A question of interest--Reg's a domestic goddess

“Just as soon as we notice that someone has to force himself to pay attention when dealing and talking with us, we have a valid demonstration that he does not love us or that he does not love us anymore.”—Friedrich Nietzsche

It was hypothesized in an Anthropology book—one which I’m too lazy to quote right now—that women, during conversation, take on a submissive role when speaking to men because of traditional cultural values taught to us during childhood. I suppose this could be true; often I find myself being the one asking questions to continue a conversation, agreeing instead of arguing to make the conversation more pleasant, and murmuring “mmhmmm” to imply I’m listening intently when in actuality I don’t care. I agree that it could be a submissive role, but it could be that I’m just being polite.

I find when communicating with men that I’m involved with I become classified (by myself or by him) as “needy.” I am “needy” because I want to be spoken to at least once every day. I’m not sure he understands that the words are unimportant; I simply need to be acknowledged. I need to know that I’m not wasting my time when I get up early to make sure I say, “Good morning” before he goes to class or to work. My unmatched efforts at first make me guilty. I think: “am I imposing on him?” Next, I’m disheartened, asking myself: does he really love me? Then I’m resentful (I would put what I think about when resentful here, but I’m trying to keep my language reasonably clean in this post.) Central to my wonderings are: Why do I always have to initiate a conversation? Why do I always have to be inconvenienced?

Perhaps this is when I take on the “submissive traditional role” as described by the textbook. I have to initiate a conversation because he isn’t taught how to, or doesn’t find it important. I always have to be inconvenienced because I’m a woman and he has important, manly things to do like play video games and watch sports. I’m the caring, sensitive, empathetic one. This is my role I’ve been given to play.

I’ve seen the way society trains men to display little emotion besides anger, so I could’ve been trained in a similar way, unaware to what was happening. One day, as my beautiful Honey and I sat in the park, a family of several young women, a man, and a small boy walked by. The little boy tripped on the brick path, smashing his nose. As he cried, all the women ran to him and the man said, “Don’t touch him! Let him suck it up!” The women left the kid crying on the path and walked a head. Honey and I turned to each other and agreed, “That’s what’s wrong with men.” (I can’t pinpoint an exact time in my life when my mother said, “men are a**holes but we should try to be nice to them anyway because they say they love us and buy us sparkly things” so I figured the anecdote about the little boy would suffice.)

Unfortunately for the men in my life, I was raised by a bachelor. So after putting up with enough of feeling “submissive” or “needy,” I don’t demurely let it go. I have to get even. I know that I’m not “needy.” I know that once per day is a reasonable request. I’ll have to keep telling myself the wise words of my dear Sayuri—“there’s always a compromise—before I end up doing something too drastic.

Ha. Just call me a Domestic Goddess.

Your butterfly,

Reg