This is part three in an ongoing series on the “War on Women” by author S.H. Townsend.
Because of the many battles I have fought against my will, my perspective of men and women was even more distorted. I honestly didn’t want to fight, but I’m so glad I had the strength to do so, and I do thank my mother’s partner for that. She did groom me to be a strong woman, despite the other things she misrepresented to me in my young life. My mother was also a strong woman, but she didn’t find her strength until later in life, but I knew she had it in her.
When I met my husband, to whom I’m still happily married, I told him point blank that the last thing I needed was another man to run my life. He was completely gob smacked by my forwardness and by what I had said to him. I was surprised he didn’t run away, and who could have blamed him? He stayed, much to my chagrin. I honestly tried to push him away and run him off, but he wasn’t budging.
My husband was raised by an older generation. His parents were fourteen years older than my parents when they had him. They were raised by an older generation as well. My husband was taught to open doors for women carry bags and other heavy objects for them, and in general how to conduct himself in the presence of the fairer sex. (This was another term I hated with a passion.) He was brought up to be a complete gentleman, but I was certainly no lady. (I’m still not, and that’s okay. I was made for war, not smelling salts.)
The first time my husband opened the door for me, I looked at him and said, “My arms aren’t broken.” Again, he had a puzzled expression on his face similar to the one he wore when I told him the last thing I needed was another man to run my life. He insisted upon opening doors for me and paying for things, again much to my chagrin. I tried to put a stop to it, but I couldn’t. I even told him that he didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in Hell with me, but he was persistent, and his persistence paid off.
I gave in to my feelings for him, the feelings I kept hidden behind the mask I wore. I was afraid he would hurt and betray me just like the other men in my life had done. Instead, he accepted the terms and conditions of me, my flaws, my distorted perceptions, and my issues, and he loved me. He still loves me.
Eventually, I got used to being treated like the woman that I am, and I began to like it. It wasn’t so bad, having someone open my door, carry my things, and do the things that I’m actually capable of doing, but it’s nice. Those things didn’t change who I am. It changed my attitude about myself as a woman, but it didn’t make me any less of a strong woman.
I still have enough backbone for two people, and I am still woman, hear me roar.
Now I just roar about different things.
Free State Patriot 
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