I'm Just A Girl

''You know, if you are going to be this independent woman, you are going to have to stop filling the garbage bag up so much that you can't even bring it out by yourself. You'll have to start using your cute lady brain when I am not around.''

My cute what? My husband knows how to, what they would call in his native England, ''wind me up''. Because that's exactly the sort of thing you do not say to your feminist wife, even if she is your soon-to-be ex-wife.

Which brings me to my current thought of, what if all future suitors out there are creeps and there really is no Mr. Wonderful?

I mean, let's face the facts, I am no spring chicken. I have three children.
I have a high risk of a cancer recurrence.
I have a body that is scarred beyond belief.
And how do I even mention in casual conversation that I do not have nipples? That might freak someone out.

Unless he falls for my witty personality, endless sarcasm, and super-weird curls, I am not exactly the catch I used to be. He may go running for the hills. Then again if he did, he wouldn't be Mr. Wonderful after all, now would he?

What if I am leaving a perfectly good relationship, albeit devoid of the type of love and attention I need, for a lifetime of being alone?

Sure, I will have my children. And Poe, the puppy. And they will sustain me for many years, along with good friends, and books, and a fulfilling career, and lots of adventures. But eventually I will want romance in my life. Limerence. Otherwise, getting divorced is a rather pointless exercise.

The reality that I may end up by myself and without any male affections at all is also in addition to learning how to do lots of things on my own again. I lived by myself for many years, and have a husband who works long hours, so I am not unaccustomed to being independent. But I have had the crutch of a spouse for 12 years, and getting used to being the only adult in my new house will be an adjustment.

For instance, I am short and have to climb on chairs to reach stuff.

I can't move into a house with a hilly driveway, because I will struggle getting the garbage pail up and down by myself since my left wrist is still healing and will always be weak and prone to fracture.

The last time I tried to light a fire by myself, I forgot to open the flue and the house filled with smoke.

Popping champagne corks still eludes me. Not that I drink champagne often, but still.

I am too much of a chicken-shit to watch scary movies alone. And I love scary movies.

I suck at barbecuing.

I will be scared shitless any time I hear a creak or a noise in the middle of night, at least for the first few months, and will have to bite the bullet (pun intended) and finally buy myself a shotgun. When in Rome...or in this case, Georgia. Actually, I hate guns, but as a single woman living in a rural/suburban neighborhood where most everyone else will have a gun doesn't leave me much of a choice. Or I can invest in a really good alarm system. Either way, I will need something to make me feel safe.

I got that wrong, didn't I? Oh, well. It's something like that.

Shall I continue?

As much of a feminist as I am, I am just a girl. And I acknowledge my limitations.

That doesn't mean I won't overcome them. I can, and I will. But it will be another obstacle to overcome, certainly. In a sea of other obstacles.

I am perfectly capable of climbing up on chairs, moving into a house with a flat driveway, remembering to open the chimney flue, switching to comedies for a while, learning how to BBQ, and reminding myself that not every creak and noise is Jack the Ripper coming to get me.

And at present, I am the only one who cooks, cleans, buys groceries, plunges toilets (my kids seems to have a toilet paper obsession for some reason, and the baby thinks its funny to throw his socks in), bath the children, does homework, pay bills, run errands, buy presents.

So, actually, I pretty much do everything anyway.

I guess it is just scary to embark on a new chapter as single mother, but I cannot let the fear deter me from following my instincts.

At the end of the day, after the excitement of deciding where to hang my Wildflower Specimens poster, and which drawer will house the utensils, and what paint color to choose for which rooms, on then nights my children will be with their Dad, it will just be me, alone. Maybe I will have Poe by then, but still, it will feel weird.

I am very adaptable and am confident that I will get into the groove of my new life quickly; going to the gym after work, running errands, seeing friends, cleaning up, getting on top of the laundry.

But still...the early days of my new life will be an adjustment. I hope I don't get too lonely and become filled with regret.

The good news is that I am not looking to the future with rose-colored glasses. I can fully see the potential struggles that await me, and am still totally willing to go for it anyway.

That's how I know I am certain about my decision. That's the solidifier. Knowing full well I am possibly screwing myself, that I may end up utterly alone, and still feeling confident in my choice.

Still ready to risk it all for a chance at true happiness, and, more importantly, being true to myself.

If that isn't female empowerment and liberation, than I don't know what is.

I am just a girl. And I've never been prouder to be one than I am now.