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Brave Men Try

“Brave is the man who loves a wild woman.”
-Jonny Ox

Why is it men fall in love with wild women only to cage them, to fight with them, to demean them and tighten their grips until she feels like she can’t even breathe?

I suppose, maybe, it’s like hunting in a way; they see something beautiful and they want it to be theirs, but the possessiveness of ownership is faulty and erred leading to the destruction of that which they desire.

So many ideas of “my girl”, “be my Valentine”, “be my wife”. I am not saying that there are boundaries that need to be respected, because there are. And it does go both ways to different extents per couple.

I came upon this quote very unexpectedly and it struck me. There are so many confines in my life right now, and the “love” of a man who sought to trap me, to make me less than what I am, in order to feel like they were good enough to have me by making me, or probably any of “their women”, less. My husband is not one of these men who actively try to ensnare “his woman”, but there have been certain things from our families of origin that have been the habits returned to under duress. He fights these when he catches himself doing them.

My husband is brave and would let me live my life as I wished if we could; if we didn’t have kids who needed me, a desire to be together every limited chance we get, if we didn’t have bills thirsty for our income like a rose transplanted into the desert. If, if, if.

Despite the if’s he does his best to let me have some time here or there to truly be myself. There was a reason I wanted to live like a gypsy or a traveling artist/photographer when I was younger: I have chronic wanderlust. Even the furniture in my room I have to move every few months because I’ve gotten too used to it.

Children are actually therapeutic in a way, there… half the time there’s too much laundry or artwork scattered across our living space to even know what arrangement our items are in. Besides, you know, well loved.

I feel trapped in my life. I do. But, it is not because I regret my life, it is merely the stage and circumstances of our “today”. I want to take my children adventuring around town to experience fairs, museums, other cultures, so very much! There’s not a lot of that here… and not really many extra funds to do that with. My husband and I do our best, though, and I try to keep things here hopping.

My husband, though, amazes me. He works and works, and I don’t even know where he gets the reserves or strength but he just keeps going and making a life for our family. I don’t know what he sees in me, but he tells me he loves me, a habit he had to build, and he holds me when I cry, and he laughs when I overreact, he calls me out of nightmares, and he craves me just as much as I crave him. Yet, with all that love, and with all our mundane stresses and struggles, he has done his best to build me wings with his very own hands so that I may climb my way into the heights of my own dreams.

I may very well be the Icarus of this story but I am also the Juliet.

Despite my character, I will write my own story.

The soul is the only infinite substance in a finite existence, and the soul was born of love.


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