I became aware of human rights issues during my third year of college. I attempted to carefully examine the many existing cultural norms which I had previously accepted and become accustomed to as just the normal order of things. As part of what was aimed at increasing my awareness and understanding of female psyche, I heavily read women’s literature. That’s one of the reasons I spent the whole weekend in bed laughing, crying, feeling confused, and angry at some point. I decided to read “The Woman’s Room” that Friday night.
Marilyn Fridey, the author of this amazing book describes several women’s lives from the 150’s to present. In fact, the women she describes are not just ordinary women. It is either they attend college, drop out to marry or they get married minus considering the possibility of getting college education- after all they well understand that college is one of the ways of getting an economically promising husband. Myras, who is the main character, has her life tracked through by the author. She wonders why she is not satisfied cooking pot rot, cleaning the baby diapers, and dry cleaning her husband’s clothes.in fact, she only gets comfort from the company of other women in her neighborhood whom she shares coffee with in the afternoons.
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These women keep on wondering why Catherine’s alcoholic husband committed suicide despite having 9 children and his wife being a committed Catholic Church member. They thought that Catherine should have convinced his husband of using birth control other than give birth to 9 children. Other women including Myras have their own frustrations, disappointments, fears which are suicidal yet subtle in their conditions.
A few years later, there is a change in Myra’s life. Her husband finally makes it, their children have grown, and they are doing well economically. Despite this good condition, Myra suffers a nervous breakdown. It follows that after she’s fully recovered; they divorce and join Yale University as a graduate student. In as much as this was the most painful moment of her life, it also marked as a turning point for her since she was able to understand herself, discover her full abilities, and learn to exist with herself-not happily but honestly.
Upon completing Myra’s story on a Sunday night, I woke up terribly sobbing from a nightmare at midnight. In as much as I could not get the whole dream, I could grasp a few things. I realized my mother’s life was Myra’s. I had regarded much respect and admiration to my father for having gone to college, being worldly and intelligent. I highly esteemed him for having much control and power.
My mother had looked feeble, vulnerable, weak, and overly independent having taken a difficult path in life: she had chosen to be a housewife and mother. I decided to rebel against such a tradition. I worked hard to be taking my father’s path. Not until I read this book, I had never known how courageous it was for someone to live in such a reduced role, and still be contented for depending on someone else for survival. That very night of crying meant a lot to me. I understood my mothers and affirmed her gentleness, compassion, and inner strength.
My relationship with my mother has advanced since I had this experience. Right now, we are close to each other. In my life, I will never take the role my mother chose. Reading Myras story changed my perspective towards myself, feelings. It has given me a wider perspective on the life of women in today’s world.
