My Life As A Recovering Housewife

I want to tell you about a little girl who grew up on a dairy farm in a small Midwestern village.   I want to tell you how she managed to live an ordinary life even though her heart yearned for more. Many decades have passed since then, and I tug at the memories of that funny little girl who often sat alone in an apple tree or under a lilac bush deeply contemplating life, especially her life. 

         I’m not really sure why I want to tell you about this little girl.  She is not what would be known as someone great.  She isn’t a great actress even though she dreamed about being one.  She isn’t a hugely successful lawyer even though that was her second dream.  She hasn’t done amazing things like climb mountains or swim oceans, even though she did live near both at various times.  She has done nothing to become great as our society considers great. Her life has not really been any different from many of today’s women who grew up in her era. But while she was as a little girl, she suddenly announced to her mother that one day she would write a book. 

         “And what will you write about,” her mother asked slightly amused.  She was a very pretty woman, dressed in a faded housedress.  She had been shaking a mop out of the back kitchen door when she decided to look for her little girl who would disappear for hours into one of the many nooks and crannies that was available on the farm.

         “What will your book be about, honey?”  She probably was wondering why this little farm girl living this ordinary life would think that some day she would have something to writing about.

         “I’m not sure, Mom, but I won’t always be living here on the farm with you and Daddy.  I do want to see the world one day.”

         “I hope your travels won’t take you too far away from me, honey.”

         “I will always come back to you, Mom. I will always love you and want to share my life with you.”

         And so this funny little girl grew up to be me, Marjorie Simmons Newton and years have passed since I told my mother I would one day write a book.  Through those years I have taken many creative writing classes and because of those classes have written a lot about my life, perhaps unconsciously writing the book I promised my mother. Within my blog I will include the pieces I wrote in those creative writing classes.

         I began my earthly experience on July, 1936 in the insecure years of the Great Depression.  My early childhood was influenced by the fear of WWII, and my teens and early adulthood took place within the safety of the Eisenhower reign of the 50s.  The Victorian years had passed but its rules were still pretty much in place. Then the 60s exploded and women’s lives changed drastically.

         Being a woman today is a far cry from what women were in the 40s and 50s.   The Victorian belief systems that would carry them into adulthood were belief systems that once worked for them.  The 60s released them from these rules.  To be a housewife and mother was still important of course, but there was so much more they could now do that would expand the borders of their lives.  Reaching the potential they longed for was beginning to be within their reach.  Careers in education as teachers, medicine as nurses, and business as secretaries were always important careers open to women, but now they could expand those careers or explore the many areas men had always enjoyed.  They could now become “recovering housewives!”

         We have all heard about the recovering alcoholic, sex addict, addicted smoker and co-dependent.  But a recovering house wife?  Is that a joke?  No, even though the phrase sounds humorous, it’s no joke.  A recovering housewife is a woman healing from a sense of isolation, and the lack of self esteem and prestige our capitalistic society place on her role as a housewife and mother.  “I’m just a housewife.  I’m just a mom.”  A reply often heard when a woman is asked “who are you and what do you do?”  Ironically, the heartbeat of our society lies in the hands of these woman, and as more and more of them become doctors, lawyers, and a huge part of our government, this will be seen even more clearly. 

         Even though I was one of those stay-at-home moms yearning to have a career, I like to think of myself as a recovering housewife and I wrote this poem probably about ten or so years ago on that subject.

AN ODE TO RECOVERING HOUSEWIVES!

A recovering housewife, I claim to be

What does that mean….well, let’s see!

I was born in 1936

When the country was in an economical fix.

World War II came along soon after

And women went to work…causing some laughter!

Could they do the job as well as men?

And that they proved, over and over again!

The war ended, the men returned

And women again became concerned….

About the family and the home

From which they did not want to roam!

Well, that’s what the history books say….

But many had to work for very little pay.

As a secretary, a teacher or a nurse

Were the jobs they did to fill their purse.

A stay-at-home mom, her ultimate goal?

A housewife and mother, the supreme role?

Looks and sounds good for these ladies of ease….

But, that job really isn’t a breeze.

Taking care of a family takes a lot…

And mom gets forgotten more often than not,

Especially by herself, doing her daily jobs

That never, never end, and so she is robbed

Of what she wanted to be before marriage….

Before she pushed that baby carriage.

She finds herself asking, “This is what I wanted to do?

Being a keeper of a wild family zoo!

Bedlam sibling rivalry, and heaven knows what

The kids will do next! But, but, BUT….

I love my kids, I love my home….

I love my husband, don’t want to roam!

When this conflict for her appears, therapy is needed,

So that housewife and mom doesn’t feel defeated

By the new demanding career society touts

Is woman’s greatest role….no ifs, ands, or buts!

Then without some help, often depression sets in

Or perhaps divorce or sips of gin.

Teaching and nursing are noble for sure.

And without our moms, we couldn’t endure.

But some women need to combine all this

To find their fulfillment, to find their bliss.

Still there are women who are happy to be

That stay-at-home mom, never to flee.

Work or stay at home, neither a disgrace.

She is finally free to choose her place,

Yes, she’s free to make her very own choice

And it’s certainly time the world hears her voice!