I used to think that I would fit in well in the fifties. First, let me say a few words about feminism.
I consider myself a feminist, through and through. I think that the core of feminism is that we should be treated equally, and we should be allowed and encouraged to pursue a career if that’s what we want to do. The whole thing is that we should be able to choose whatever we want to do, and that every door should be open to us. I absolutely do not believe that a woman’s role is to take care of the home, feed the family, etc. I do, however believe that the whole feminist movement is about freedom of choice, and that if that’s what you want to do, then we should encourage that, too.
So no, I don’t have a fifties mindset, exactly, but I always thought that I would like to be a housewife. Something about maintaining an orderly home, greeting my husband with a smile when he came through the door,with dinner already in the oven appealed to me. It was always something I thought I’d like, but figured I’d never get the chance to try, seeing as almost nobody these days is a housewife in that sense, and in most cases, it just doesn’t make sense.
I probably should’ve been a bit more careful about what I wished for, because ta-da! As a love refugee in Sweden, here I am, being a housewife.
There are definitely things I love about it. I love to cook, and I even (sometimes) love to clean. I like the satisfying feeling of “I did something today.” I like to plan our meals and make sure we’re eating enough vegetables, and I love to greet Andreas with a smile when he gets home from work.
But this role isn’t something I’m choosing, and even though this set-up makes the most sense for us right now, sometimes I still find myself feeling that it’s unfair. The thing is that it isn’t unfair. Andreas gets up at “shit o’clock in the morning” as they say in Danish, takes a couple trains to work, works all day, and takes a couple trains back, getting home just in time for dinner, the news, and organizing all the visa stuff we’re still working on. He’s stressed out and tired. I, on the other hand, can sleep until whenever I want, watch multiple hours of television a day, even with the housework and cooking, and still manage to feel under-appreciated. It’s not until now, as I write this, that I realize it’s most likely because I’m notchoosing this.
I’ve been feeling lately like Andreas and I are in two different worlds, and I’m lonely in mine. His is full and busy and stressful, and sometimes I can even feel like I can’t really wedge myself into it, and at the same time, I feel like I don’t have the right to complain about anything because I can sleep in and pursue my hobbies. This isn’t easy, folks.
I’ve always dreamt of being a stay-at-home mom, and it’s still something I think about, but I’m definitely opening myself up to the idea that I might not like it. It might not be for me. We’ll see when the time comes, and it’s not like I’m trying to make a decision right now, but if it’s anything like this, my dreams might be edited a little bit.
So in conclusion, I would not fit well into the fifties. Except I would probably look really cute in those dresses….