As if trying to figure out who I am after Rod wasn't hard enough, I also find myself asking myself
what I am ...
The memory captured by this photo is visceral for me, but I find it difficult to put words to. This is going to be a short post.
All I can come up with is that my femininity is being contrasted here with his substance and strength - his masclinity - holding me, protecting me, joined to me, like we were made for each other. Like we fit together.
My femininity was reflected in his masculinity. Without the contrast of his masculinity, my femininity has become inconsequential, irrelevant.
Since he died, I have continued to do the things I have always done while adding to my responsibility many of the things he used to do. Without him, there is no longer a contrast between feminine and masculine; I feel like I am neither. Or maybe I am both.
Maybe I just am.
Still processing what that even means, and how I want to feel about it.
Writing about widow life, grief, and general random ramblings.
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