Hardships of Being a Woman, Independent or Not

     Okay, here goes another blog about staying out of abusive relationships, easier said, than done.  Define abuse, so many kinds.
     I have been on my own a long time, but I have adult sons, sometimes both living home, sometimes just one.  I really do not mind.  The house is a bit small, and I have felt guilty that it was all I could afford, because there is only one bathroom, and one kid has always had to sleep on a futon in the living room, no matter what, if one was still in school, he got the bedroom.  If one was away, and the other not, the one there got the bedroom.  Our place is a two bedroom.  I wish it had three bedrooms, and two bathrooms.  Then life would be perfect.  But, it is good to have gratitude for what one has.
     I am a real neat freak, like everything clean and put away.  I am also legally blind, and if things are out of place, I can trip on them.  I banged the hell out of my leg when a friend, staying with me, left a stool out of place, and I did not see it, completely fell over it, and busted my leg open.
     My kids are good about cooking, washing dishes, wiping down the kitchen.  Ted is pretty good about sweeping and taking out the trash and vacuuming when asked, and does his own laundry.
     They are both good about keeping their designated areas neat and tidy.  The futon serves as a day bed during the day, with colorful Indian spread and pillows.
     I wish I could have afforded a bigger place, but I got a great deal on this one, which I bought several years ago.
     Many years ago, I lived with a guy who did not work, and was a musician, but not an employed one ever.  I worked, payed the bills and did the cooking, shopping and cleaning of the kitchen.  He made coffee in the morning, and washed his own clothes by hand, kind of eccentric, I suppose, and yelled in an 'Aussi' accent to my kids, "did you wash your hands?", each and every time they came out of the bathroom.  But, I will spare you the bitch session I could do.
     When we went out to eat, which was often then, now never, once a month perhaps, I always ended up taking out my credit card. We used to go to this Mexican place, owned by a family from Guadalajara.  The father, the matradi, a really nice fellow who often sat down with us, looked at him one day, when I did so, and said, "this is abuse."
     Of course my ex got extremely defensive, because it was true, but I was allowing myself to be abused, so now I can only blame myself and my naivety, and move on.  I am not my story, anyway.
     The world is very sexist.  If an older woman goes out with a younger man, they call her a cougar, but when the sexes are reversed, it's good for him, go you.  On the other hand, she is called a predator.
     If a guy punches another guy over a woman, he is fighting for her honor with valor. If she slaps a woman over a guy, she is a bitch, according to everyone.  For the record, I once slapped a girl over a guy, and my father condoned it, but that is another story, and a million years ago.  
     When women get in abusive relationships, it is hard to leave, even in situations like the women in Ohio, where they have been abducted and imprisoned.  I mean, he would have killed them, and I really mean especially in situations of imprisonment and kidnapping like that.  Sometimes it is too dangerous or impossible to leave.  Still, whether it be a relationship or an imprisonment, or hostage situation, stockholm syndrome plays a key role.  Stockholm syndrome is when a hostage begins to be brainwashed, and even identify with the person or persons holding them.  They are at the same time fearful of that person, and have become dis-empowered by them completely, and beaten down.  That is what happens in battered women syndrome, as well, stockholm sydrome.
     That black guy, "eatin' his McDonald's" had to break a door down.  He was a true folk hero.  
     Well, that's all folks.