I’m a wife.
I know that it is terribly non-feminist of me (by the popular definition of feminism although my definition of feminism is more along the lines of letting women choose what makes them happy rather than telling them what they should be doing to unsettle the oppressive patriarchy), but I love being a wife and making my husband happy. I actually like claiming that as an essential part of my identity. I love planning out our meals for the week, getting groceries, and cooking us dinner. I give him a hard time about not cleaning up the dishes, but, most days, I don’t mind doing it myself. I l enjoy managing our house — paying the bills, doing the laundry, cleaning up in between the housekeeper’s biweekly visits — and, while I know that I do the bulk of the work around the house, I don’t mind. I like being the woman he can rely on to get things done, and he knows that my attention to detail makes me better at handling the small stuff. I love being there to support him and help him in whatever way he needs.
Maybe this perspective will change someday when we have kids and things are harder and busier and more chaotic, but, right now, I love being a wife and doing all the stereotypical “wife” things. If I could, I would quit my job and stay at home every day just to take care of our house.
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