keep going, and I will in some other 3WF-related screed, "FEMINISM"
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