How Feminism Improves My Marriage

By helping me not be a Stepford Wife

I wasn’t trying to improve my marriage when I read two books about feminism recently. But a funny thing happened after finishing “Why I’m Not A Feminist: A Feminist Manifesto” by Jessa Crispin. We had really good sex.

I’m not saying that our sex is usually bad. I would never say that. But, we’re old. We’ve been married a long time. Our bodies are no longer certifiably sexy. And we can lapse into a rut.

Sex is such tricky territory. During the 35 years of our marriage, sex has been the biggest source of complaint.

The basic problem is that my partner wants to have more sex than I do. And for many years, I insisted on my right not to have sex, because women have been oppressed via sex for thousands of years. I’ve had “my share” of date rape and sexual assault. I don’t want any more.

“During the 35 years of our marriage, sex has been the biggest source of complaint.”

That reasoning is airtight. And if I’d chosen a different partner, it might have flown fine. But my particular set of vulnerabilities lined up with his particular set of vulnerabilities in an unfortunate way.

So what happened in practice was my refusals hurt his feelings. Then he’d sulk. Then I’d get mad at him for sulking. Then I’d initiate sex to get him out of his sulk, but feel resentful. Then we’d fight about other things because I resented him about the sex. And that went on for years and years.

And years…

Until one day, when I was complaining about this cycle, my good and very wise friend said, “David and I just decided that whoever wants sex can have it.”

“Wow,” I muttered and sat there, amazed. “That sounds so friendly!” And I decided on the spot that I wanted a friendly relationship, too, and that we should adopt the same policy in our household. And we did.

S o now we have sex whenever anyone wants to, and my partner’s not getting his feelings hurt, and I’m not getting resentful. But there’s still trouble in paradise. Because something bad happens when I cater to my husband. My eyes start to glaze over. I become a Stepford Wife.

Have you not seen that classic? Forget the remakes. The original version with Paula Prentiss and Katherine Ross is truly horrific and the ultimate creepshow. Pause here for a moment to take a peek.

In the 1975 movie, the men are the bad guys, robotifying the women for fun and pleasure. But here in 2019, I’m doing it to myself. And I’m not the only one.

Stepford Wife Syndrome (SWS) is endemic to our culture. It doesn’t attack only women, and it doesn’t occur only in romantic relationships.

SWS is apparent when you perform an emotion that you don’t actually feel in order to please someone else. That might seem like a good idea at the time, a “nice” way to behave, but the consequences can be debilitating. Because you can forget who you are, or fail to figure it out in the first place. And for what? Approval? Love? It’s a losing game. The truth is, other people don’t want to interact with a facsimile of you. They want a real person.

How can you tell if you’ve been infected with SWS? Check the following list of symptoms.

Do you nod and smile, even when you disagree?

Do you find yourself echoing another person’s words?

Do you pretend to be cheerful when you’re really numb inside?

Are there a lot of broken coffee cups on your kitchen floor?

If you answered yes to even one of these questions, you may have SWS. But don’t worry. There’s a cure. Just read a feminist text.

It’s hard to put my finger on what exactly Crispin said that knocked me out of autopilot, pulled me back into my body, and cured my SWS.

I like that she wants more for women. Crispin chides women for having a lack of imagination, for not seeing themselves in roles beyond mother and wife.

“Women are still watching blockbuster films and aspiring to be the supportive wife or the sexy girlfriend who needs rescuing, rather than the one (man) saving the world.”

And in a later chapter…

“Our great weirdos, from Emily Dickinson to Simone Weil to Coco Chanel, are seen as outliers, as not relevant to the way we think through what we want out of life.”

I like her blending of genders. Crispin notes that there are valuable traits, both masculine and feminine, which any one of us can have in infinite combinations. In a patriarchal society, masculine traits are more valued. But that needs to change — for everyone.

“Though softness, vulnerability, nuance, compassion, and care may be devalued under the current system, they are absolutely vital qualities that we should not be ashamed of. Our first responsibility should be to take care of each other, as the system under which we all live will certainly not take care of us.”

I like that she doesn’t disparage (or exalt) romantic love.

“It’s not the existence of love that is the problem, it is its primacy. It is the coupling of romantic love with not only the emotional but social and material reward.

“Feminists don’t have to shut themselves off from the possibility of romantic love. But we should question the privileging of romantic love over all other forms of love, from familial to friendship to societal.”

And I like how she runs her own life. Crispin’s website says she “has lived in Kansas, Texas, Chicago, Ireland, New York, among other places” and “currently divides her time between Baltimore and Berlin.”

She writes for the Guardian. An earlier book was on tarot. The promo copy for a third book, Dead Ladies Project, says Crispin is searching for “a way of being in the world that demands neither constant struggle nor complete surrender.”

And that’s what we all want, isn’t it? A way of being in the world — and in our intimate relationships — that doesn’t demand constant struggle or complete surrender?

In my long marriage, I’ve given up struggle. But I still must guard against surrender. Because, here’s the thing. You can’t be yourself in a hierarchical relationship. It’s impossible. So ceding authority to a partner is always a bad idea.

It doesn’t matter if you find submission easy or your partner finds it attractive. The truth is, submission by either party limits the capacity for intimacy in the relationship, because how can they love you if you’re not actually there?

So, that’s what I learned. That’s what I’ve been thinking. That’s how feminism cured my Stepford Wife Syndrome and improved my marriage, helping me to remember who I am and why I’m here.

For more stories of interest, visit Fourth Wave.