I got a divorce. Not from a man but a mindset. It was a long marriage, with kids and friends and businesses involved. It effected everything I said and did, where I lived, what I wore, what I ate. I can’t say I was trapped or the victim of a control freak. It’s just the nature of entwining your life with someone else’s, the hundred thousand considerations you make for each other. Or don’t make.
After 30 years of commitment, I filed for divorce from the prospect of marriage. The search for a marriage partner is a marriage of its own, from the meet-cute to putting the decree in your fire safe. Your story begins around the first time you hear the words that begin many stories: ‘once upon a time’. You were six or seven, twirling in your favorite dress and playing with your dolls when you get the news: twirly dresses cost money and dolls don’t make themselves. My dolls were my babies, and it wasn’t long before I found out real babies don’t make themselves either. I knew I wanted twirly dresses and babies when I grew up, and apparently you needed something called a ‘man’ to get them.
I knew what men were. My dad was a man, but at my little age I thought he was just a nice man who wanted to take care of my mom, my brother and me. I literally thought he was a disinterested party living with us out of the kindness of his heart. It wasn’t until I was about 7 or 8 that I heard the term ‘stepdad’. Kids at school would say ‘he’s not my real dad’, and I would think ‘of course he is, he lives with you and he’s married to your mom’. Then I got a much clearer idea of Just Where Babies Come From, and what a revelation! I probably went home from school and asked if my dad was my ‘real’ dad. That sounds like something I’d do. So there it was—I would in fact need a man if I wanted babies. Like, there would be no babies without one.
Somehow Disney times their advertising campaigns to coincide with this crucial moment in your life. ‘Hello little girl, you really like those twirly dresses, don’t you? Well how would you like to wear the twirliest dress of all? It’s called a wedding gown! Then a few months after you wear it, you’ll have babies. Real ones! But none of it can happen without a man. In fact, your entire life can’t start until you find one. That’s right, I said your life. So go to sleep, keep house for seven little people—do what you gotta do until a man feels like paying attention to you long enough to wed and impregnate youuuuuu wish upon a star…’
I’m paraphrasing, but that’s the general idea. And of course the Twirly Dress Gambit was in effect long before Disney. I fantasized about my wedding many years after I stopped watching Disney movies. I didn’t consciously expect my life to be a fairy tale, but the marriage programming is so subtle that you do it to yourself. Everything you say, do, and think revolves around making yourself a prime candidate for marriage. I tried to grow my hair long because men like long hair. I half-seriously considered breast augmentation because men like what they like and I could either be what they liked or deal with the consequences. I let myself be interrupted, wore brighter colors and avoided chunky jewelry. I read that men like women in jeans and t-shirts so I stocked up on ‘casual chic’ clothes. I sought their advice when I needed it, silently endured mansplaining when I didn’t, and SMILED.
This went on for 30 years, from age 18 to 48. Then the pandemic did what a lot of men fear—it gave women time to think. I came to the realization that 30 years of travel, energy, effort, and personality contortions was enough. My commitment to finding a husband yielded one sincere pursuit from someone who just wasn’t right for me, followed by the proverbial toads. There were non-toads who just weren’t that into me, and several who would’ve happily wasted my time if I’d let them. So I called it a day. If it took more than I had given, it was no longer worth my while.
And here I am, one year post-divorce. What’s weird are all the things I catch myself doing—making sure my hair doesn’t stick up when I take out the trash, avoiding extra-feminine home décor, seeking out extra-feminine clothes—with a banner flying across my brain that says ‘I don’t want a man to think something’s wrong with me’. I’ll be in mid-thought when I realize—‘You’re divorced, remember? You’re not trying to get a man anymore.’ I don’t have to worry about my hair when I’m taking out the trash, I can buy the girly, swirly picture frames and wear head-to-toe black, all without fretting over what a man thinks. It turns out that in spite of the divorce, I still have a Man Filter. I still see my entire world through how close I can get to being what a man wants. I didn’t know how ingrained it was until just a few weeks ago, that so much of what I had done was a reflex borne out of fear. I was subconsciously trying to ensure my survival because what would I be without a man????
So I’m giving myself grace. After 30 years I can’t expect to quit cold turkey. Something I say or do will trigger the Man Filter, but instead of beating myself up I will simply turn it off. And enjoy the view.
JOYE JOHNSON - Politely Refusing the Kool-Aid 