Being A Woman Is Exhausting

Post Originally Published: August 25th, 2018




 

I saw this pic of Jennifer Garner driving Ben Affleck to rehab, and she’s handing him a paper bag in the backseat, what I can only assume is a bagel for breakfast, or something. And it just struck me that being a woman at any stage of life is exhausting.

What she’s doing is right though, because I truly believe that if you can help someone you should. And you have always got to help people you love if you can. Just because the romantic fairytale/life you had planned doesn’t work out doesn’t mean you stop caring. He is the father of her children after all.

Also, addiction. So I don’t want to be too insensitive.

But also also also as a non-white woman who has not yet achieved an astronomical amount of creative career success I struggle to have full compassion for the woes of Affleck, Depp, and others.


 

These guys were handed so much and so consistently and it’s like are you really kidding me? Can you not, with so much assistance and opportunity at your disposal, literally do everything to get your life in order?

I also want to throw Rob Kardashian in there, though he is completely talentless and that’s saying a lot as the talent of his sisters is equally questionable…

What I’m getting at is why is it so hard for men who seem to have everything not to squander it? And is a woman’s work ever done?

I guess this was just an elaborate way of saying that this is my greatest fear in life and love, that I will root for someone and give them my strength and love and years of my life and it will literally never fucking end. Hence the permanent ice out, and the arms length, and the I-will-talk-to-you-when-I-feel-like-it attitude.

And when I feel like it means when I feel safe. And joke’s on all of us because that’s never. I just feel like I’m easy, and prone to loving. It’s my first inclination and it’s messy and it’s a danger only to me. And if I don’t curb it or deny it or reject and stomp it out before it develops then I’m being irresponsible.

Because otherwise it just feels like people – men and women – will just pull and pull and pull and pull on me. Maybe I am selfish I dk. Maybe I am afraid I don’t have an enduring strength, or resilience, or whatever the stuff is, that real love is made up of. Maybe I’m resistant to the idea that as a woman I must be enduring of endless emotional labor. Maybe I struggle to see the karmic fate of women as anything other than endless emotional labor.

I don’t know what it is but this picture really hits me.



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