The Modern Relationship

 

I saw a quote the other day:

“The past few decades have taught women to empower themselves, but have not taught men how to live with those empowered women”

This made a lot of sense to me.  

Over the past one hundred years, women’s rights have improved in many ways.  As a result, our way of thinking, what we believe that we can achieve and what we are prepared to put up with, has changed.

We now have our own bank accounts, can own property, can vote, have rights to our own bodies (excluding the US in that one for obvious reasons) and have our own money.   We can have careers in fields we choose, we can have a life outside of the home; we can be stay at home mothers (but only if we wish to be).  We no longer need rely on a man for our existence through life.  We can fund ourselves.  Educate ourselves.  Be a whole person outside of the "wife and mother".

In short, we now have the freedom to choose, for ourselves, what kind of life we want.

This is not a “but what about the men post”.  But it is worth pointing out that whilst women have moved forward, evolved; (some) men have not.

Some of these men still see women as the mother, the person who takes care of the chores.  The person in charge of the home.   They see the 1950s as “the perfect time in history”.

What these men fail to realise that women have always worked.  Whether it be in factories, as nurses, secretaries, teachers, cooks etc.   However.  In addition to these jobs, women were also expected to fully take care of the home and take care of the children.  They were in fact doing two jobs.  The “second shift”.  Their weekends were not time off work, they spent them taking care of the home and the children while their partners, well, didn’t.

This “perfect” time of the 1950s was when the stay at home mother was a prevalent thing.  But was it perfect for women?  Some.  Of course.  But was it a life that many wanted?  No money of their own, no freedoms and a life that was 24/7.  They were always on call.

But was this “perfect time” even accurate?  Because studies show us that around 45% of working age women were in fact working in the UK.   In the US, that figure was around 32%, or 18.4 million women.  Not a small amount.

The men that see this as a perfect time in history do so because they see women as lesser than themselves.  They want a bang maid who they can control through money and power.  I do find it amusing however that many of these men who claim they want a “traditional woman” now also expect them to pay their own way, pay half the bills.  They want it all.

But let us put aside the misogynists.  We know of them.  But they do not make up all men.

Countless studies, as well as what we hear from women day to day, is that the split of work/home/chores/children is in no way balanced.  Despite women also doing a full time job, they are also doing the majority of household cleaning, cooking and childcare.  This includes being the default parent when it comes to the child falling ill and a parent needing to take time off to be with them.

Women now contribute financially to the home.  They have their own money.  They are no longer the default homemakers.  What they want, what they deserve; is an equal or percentage based contribution to the home.    

No home life is ever going to be perfectly 50/50.  Life does not work that way.  But if you both work the same kind of hours, you should be splitting cleaning, cooking, children equally.  Obviously if one parent is working more hours, you adjust accordingly.

But why have things not changed?  Why are women still doing more?

I would say that the first men to realise that there had been a change were millennial men.  But even then, I see husbands who think that changing the odd nappy, mowing the lawn in summer and taking out the rubbish every week is equal.  Is fair.  Yet these men seem to want recognition for doing what is the bare minimum.

Worse, some of them do a household chore with the expectation of getting something in return.  Like they are doing their partners a favour.

It seems to me that there is something innate in men, in their makeup, that sees women as the homemakers and men as the providers.  Regardless of how times have changed.  Because if you follow the trend that millennial men started to realise that they needed to contribute more than simply working, coming home and putting their feet up, then each generation of men should be doing more.  But that isn’t the case.

I used to work with a girl who thought that she had the perfect boyfriend (she is 25 and so they are Gen Z).  His mother had raised him to contribute to the chores in the home so she presumed that he would contribute to their own home equally.  But that was not the case.

After contributing well enough initially, things then started to go downhill.  He started to do less and less, even to the extent that he was leaving his clothes on the floor and his plates left on tables for her to clean up.  She could not understand why, having been raised how he was.

It is a story that I have read 100s of times, from women who are Gen X, right through to Gen Z.  Women are still doing more/the majority of chores, cooking and childcare, despite having full time jobs.  There is nothing less attractive than having to take care of a man like he is a child/one of your children.

Some of these women either face an outright refusal to do more, weaponised incompetence by doing a chore/simply task so badly that you will never ask again or them stating that they are happy to live in filth.

Not all men are like this.  Stay at home dads are a thing and more men are doing their fair share.  So it is possible.

But with so many men not contributing equally, this is turning women away from relationships and can also be a reason for divorce.  A woman does not want to have sex with a man who cannot fill out a form or make an appointment without his partner’s help and who cannot understand how a washing machine works.  She is not attracted to a man who thinks that doing the washing means putting the clothes in the washing machine and calling the job done or who cannot make himself a meal if she is not there to hand hold his every step.

I think that applied weaponised incompetence is worse than the excuse of “I don’t notice what needs to be done” or an outright refusal to contribute.  Because at least you know where you stand.  An outright expectation that you will do more because you are a woman.  You know where you stand.  How you choose to move forward with that is another thing.

When weaponised incompetence is applied, this is pure manipulation.  The dishes that don’t get put away because “I don’t know where they go”.  The laundry that gets ruined because “I didn’t know what setting”.  The children who don’t get fed breakfast because “I don’t know what they eat”.  These men know exactly what they are doing.  Manipulation until you give up and do the job yourself.

Another thing that I see some men say is that “I wasn’t taught how to do x, y and z and you do it better.  You were taught”.

Frankly, this is bullshit.  I was not raised to do much in the way of chores, laundry or cooking.  I taught myself when I moved out.  In an age where Google and Youtube is at your fingertips, anything can be learned.  I myself used Google, Youtube and TikTok (yes, Tiktok!) to teach myself how to cook.

In my own relationship, we work on percentages.  We do the things we like more and if we both don’t like a task, we split it equally.  I do not feel taken advantage of.    When I get home from work, I do not have to clean up from his day and when I come home to a job done that I was expecting to do, it is wonderful.

I heard someone say once that while women want a relationship, men need a relationship.  I believe this to be true.

Because we can look after ourselves financially.  We can entertain ourselves.  Our homes are cleaner when men who (not all…) do not contribute and make a mess, are not there.  If the woman feels like she is having to be the mother of her partner, she no longer has to stay because she has no means of supporting herself.

So back to my original quote about men having not learned to live with empowered women.  This appears to be true.  Because the reality is, the men that do not contribute, no longer get relationships or marriage.  They often find themselves divorced.

But the fact of the matter is that men do not need to learn how to live with empowered women.  What they need to do is move away from thinking that the women’s sole purpose is to be the homemaker.  The mother.  The house manager.  Their second mother.

They can do it, and do when they have to.  When no women is around men are able to feed and clothe themselves and look after children if they become a single father or share joint custody.  Because they have to.

So the answer, simply, maybe is to think of a woman like they do a man.  Their equal, not their lesser and not their home help.

I Can See Clearly Now

I feel that I have been running a very long race.  The race of my life.  Now, I can almost see the finish line ahead and I am both excited, and scared.  It is really the finish line?  Or a mirage?  Are there more unseen obstacles ahead?

My road has been a long one.  Going from my teenager years and thenwhen I was 20, I had the worst period of depression of my life.  A time where I could find no hope, only pain.  A pain that I could not escape from and in truth, for a time there, I wanted to die.  It was the only way I could see out of unimaginable pain.  How this went on for, I no longer truly know.  Months, definately, a year?  Probably.

The only way I have been able to describe the level of emotional pain I felt each day, is equating it to the moment I was told my dad had died.  That immediate, surge of pain, before grief, before taking it in.  I do not exaggerate when I say this, nor would I compare the two lightly.

It was during this time however that I somehow found my inner strength.  A voice inside of me that shouted no.  You are stronger than this.  A voice so strong, so clear that it stopped me in my tracks.  Take that as you will.

I will admit that my whole twenties were a mess.  I had learned to withhold what I felt.  Not show my pain.  Not show the outside world the carnage that was on the inside.  I had no voice.  No opinions.  I was surviving, not thriving as my twenties should have been.  I had learned that no one really wants to see the bad inside, the hurt.  They wanted a smile.  So that is what I gave them.

There was one in particular whom I could have shared my thoughts with.  She would have been there for me, and indeed very much was, for the parts that she did see.  But I was too scared.  I didn’t want to lose her, even though deep down, I knew that I wouldn’t.   I wish that I had.  I could and do still trust her completely.  She is a forever friend.  She knew me before I hit rock bottom.  The real me. 

It has taken me so long to find that person again.

I started writing properly when I hit my thirties and I started to slowly evacuate the ghosts in my head.  

This whole blog was created in order to work on my self confident, my self image and my self worth.  I came so far, achieving things that I never thought that I would be able to accomplish.  From the small steps of changing what I wore from all black to colour, to going to events by myself in London and sharing a picture of myself in a swimsuit.  I talked about confidence until I started to find it for myself, and even received an email once from a woman telling me that my journey had inspired the start of her own.

I have my faults, but what I do have is determination and stubbornness (I appreciate that the latter can be a fault too!).  I am slow to change, but when I do, I make a very large jump.  I have always been this way.  I have always strived to be better.  To heal.  But my roadmap was more like a very complicated squiggle than a straight line.

I found Twitter which helped me find my voice and I found others who were lost and on their way to becoming found.  I felt myself coming alive.

By my mid thirties, I realised that my efforts to hide what I felt from the world had gone too far.  I had become so good at masking that I had convinced myself that my fake smile was real.   

I remember the day so clearly.  I was walking the dog, the sun was out and it was gloriously warm.  I remember suddenly realising that I felt happy; I was enjoying the day and was looking forward to an evening out with friends.  But I could actually feel those feelings.  It was both wonderful, and terrible.  Because it that moment I realised just how long I had not truly felt.  Over a decade.  I always felt the sad emotions, but the good ones had been lost to the mask I wore every day.

It wasn’t until I met my partner a couple of years later that that changed.  I had someone who could see all of me.  Every emotion.  Every feeling.  And they loved all of me.  Every single bit.  I have never felt loved like this in my life.  So seen.  So wanted.

I gained self confidence a while ago now, but the lesson of self worth has been much, much harder.   

It doesn’t matter how much someone tells you that you are worth it.  That you are worthy of love.  That you matter.  You have to believe it yourself.

A couple of weeks ago, things finally started to fall into place and I found my self worth that had been lost to me for so long.  I unburied the last of the things hidden and locked away in my mind.  I confronted face on the reasons why I lost it.

So here I am today.  I am starting counselling in a few weeks.  This I truly believe will help me with the tools I need to move forward.  Move on.  Not forgetting, but not letting my past rule my future.

I have changed my mind whilst writing this post.  I am excited.  I am no longer afraid.  I look forward to the bright future in front of me.  I intend to celebrate every single minute.  

To the Man Who Killed My Dad

A letter I will never send.  I would not know where to send it.  I am not sure I ever would if I did.

Hello Gavin,  

Where do I start?  

You don’t know me.  I don’t know you.  We have never met.  But we are linked, forever.  

All I really know about you is that in August 1987 you were seventeen and driving a fast car when you crashed into my dad on the motorway, taking his life away from him.  Taking him away from me and my family.

The incident was your fault.  You were charged was driving without due care and attention, which sounds ridiculous when you did in fact take a man’s life away.  But I cannot change that.  It feels wrong.   Even now.

I was 8 years old the day my father died.  My childhood, my life, was unequivocally changed forever by your actions.  I hated you.  I felt that way for so many years.  Can you really blame me?

You were the demon in my dreams who took my dad away from me.  The man who loved me so much.  The man who read me stories on a Sunday morning and brought me surprises on a Friday night.  The man that I still miss so much, decades later.  In my eyes, for a long time, I thought that you should have been rotting away in prison, suffering.  As much as we suffered.  

I am in my 40s now.  I have lived through much and have come to some realisations and understandings.  One of them is that hate solves nothing.  

Strange as it sounds, when entering into working life, I went into civil litigation.  Road traffic accidents.  Helping to bring claims against people like you who had caused accidents, damage, injury and death.  It was not a conscious decision that I remember making, but it is where I ended up.

These days I work with far tougher cases.  Cases of historical abuse.  The worst you can imagine.  It has changed me in many ways.  I went through a lot because of your actions but nothing compared to those I speak to on a daily basis.  I have learned from those people about moving on.  Acceptance.  Perspective.

You were seventeen.  I know how easy it is to make a stupid mistake.  Especially at that age.  You made a very big mistake that day.  A huge one.  One that took a life.  A life that you did not intend to take.  

You did not set off that day intending for things to happen in the way that they did.  But they did.   You did “borrow” your girlfriend’s sports car.  Which you were not insured to drive.  You did drive too fast and lost control.  You did hit my dad’s car.  You did kill him.

None of us are the same people we were at seventeen, at twenty, at twenty five even.  I know I am not.  I want to think that you changed too.   That the recklessness of that day and the effects of your actions, changed you.

You will always have what you did that day over your head.  That first mistake of taking the car, that snowballed into death.

I cannot imagine what it is to know that you have done that.  All that I can imagine, all that I hope, is that the gravity of what happened taught you some lessons and you lived your life in a better way.     Probably not right away.  Because you were, no doubt, in shock too.  You were too young for something so serious.  

I don’t hate you anymore.  Hate is a hard thing to hold on to in your soul and eats away at you.   Now I can put myself in your shoes and feel sorry for you, in a way.  You made a mistake.  You have had to live with that mistake every day.  That has to be hard.  Your life altered forever, just as mine did.  

I don’t owe you anything Gavin, I certainly don’t owe you forgiveness.  But I do forgive you.  I forgive you for the mistake you made.  Because by forgiving you, I can let go of the hate.  I understand now that the stupid actions and decisions you made as a teenager do not make you a bad person.  An evil person.    You were someone who made a bad choice.  

I do hope that you were truly sorry for what you did.  You never said that you were sorry, we spoke to your insurance company, not you.  But again, you were seventeen and had just killed someone.  I get it.

You did take a life, but I hope that you managed to deal with that and make something good of the rest of your life.  

Goodbye Gavin.  I won’t think of you anymore, writing this has been helpful.  I don’t wish you happiness, but I don’t wish you sadness anymore.  I am done.

Victoria