It's a secret that's been kept from all of us: it's a dangerous world in there. It's not a 9-5, it's not one where I clock in and clock out. It's a place where everything becomes obscure and uncertain. There are no deadlines, no grades to mark my levels of achievement, no ladder to shift up or down. No one told me this before I said yes. No one told me that the my own home becomes a scary blank canvas once I slip that special ring into my finger.
It's a dangerous world in there. Because if I had my way, if it was only my own life, idleness could probably take its peak. Imagine having absolutely no clients to please, no papers to read, no margins to work towards. It's just me and whole a lot of space. Okay, and Netflix, and books, and food delivery, and the Internet, too. I don't know what that is to you but it looks like a whole lot of binging. No schedules to follow could mean staying up and sleeping in. A 2-minute walk to the mall could mean (window) shopping and endless brunches and forever cocktails. No children (yet) means my own time, my own pace, my own life. It's just a matter of waiting till my husband comes home and then I can have dinner and bubblies and movies all over again. Housewives of Beverly Hills much? 'That's the life we all want,' they say. But is it really?
Because that much freedom means every single moment becomes a painful, difficult battle.
A battle between whom I can sink into or whom I can rise to become.
Even though the stereotypical carefree housewife/glam shopper/ladies who lunch look is soooo much easier, is it really what I want my husband and (future) children to come home to?
So I choose to (keyword: CHOOSE, because sometimes I'd really rather just have my nails done, or sleep in) work, and toil, and create, and learn, and teach (myself), and write, and do the grocery, and cook our meals, and take note of our expenses on Excel, and bake for his friends, and scout for freelance jobs, and clean the darn kitchen and bathroom, and also exercise and go to mass and see my own family and friends. All of that before he comes home. All of that done gracefully and cheerfully and joyfully so that every hour is an hour well-spent, a rose that I can offer up for him and to Him.
When I do that, I'm not just living but I'm living for a purpose. Sometimes, it gets frustrating especially when my ego takes over and I think, what on earth am I doing? But sometimes, by the end of the night, I fall into a tiredness that is good. Good because I look back at the whole day and I realize that: yes, I have risen when I could have not. I have created when I could have not. I have served when I could have not.
Everybody said it was easy, this whole housewife thing. But it is not.
And most of the time, everything that is not easy is far more beautiful than what is.