Well, then. I've said it.
I want to be a wife. There, I've written it.
Holy crap, I've written it.
I'm writing it out now because writing is powerful.
It's taken me three years of deep counseling to be able to say it to my closest friends and mentors – to even discuss my dating life in a healthy and unashamed way. I would love to live a life of putting into practice the lessons I've endured through my own family. And my mistakes. And God. I want to do it right.
It's normal for single women to long for companionship, a husband, or for marriage. I have many thoughts on these desires because my independence and scar tissue has afforded me the distance to critically think about (and be comfortable with) singleness: is our underlying motivation correct? Are we yearning out of lack or insecurity? Are our desires first and foremost in their right places, or are they completely misplaced?
My words matter. And so, I am very deliberately choosing my words: I want to be a wife. It is an internal fulfillment I wish to see born as opposed to an external, circumstantial desire.
I'd vehemently argue that the desire for stability, companionship, committed support, and love is true of men, as well.
Grateful for the nonsense I've seen in my family. So grateful. How ironic.