Home » SHE-POETRY » You’re not a good…

You’re not a good…

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I’m so sick and tired of it. I’m so sick and tired of running to the Internet and Googling whether I’m good enough whenever he tells me…
“You’re not a good wife.”
“You’re pityful.”
“Youre touchless!”
“Youre selfish.”

Making me doubt myself constantly. Well, am a good wife? Well, let’s go on the web and ask… hmmm… all I can see is some shit about being a good Christian woman and how I’m supposed to obey this fuckin jackass no matter what.. Hmm… I don’t think that’s my cup of tea. Then I’d get on the Internet and Google what are a wife’s duties? I know that sounds stupid, but I actually did this, quite often actually, because everything I was doing vs everything he was doing just wasn’t adding up equally. Now, this is when my husband would have felt he had to interject a word in and clarify his point of view on what HE felt was equal or not which I believe is one of the reasons I kept my mouth shut about it. Although I knew he was wrong, he’s still threw it in my face that I was ungrateful or something. And of course, I Googled this too.

In his mind going to work for eight hours was his only job. While mine was everything else which wasn’t as important as his. I suppose keeping the house clean, cleaning the toilets, which the only reason why in mentioning the toilets is because he would walk in the bathroom and instruct me on how to do it, then tell me it had to be done by the time he got home. I suppose running around town taking care of errands and responsibilities which if he were home he could easily have done himself. I suppose everything that I ever did for him wasn’t as important because he was the one breaking his back to support the family (bringing home close to nothing in income). Putting us all in situations of which had us close to homelessness several times.  Situations for which I was responsible for fixing. If anyone was taken for granted, it was me. I hate to sound ungrateful, but if you have to live week to week, you might as well say you were living off close to nothing. He still to this day makes it seem like he’s doing me a favor by letting me stay here, continually throwing it in my face that he didn’t have to accept me come back, after I called off the divorce and moved back from Austin because I felt our son needed his mother. He still walks around arrogant as if I’m using him for his millions. Puh! Bwahahahaha!! Yeh, okay… He needs to go back and check his bank account (which I already did) and it only had $60 in it.

Today in a heated argument which was supposed to be about our son’s destructive behavior at school that could possibly lead to felony charges, he brings up the funkiest notion that he’s been giving me a “free ride” and how he’s tired of it. O.. Kay… now what is that supposed to mean?? Wives aren’t given “free rides.” Wives are considered loving partners and everything is equal.

Anyway, everything I ever did for him just wasn’t good enough. He was very particular about how the laundry had to be done so I did it to his preference. I wasn’t a very good cook, in fact, I detest cooking, but I did it anyway because it was “my job” to have a hot meal for him when he got home. I’d buy him things that I thought he’d appreciate and love and he’d complain about every one of them. Not only did I never hear the words “thank you babe”, but I was made to feel like whatever I bought him just was not good enough. Either in quality, length, style, color, etc. Here’s the kicker though, I don’t work right, but the money I did have, I either saved up or had to use his, and he would throw it in my face saying that it didn’t count because I used “his money.”

When it came to our son, I did however, go above and beyond. I taught him how to ride his bike, I taught him how to tie his shoes, I taught him how to read, I bought him toys which I felt would develop his brain. I’d spend a lot of time with our son. I wanted to give him the time and attention that my mom NEVER gave to me. As soon as he’d get home from school I’d get him started on his homework and etc. I’d take him to the library and then make him read to me. I should have recognized my husband’s dysfunction when he would get jealous of all of all of the attention and care I was giving to our son. I was there for our son when he wasn’t. You’d think a husband would appreciate that. But instead he did everything he could to UNDO everything I did with our son and proudly taking credit for it. It was like it was intentional. He wanted our son to love him more than me, and that’s NOT RIGHT. Everything became a competition when it came to our son. I soon felt like I defeated and that I wasn’t good enough to hold on and keep my son’s love.

Anyway, back to my other examples.

I was forced into being responsible for two dogs, which I originally never wanted or even given a choice to have. They stayed out in the old chicken coup out back when we lived in the country and I was the fool that was made to go out and scoop up dog shit everyday so their fenced in area wouldn’t get too filthy for them to even run around in. My son didn’t and wasn’t going to do it, so it was also a part of “my job” to. If that wasn’t done right or if I didn’t get all of the dog shit picked up and my husband went out there to check my work after he got off work, he’d make me feel terrible for it. But it was the way he’d act that would make me feel shameful. The way he shook his head like, as if he could have done better or as if to say, that I couldn’t do anything right.

Then there were his many other pet interests. The Bearded Dragon, the exotic fish aquariums, a few other rodents I can’t think of right now. The point is, I was responsible for them and if something went wrong or I did something wrong, I was made to feel so worthless about it. It got to the point where when I’d hear his car pull up, my heart would start pounding. I’d run around checking to make sure things had gotten done or at least “looked” like they had.

Cooking dinners for him made me into a total wreck as well! It’s bad enough with my ADD, that I have terrible organizational skills, imagine what it was like for me in the kitchen. I was running around with a cookbook in one hand, in circles and still never had it done on time. Which (and this is the kicker) had to be ready and at the table when he put his lunch pale on the refrigerator and he sat down at the table himself. If “supper” wasn’t ready yet, he’d sit there and watch me scramble around until it was. Bitching about how I had plenty of time to have gotten it prepared. Then as he was eating it, I’d sit and wait for him to tell me if it tasted good. And when he didn’t, I’d ask and he get angry and say, “I’m eating it, ain’t I?” or he’d say, “It’s alright,” as if it could have been better. I would watch him chew on the food as if he were biting off and chewing on rubber. Hahaha!

I’m tell’in ya, if this is what wife-ing is normally about for other women as well, then I fucking quit and don’t ever want this type of “job” ever again!!!

Being a wife means being somebody’s slave…

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