"The Wife I Choose To Be" | Love Musings

My mother once told me, “Darling, your friends may not understand your devotion to your husband.”

I smiled gently, the kind of smile that carries both certainty and softness. “My marriage is my own, Mother. I will not allow anyone to meddle in it.”

She sighed the way mothers do when they believe the world has changed too much, when they fear their daughters are stepping into a world that no longer honors the traditions, she held close, that the man is the head, not the liberated woman claiming that place for herself.

“I am his unwavering helpmate,” I said softly.

She studied me for a long moment, her eyes tracing my face as if searching for the girl I once was and the woman I had become.

“A man should guide his household,” she said.

“Yes, Mother. My husband will lead with strength and prayer. I will honor him with care and affection.”

Her voice lowered, touched by caution. “Do you truly understand the depth of a wife’s responsibility?”

“I do,” I answered. “I will be kind, passionate, loyal, and encouraging.”

She tilted her head, surprised by the confidence in my tone. “If your devotion is true,” she said, “he will see your love and respond in kind.”

“Mother, I will let my love speak through my every action, through the way I greet him at the door (what my mother doesn’t know is that I’ll be in sexy lingerie, beautiful outfits, and high heels every day), through the calm I offer when his spirit is unsettled, through the tenderness I give even when the world has worn him thin.”

“But Mother, I don’t want him to control everything, making choices for me as if my mind is secondary to his. I must have my own thought process, not him believing I should think his way all the time.”

“He should not belittle me with the lashing of his tongue. If he does, I will view him as a little man, a weak man who wounds a woman with his language because he lacks confidence.”

“We are to lift one another up, not verbally abuse one another.”

“I would hope that my husband supports me, praises me, and never places conditions on the love I freely give him.”

She nodded, finally satisfied, though a hint of worry still lingered in her eyes.

“Consistency, my dear, will strengthen his love for you.”

I reached for her hand, wanting her to feel the steadiness in mine.

“Mother, I embrace my role completely, an unwavering partner, committed in heart and soul.”

She touched my hand in return, her thumb brushing over my knuckles the way she used to when I was a child. “Then remain true to yourself, and to him.”

For a moment, silence settled between us, warm, reflective, almost sacred.

And as I walked away, her voice followed me like a blessing: “Love him well, darling, and let him love you just as deeply.”
 
I paused, then added under my breath, "Mother, he better not act ugly, because if he does, he’ll meet my ugly side, and it ain’t soft, and it sure ain’t delicate. I’ll pack my bags, take the kids, take the dog, take the Wi‑Fi password, and leave him standing there confused, but we ain’t talking about me, are we."

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(Copyright © 2026 by Mia Z. Edwards. All rights reserved.)