There’s no hiding in heels. No quietly passing by. There’s only that echoing click clack and it’s all you can do to just hold your head up high because you know that everyone is looking at you as you walk by.
(And they think “She means business.” or “What a Bitch.” mainly due to the mean look on your face because the heels are making your poor feet bleed. but no one else knows that.)
And here’s the thing. I’m wearing heels. I’m wearing heels and only part of me is happy about it. Because growing up, I had all these lofty dreams and goals. I wanted to travel the world, to become a successful carreer woman, to be an artist and a bum and the president. But you know what? I never wanted to be a wife. There, I said it. I thought that maybe it would be something that would happen along the way, after I’d been backpacking through 17 different countries and eaten a different type of food at each. After I had been CEO of my own company and after I had made enough money to buy MYSELF a house and get my PhD. And I thought maybe I’d meet someone in my 30’s or 40’s or even sometime else, and maybe we’d get married. and maybe, just maybe, life would include a kid or two. But that wasn’t the important part. It wasn’t the part that I had dreams about and wrote in my journal about.
And at 25, I’m in heels. At a quite decent job. And yes, I’ve been to enough countries to count on both hands. I have a degree from a top school. But right here, right now, this isn’t what makes me happy.
It’s him. HE makes me happy. Because along with being a professional, I’m a wife. And that word makes my head explode and my brain melt out of my ears. Because it *wasn’t part of the plan.* And if you know me, you know I am a PLANNER. I can’t help it. I must organize everything. always.
And being a wife is something that is new and scary and beautiful and sometimes makes me want to cry. In every way. It’s something I can say I never really looked *down on* – but I just never looked at it at all. It was an afterthought. One that was shrugged away with ease. But now I find that I’m a wife. I want a family, and I want children. and I want things for myself now the way I wanted them before – but I want them for him too. with him. because it’s not about my life and my travels and my dreams and goals. it’s ours.
And I’m wearing heels. I’m wearing heels at my professional job that I might not be super excited about. And I’m wearing heels to impress people and make them say “she’s in charge.” And I click clack down the hallway and hold my head up high not because I am a CEO or a world traveler or great at my trade. I do it because I’m part of something so much more – a marriage – and I’m proud.
And the younger me, who is still in my head and makes things melt when the word ‘wife’ is used, the younger me is looking at me walk down the hallway, and thinking “what a bitch.”