Don’t Apologize for Wanting to Fall in Love
There’s no such thing as an “un-feminist” desire
“Oh my god, I just want to fall in love,” my old friend, Jenny lamented, recently. “That’s like the one thing I’m not supposed to say, right? That I just want to fall in love and have someone take care of me when I come home from work. I feel guilty for feeling that way, but dammit, it sounds so nice, doesn’t it?”
Why, I asked, did she have to feel guilty for wanting to fall in love? For wanting someone to hug her when she came home after a long, stressful day? For desiring companionship? For dreaming of cuddling up to a warm body at night? For letting someone massage her feet or give her orgasms?
“It’s like dying my hair or getting my nails done. I know I’m not supposed to do that shit. It’s so shallow to want to be pretty when I should care about being strong. And it’s so needy to want a partner when I should be focused on being an independent woman. I’m not superficial. I’m not weak. I shouldn’t care about this stuff.”
This is not the first time I’ve heard a woman apologize for her desires before and it wouldn’t be the last.
Whenever something goes wrong at my house that I don’t know how to fix, I freak out and immediately wish I had a husband to help me. When a wild rabbit stowed away in my garage last month and I couldn’t figure out how to get it out, I thought, Dammit, a husband wouldn’t be so afraid of this thing and could catch it in 10 minutes and be done with it. When I made six giant holes in my wall because I couldn’t get my coat rack to hang straight, I cried at the mess I had made and thought, If I was married, my husband could’ve done this right and not ruined the drywall.
And of course, there are many nights when I lie down in bed and wish I could crawl into someone’s warm embrace. Or you know, get a long, deep orgasm from long, deep sex.
All of these thoughts are often immediately followed by guilt. I shouldn’t feel this way, I think. I’m supposed to be strong. I’m supposed to be independent. I want to know how to catch a wild rabbit who gets into my garage with confidence and bravery. I want to know how to properly hang a coat rack. I want to be brave enough to face my life — and my bed — on my own.
And though I don’t dye my hair or get manicures, I have similar feelings of guilt when I stand in front of the mirror wishing I was prettier, thinner, less hairy. (Yeah, yeah, I know, I could just pick up a razor! But dammit, I will not.) What a waste to want to feel pretty, right? To want to be beautiful. Shouldn’t I be using my mental energy and my time for something more important — like writing my congressmen or cleaning up litter?
I shouldn’t feel this way, I think. I’m supposed to be strong. I’m supposed to be independent.
But I question the logic behind these questions, behind my guilt around these desires. Love, sex, and beauty are biological needs. We seek out beauty; we were made to appreciate it and look for it. It attracts lovers and we want to attract lovers. Humans need love and physical contact.
So what if we looked at this from another perspective?
Feeling beautiful builds our confidence and allows us to be the best we can be and do the best we can do. And when we’re the best we can be, that serves everyone around us.
And that’s not all. I believe that our desire to feel beautiful goes far beyond the superficial dance of vanity and even far beyond the aspiration to experience confidence. What if our desire to be and feel beautiful reflects a deeper, more spiritual inclination — that of communion?
Feeling beautiful means we can hold another’s gaze without flinching. It means we can listen with our full attention, without the distraction of worrying about what we look like. Feeling beautiful gives us the self-assurance to take a chance on interactions with strangers or acquaintances. It gives us just enough chutzpah to open our hearts a little wider.
Maybe wanting to feel beautiful is an expression of the heart’s desire to fully engage with life.
What if our desire to be and feel beautiful reflects a deeper, more spiritual inclination — that of communion?
Wanting to fall in love means that our hearts are open. What a testament to courage that is!
What if the desire to surrender into someone’s arms is an illustration of our strength and our ability to trust? What if wishing we had someone to help chase away a wild rabbit hiding in the garage is simply a gentle reminder to ask for help? What if wanting a deep sexual experience with another person is actually one of the bravest desires we could have?
As my friend Sunny says, wanting something that also happens to be a culturally acceptable desire does not make us weak. This isn’t an indication of our failure as feminists, women, or human beings.
And when it comes to beauty, love, and sex, perhaps the strongest, most feminist act we can take would be to embrace our desires, whatever they might be. To allow ourselves to see the strength and bravery it takes to feel good about the way we look, to let that beauty (inner and outer) attract a lover (or two), and surrender to all that comes next...
© Yael Wolfe 2020
