Not A Helpless Waif: Channeling Independence and Screw the Stereotypes
Not A Helpless Waif: Channeling Independence and Screw the Stereotypes

Not A Helpless Waif: Channeling Independence and Screw the Stereotypes

Like many people these days, I play games on my phone as a way to pass time.  Most of the time the games are just something to do that doesn’t require a lot of effort or money or time.  I never pay for the ad-free versions because the ads don’t usually bother me… until recently.

Recently, a lot of the ads are for games that show some damsel in distress.  Either the boyfriend kicked her to the curb for not looking the way he thinks she should, or she got pregnant and he wants no part of it.  The catch phrase is often “Help Her,” or something to that effect.  This bothers me.  It implies that women should kowtow to men, that we are weak and helpless and must look or act a certain way or we will be alone. 

It amazes me that in 2022, women are still being portrayed this way.  Why?  Why is it not acceptable for a woman to be strong and independent?  Why does society place a higher value on women who are skinny, made up, have long hair, etc.?  Why does society then place a higher value on men in general? 

When Grubby died, I did not fall apart – at least, not completely.  When the Sheriff came to my house and commented about what a nice home we had, I told him that it wasn’t because of what he paid Grubby.  Grubby once told a congregation at a funeral that I made more than he did (it was a way for people to chuckle).  I was mortified… until I realized that he did that because he was proud of me.  He was proud that I was the breadwinner for our family.  As much as he didn’t like the BMW (because he said he thought I liked it more than him – some days, I did!), he loved to show it off because he was proud of me. 

Over the past thirteen months, I have continued to pay bills, proceed with the projects that we had planned when we built our home, and travel.  Somehow, even though I am a woman, I have managed to do all these things without a husband to rescue me.  I have taught Abby how to pack, how to do things for herself, how to make her bed.  I have taught her to be independent.

I knew when he died that our lives would never be the same again, that a huge part of our story was no longer with us, except in spirit.  But I also knew that I would be okay – at least physically. 

Grubby liked long hair on women.  He liked red heads.  He always ended up going for women that were subservient to him.  I was not his type.  I had short, black hair.  I was independent.  One morning, a few weeks after I had moved up here, his dad and I were drinking coffee on the porch.  Pop told me that I was the only one Grubby had ever brought home who gave as good as she got, who wasn’t afraid to stand up to him and to go toe-to-toe with him.  When we got married, Grubby told me that my dad had said the exact same thing about HIM – that he was the only one I’d ever brought home that wasn’t afraid to stand up to me!  Maybe that’s why we worked so well together.  We were both strong personalities who needed someone to challenge us, to make us even stronger, and to steal the spotlight from the other sometimes – just to keep us both in check and grounded in reality. 

A few months ago, in an attempt to simplify a little, I decided to shave my head – not completely, just down to a one-guard, all the way.  At first, I wasn’t sure how I felt about it, but I’ve gotten used to it now, and I like it.  It’s cool and easy to take care of, no hours spent in front of the mirror to make it look right. I plan to continue to shatter stereotypes and I will look good doing it.  If it scares a man away, then he clearly wasn’t worthy of me anyway. 

Abby cut her hair and dyed it blue.  She wears whatever she is comfortable wearing, fashion be damned.  She makes her own decisions, and so far, she has given me no reason not to support her.  If she tells me she’s going to start hitchhiking or playing in traffic or worse, I will have to stop her of course, but I think she’s smarter than that.  I still check her browsing history to make sure she’s not visiting questionable websites, and I check her messages to make sure she is not vulnerable to people who would harm her, but so far, she’s making smart decisions.  She enjoys her independence.  She enjoys that I don’t force her to look a certain way or act a certain way.  She is strong.  I hope that she will always stay that strong and independent.  It has served me well, and it will serve her well. 

Our value doesn’t lie in other’s opinions of us, but rather it lies within us. Screw the media!

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