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When women rage



When women rage

I was watching the late night news recently when a woman was arraigned in court for allegedly killing her husband. She had her face covered like most people would do to avoid the camera especially if they are in the eye of the public for the wrong reasons.

Social media is awash with stories of women who are so enraged they are lashing out on the culprits – the men in their lives! Some are having their heads chopped off; others their manhood, depending on the degree of sin committed and the level of rage of the woman.

What would make a sweet, gentle, beautiful young woman, the weaker sex as we are called turn into a monster capable of taking the life of someone so dear?
Reasons are not farfetched, there are always issues- in the home, personal life, marital and relationships issues which sometimes become overwhelming when blown a bit out of proportion or not promptly dealt with, spiraling into the unimaginable. Life is never easy, true, not for a woman. Here’s an account of a typical day of an average woman.…

“Last week, I was woken at 2am by the unmistakable sound of vomiting. For a foolish split second, I waited to see if my husband, would get up and see to our three-year-old daughter.

I’d been on my feet for 18 hours straight the previous day, giving a major presentation to one of my advertising company’s most important clients. I hadn’t got home until 10pm and was exhausted. I craved sleep the way an addict longs for his next fix.

Still racked with guilt for not being there, I chastised myself for minding about her waking me and stumbled into the nursery, where I discovered she’d thrown up, in spectacular fashion, all over her cot. I cleaned her up, stripped and changed the sheets and put her back to bed.

An hour later, she was sick again. This time, I brought her into our bed. She threw up for a third time at 5am.
But while I stripped beds again, wiped up more vomit and carted another armful of sheets to the washing machine, my husband collapsed on the sofa and promptly went back to sleep.

Seething, I stalked into the kitchen and pulled some beef from the freezer. I might as well start preparing that night’s dinner; I was too wide awake to go back to bed. I wouldn’t have time to make anything that evening.

My mobile rang. It wasn’t even light outside, but the Asian office was halfway through its business day. I was tempted to fling the phone in the washing machine with the sheets, but I can’t afford to lose my job. My husband and I need two salaries just to keep a roof over our heads.

No wonder I’m filled with a permanent nebulous, undirected rage that my life has become a Gordian knot of obligations, responsibilities, guilt, duties and expectations.
I can’t even go for a walk in the park without factoring in the needs of half a dozen people.

I resent that every second of my day is owned by someone else.
Yes, I’m angry. I’m angry with a world that still doesn’t acknowledge how hard women work, in and out of the workplace. I’m angry with men for dumping the childrearing problem in our laps.

I’m angry with women for refusing to admit it’s too much, that we can’t do everything all the time.
I never have a moment that’s just mine. Someone always wants a piece of me.
Am I angry? You haven’t heard anything yet.”

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