Feminism, Partners, and Relationships

So...my doctoral student relationship with Mr. just became an ABD relationship. Complete with complaints about uncertain job locations, long distance & long term travel, ambiguous time to degree timetables...the works. The results are not pretty.

The details, of course, are NUNYA. (For all the allies out there, NUNYA = None of Your Business)

Still, as I sat at my computer at almost 1 a.m., frustrated after another pointless conversation on African Diaspora, Ph.D. romance logistics, and tried to figure out who to call to purge, I realized I had a more interesting problem.

Who do I--radical woman of color aspiring academic in a long-term heterosexual relationship with a man of color--talk to about these things?

Let's break down the politics of identity and love for those unfamiliar.

I am Puerto Rican and black. Mr. is black. Which means I at least want to discuss this with someone else of color.

I am female. Which means, for the most, talking to dudes about the problems are out of the question. For the most part. (But we will put this on reserve)

I am in a long term relationship. Which means, I don't want to complain to many of my single friends who so often turn my cathartic scream fest into a session of Romance Olympics ("Oh, but at least you are with someone!", "I would love to be able to complain about a fight with my boyfriend", etc.). I also don't want to complain to those in my life who are so fiercely independent that they are anti- relationships, period. I am in this because I am happy and it works for me. And I want to build it, not automatically assume that a fight between us is the End. And even if it is I don't want to celebrate that.

I am a rwoc who is ambivalent about marriage (yes, the two are tied for me). Which means, I don't really want to complain to my married friends, many of whom are very invested in ideas of subservience and honor that are repugnant to me. Ideas like I should "work with him" or that I should be the one to meet him where he is, that I need to be able to bend, that "men are just like that," or I shouldn't have made him so mad, or I should see it from his side. Excuse me, vomit in my mouth. I can promise that very few of his male friends are telling him the same thing, bump whatever the Bible or the preacher said about love, honor and obey. And there is often an underlying dig in these conversations about how I am still unmarried (which somehow makes my relationship "unofficial" for them), which then leads to the complaint that I'm just a shrill, single female (which has its own underlying dig that "well, that's why you got in the fight in the first place--too independent")

I am a graduate student in a Ph.D. program. Which means I am facing relationship problems particular to those pursuing or part of the professoriate (and those in similar or related professions). I am a nomad. My job prospects are multiplicate and yet dependent on the call for applications. I could as easily end up in Omaha, Nebraska as New York City. My prospects change whether or not I get tenure--and whether I want to make that my home department or not. And there is no one-stop African diaspora archive or repository. Which means to even secure a decent job and/or tenure, I need to travel. For long periods of time. To far away places. (Hence the fight with Mr.) Even if I wanted to--ha!--I actually can't cook, clean house, do laundry, keep the light burning in a way that most hetero men seem to expect out of their significant others because most of my time will be spent researching, writing, thinking, planning seminars/syllabi, etc.

I am also young but not that young. Mid-20s is about the time when I am ready to stop being flagrant and be happy with one person for awhile. It is also about the time that all the images and ideas of society--that I'm getting old, fat, ugly, uncompetitive; that there are only so many "Do Right Black Men," that I'd better grab him and hang on to him no matter what right now or else he'll get on and leave my ass for a white girl--are starting to actually nibble at my consciousness. I can feel myself entering the period of my life where I have to actively resist these damaging representations. I do. And I hope to always do so. But not all 20-somethings are where I am at--more power to them--are ready to have a conversation about my fears and struggle with these images the same way I am.

So...

That's a lot to keep in play at any one time.

Who do you run to? Who do you call? Who gets you, all of you? Despite the identity soup I just cooked above, I still have a few people I can depend on. They mean the world to me. Who, in this context, means the world to you?

But this is also a cautionary tale. Do you fall into any of the above categories? If so, stop doing this stuff!

Sorry, not the point I wanted to make.

This is the point I want to make. As women--whether you are a rwoc or an ally, a lover of men, women, both, or pan--we need to do a better job of coming together and supporting each other in our relationships in a way that centers our mental and physical health as women. Instead of in a way that bolsters institutions (church, marriage) or the other partner (esp. when they are men of color) or that becomes a self-reflective pity party. Maybe this means doing a better job of separating our romantic relationships from our self-identity so that we can stand, empowered, on our own two feet and offer someone else the same faith, confidence, and strength. Maybe it means becoming more intuitive and responsive to what the myriad women in our lives need at their particular stage--catching them where they are, respecting all their sides, and being open.

Or maybe I just need better friends.