avatarY.L. Wolfe

Summary

The article discusses the emotional and physical exhaustion experienced by many women, both single and partnered, who often lack the support and care they need, highlighting the societal pressures that contribute to this issue.

Abstract

The author of the article reflects on the widespread experience of women who feel overwhelmed and unsupported in their daily lives, regardless of their relationship status. Despite the cultural expectation for women to be self-sufficient, the author points out the high toll this takes on their well-being. The piece underscores the challenges faced by women who juggle multiple responsibilities without adequate assistance, the impact of a patriarchal society on their personal lives, and the desire for emotional and physical support. It also touches on the author's personal journey towards self-care and the importance of self-love in the absence of external support.

Opinions

  • The author believes that societal norms, particularly those stemming from a patriarchal and white supremacist culture, place excessive burdens on women, often leaving them to manage familial and professional responsibilities alone.
  • There is a critique of the lack of support from male partners, with many women not receiving help in child-rearing or household duties, which contributes to their exhaustion.
  • The article suggests that the cultural devaluation of the feminine leads to women being overworked and undervalued, both in the workplace and at home.
  • The author expresses a longing for romantic care and physical intimacy but also

The Lament of Women Who Just Need to Be Held

There are too many of us — partnered and single — who are running on empty

Photo by Vanessa Gonzalez on Scopio

I feel like I just had Covid for a second time. I know I didn’t have it — I’ve spent the last 20 days hunkered down at my mother’s home, where she, my brother and I didn’t go anywhere or see anyone during our pandemic winter hideaway.

Yet when I pulled into my garage, I felt almost as ill as I had been with Covid. The headache that had been blooming during the course of that morning became unbearable. When I got out of the car, I could barely walk into the house because every step inspired a wave of nausea that had my knees buckling. And I was suddenly so tired, I didn’t think I’d make it to my bed fast enough.

Somehow, I made it to bed, where I remained for the next 18 hours.

That was the furthest thing from my plans that day.

I was supposed to do the laundry, unpack my bags, make dinner, do the dishes, write six pieces of copy for my client, write a new piece for my own work, go to the grocery store, do 20 minutes of yoga, and tidy up.

As I laid there in bed, not able to accomplish any of that, or even get up the energy to rummage through the fridge for a ginger ale that might make me feel better, I felt my shoulders getting tighter and tighter.

All I want is a shoulder rub, I thought to myself. And maybe someone to run to the store and buy me a Gingerade kombucha, which I find much more appealing than ginger ale.

And to be held. I wanted to be held.

I felt tears streaming down my cheeks. After twenty days of being in the same house with people who were always around when I needed help or a hug, I found myself alone and deeply in need of assistance and tenderness. And I’m so exhausted from feeling that way.

My friend Sunny got married and had two kids when she was just a teenager. It hadn’t been her plan. It just happened.

The divorce came soon after the second baby and suddenly, her ex disappeared. Sunny raised her two boys all by herself, without the assistance of friends or family, without alimony, without child support — without any help from the children’s father, at all.

She doesn’t talk about this period of her life very often, other than to call it “traumatic.” I can only imagine the level of stress and terror that she faced every day as she somehow managed to be both mother and sole provider for her family. To have taken every job that was offered, worked late into the night to keep the house clean and brown bag lunches made, to figure out what to do with the kids on weekends so she could pick up a few more odd jobs that would allow them to buy enough food to get through another week…

And though this story is heartbreaking to me, it’s really not extraordinary. In fact, quite the opposite. Of the friends of mine who got divorced in their twenties, not a single one of them had an ex-husband who stuck around to help raise his own children. Not a dime was paid, not a finger was lifted.

And none of my friends found a new partner while they were raising those children. There was no relief for them. They, too, had no one to rub their shoulders at night. No one to talk through tough decisions with. No shoulder to cry on.

And though they did have embraces to enjoy, they weren’t restful or protective — they were the embraces of little ones whose tiny arms and gentle squeezes reminded their mothers how much they needed to stay strong in order to protect these tender creatures.

When I look out on the world, I see an ocean of exhausted, solitary women. Even some of those who are partnered.

As I’ve discovered in my own life, you can be partnered and still be alone. My former partners were not engaged in our relationship outside the bedroom. And I was taught that that was the norm. I was taught not to expect or ask for anything more than that. Just keep the house clean. Keep dinner on the table. Get through it.

And that’s probably what I would’ve continued to do if my last significant partner hadn’t left. I would’ve kept making sure he had a good dinner to eat every night. I would have given him those shoulder rubs that he loved receiving but did not love administering. I would have kept doing his laundry, making our bed, and keeping the floors clean with the vacuum that he didn’t even know how to turn on because in our five years of living together he’d never used it.

There are so many women out there who are alone, even if they have a partner. So many women are keeping up an inhuman pace, caretaking on levels that are unsustainable, constantly making critical decisions all by themselves (often without support or a sounding board), and then tumbling into bed after midnight for a few hours of tense, fitful sleep.

Untouched. Unfucked. Unkissed. Uncomforted. Unsheltered. Unsupported.

And yes, it’s true that some eschew touch and certain other comforts, but there are many reasons behind that, including a very important one: that sex for women in heterosexual relationships often requires us to give more than we receive and as such, it’s just another task that we don’t have the energy to complete.

So here we are, this ocean of exhausted, solitary women, waking up each morning to face yet another day with an empty tank. Over and over and over again.

Our culture is absolutely brutal — to all of us, gender irrespective. It demands our participation in the grind 24/7. It mocks softness, rest, intentionality, care.

I don’t know exactly how it affects men and their relationships — that’s not my story to tell. But I do know how especially brutal it is on women.

I can’t count how many nights I have spent collapsed on top of my bed, still dressed, trying desperately to work up the energy to spend five minutes changing into my pajamas, brushing my teeth, and actually turning the bed down so I can be more comfortable as I sleep.

What I wouldn’t give for a shoulder or foot rub. To lean backwards into someone’s arms and let them kiss the side of my neck while I talk about my day. To burrow into the blankets with my arms and legs wrapped tightly around a warm body that belongs to someone I love.

What I wouldn’t give to have someone pick up the slack for me — do the dishes when I have to work late, help me in the garden when the harvest is overwhelming, clean the bathroom so I can take a bath after a long day. Or someone who will help me unpack the car when I get home after being away. Someone who would make me dinner and run to the store to buy me Gingerade kombucha when I feel sick and don’t have the strength to perform even the most basic tasks of self-care.

And you know what? Year after year of living this way takes its toll.

I feel guilty saying this. I actually love my life. I have come to a place of loving my singlehood with a depth and passion I never dreamed possible. Not loving it in place of a relationship — but just loving what is.

Being single is just as beautiful and incredible as being partnered and I never want to speak or behave in ways that betray that truth.

However, that truth can coexist with another truth: I long to be romantically cared for.

I crave it with every fiber of my being.

This sea of exhausted women is no accident. This is the result of living in a patriarchal, white supremacist culture. (BIWOC are carrying an even heavier load than white women, and need and deserve far more than an occasional shoulder rub.)

Our culture teaches us that women should give and not take. It gives passes to the men who choose to leave their children without physically or financially supporting them. It asks women to hold up entire families all by themselves — even while we make less money and are promoted less often than men.

The demands on us are unceasing, and so many of us (single or partnered) are supposed to manage that all on our own.

I’m grateful for the men out there who understand what’s going on and have chosen different paths of integrity, partnership, and connection. But dear goddess, I wish there were more of them.

In the meantime, the only thing I know to do is double down on learning how to take care of myself, and lean a little harder on friends and family when that’s possible. Maybe that’s all any of us women can do.

I don’t want to live my life longing for partnership that isn’t guaranteed to arrive. And I refuse to be stuck in a system that doesn’t care about this body, this heart, this soul. I won’t keep doing it all on my own or waiting around for someone to show up and stand here beside me.

I have already learned so much in the past year about deep (and even romantic) friendships and how sustaining they can be. I am just learning to employ self-care boundaries around work and family obligations. And I’ve only just begun to dip my toes into practicing how to let lovers into my life even for short, but so deeply needed respites of emotional and physical intimacy.

Somehow, I think, we will have to solve this problem on our own. We shouldn’t have to — we should live in a world that reveres the Feminine as much as the Masculine, and as such, sees to it that the women of the world are just as protected and cared for as the men.

But we don’t live in that world, and so we must take this on ourselves — with heaping spoonfuls of self-care, self-respect, and self-love.

Giving myself a shoulder rub at night when I’m so tense I can barely move my neck isn’t exactly ideal — but it’s a damn good start. After all, no one loves this body, this heart, this soul more than I do.

Perhaps that can become the embrace that I so desperately long for: my own arms around myself.

© Yael Wolfe 2022

More on the complicated nuances of single life:

Feminism
Women
Love
Relationships
Self Love
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