Love
The illusion of equality in relationships disappears when one member is pregnant. There is no equal carrying of the burden, no matter how the work is divided up. Usually, it’s up to the pregnant person to take on a lot of research: learning about doctors and doulas and birth plans, on top of the physical toll that may make work extra hard. Sometimes the non-pregnant person does more of that work, but that can be complicated, because it’s still one person’s body at stake here, and their choices are what should matter.
But “equality” hasn’t worked out that well for women in heterosexual relationships, anyway. Better than what came before, to be sure, but the pressure of making as much money as the male partner and being a mother, in the America that exists today, is unreasonable and punitive. A feminist movement that ultimately concentrated its achievements on women’s power in the workplace without changing cultural standards around the other demands placed on women or around what power and work look like for both men and women, is one that simply raised the bar for women, making it their responsibility to thrive across more dimensions of a patriarchal society. My mom came from the “do it all” generation of feminism: checking in with the office at 8am several hours after she gave birth to me, baking banana bread for our school lunches in the middle of the night, my brother and I camped out in her office with our Barbies and Legos strewn on the floor. She did it all terrifically, but not without guilt that she wasn’t doing more.
A friend of mine created an art project called Bill the Patriarchy that involves documenting reproductive and caregiving labor and creating invoices, which she’s faxed to the California and federal governments. It’s a difficult concept for people to accept, because caregiving work is often done out of love — love which the patriarchy leads us to believe comes naturally to women — and why should the work of love be paid? We are suspicious of women who want so much: economic agency as well as the refusal to work two shifts, giving to motherhood without giving up themselves.
“There can be no love without justice,” says bell hooks, or as I think of it, equity follows from love. “Equity,” she says, “simply means ‘something that is fair or just.’” Equity is the recognition of difference. It may be realized economically, as bell hooks describes in adjusting her and her partner’s financial contributions due to the gender-derived differences in their earning power, or as Patti advocates for with her art. It may take other outlets, like housework or emotional support or social support. A truly equitable relationship will look different for every couple because circumstances and people differ.
Love, as I have always understood it, is also the recognition of difference. To fall in love with someone is to glimpse them as a whole person, as infinite and significant as yourself. To commit to that person for life, whether in marriage or something else, is to make the decision to keep seeing them as a whole person. It sounds easy or obvious, but I’m pretty sure it’s the most difficult thing a human being can achieve. Growing up, it’s natural to view other people as accessories or symbols in our self-based narratives. Continuing to do that in a long-term partnership is what leads to problems. When someone else’s existence to you is limited to their role in your life, it’s difficult to see that person change. It’s hard to adjust to new circumstances that affect the two of you differently. It takes wisdom and a hell of a lot of maturity to perceive the real person who’s there with you, as familiar as the back of your hand. You spend the first part of your life grappling with the idea that you exist and the rest of it grappling with the idea that anyone else does as well. Getting there, for real, is the closest thing to divinity that I can imagine.
I remember glimpsing Anthony, that first time at Rockaway Beach and throughout the rest of that summer. We decided not to hide from each other and I have never been so afraid in my life. In a cabin in the Redwoods, five years before we would be married, we made promises to take on all of our problems and fears and desires together. Finding balance and equity in our relationship has meant nothing more or less than upholding those promises. It’s not easy to maintain the intensity of the gaze of falling in love, but I think the work of love is returning and returning and returning to that state of grace that allowed you first to see them.
“I vow to keep learning about you, even though I know that I’ll never know all of you. I promise to remember that you will change,” I said to you on our wedding day. We’re to become parents soon, which will change our lives and relationship, but I know that we’ll be okay because our relationship has always been able to hold change. Sometimes I’m afraid that in becoming mother, I’ll lose everything else I am, but the space you give to all my dimensions helps me imagine they’ll never be collapsed to a single one. I promise to do the same for you. Happy Valentine’s Day.
What I’m cooking
Cashew lemon caper pasta (v)
This is a creamy, luscious pasta sauce not unlike alfredo or cacio e pepe, but with lots of lemon and capers for more kick. No fake cheese or anything like that.
Please think about becoming a paying subscriber, I’m putting more work into these recipes, and I think they’re pretty great!