My grandmothers accidentally shaped my view of marriage
Both of my grandmothers shaped my early views of marriage.
These views formed in the chaotic cacophony of the high-control religious world I lived in, a world that told me, both implicitly and explicitly, that a woman’s value was tied to her marital status. Most women were meant to get married, support their husband’s vision, and birth babies for the Kingdom of God.
Yet I couldn’t help but compare that to the evidence before my eyes as I watched my grandmothers’ lives play out.
As the oldest daughter and the oldest granddaughter, I had a unique relationship with both of my grandmothers. I think they let me see things they didn’t reveal to their other grandchildren.
I know this was true of my father’s mother. We called her Grammie.
She let me see the struggle she experienced in her marriage, even though she never named it as abuse. I didn’t have a name for it either until I was in my 30s. I think she would have described it as a difficult marriage to a difficult man.
She was constantly seeking the Lord for guidance on how to honor her husband while also doing what she believed was right. She clung desperately to her religion, her God, and her Bible for hope, solace, and comfort. She believed fervently that God would work all things together for her good.
On one hand, she was a strong and courageous woman. On the other, she was mild, meek, quiet, and fearful of taking risks. (This was likely depression and anxiety common to women being domestically abused.)
Every now and then, I would see a fire appear in her eyes when she did something small to defy my grandfather or asked me to sneak her ice cream when she wasn’t supposed to eat it while recovering from yet another bout of cancer.
There was a small rebel hiding inside of Grammie, but God, religion, doing the right thing, and my brute of a grandfather kept that rebel hidden most of the time.
Then there was Nana.
I rarely had deep conversations with Nana. She wasn’t one to get philosophical or discuss great existential questions. But she was the fun grandmother, the one who took her grandkids on trips and traveled solo or with her friends.
She had a vibrant career in the public school system, owned her own home, maintained a group of friends, and kept her house stocked with junk food and the Disney Channel, just for her grandkids. She raised two daughters as a single mother.
While my grandfather and Grammie always seemed to be struggling financially, even in their later years, Nana always seemed to have enough. Enough for herself and enough to be generous with others.
She actually taught me a lot about finances through the way she lived her life.
Every day, she defied the message from the high-control religious group I was part of: that women couldn’t be independent, couldn’t have robust careers, and couldn’t make good decisions without a man.
She didn’t have to say a word. She simply lived her life, and I knew all of that messaging was a bunch of hogwash because Nana did it. And she did it while raising two daughters.
All in all, the husbandless Nana seemed happier and healthier than the married Grammie.
Eventually, this narrowed into a pivotal question that I began asking myself:
What exactly are the benefits of getting married?
From where I was standing, singleness looked a lot more fun and a lot more free.
The authorities in my life tried to counter the narrative I was observing. They shamed Nana behind her back, saying her independence was the reason she never remarried, even though remarriage was supposedly what God would have preferred for her.
They punished Nana for talking back and for not being easily controlled. Their disdain for her was evident, oozing through every pore.
Meanwhile, they placed Grammie—the delicate, meek, and mild martyr—on a pedestal. They worshiped her for her daily sacrifice while never once holding her “difficult” husband accountable for his brutality.
I could say more, but I’ll leave it there.
I grew up with these two examples and concluded that there seemed to be far more benefits to remaining single than to being married.
I was in my mid-30s when I realized that it seemed social status and respect within my community were the only incentives I had for getting married. Again, because a woman’s value was directly connected to her marital status.
So I solved that problem. I left the community. And that was that.
Because I’m not going to remain in a place and give my energy to a community that will only respect me for making a choice I don’t actually want to make.
I would rather be part of a community that respects and loves me for pursuing my desires. I would rather be part of a community that doesn’t require me to suppress parts of myself in order to belong.
Getting married and having children seemed much too high a price to pay for fitting in, especially when it wasn’t something I wanted.
I’m grateful to Nana for providing a model of a single woman living a happy, thriving life.
And I wish Grammie had eventually dumped my grandfather and chosen that life for herself.
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