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.