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Broke Wife, Big City
What one word
describes you?
By Aprill Brandon
A few nights ago, my husband and I were in bed having a grand old time.
The baby was finally asleep, the house was clean(ish), all work emails
had been returned and all deadlines met(ish). We had a whole luxurious
evening all to ourselves devoid of any responsibility.
Which is why, as I’m assuming you’ve already guessed, we were lying
side by side in bed taking dumb pop culture quizzes on our phones.
“Hey, in the ‘Which ‘Star Wars’ character are you?’ quiz, I got Han,” I
proudly announced.
“I got C-3PO. That can’t be right. I’m taking it again,” he replied.
This, naturally, soon spiraled out of control as these things tend to
do and we found ourselves down the Internet Quiz Rabbit Hole. We found
out I’m a Picard and he’s a Kirk. He’s a Jane and I’m a Daria. I’m a
Hermione and he’s a Snape. And we are both, in fact, Jim from “The
Office” (although one of us may have had to take it four times because
she kept getting Dwight).
Eventually we both landed on the “Which ‘Supernatural’ character are
you?” quiz. And suddenly, things turned serious. Sure, all those other
quizzes were just fun and games. But this was “Supernatural” we were
talking about. Our joint all-time favorite show. The show we make sure
never to miss. I mean, we own the “Supernatural” version of the board
game Clue. I own multiple shirts with the characters’ faces splashed
across my bosom. We even have an ongoing joke about how my husband goes
on Supernatural forums to discuss the show with other geeks under the
handle “MishaLover43” (although I’m 93 percent sure this actually
happens despite his protestations to the contrary).
Of course, we both wanted to get Dean. Everyone wants to be Dean. And
if you don’t want to be Dean, you’re lying to yourself. Stop it.
Considering what was at stake here and the immense pressure I was
under, I got stuck on the question “What one word describes you?” The
choices they gave were endless: Dependable. Confident. Lovable. Clever.
Etc…
“Hey, what one word describes me? I can’t decide since neither
‘sarcastic’ nor ‘goddess-esque’ is a choice,” I asked Ryan.
“Here, let me see the choices,” he said, taking my phone and scanning
it. “Hmm…want me to pick what I think?”
“Yes, please. I’m assuming it’s not cheating since we’ve been together
10 years and you’ve seen me puke naked.”
When he handed me back my phone, there it was, a bright green checkmark
beside the one word the person I was closest to in the world thought
described me.
Strong.
“You think I’m strong?” I asked, taken back.
“Yeah, I do,” he casually answered before going back to his own quiz.
Strong. It had never even crossed my mind to choose that adjective.
Tears actually started brimming my eyes before I sucked them back in
less I be caught crying over a stupid Internet quiz.
He thought I was strong.
Correction: He knows I’m strong.
It can be easy as a woman to lose your identity, to only see yourself
in relation to others. This is especially true once you become a mother
but happens at all of life’s stages.
Nurturing, patient, loving. These were the things I strived to be with
my son. As a wife, I strive to be passionate and compassionate. As a
friend, I try to be loyal. As a daughter, caring and understanding.
All good traits to have and reach for, even if you fall short of the
mark sometimes (and we all do). But too often we only think of
ourselves in these sweet, nice categories. Sugar and spice and all
that. Because too often society tells us that these are the only
categories that matter when you are woman (besides the MOST important
category of all: Is she pretty?).
And not often enough do we think of ourselves, of who we really are,
outside our relationship to others.
Who am I? Just me? Not as a mom, wife, daughter, sister, employee,
neighbor. But as Aprill.
Just Aprill.
I honestly didn’t know that night. Because the bathroom mirror I look
into everyday often told me that I was tired. That I was getting fine
lines and sprouting random gray hairs. That I shouldn’t have lost my
temper when Riker threw his juice at me. That I forgot to call my
cousin back AGAIN. That my husband would never want to be intimate with
me again if I kept wearing my old pregnancy underwear every time I
forgot to do laundry. That my writing had gone stale. That my career
was flailing. That I was failing on all fronts.
And so, I want to thank my husband for being my mirror that night and
showing me what I had trouble seeing.
I am strong.
And also, apparently, Crowley, the King of Hell, according to that dumb
quiz.
But that’s a topic for a different blog.
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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