Dear Martha: You don’t know me, but I know you.
I know how you fill your days caring for your family. Work, school, chores, errands—the buzz of busyness keeps your mind numb. It is easier to maintain the façade of the happy wife when the sun is up.
At night, however, when the stillness falls upon your house, the cracks in the walls of your “perfect” life can be seen.
He is distant and distracted. You rattle on about the kids, as he half listens, avoiding your gaze. You put the kids to bed and wait for him, but he doesn’t come. He stays on the computer, on the phone, he steps outside to take a call or leaves to run a random errand.
You wait in bed alone.
You miss his body. You miss the way your back pressed into his chest as his strong arms held you close. You miss the way your bodies once moved together. Now, as he comes to bed, you reach out to him. He pulls away.
“Tired,” he says. Stress, work, kids.
You turn and bury your face in the pillow, trying to silence your tears.
You tell yourself, “I will be sexier, thinner, a better mother, a better wife”. Then he will see me, hear me, want me.
You try, don’t you Martha?
The striving is endless. And exhausting. And empty.
Finally, something inside of you begins to crack. You feel it in your gut. Something is breaking free.
Your banshee shows up, raging.
She is screaming, “See me. Hear me. F*ck me. Love me.”
He looks at you with icy cold eyes, “You are a crazy bitch. A nag. A boring f*ck.”
“It’s not me” he proclaims. His words pierce your soul. He thinks it’s all your fault.
In the morning, he acts like nothing happened. He says it will be fine. Pats you on the head. That’s a good girl.
Well, dear Martha: Wake the f*ck up.
You were not born to be his puppet, his roommate, his beard.
You were born to be valued, and loved and worshiped for the woman you are.
You were born a Goddess, a Queen.
You were born to be not only a mother and a daughter, but also a woman. Your needs and your happiness matter. You matter.
It is time to call on your inner tribe- your Warrior, your Banshee, your ball-breaking, take-no-prisoners, motherf*cking bitch—and get out.
No, you don’t know me dear Martha, but I know you. I was you. I am you.
Take my hand and step into the light. Your real life is waiting for you to show up.
An Awakened Woman
Author: Christine Lumley
Editor: Alli Sarazen
Photo: Peter Zucko/Flickr