What a Woman Wants in a Marriage
I can only speak for myself as a wild woman.
Recently I was included as a writer on The Good Men Project, and posted a brief poem a while back. This morning I read a lovely, thoughtful and inspiring piece by one of their writers in Hello Love.
The piece got my attention for several reasons. I love reading what men have to say about women, and I am always and forever seeking to acknowledge, encourage and applaud decency, guts, brains and above all, vulnerability. This was all that. His piece:
This man and I have both been through divorce. Many of us have, as well as the failure of a second marriage (not me, I learned my lesson). He clearly wants marriage again. This is my favorite line from the article:
The true ring on her finger will be set with the diamond that I shape myself into.
That’s exquisite.
But again, I can only speak for this writer. The one that aches for distant places, for extreme adventures, the dark woods and misty horizons and sharp cold winds to greet the lengthening fingers of a new day.
Truth, I never cared much for diamonds or rings or any kinds of jewelry as statements of love. True love for my part is far better expressed in a man’s commitment to develop himself into a person he deems worthy of his own love and respect. That is what invites and encourages the same from a partner.
For my part, in an ideal world, the intense, stormy, often frustrating and disappointing love affair we carry on with ourselves has everything to do with what might or might not make us good partners. It’s often a primary cause of divorce, that we don’t take care of ourselves, live our dreams, and love ourselves well enough to make us happy partners.
I married at forty, briefly. The gentleman in question had a drinking and anger issue. Those are bad bedfellows. He sounded like Buddha and behaved like a bully. The holes that appeared in my drywall distressingly close to my head were clear indications that worse might be in the offing, so I offed our marriage back in 1998.
Never sought it again.
An offer came my way in 2003 from a much younger man, who slept with an old girlfriend out of terrible self-doubt. He’d worked hard to help start my small business. When that took off, and I traveled, his terrible insecurities led him to imagine I slept with a new guy every night. Not only would I never do such a thing, it was an insult to my integrity that he even thought it. I offed that partnership shortly after. The failure had more to do with his awful self-doubt, that he would believe I didn’t care about him enough to never stray. I am not the author of that.
The writer in question touches on some dating/love typicalities which I think is part of what he means by saying the game is rigged, although I surely understand their origins. To wit:
In dating, a man is supposed to take control and lead, but this to me does not make for equals. In movies, a man is supposed to be nagged because he does not know what to do, but this does not make for equals either.
I’m with him. I would strenuously argue against either of these assumptions. That’s another article entirely. For assumptions and expectations often create jail cells that partners often don’t even know exist until they find themselves struggling against them, like some kind of invisible spider web of shoulds and shouldn’ts.
What any of us means by the term equals is completely and utterly up for grabs. I had a connection, and I won’t honor that with any other word because it wasn’t a bonafide relationship despite the amount of love and resources I put into it, with a man who shared my love of body building and physicality. However, the day he tried to hike stairs in the 6200' air the way I do, he was defeated after a few laps. I can punch out twenty or more without breathing hard. I don’t think he ever quite forgave me that. But this isn’t a competition.
Equals is a loaded term. To what are we referring? intellectual? Emotional? Physical? Financial?
The gentleman writes:
I’m looking for an equal but I despair that the rules of this game are rigged.
Depends on what we mean by “equal.” The meaning of that word has been twisted so badly by feminists, anti-abortion activists, white supremacists and just about all of us. I selected this definition of the word:
a person or thing considered to be the same as another in status or quality.
That, I think, we might be able to agree on, rather than the puerile argument that some male commenter on Medium made when he pointed to the fact that his girlfriend needed him to move the couch. Not only is that a ridiculous reference, physical equality is an asinine way to establish status or quality. I can move my own fucking couches. Alone. That doesn’t make me the physical “equal” of a guy. Stupid argument. I can do 100 men’s pushups, yes, at 67. That doesn’t make me better than, stronger than, or equal to a guy. Mindless, silly argument.
For my part, it strikes me that if we are equals in that we both are deeply committed to personal growth, the shared value sets are well-matched and there is mutual regard for each other’s humanity (including the sacred right to royally fuck up on occasion) those are far better recommendations for relative “equality.”
In a 2014 article about what makes an online dating partner attractive, women who drank, were Catholic (read, bear me progeny) had a dog, made $25,000 a year and didn’t possess a Master’s Degree were much preferred over, say, people like me, who don’t drink, made a hell of a lot more than that, have no religion at all, don’t want kids and instead of a Master’s, punched out two prize-winning books.
I am not good dating material, by definition.
Men, according to this same piece, get more messages if they are Christian, brunette, high-earners, and PhDs.
Oh for crying out loud.
Despite the fact that the article in question is six years old, my guess is that not much has changed. I can certainly speak from my own experience. The more interesting my life, the more my accomplishments, the more I live out loud the way I was meant to, the fewer inquiries. Well, plenty of trolls and attackers, but that’s a different story. As I’ve written elsewhere, I’ve never been the kind of woman a man offers flowers. I’m too goddamned wild. Too uncontrollable.
Once, for Christmas, a guy gave me a fucking tool set.
I’m not without a sense of humor, but we were done shortly after that. Seriously bad mis-read. I am a woman in full, which means I am just as fond of a little black dress, make up, high heels and the niceties of exquisite manners as the next woman. But I can also drag your injured ass down the side of a mountain without panicking, and take care of business when you’re not around. To me, those things speak to equals, in terms of responsibility and commitment. When one is down, the other lifts up.
Because again, what I really want from a man is what the gentleman above wrote:
The true ring on her finger will be set with the diamond that I shape myself into.
I have spent most of my life single. Even at this age I am still considered pretty, and I am in ridiculously good shape. However the more I develop myself, the harder I work to develop all the many spheres of my humanity, the more rejection I experience, because I don’t fit the profile.
And thank god. But I pay for being wild.
The gentleman who wrote this article has many of the same motivations and desires I do. What he wants is what I want, in large part. However, the trick is that to a degree, all of us might wish to dump some of the games/rules to which he refers: the ridiculous, unfair sexpectations (my word, thanks) that make it damned near impossible to connect on the deepest possible levels.
To me, here are the ones that matter: emotional maturity, commitment to self and to other, and above all the humor that comes of being fully in life, unafraid to fail (guaranteed, we will) and willing to give our partner the room to grow, which we wholeheartedly encourage.
My parents, according to my mother, lived for nearly sixty years in what Mom referred to as an “armed truce.” The writer wrenched my heart when he mentioned “enemy combatants.” I know that feeling. I’m no more willing to endure that than he. Too many of the men who do show interest, and these days not many, are too eager to show me who the hell is boss, rein me in, tell me what I should or shouldn’t do and exert control over the wild woman that I am very much am, and have unleashed and love with my entire beating heart.
Nobody gets to do that. I would never sign that over to someone else. I would love another wilder, someone willing to run next to me, through the woods into the night, howling at the moon, to lick each other’s wounds as necessary, and curl up together in a den until morning and watch the dawn in shared warmth.
That’s equal. That’s what this woman wants. Always has. Not someone with a collar, a leash, and occasional treats to keep me under control. Keep your flowers, keep your candy. Grow your wild soul, gentlemen. Grow your courage, your heart, your strength in vulnerability. Then set out for the wild woods and see who walks your path with you.
