My partner, Sam, used to sigh frequently. It was as if these sighs were a constant soundtrack to our lives, surfacing even when everything seemed fine. He’d plop down in his chair with an exaggerated huff, or rise with a soft exhale. While he remained oblivious to his sighs, I became increasingly aware, and they transformed into a source of tension in our home. Each sigh felt like an unspoken accusation, and I found myself desperate to understand its cause.
“What’s wrong?” I would ask, anxiety creeping in.
“Huh?” Sam would respond, asserting that his sighs were insignificant and to disregard them. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that each sigh was a soft reminder of my perceived failures. Society has ingrained in me the belief that a man’s discontent is my responsibility, and I began to associate his sighs with disappointment. For many women, such insinuations—however subtle—carry the weight of disposability.
It’s not just Sam; I find myself constantly worried about disappointing the men in my life. Whether it’s going out of my way to avoid my son’s tantrums at the park or allowing him to clamber into my lap when I’m overwhelmed, my instincts tell me to prioritize their comfort above my own. I fear that my sons might grow into men who will hold my needs against me.
These fears aren’t baseless. For Black women, the repercussions of disappointing societal expectations can be severe. We face harsh judgments and often bear the brunt of blame when we prioritize our needs. Black mothers and wives are scrutinized for any perceived shortcomings, and those who choose to defy traditional paths face collective condemnation. As an LGBTQ Black woman, the stakes are even higher, as we navigate a world that too often expects compliance with cisgender heterosexual norms. The fallout from disappointed white women has even impacted our livelihoods.
Women as a whole are conditioned to derive our self-worth from how well we please others. Our safety and societal standing often hinge on our ability to care for those around us. We are bombarded with the notion that our value lies in our capacity to make others happy. Yet, what happens when we can no longer fulfill those expectations? How do we retain our power when it’s contingent upon our desirability?
When men express dissatisfaction, the instinct is often to compensate. We become adept at preemptively addressing their needs, cleaning up messes before they happen. Yet, this hyper-awareness often leads to our being labeled as neurotic or anxious, while many men remain blissfully unaware of the emotional labor women undertake to keep discomfort at bay.
Just the other day, after a long day wrangling my kids, I finally gathered the energy to tidy up. I was on my hands and knees, picking up an array of colorful toys, when my son promptly undid all my hard work. I felt a shift within me.
“Did you notice how much effort I put into cleaning?” I asked.
“Yes, Mommy, but Mickey Mouse!” he replied, glued to the TV screen. He wasn’t even paying attention.
I decided to turn off the television and instructed him to pick up his toys. His tantrum ensued, but I let him wallow until he was ready to move on. I realized that allowing my children to experience disappointment is essential—it’s not my job to shield them from every letdown.
To raise sons who won’t discard me for failing to meet their expectations, I must teach them to be comfortable with their own disappointment. I’ve come to understand that it’s crucial to prioritize my humanity and let them navigate their feelings. In a society where men often feel entitled to women’s time and labor, it’s vital to instill in them a sense of empathy and self-reliance. This might necessitate a little disappointment on their part.
It’s important to say “not now” when my son wants to stop by the park. It’s time to stop apologizing to men for asserting my boundaries. I need to let go of the worry that arises when Sam sighs or when my children throw tantrums. If I want to truly reside comfortably in my own life, I must learn to disregard the disappointment of others. Not doing so leads to a chronic sense of disappointment in myself.
I’m learning to prioritize my needs, regardless of the impact on others. Because ultimately, the only power that cannot be taken away is the power over myself. And if that makes me unlikable, so be it. Black women often face disapproval when we prioritize our own needs, but if that’s what it takes to assert my right to exist, then I will embrace it proudly, leaving disappointed men in my wake.
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In summary, it’s crucial to confront the ingrained fears of disappointing men and prioritize self-empowerment. Embracing personal needs leads to healthier relationships and the ability to navigate disappointment, both for ourselves and for those around us.
Keyphrase: Refusing to Disappoint Men
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