It's another big fight night and as much as I want to understand where the other is coming from, I can't. He says he didn't get to eat dinner because I came home late. He knows I told him I was meeting a friend for coffee and will be home late. I came home an hour later than what I said I would because of the downpour. Maybe it was thoughtless of me to assume he would cope just fine but all I got when I got home was a guy who was mad because I wasn't the obedient wife who came home early when he wanted to. And telling me this was the third time I did it. This coming from a guy who was lecturing a bunch of singletons the other night about giving their partners space and freedom to pursue their own interests and meet other people.
Because I didn't want to make the situation worse, I held my own tongue and refrained from mentioning he left me all hungry just last night because he came home two hours late (and worse, there was no food at the house so he said he was bringing home dinner). I lost count how many times this happened. Oh, and what about the times he left me waiting for nothing because he slept ahead and wasted the month's cycle? Oh, just about every month in the past few years. The last time we did it? Oh, that was last year. The last time I was satisfied? Five effing years ago.
But I held my tongue and just walked away after mumbling my apologies. I didn't want it to get worse. After all, according to him I should be content with my lot. But I'm not. I was never meant, nor had any intentions, to be a meek hausfrau. Sometimes you just have to pick your fights. This is not it.
Boy, but for the first time, I didn't want to say sorry. I'm tired of having to subjugate my needs for his. Unfortunately, love teaches us that some sacrifices have to be made. And once more, it has to be me. I had been thoughtless. But for once, I would love to hear a sincere sorry from his end. Then again, sorry seems to be the hardest word to say.
Showing posts with label monologue. Show all posts
Showing posts with label monologue. Show all posts
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Monday, July 11, 2011
A (frustrated) Wife's Monologue (part 3)
I'm trying to breathe and stay in control at the moment but all I want to do is scream in frustration and break a lot of dishes (preferably at the hubby's head). After agreeing to have a go at the bedroom, he bails out on me again with another lame excuse (he fell asleep). This is the nth time in 3 1/2 years of marriage. I even had to explain that the ovum only lives 12-24 hours which makes the chances of catching it slim every time he delays. I am so near the breaking point I just want to have that big fight to know what to do next. The last thing I want to have is learned helplessness and that is so against my nature. Where's divine intervention when I need one?
Sunday, February 13, 2011
A (frustrated) Wife's Monologue (part 2)
Almost a year to the day I wrote the first part, the same issue rears its ugly head again. This time, I confess I was the guilty party - I was too frustrated to edit my word blurted a rather harsh line - "I wish you were man enough."
It was a typical night of banter when I uttered that line to myself in response to his laughing remark of "What? You don't think I'm man enough to wear it?" A few minutes before dinner I just got rejected again when I suggested we could make a go at it because I was ovulating (I know. Hormones and tempers don't mix). I know it was harsh and his anger was understandable.
I gave him a few minutes to cool off and tried to apologize. He was still fuming and said I might as well post it on Facebook for everybody to see. First, I rarely post about him or us and second, it's always something I find endearing about him. Now tell me if that's undermining him. My private life is just that - private.
Giving up is not in my blood so I tried again. I just got an angry "go find yourself another guy" followed by the silent treatment. I know I hurt him with that thoughtless remark and I accept that. I just wish he saw past that and try to find out what was eating me. I don't need another guy. I want my husband.
One of our friends gave us this book "The Act of Marriage" that advises Christian couples on the importance of sexual love. He refuses to read it. It doesn't really help me much in terms of my drive because it assumes the man is more driven than the wife and not vice versa. It doesn't even advocate masturbation. Great, so we're stuck. But it does say that a thoughtful partner would think about his wife's pleasure. Good luck to me on that.
One of the ironies of married life is that you still can't tell your partner about every opinion and thought you have. You still have to walk on eggshells to avoid upsetting the balance and you have to appear like a Stepford wife. But I'm not. I'm me. What the heck do I do now?
Post-Script: After doing some retail therapy and another apology from me (aided by an apology coupon stuck to a cute bunny coin bank), we kissed and made up. Lessons learned - filter my thoughts and men have fragile egos.
It was a typical night of banter when I uttered that line to myself in response to his laughing remark of "What? You don't think I'm man enough to wear it?" A few minutes before dinner I just got rejected again when I suggested we could make a go at it because I was ovulating (I know. Hormones and tempers don't mix). I know it was harsh and his anger was understandable.
I gave him a few minutes to cool off and tried to apologize. He was still fuming and said I might as well post it on Facebook for everybody to see. First, I rarely post about him or us and second, it's always something I find endearing about him. Now tell me if that's undermining him. My private life is just that - private.
Giving up is not in my blood so I tried again. I just got an angry "go find yourself another guy" followed by the silent treatment. I know I hurt him with that thoughtless remark and I accept that. I just wish he saw past that and try to find out what was eating me. I don't need another guy. I want my husband.
One of our friends gave us this book "The Act of Marriage" that advises Christian couples on the importance of sexual love. He refuses to read it. It doesn't really help me much in terms of my drive because it assumes the man is more driven than the wife and not vice versa. It doesn't even advocate masturbation. Great, so we're stuck. But it does say that a thoughtful partner would think about his wife's pleasure. Good luck to me on that.
One of the ironies of married life is that you still can't tell your partner about every opinion and thought you have. You still have to walk on eggshells to avoid upsetting the balance and you have to appear like a Stepford wife. But I'm not. I'm me. What the heck do I do now?
Post-Script: After doing some retail therapy and another apology from me (aided by an apology coupon stuck to a cute bunny coin bank), we kissed and made up. Lessons learned - filter my thoughts and men have fragile egos.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
A (frustrated) Wife's Monologue
This is my vagina monologue.
Many vagina monologues tackle very serious issues of rape, genital mutilation, cheating, misconceptions, the wonder of discovering climax, the glory of making a vagina sing, the liberation of the female and the miracle of childbirth. I don't even know if my problem is a serious one. It seems so trivial compared to all the problems in the world. However, maybe enough partners feel the way I do. Maybe a lot of us suffer in silence. Do we keep quiet like the "good" wives we ought to be, or do we speak up and voice our frustrations?
This is a monologue of a plain housewife at her wits' end on how to make her sex life with her husband work.
I learned about the joy of sex from him, when we were just beginning to date. For the first time in my life, I learned about multiple orgasms, sensitive body zones, receiving and giving pleasure. I learned how to love my imperfect body, express how I feel and communicate in a language as old as time. My body was a vessel. Every kiss, every touch, every look, every sound and every expression was a way of communicating my needs and pleasure. At the same time, his every kiss, touch, sound and expression was a feedback to the pleasure I was giving him.
That was nine years ago.
As the years passed, the kisses became pecks on the cheeks, the erotic touches became affectionale hugs. The sex was okay, but very few and far in between. I thought it was okay. There were other ways of keeping the romance alive than just sex.
Then we became engaged.
We didn't make love for one and a half years until our wedding night.
The wedding night, while awash with anticipation, was so-so because we were both so tired from all the preparations. The wedding went off without a hitch, and every guest ooohed and aaahed with every goo-goo eyed look we gave each other. After that night, the sex got fewer and farther in between and orgasms even rarer than before. At first it was the stress of him being out of work but after he found work, it was the stress of work that got in the way. He would be tired, irritable and generally not in the mood to do anything else but eat, read, play his video games and sleep. I kept quiet, except for a few grumbles. I tried to understand the pressures he was going through, especially since I also used to work in a highly stressful environment.
Friends advised me to wear sexy underwear, talk seductively, rub myself against him and dance in front of him. Guess what? They all failed spectacularly. My lacy underpants only see the light of day when I'm wearing clothes that require no visible panty lines (VPL). The flimsy negligee never left the dark corners of my closet sinces my wedding night. My dancing (and I'm a fairly good dancer) only elicited this response from him - "You look like a wriggling worm". The seductive talk earned me an annoyed "hmp" and a "shoo" because I dared interrupt his reading or his game.
Since the husband has been acting denser as the months passed, I became bolder and more blunt as well. I would blurt out when I was in the mood. I would get his promise to set aside some time for sex. He broke almost all of those promises and then accuse me of being too demanding when I'd confront him about it. Take note, I already made it clear I'm in the mood most days of the month, except when I'm having my monthly flow. Most men would count themselves lucky to have a wife who wants him as often as possible. However, in consideration to his feelings, I only ask for his time once a month. How much clearer do I have to be to get my message across?
Last night was the latest dud.
I asked if we could do it later in the day. He promised me we would. We were teasing and laughing as we usually do and then I whispered my intent. He said go ahead and lay there like a limp doll. I said i needed some help getting in the mood. He gave me a blank look. I thought I didn't make myself clear so I clarified I wanted some foreplay to get in the mood. My body needed his help to get ready. My vagina needed his help in stoking its fire. He asked if I was looking for a fight. I gently said I just needed some encouragement to start. He got angry, put his shirt back on and said he'd rather sleep. Then he turned his back on me. I sat there with a stunned look on his back like a cold bucket of water was poured over me.
I just got rejected again.
Is there something wrong with me?
Did I do it wrong? Did i break an unwritten rule I wasn't aware of? Was I pushing too hard? Was a bit of foreplay too much to ask?
I love my husband very much. So much so that I would sacrifice part of what makes me ME for him. I strain against the walls around me right now. I left a very promising career to start his dream of starting his own business. I made it into a smashing success despite all the odds against me. I let him have all the credit despite doing almost everything. I asked for so little in return. I just wanted to be treated as a wife. A loving, cherished and desirable wife.
I know he loves me. Who else would be willing to do the cooking and the laundry and his own ironing simply because I hated doing them myself? I appreciate the lunches he prepares and the extraordinary lengths he goes through just to make those wonderful meals. And I tell him so. However, I hate to say it but I am not Stripe. I'm not content to remain a caterpillar with just her feelers hugging her loved one. I am Yellow. I am a butterfly. I am meant to fly.
He used to fly with me.
Intimacy is supposed to be one to the three sides of complete love, along with commitment and attraction. It is supposed to be a physical expression of love; yet another way of reinforcing the bonds of that commitment and attraction. without it, everything just seems so bland.
I am a woman. I have needs. I want it maybe as much as some guys do. I want it more than once a month which is the most the husband can manage right now. I don't want to settle for crumbs when I'm starving for nourishment. I want to feel connected. I want to feel like a cherished woman who wants to reciprocate. I want to know that despite my imperfections, I am still desired.
I want to know if I'm worth it. I want to know if the guy cares enough about my wants and my needs to work for my release. I know it's a two-way street and I gladly give as much as I receive. I do not need a straight, hard pole just lying there. If I wanted an inanimate object, i'd have taken out my toy and inserted fresh batteries instead. I might get more pleasure from there.
I want to live life. And I am so willing to give. My heart, my mind and my body are overflowing to share ME. Please? All I want is to matter. I just want to be a woman.
I just want us to fly together again.
(The Vagina Monologues is a collection of essays by Eve Ensler and a groundbreaking play about women and women's rights. I love her work and it opened up my eyes to the wonder that is my womanhood.)
Many vagina monologues tackle very serious issues of rape, genital mutilation, cheating, misconceptions, the wonder of discovering climax, the glory of making a vagina sing, the liberation of the female and the miracle of childbirth. I don't even know if my problem is a serious one. It seems so trivial compared to all the problems in the world. However, maybe enough partners feel the way I do. Maybe a lot of us suffer in silence. Do we keep quiet like the "good" wives we ought to be, or do we speak up and voice our frustrations?
This is a monologue of a plain housewife at her wits' end on how to make her sex life with her husband work.
I learned about the joy of sex from him, when we were just beginning to date. For the first time in my life, I learned about multiple orgasms, sensitive body zones, receiving and giving pleasure. I learned how to love my imperfect body, express how I feel and communicate in a language as old as time. My body was a vessel. Every kiss, every touch, every look, every sound and every expression was a way of communicating my needs and pleasure. At the same time, his every kiss, touch, sound and expression was a feedback to the pleasure I was giving him.
That was nine years ago.
As the years passed, the kisses became pecks on the cheeks, the erotic touches became affectionale hugs. The sex was okay, but very few and far in between. I thought it was okay. There were other ways of keeping the romance alive than just sex.
Then we became engaged.
We didn't make love for one and a half years until our wedding night.
The wedding night, while awash with anticipation, was so-so because we were both so tired from all the preparations. The wedding went off without a hitch, and every guest ooohed and aaahed with every goo-goo eyed look we gave each other. After that night, the sex got fewer and farther in between and orgasms even rarer than before. At first it was the stress of him being out of work but after he found work, it was the stress of work that got in the way. He would be tired, irritable and generally not in the mood to do anything else but eat, read, play his video games and sleep. I kept quiet, except for a few grumbles. I tried to understand the pressures he was going through, especially since I also used to work in a highly stressful environment.
Friends advised me to wear sexy underwear, talk seductively, rub myself against him and dance in front of him. Guess what? They all failed spectacularly. My lacy underpants only see the light of day when I'm wearing clothes that require no visible panty lines (VPL). The flimsy negligee never left the dark corners of my closet sinces my wedding night. My dancing (and I'm a fairly good dancer) only elicited this response from him - "You look like a wriggling worm". The seductive talk earned me an annoyed "hmp" and a "shoo" because I dared interrupt his reading or his game.
Since the husband has been acting denser as the months passed, I became bolder and more blunt as well. I would blurt out when I was in the mood. I would get his promise to set aside some time for sex. He broke almost all of those promises and then accuse me of being too demanding when I'd confront him about it. Take note, I already made it clear I'm in the mood most days of the month, except when I'm having my monthly flow. Most men would count themselves lucky to have a wife who wants him as often as possible. However, in consideration to his feelings, I only ask for his time once a month. How much clearer do I have to be to get my message across?
Last night was the latest dud.
I asked if we could do it later in the day. He promised me we would. We were teasing and laughing as we usually do and then I whispered my intent. He said go ahead and lay there like a limp doll. I said i needed some help getting in the mood. He gave me a blank look. I thought I didn't make myself clear so I clarified I wanted some foreplay to get in the mood. My body needed his help to get ready. My vagina needed his help in stoking its fire. He asked if I was looking for a fight. I gently said I just needed some encouragement to start. He got angry, put his shirt back on and said he'd rather sleep. Then he turned his back on me. I sat there with a stunned look on his back like a cold bucket of water was poured over me.
I just got rejected again.
Is there something wrong with me?
Did I do it wrong? Did i break an unwritten rule I wasn't aware of? Was I pushing too hard? Was a bit of foreplay too much to ask?
I love my husband very much. So much so that I would sacrifice part of what makes me ME for him. I strain against the walls around me right now. I left a very promising career to start his dream of starting his own business. I made it into a smashing success despite all the odds against me. I let him have all the credit despite doing almost everything. I asked for so little in return. I just wanted to be treated as a wife. A loving, cherished and desirable wife.
I know he loves me. Who else would be willing to do the cooking and the laundry and his own ironing simply because I hated doing them myself? I appreciate the lunches he prepares and the extraordinary lengths he goes through just to make those wonderful meals. And I tell him so. However, I hate to say it but I am not Stripe. I'm not content to remain a caterpillar with just her feelers hugging her loved one. I am Yellow. I am a butterfly. I am meant to fly.
He used to fly with me.
Intimacy is supposed to be one to the three sides of complete love, along with commitment and attraction. It is supposed to be a physical expression of love; yet another way of reinforcing the bonds of that commitment and attraction. without it, everything just seems so bland.
I am a woman. I have needs. I want it maybe as much as some guys do. I want it more than once a month which is the most the husband can manage right now. I don't want to settle for crumbs when I'm starving for nourishment. I want to feel connected. I want to feel like a cherished woman who wants to reciprocate. I want to know that despite my imperfections, I am still desired.
I want to know if I'm worth it. I want to know if the guy cares enough about my wants and my needs to work for my release. I know it's a two-way street and I gladly give as much as I receive. I do not need a straight, hard pole just lying there. If I wanted an inanimate object, i'd have taken out my toy and inserted fresh batteries instead. I might get more pleasure from there.
I want to live life. And I am so willing to give. My heart, my mind and my body are overflowing to share ME. Please? All I want is to matter. I just want to be a woman.
I just want us to fly together again.
(The Vagina Monologues is a collection of essays by Eve Ensler and a groundbreaking play about women and women's rights. I love her work and it opened up my eyes to the wonder that is my womanhood.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Stages of Grief
I am mourning my marriage, I acknowledge that. As that popular animated film K-pop Demon Hunters song "Free" said, "We can...
