About A Woman

For years now, I've been wondering who started the phenomenon that is the virtuous woman. That perfect, seemingly one-woman show in Proverbs 31, that is the bane of the female existence - at least those females who have grown up under any kind of legalism.

My high school proudly reared its' females under their "Biblical" notion that the only truely godly woman was a Proverbs 31 woman; to hell with the rest of 'em - literally. It was the standard by which each female should beat herself up and by which all females should judge each other. It was the standard to which any godly husband should have held their pretty, but prone to be wicked, wives.

Everytime I think about the garbage that they seared into my brain, based upon a convenient but incorrect interpretation of a wonderful passage that is meant to celebrate the strength of all women, my heart starts to ache in anger. Anger at my own teenage stupidity and anger toward their carefully disfigured truth. I feel like I should have been able to filter their truth from real truth or that at the least, somebody should have rescued me. Unfortunately, Proverbs 31 became a passage that ended up being used by me, and I would guess by many a female, to self-crucify spiritually, emotionally and by default, physically.

My Junior year, I was voted Homecoming Queen by my peers and while I have to admit that I accepted the part outwardly, I was very uneasy and highly uncomfortable at the time I found out that I had been nominated; it was an ominous feeling as they put the crown upon my young head. That was a tremendous and unfair amount of pressure to put on a teenage girl who knows nothing of life beyond high school. At almost 40, I'm just now beginning to understand all that would have to be sacrificed, in order to be that woman; and at almost 40, I'm just now wise enough to know that nobody should even try to live up to such a fantasy because it absolutely destroys the "alive" in your soul.

At 17, however, I had a good enough head on my shoulders to realize that I was NOT what the school had been shoving down our throats that week as the picture of a virtuous woman; there were only a few of us who were naive enough to think there was anybody out there like that - not even our own mothers. Nobody I knew could have attained such high degrees of perfectionism at just 17 years of age, but I guess I was the one they considered the best representation of who we were as a class. I didn't want the nomination, the crown or the pressure but I had been so brainwashed to obey, that I drank the Koolaid. I didn't know it was okay to question; that it was okay to distrust those who call themselves Christian; that it was okay to say, "No thanks, I'll retain my soul for the Real Deal."

Ironically, there was one girl in our class who was nominated along with me that possessed the essence of the virtuous woman, even at 16 or 17 years of age. She was mature beyond us all, I now realize; however, the school disqualified her b/c she chose to attend a church youth function over Homecoming. Now that is hypocritical-legalism in its' truest form; to discriminate against yourself, basically, and to be so blind, you don't see the idiocy in your actions. It's the most perfect self-portrait ever. Legalism painted itself that day.

By the time I started my Senior year, much of what these "godly" people spoke to us went into one ear and came out the other without so much of a jot or tittle phasing us. We were in a rebellion and rightly so. We had seen so much hypocrisy and holding of the Scriptures hostage to their interpretations, to suit their own agendas, that we literally rebelled. We made it clear that for our entire Senior year, we were there for our diplomas and nothing else; we weren't listening anymore. But just as music and images do a slow-burn into our subconscience only to covertly re-emerge later, so did the concept of the perfect super-woman that was pushed into our brains, year after year, as part of their original, Homecoming tradition.

Several years later, my life started out joyous enough because as a newlywed, my hubby was of course, Prince-Do-Nothing-Wrong, in my eyes. For my part, I knew I wasn't the perfect woman but subconsciously, I tried so hard to be. I tried to be a perfect wife, making a good home and life for us. The little squabbles came and went but this concerned me none. We floated along the first couple of years, boosted by a successful business and therefore a relatively easy life. We worked constantly and we were together constantly; our arguments were usually about putting too much pepperoni and cheese on a pizza. Life was bliss and I had no idea what was around the bend. I'd been setup for failure.

Well, it's dinner time.

See, I'm a cruel, wicked woman. :0)