I’d be a terrible housewife

And that’s because I refuse to suffer.

Growing up, my mother and the women who cared for me taught me countless things. They ensured I’d grow up to be a responsible young woman. I learnt how to be kind, generous, loving. My mother instilled in me that the world is terrible as it is, I couldnt add more negativity. They also taught me practical skills, how to make my bed, wash dishes, clean the house, serve others, cook, and iron. The list was endless.

Yet, I never found joy in learning these tasks. Cooking held no pleasure for me, though I loved eating. Cleaning brought no peace, even though I appreciated a tidy room. These responsibilities didn’t feel like they were for me; they were rehearsals for my future husband.

Whenever I faltered, I was reminded of what a terrible wife I’d be. If I left dishes unwashed, I’d hear, “Which man will ever accept a household with a sink full of dishes?” If I didn’t clean properly, the warning was, “Your husband will leave you because of your dirtiness. Men like women who are clean.” Even how I sat was policed. My mother would scold me: “No man will marry you if you sit like that.” They won’t marry you, they’ll leave you, they’ll cheat on you, I heard of all the versions of why my love life would crumble. I was barely getting into teenagehood, yet I was already being groomed to fear a future husband’s disappointment. Why did I have to start worrying about his opinions at 13?

In our society, when a baby boy is born, people immediately imagine him as a future doctor, engineer, or successful businessman. When a girl is born, the wish is for her to become a perfect wife, to bear many children, and to ensure her marriage lasts. No one wonders how she might impact her community or build her wealth. Her success is measured by her ability to be someone’s second, someone’s shadow. Never first and never seen. Girls are molded into believing that their greatest accomplishment is marriage. They are discouraged from pursuing long or challenging studies because their intelligence won’t secure a husband—their beauty and servility will. They carry the burdens of love and lost dreams.

I used to think I hated my brothers. In reality, I was jealous of them. When it was time to eat, they’d simply show up, sit, and enjoy their meals. They never noticed that I had stopped playing with them 30 minutes earlier to help in the kitchen and set the table. After the meal, I was the only one required to clear the dishes. Why was I a disgrace for not knowing how to cook a complex dish while my brother didn’t even know how to turn on the stove? Oh, right—he would have a housewife one day to do it for him. That’s just a single example, there a millions of them coming from girls all over the world.

There’s also this deeply ingrained belief that women must suffer to keep their husbands. We’re taught to endure everything—harsh words, violence, and manipulation—so long as it means the marriage survives. It is instilled in women that they cannot be weak or unaware, they have to take care of everyone, forgetting themselves. It is seen as a shame not to have a husband but the world completely crumbles if you get divorced. “You should have been more patient, more loving, more submissive.”

We’re also expected to suffer to maintain our beauty—not for ourselves, but for everyone else. We’re told to relax our coily hair, even if it burns our scalp and increases the risk of cancer. We’re pressured to have bigger breasts, fuller hips, tighter skin. We must be spotless, hairless, angelic AT ALL TIMES. It doesn’t matter if you just lost your parents or pushed a baby out of you—you must be perfect. They call us ugly in order to sell us shit, shit that can lead you straight to your death bed.

Women are filled with insecurities they were taught. Be pretty, but not vain. Be young, but wise. Be smart, but not too smart. Be lovable, but never demanding. And despite all of this effort, every second, a woman somewhere in the world dies at the hands of a man. I don’t want to die like that.

I refuse to suffer. Very early on, I decided that this housewife culture wasn’t for me. I refuse to be governed by fear or shame. I refuse to believe that a man’s love for me is so fragile that a missed dinner could make him despise me. I refuse to live for a man. I want to learn how to cook for myself and my pleasure, not for a husband. I want to clean because it brings me peace, not because my house must be spotless to avoid divorce. I want to love myself before pouring everything into someone else. I want to discover who I am as a person, not what kind of housewife I will be.

Don’t get me wrong—housewives are some of the strongest women I know. But they are also often women with forgotten dreams. I refuse to forget mine. I want to travel, persue long studies and a difficult career. I want to sleep in, and not cook if I feel like it. I want to be comfortable in my own home, not constantly on the lookout for something out of place. I don’t want to put myself second or become a shadow in my own life. Most of all, I want to be properly loved.

So yes, at everyone’s demise, I’ll be a terrible housewife. All because I love myself too much to suffer. And that’s the kind of love my mother would want for me.