The Woman, The Martyr… Why is it so complicated?
Identifying as a woman is complicated.
I feel like an unwilling womanly martyr. There are so many things expected of us, whether or not we’re ready for them. These expectations come with no manual, no how to do this and keep your sanity, but what is sanity anyway?
Confession: Half the week, I feel like I’m drowning without a paddle. Yet as a woman, it feels like I’m not allowed to feel this way. There are too many things to do. Even the diaspora of being a woman means that you fit into at least one of the categories below. Either you’re a sister and want to empower and support another female in your life. You’re a daughter who wants to connect with your mother but may be critical of her. You might be a mom who consistently has lived by the motto of dying to self to serve your child or children. Then you’re a woman in the workforce, fighting against the stereotypes, unfair treatment, and wage struggles that still affect us today.
Before digging in, let’s start at the beginning. Merriam-Webster defines a martyr as someone who either A. voluntarily suffers death as the penalty of witnessing to and refusing to renounce religion
B. a person who sacrifices something of great value and especially life itself, for the sake of principles, or
C. a victim, especially a great or constant sufferer.
It feels that we automatically fall into the B and C definition as a woman. We sacrifice the value of caring for ourselves to serve the more significant cause of caring for others. When we prioritize ourselves and our wishes, we’re called out of our names in a flat-out derogatory manner that makes us feel less than. It’s not ok.
The Daughterly Martyr
Specific phrases haunt my dreams as a woman and catching yourself saying one of them becomes a new kind of nightmare. For example, this phrase, “act like a lady.” What even is that? I’m female, therefore, I’m a lady, but this term is grooming young women that there is an expectation of them as girls. Sit like this, behave this way, don’t talk too loud, have manners, the list goes on for an eternity. They are passed down from generation to generation as a manual to live by. Girls cook, clean, and tend to the household; you want to work? Have a career? That’s awesome, but it doesn’t absolve you from the duties of “being a woman.” It just means you get to do both.
Our mothers are the beginning of all this. Teaching us beyond the skills, we learn at school. Sometimes in how they treat us, they try to instill things. Let me make this abundantly clear; I’m not bashing moms; I’m not bashing my mom; after all, I am one, but I’m saying break the system. Be whoever the heck you want to be.
Then there’s the arena of mothers aging. It’s not the sons but the daughters that are expected to care for their parents when they reach a certain age. The maternal gene that we have been groomed for is passed on. This comes with many responsibilities that added onto an already entire life. Regardless of what you have going on, you’re now expected to coordinate another life, or set of lives, alongside yours. To say it’s a lot is an understatement. On a personal level, we’ve been discussing this as a family lately, and it’s refreshing to think, at some level, my mom has stopped me and instead said, HEY, I’m going to figure this out for myself. It eliminates the social normality it has become and takes control of the situation.
The Sisterly Martyr
Sisters are mini versions of us. They represent the strong, powerful women we want to fill the world. I strongly feel that sisters teach us more about ourselves than our mothers do. Depending on who you talk to, they can either be your biggest cheerleader or the most significant source of frustration. Either way, sisters impact the martyr mentality we walk through life carrying. The thing is, it puts pressure on them. I want to do better than my sister, or I’m expected to do as well as my sister. We feel that on both sides as women. What was supposed to be someone we shared the downturns of life with becomes a competition. The cycle carries, and relationships shift.
Even Googling the term my sister’s keeper, there are thousands of results, some in support of sisters, some discussing the trials of sisterhood. One by Ruth Spacht caught my attention with one line. “Am I my sister’s keeper? I had better be.” After that, all I could think of was, well, dang, new pressure. The charges against your sanity mount with each title, only to turn into the next one.
The Motherly Martyr
As moms, we’re expected to tend to the house and take care of the kids and your spouse if you are married/have a significant other. OH, and be there for all of both sides’ family events. It’s a lot. It’s always a lot. When you don’t subscribe to the hamster wheel, it’s either something is wrong with you, you feel like a bad mom, or you’re reminded of what you didn’t do.
A brilliant example of this is a scene where in 2011, Sarah Jessica Parker in I Don’t know how she does it, buys store-bought pie and “distresses” it to make it look homemade. Do I blame her? No. Every mom has some story about how the PTA, school teacher, middle-of-the-year party, or my worst enemy spirit week got under their skin. It’s one more thing to figure out. One more thing will somehow plague the little soul you love throughout the school year if YOU don’t take care of it.
Then there are social media accounts.
Now I’m on social media, true story, but these women who are walking around in heels, post multiple times a day, with beautiful homes, and are a stay at home moms drive me bonkers, yet I follow them hoping for some tip of what I could be doing better. Toxic, I know, but I can’t look away. Then they have captions of, well, I have bad days too or don’t be afraid to post unfiltered; let the imperfections show. Then when I see the photos, it just hurts me more, like, um, how? Nothing about them looks like my unfiltered life. Yes, everyone’s life is different, but it raises that expectation level to a point where those of us who can’t suffer just a little more as a result of just looking.
Women as Martyr’s in the Workforce
Where do we see the women in the workforce? She is still in the secretarial position that cares for the office. Think about it. The school secretary likely is a she; it’s a shock to have male teachers who DON’T teach math or gym. She is also not the first thought we have when thinking of whose running a Fortune 500 company, and when she is, it becomes about what she sacrificed to get there. Men don’t have these problems. They don’t exist because we EXPECT them to succeed in the box we put them in—the box with one hat. You know, provide for the woman running your whole life, and because it’s the 21st century, likely working to provide for the household as well.
Even looking at what Stay at home moms do or women who work two jobs and participate in various MLMs or side hustles. I’m not here to say what is right or wrong in that space, not the topic, but how much mental capacity does it take to intertwine making money with social aspects?
Why do we do this?
We want to help the household; we feel the need to measure some worth caused by the weight of expectation, sacrificing our ability to relax in the process. Women are always doing. We are ALWAYS working. So much of who we define ourselves as is wrapped up in the titles we carry. Not the person on the inside.
What the reality of a womanly martyr is
The reality is that the litany of expectations we have of ourselves and those imposed on us run deep. When you meet a female teacher or boss, do you assume they are friendly, nurturing, and ready to soothe the troubles? And when they don’t, do you believe that they are a rude list of bad words? Would you think the same if they were a man? Probably not. We don’t have that expectation of men. Women are supposed to take care of everything and sacrifice for the greater good. It’s not fair, but female martyrdom is engrained in our society more than it should be. It’s become the norm.
How to deal with the day, or trigger words
Don’t let anyone tell you that you should.
What you should or should not do is entirely up to you.
Don’t feel guilty.
The kid ate PB and J two nights in a row. Want to make it a whole week? Please do it. Feel like YOU WANT to change it, do that. But don’t feel guilty about it. This takes time, and I need to practice what I preach because my guilt seems insurmountable. Sometimes, it’s hard to even talk about the day with people I love and trust because I feel like I’m always doing something wrong.
The truth is, from me to you and back to myself, good enough is perfect.
I’m no expert, but.
This whole phrase is utter crap. You know about it. You’ve looked at it, and researched it. DONE IT; you’re the expert. So don’t sell yourself short. Don’t go into that pit of well, I just. You are just incredible, and you know a lot of things. So that makes you an expert—the end.
The end of the expectations of feeling like a martyr is standing up and saying I am me. I have a voice about these things and can opt out of what is being put on me.
It’s hard, but also, it’s the truth.
