washing the dishes

just your average 50s housewife

I could feel my thoughts being set free, just like the leftover meatloaf from the dish I am washing. The sun is shining through the baby blue curtains and I can feel the warmth on my pale face. When I am washing the dishes, it feels like I am on a separate planet. It feels as if I am no longer a housewife, I am free to think for myself. I let my hands follow their usual routine, like they have a mind of their own, so I can let my thoughts wander.

His question keeps repeating over and over again in my mind, “Mommy are you happy?”.

“Happy” … How does one measure happiness? If happiness could be measured, I don’t think I’d stand very tall. My husband, on the other hand, would be the tallest person in the room. He has it all, a job that he loves, a nice home, a beautiful wife, two children, respect. He has a life worth living. He goes out with his friends and can spend his money as he pleases. He doesn’t have to depend on anyone else. On my own, I am not respected. Even if I were to get a job, I would not be able to support myself since women are paid significantly less than men. Without him, I would be nothing.

I dread the moment he comes home from work. I always do, but he never fails to walk through our front door wearing his royal blue suit with a bright smile plastered on his big face. The minute I see him, my world slowly becomes darker. His blue eyes are always twinkling with happiness, happiness that I have never felt. His hands are claws, always reaching to pull me down. How does he look so kind on the outside, but on the inside he’s a beast that is never satisfied with me? If only I could just leave this place and live the life I long for.

Why do I constantly feel as if something is missing from my life? I have two beautiful children and I’m married to a decent man, yet I do not feel satisfied. This was the future I dreamed of as a girl, but now it feels like a nightmare that I cannot wake from. I yearn for a life full of meaning, not a life full of cleaning after children and pleasing a man I do not love. Does that make me less of a woman?

I stare back down at my red and calloused hands. They’ve finished their job, all the dishes are clean. Suddenly, I am thrown back into reality by my daughter pulling on my light blue dress.

“Mommy, I’m hungry,” She says with her big blue eyes staring up at mine. A wave of disappointment crashes over me. After I leave this spot, I go back to being a mother and a wife and there is nothing I can do to change that. The realization dawns on me: I’m trapped in this life forever.