I can still see my ex-MIL’s face scrunching when she says this. Her nose would wrinkle and her eyebrows would raise like she smelled rancid meat, something foul. Like a woman who *didn’t know her place*. The irony wasn’t lost on me — her husband lost their life savings in a foreign country; the second time he had done a stunt like this. The first time he took years off to pursue a music career, leaving her to be a sole provider and the only caregiver to their children. Ironically, he still managed their money. Because he is a man.
You see, I had this problem. I didn’t know my place, much like a foul odor indoors. I continued to rely on myself and enjoy working. I wanted to pursue a career and my education, despite my ex-husband telling me it was distracting me from having babies. My purpose. He said he didn’t need to spend time with me if I “didn’t provide him children.”
I continued to waft through the halls of a home, trying to cling to surfaces much like a foreign object. *I don’t belong here.*
When we were dating, he supported my dreams, by genuine ambition, and my go-getter energy. Married, I was seen as a woman trying to fit into a man’s place. An imposter. That I wasn’t fulfilling my womanly duties to produce an heir. All I was was an incubator; he said it himself.
Despite being told he would always protect me and provide for me, he was vicious. He desperately tried to strip me of financial freedom.
My education, my career, everything! ensured I could feed myself and flee when he tried to starve me. You know, one of those damn career women.
Clarifying edit: I have left a while ago and successfully support myself thanks to my education and career!
Raspberry fucking yogurt – snackalicious!