This morning I was making scrambled eggs and waffles while Adam was hiking in the Santa Monica mountains with Jake the dog.

When he and the dog returned, breathless, I scooped the eggs into a plate, buttered the waffles, and added cream to Adam’s favorite tea.  Then I mentioned the top news story I had just heard on the radio — Coretta Scott King had passed away.

When a second news report started, Adam said conversationally, "Why are they focusing on her — she’s just a wife." 

Just a wife is something that — despite my best intentions, I myself have become.

This became clear about eighteen months ago, when I met up with an attorney friend and her friend whom I was meeting for the first time.

At the spa, while we were waiting, one of the women I didn’t know asked what I did.  My friend answered before I could even open my mouth to speak.  "Oh, she’s just a housewife."

Not one to show my ass in public, I just smiled, nodded, and talked about some of the projects I’m working on.  But when I got home, I was forced to reevaluate .  Is that all that I am?

I no longer practice law, so no one calls me counselor.  I don’t have any kids, so I’m not, ‘just a mom.’

I strongly believe how we are perceived effects how we are treated.  Am I ‘just a wife?’  I don’t think so.  But if that’s what others see — I’ll have to think about changing that.

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