Navigating the tug between love & identity

It is so much easier for the world to see what a man contributes but a woman's struggles often remain her silent bouts. 

The standards are literally so low for a man, not being abusive makes them amazing. For women, standards are so high that even standing up for themselves becomes a problem. What a woman does is probably only visible to her partner and mother. Because it is the only place we can safely cry and share our perspective. 

Recently we went for a dinner where I was told, in a lighter note, how lucky I was to have my husband. I would never say otherwise. I always thank God for him and noone is more aware of what he brings to the table. But, despite being his biggest champion, it suddenly dawned on me how in the seven months of my marriage I have literally seen everyone say the same thing yet I have never heard anyone say he is probably lucky to have me too. 

While he remains my biggest champion and sees through every single night of my struggle, tear and strength, it made me wonder how invisible a woman's efforts can be.

Everyone would wonder how I will adjust in my in-law's place. I openly embraced the fact that I am probably not a typical bahu material. But I never thought marriage would actually end up making me a feminist. I can't help but notice silent struggles and sacrifices of my husband and father in law. Yet, patriarchy in our society has never felt more apparent. Even if my husband is the most egalitarian man I know, society's norms and customs often find a way to creep in. 

For several years, I have fasted on Thursdays and recently tried 9-day Navratri fast too. But I couldn't help my thoughts when KarvaChauth came. Although I love my husband to death and keep him in all my prayers, I don't know why both partners can't collectively take part in the ritual. He said he would be absolutely okay if I did not fast and ended up keeping one for me too, but I don't understand why it shouldn't be a norm. Why my mother and in laws should not ask him to fast for me too when I am expected to keep one for him. 

There was a part of me that wanted to learn and preserve traditions. But I don't think I would want my daughter to put her husband on a pedestal, think she is any less than the men in her life. I don't want her to think that only a man's life is sacred enough that deserves a fast and prayers. 

When I could not agree with the traditional customs of the place, I had touched my husband's feet before I bowed to the deity because a part of me can never believe in a God that doesn't treat every living being the same and discrimates based on family of birth or gender.

But, in the recent months I intentionally told myself despite all my love, none of us should touch each other's feet. Thankfully he has been the one who doesn't like the practice of a woman touching her husband's feet. He was the one who knew me inside out and never expected me to be anyone else or any different. 

I was raised by a single mother who successfully ran a pharmaceutical store. So, it never occurred to me that putting food on the table was only a man's job. 

I think I am pretty decent at my job, but am probably a 5/10 in cooking or other household chores. Household chores have never held much of my interests. 

But despite my philosophies, our own conditioning is such that we can't escape the domestic lens in our own minds either. Even if noone ever said a word, I constantly feel the pressure to prove myself, see my own insecurities seap in. 

As we navigate a long-distance marriage, I sometimes wish someone could also acknowledge my sleepless nights, restless weekends and the lengths we both go to balance it all. While we have finally begin to appreciate home-makers and their endless sacrifices, we rarely acknowledge the dual pressures on working women who are expected to do it all without a shred of shikan on our foreheads. 

As you juggle different worlds, try to balance it all, it is natural to fall short and consequently feel insecure and unsure. Especially if you are an empath with the people-pleasing flaw, it can be hard to retain your identity and self-confidence as you step into unknown territories. 

I will always be the girl whose world pauses when she begins to write. I would rather write or rest before I clean my house. I hope someday that would be okay too. Not in their eyes but in my own mind too. 

Maybe that’s what womanhood often is — a constant negotiation between love and identity, between preserving peace and protecting self-respect. I don’t want to unlearn my tenderness, but I aspire to be like the woman who are sure and confident. From all the women I have admired this season, I have learnt being okay with a few not liking you all the time is part of the deal of becoming a happy woman.

I hope we can raise our kids to be secure and resilient so that they can be at peace with themselves before they seek validation. If I can teach my children one thing, it would be this — love thrives not in hierarchy but in harmony. That being lucky to have each other is far more sacred than one being lucky to have the other.

It is probably the reason I married my partner. I will always be the luckiest person to have my husband, not because he can cook but because he understands, backs me when I am down, stands, not ahead, nor behind but simply by my side.