Why I May Never Make a Good Wife
Adjusting my own expectations of marriage, as a single woman.
The last two pages of my childhood diary have been left blank for the day I get engaged and the day I get married.
At 12 years old, I wrote about all the crushes I had and how much my parents annoyed me. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to get married.
I decided that one day in the distant future I would let my 12 year old self know how it went.
24 years later, those pages are still blank.
Wait, wait, this isn’t a sob story. This is suppose to be funny. I laugh because I can’t imagine being married right now. My 12 year old self was curious. I can’t fault her for that.
I looked at the last entry and it was from 10 years ago. I was 25 and about to embark on a journey that would begin in disaster. I was still a virgin at that point.
My scandalous escapade with a married guy and his wife would unfold several months later.
I didn’t document that moment in the diary. I dedicated 350 pages to a novel instead. There are some things my 12 year old self doesn’t need to read.
Since I’m not interested in procreating, I don’t go out of my way to find someone who is husband material. For the record, I like both men and women but don’t label my sexuality.
I like the company of men, I feel as though I have more in common with them. A part of me wants to be a man but I was given a woman’s body and so I let it be.
I frequently say-I’m coming back in my next life as Leonardo DiCaprio. Excellent career, cute, gets hot girls, enjoys the freedom of being a man.
I am a cute, biracial, Canadian woman who has some money. I focus on living a good life that speaks to me and hopefully encourages a few people to go against the grain.
I don’t know why I’m feeling compelled to write about relationships. It’s not like I have advice to give.
I’ve never been engaged or married.
I’ve had a handful of flings and one long term relationship. I don’t date. I don’t do apps. I have a lover at the moment, because why not?
Having a career was always top priority. Being able to take care of myself made me feel accomplished. It feels natural.
I like the idea of marriage after 40. I give myself a great home life. I’m financially stable, I have my own life and interests, I have no kids.
Great. I sound like someone I’d be interested in dating.
I also need tons of alone time.
I don’t want to spend holidays with anyone’s family. No vacationing with friends. I won’t even vacation with my own friends and I love them to bits. Vacations are for me alone.
I also like having 1400 sq feet to myself. No animals in the house. I don’t want to come home to a house full of people. My home is my sanctuary, my sacred space. It must be available to meet my need for isolation at all times.
I learned a lot about myself when I was in a relationship. Everything I just mentioned are actual discoveries.
For the last four years, I’ve focused on creating my ideal home life.
I rarely feel lonely.
I don’t get energy from people. When I socialize, I have a very big personality and by the time I get home, I’m ready to hibernate for a week or more.
My parents gave me a great example of marriage.
I disagree with a large portion of how my parents chose to raise me. However, they had a kind and caring relationship that I admired.
My mother passed away when I was 22. She was 47, diagnosed with Lupus and it proved to be fatal.
That night after she passed, my dad shared with me and my brother how he had carried his wife (my mom) down the stairs and held her in his arms.
They talked, just the two of them and agreed that things would be alright.
She was very weak, she had chosen to stay at home instead of the hospital.
I left home at 18 so I didn’t seen the decline of my mother’s health as much as my father and brother did. My mom mentioned, a lot, how patient and good my dad had been throughout her illness.
Years later, my father said he didn’t think twice about it. She was his best friend. They had been married for 27 years. College sweethearts. Till death.
So right there-the expectation I have of myself to be that person is so high, I fear massive failure.
I am not a caregiver. No fur babies for me and as you can see from most of my Medium articles, no human babies.
It’s not that I don’t give a shit. I’m just not called to that role.
It’s possible that 10 to 45 years from now, I will fill out those last two pages in my childhood diary.
The nice thing about life is that it gives you the chance to try things and make adjustments. I have the ability and confidence to state what I need. To myself, to others.
I can acknowledge and share my fear of failure both in career and relationships. I can state my intentions, my hopes, my plans.
Marriage is not on my checklist of things I need. What is of importance to me is a secure and loving space to call home. Right now, I am able to give that to myself.
I can invite someone into this space, if we share a similar life vision. It’s not about getting to a 50 year anniversary or having the most spectacular, sparkling wedding. (I’ve performed at enough weddings to know I’d elope.)
If I do become a wife, my spouse will enjoy a clean house and a delicious homemade meal. I may not be home but the personal chef and housekeeper will be.