Marriage is not easy. Marriage is not the answer to life’s problems. Marriage is not happily ever after. Marriage is not a fairy tale. Marriage is hard work.
I know all that.
But whenever I get discontent or frustrated with any aspect of my life, my favorite fantasy to retreat to is…marriage.
In highschool, when I was trying to figure out which of my hundreds of interests to choose as my LIFE pursuit (i.e. career)–I dreamt of the easy way out. I could just get married–then I wouldn’t have to decide.
When I was overwhelmed by the hamster wheel life of school, work, volunteering, church, family, dorm, friends, Navs–I longed for an escape. I could marry, and then (maybe) I wouldn’t have to bother with half of it (school, work, dorm at least).
When I was in the midst of depression and feeling disconnected from everyone, I thought maybe marriage would be my solution. How could I feel disconnected if I were married?
When I was blacking out ten to twenty times a day and afraid to drive lest I should black out and kill someone–I thought getting married would correct my problem. (Oh wait, I didn’t come up with that. That was the doctor. Well, I guess he didn’t say I had to get married–he said the only cure for my hypovolemia was pregnancy. But since I don’t believe in having children out of wedlock, that meant marriage to me.)
Anyway, my most recent frustration has been with being a housewife.
You see, I love being a housewife–and I am one, despite not having a husband. I revel in cooking homemade meals and keeping my sink shining. I delight in puttering around my home and neatening things. Tidying, organizing, even scrubbing is fun for me. I make breakfast every morning, fill the fridge with homemade food, wash the dishes every evening. I make sure the house is in order–and when it is, all is well with my world.
I don’t begrudge the fact that I do 90% or so of the housework in the home I share with several roommates. I love doing it. What I don’t love is that I don’t have someone else pitching in to give me the time, money, and energy to focus on what I love doing–being a housewife.
You see, as a husbandless housewife, I have to do double duty. I have to carry out both the “housewife” jobs and the “husbandry” jobs. Not only do I cook all the food, do all the dishes, and clean the kitchen–I also have to work to pay for all the food and have to eat it all (generally without assistance) when I’m done. Not only do I clean the house and make it ready for entertaining–I also have to work to pay the full portion of rent (leaving much less time and energy to carry out my housewifely tasks.)
So marriage sounds really good to me right now.
I can just imagine it. He works to pay the bills and takes care of car stuff. I work to buy us little extras and take care of home stuff. He can bring home the bacon–I’ll cook it up. I’ll clean up the kitchen after meals, as long as he’s there to do his part with eating the meals.
Now I’ve painted myself a panacea, a delicious too-good-to-be-true fantasy–but tell me, how is it that girls who hate to cook, despise housework, and are indifferent to children can get married, but I’m still single?
Please don’t take this wrong. I’m not bitter. I’m not angry. I just struggle to understand God’s purpose in my singleness–when I seem so clearly cut out for the life of a housewife.