Guilty As Charged, Lady

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Women guilt.

It’s a thing, it’s a phenomenon, it self handedly fuels the sale of thousands of bottles of wine, beer and self-help books.  Entire blogs are dedicated to making us feel guilty; mine included mine sometimes, which of course makes me feel….guilty.

And we are so hard on ourselves.

The other day in the bathroom of Gold’s Gym I sighed as I stepped off the scale because I hadn’t gained three pounds, seconds later another women sighed the same sigh because she hadn’t lost three pounds; meanwhile legions of men were at the front desk eating donuts and sighing with delight.

More women lie about the amount of time their kids spend on electronics then lie about their dress size.

Why?  Because they feel guilty.

Ask a man how much television his kid watched and he will have no idea because guilt doesn’t even enter his mind; he’s just glad they’re being quiet so he can watch golf.

When’s the last time Daddy thought to read a book midday just to expand their vocabulary, because he wasn’t doing “enough”?

I can tell you.

Never.

I’m not mad at the men for not feeling guilty.

I’m jealous.

All summer long we women waded through guilt puddles and washed our sorrows away with Bravo TV, chocolate sea salt bars or alcohol because let’s face it, we suck.

We beat ourselves up because we think we didn’t amuse, exercise, entertain or educate our kids enough through the long summer days.

The men, hell they don’t even know it’s summer until they’re shoving crap in the car for the yearly trip to the beach.

If we stay at home, we feel guilty for not working.  When we work, we feel guilty for not being at home.  We feel guilt when we go to the gym and when we don’t.  We feel guilt when we spend money and if we don’t earn money.  We feel guilt for using our college degree and for not using our college degree.

I took a CPR class today where the teacher told me more women die of heart attacks than men because woman attribute the elephant on their chest to indigestion.  Men scream for help while women go quietly to their bedrooms so as not to bother anyone and die as they wait to feel better before they make dinner.

Women liberation means nothing if we won’t liberate ourselves; and it’s a real problem when the biggest bully we encounter every day is staring back at us in the mirror.

So, stop, breathe, pop a chocolate in your mouth if you must, but relax and accept you for where you’re at right now, this day.

Your husband accepts you, your friends accept you, your kids accept you; you just need to accept yourself and for goodness sake if you feel an elephant on your chest, scream like hell; or like a man, either which way.

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Some days I write, some days I wait tables and some days I work with preschoolers; all of which I love; but ALL days I am the wife of a Richmond City Firefighter and the mother of two great boys named Beau and Donovan who couldn’t be any more different if they tried. In my five seconds of free time I run, ride bikes and try not to watch trashy t.v. I can be reached at suder4@verizon.net