And welcome to what may be a slightly belated blog post, courtesy of being persuaded, against my better judgement, to go to church this morning.
As those who know me will no doubt already know, church is not really my bag. In fact it’s not even my clutch purse. However the Mrs was preaching this morning, and although she has preached to me personally many times on a variety of different topics (lessons including ‘Thou shalt not leave the kitchen such a mess’, and ‘Thou shalt shave that bloody beard off’ being among my favourites) I
thought I’d lend my support.
It got me thinking...
Name That Toon
The service was woven around the Disney film Moana, and as such touched on such themes as identity, self worth, adventure, and following our own quests. These apparently echo the film but as I have yet to experience this no doubt splendidly technicolour song-fest (and am unlikely to in the near to very distant future) I will just have to take that as read.
It got me thinking...
Name That Toon
The service was woven around the Disney film Moana, and as such touched on such themes as identity, self worth, adventure, and following our own quests. These apparently echo the film but as I have yet to experience this no doubt splendidly technicolour song-fest (and am unlikely to in the near to very distant future) I will just have to take that as read.
It’s the identity part that interests me most of all though. Apparently, in the film, our plucky heroine is torn between her role as a leader of her island community, and the call to adventure across the ocean waves. I may be oversimplifying like mad there but that’s what it says on a review I’ve just read anyway.
Anyhoo, in a week where I’ve struggled to come to terms with aspects of my own identity this part of the sermon struck home far more than the usual platitudes and gratitudes tend to.
Great Expectations
I am you see, a husband. The lovely Tina making the perhaps slightly dubious choice to marry me just over five years ago now. It’s not a role I ever really saw myself fulfilling but, by hook, crook, or some kind of dark magic, I got my chance. Given the chance I’d like to think that I settled into it pretty well.
At the time I was pretty healthy, well as healthy as a disabled man with Spina Bifida gets anyway, but of course that has since changed, and this years revelation that I have MS to add to my collection of maladies has certainly meant some large changes, as well as a close look at how I identify myself.
Being a husband, you see, brings with it certain… expectations. Not that these are imposed by Tina. In fact they’re not actually imposed by anyone per se, but they exist all the same. I guess you could call them cultural expectations.
A Case of Identity
A husband is a provider, a protector, a bread winner, he looks after his family and ensures they have all the material things they need. ‘Daddy’s gonna buy you a dream to cling to. Momma’s gonna love you just as much as she can’ as Paul young famously sang (and Stiff Little Fingers sang better). It’s an old fashioned sentiment, and one that is woefully sexist but I still find that identity hanging round my neck and at the moment it feels like it’s mocking me.
I am currently jobless and we are waiting to hear back from the DSS to approve my ESA claim. Until that happens money is becoming somewhat of an issue, to the point where funds have had to be borrowed from family to tide us over, and help pay the household bills this month. This was something that I was intensely reluctant to do, especially with it being family, for some reason, and I think a lot of that is tangled up in the above.
Anyhoo, in a week where I’ve struggled to come to terms with aspects of my own identity this part of the sermon struck home far more than the usual platitudes and gratitudes tend to.
Great Expectations
I am you see, a husband. The lovely Tina making the perhaps slightly dubious choice to marry me just over five years ago now. It’s not a role I ever really saw myself fulfilling but, by hook, crook, or some kind of dark magic, I got my chance. Given the chance I’d like to think that I settled into it pretty well.
At the time I was pretty healthy, well as healthy as a disabled man with Spina Bifida gets anyway, but of course that has since changed, and this years revelation that I have MS to add to my collection of maladies has certainly meant some large changes, as well as a close look at how I identify myself.
Being a husband, you see, brings with it certain… expectations. Not that these are imposed by Tina. In fact they’re not actually imposed by anyone per se, but they exist all the same. I guess you could call them cultural expectations.
A Case of Identity
A husband is a provider, a protector, a bread winner, he looks after his family and ensures they have all the material things they need. ‘Daddy’s gonna buy you a dream to cling to. Momma’s gonna love you just as much as she can’ as Paul young famously sang (and Stiff Little Fingers sang better). It’s an old fashioned sentiment, and one that is woefully sexist but I still find that identity hanging round my neck and at the moment it feels like it’s mocking me.
I am currently jobless and we are waiting to hear back from the DSS to approve my ESA claim. Until that happens money is becoming somewhat of an issue, to the point where funds have had to be borrowed from family to tide us over, and help pay the household bills this month. This was something that I was intensely reluctant to do, especially with it being family, for some reason, and I think a lot of that is tangled up in the above.
There is a part of me that thinks that I should be able to look after myself and my wife by myself, that I should be capable of providing for us, and the fact that at this precise moment, I am struggling to do so makes me feel like a bit of a failure.
Call Of Duty
Perhaps I just need to get past this. Perhaps I need to realise that there are other ways to fulfil my chosen role. Like Moana maybe by following a different path I can change my own ideas about my husbandly duty, redefine it, and put cultural expectations behind me.
I don’t for one moment think this will be easy. I have, after all, hundreds of years of indoctrination to weed out of my psyche, but I can lend more of a help around the house while Tina is at work, and perhaps learn to support her in different ways. Maybe I also need to be a little less proud, a little more honest with myself, and a little more realistic regarding the help I need.
Hopefully the ESA will be with us in the next week or so, so that will definitely help matters and get rid of some of the more immediate worries. The rest, well that’s up to me.
Until next time...
Call Of Duty
Perhaps I just need to get past this. Perhaps I need to realise that there are other ways to fulfil my chosen role. Like Moana maybe by following a different path I can change my own ideas about my husbandly duty, redefine it, and put cultural expectations behind me.
I don’t for one moment think this will be easy. I have, after all, hundreds of years of indoctrination to weed out of my psyche, but I can lend more of a help around the house while Tina is at work, and perhaps learn to support her in different ways. Maybe I also need to be a little less proud, a little more honest with myself, and a little more realistic regarding the help I need.
Hopefully the ESA will be with us in the next week or so, so that will definitely help matters and get rid of some of the more immediate worries. The rest, well that’s up to me.
Until next time...
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