Trad Wife

Maybe I don’t want to raise a traditional wife. Maybe I want to raise a feral woman.

I remind myself I’m one of the lucky ones. My husband loves me. He would never hit me or scream at me.

I can't pinpoint the exact moment I stopped believing in the lies I tell myself, but it doesn't matter. I accept them anyway. I have to. There's no other option.

The truth is a ghost: hovering at your peripheral vision, disappearing when you turn to catch it. It’s easy to ignore a ghost that does not want to be revealed. A cabinet opens on its own. A door creaks. But it’s all easily explained away, and the ghost remains at the fringe of your awareness until you can step back, see enough of the house to realize what it is that you’re looking at.

I can’t decide how I feel about her having access to my content. All my other online friends are strictly virtual—I’ve never met any of them in real life. They aren’t around to catch any exaggerations or white lies when I post.

his voice taking on that pleased

I apply a carefully curated Lightroom filter over all the images and draft some captions

You don’t … do … anything?” As if being a wife isn’t a full-time job that requires early mornings and late nights and tons of skills. Other women especially take issue with it. Except

I may be young and a bit naïve, but I'm not stupid. This isn't how pregnancy is supposed to go. You're not supposed to throw up blood and then immediately discover a baby bump that already contains a kicking child when hours earlier there was nothing.

A thick, soupy lava p0urs across my chest and dribbles down my spine and breasts. Why shouldn't I have this one thing? I've hoped and prayed and begged, and nothing has worked. A good wife doesn't get angry, and she definitely doesn't blame her husband for anything, but how can I be a good wife without a baby? How can I create a perfect life for us if my husband keeps disappearing, returning home far too late smelling like flowers and sporting bruised lips?