Women Are Just As Human As Men

3 Minute Read:

Women have long been expected to be the virtuous and diligent ones in society so men could get away with being the adorable delinquents—perpetual boys. We’ve all seen it, the menfolk generously commend the ladies for their hard work and accommodating nature, for keeping everything just so—maybe while a woman is putting away clean dishes and a man is relaxing at the kitchen table puffing a stogie reading the paper. It sounds like a scene from an old movie, but I’ve personally witnessed it. It’s nothing nefarious, this little one-act. It’s even charming and homey, like grandma’s anecdote of men being dramatic and whiny when they get a sniffle, while women ignore aches and pains and work through them. But what are these ideas really saying about our roles?

I’ve been diagnosed with a rare, painful and exhausting disease and have joined a social group for women who suffer from the same. Occasionally members talk about not getting enough support from their spouses, and the in-kind comments are just heartbreaking. Scratching beneath the surface, there’s a pattern of husbands who are obviously impatient with wives whose symptoms make it difficult for them to function daily at even the most basic household tasks—not that keeping a home is easy work.

The husbands in this group reportedly snap or snipe at wives or girlfriends who may be trying to hang on to a job and/or raise kids while managing their pain, inflammation, and physical limitations from an incurable illness. The message over and over seems to echo, “You’re supposed to be taking care of me, dammit!” or “Gawd, I’m so tired of your disease!” The complaints aren’t always so pointed, but the sentiment is unmistakable.

Women are just as human as men, and our bodies can fail us.

I believe things are changing. Even as I write about the perniciousness of these tropes, I’m aware that they invoke a bygone era, episodes of I Love Lucy, poodle skirts and all that. I believe things are changing. Even so, I still think it bears pointing out wherever it pops up that there’s no such thing as ‘women’s work.’ The work that women do off the timeclock is the labor that builds a society.

Women are not paragons of virtue. We are not de-facto caretakers or happy housemaids (except when we want to be). We’re just as human as men, and we and our bodies—bones, blood, organs, muscles and joints—can fail. We can’t perpetually be the adults in the room, any more than society can continue to be mostly run by the adorable delinquents.

Excerpt: Upcoming Horror Novel, Working Title: Little Nina

A stray bit of moonglow found Asher asleep on the couch, the only sound his faint snoring breath. Just about every nook and corner of the house was still, Bruce was asleep on a rug in the hallway, and there was a summer breeze outside as evidenced by the swaying branches of the young maple outside the dining room window. It was a warm night, and the back door had been left open. Maggie slept in her upstairs room, worn thin from the week’s events.

A streetlight revealed the tiniest movement at the kitchen door. A funny little smiling face, the face of a clown, but half painted blue bobbed into the kitchen through the back door. The weird little clown poked up out of a backpack slung on a small trespassing figure. 


Excerpt: Cascadia Park

2 Minute Read:

Rand flipped on the switch to the overhead light and one of the fluorescent tubes flickered and refused to light all the way. He flopped down in the chair and threw the stack on the desk. The letters splayed, and one of them caught his eye. He knew what it was by the return address and had no intention of opening it. He put his feet up on the desk and snatched a ball cap off the shelf behind him pulling it down over his eyes. He laced his fingers across his midsection and shut out the world.

***

 

Lily dragged a dining room stool out to the backyard where she’d already set up her watercolors on the plastic patio table. She clipped a canvas into her easel stand and sketched out a stone fountain with some birds and an almost grotesque version of their hedge that vanished into an exaggerated distance, and when she started filling in the colors, a pair of eyes appeared among the laurel leaves. The sky above the greenery was daytime blue but she graded and blended it to midnight indigo as it reached to the edge of the canvas. She’d included a full moon in the sketch and it mirrored the eyes in the shrubbery after she tinted them to match. She dabbed the three songbirds with gay colors, not particularly caring what kind of birds they might be, and she arranged them splashing and preening, oblivious to the concealed voyeur.

***

 

Early poked his head into the office and informed Rand that he was going to get some lunch. “Nice hat, man,” he added.
Rand moved slowly to pull the cap off his head and get to his feet while Early sneered at him. “Haven’t been sleeping much,” he said.
“Ah, sorry bud.”
Rand slipped out from behind the desk, one eye on the letter, brushed past Early and said, “I’ll hold down the fort. Get me a sandwich?”
“Yeah, you bet.”