I think a lot about what it meant to grow up idealizing my future husband. Recently, I sat with a friend and we spoke about how similar our childhoods were. We are both women and grew up conservative christian; on top of that we are also pastor’s kids. The list of things we both began to recall about “nuestro futuro esposo,” felt too familiar, too achingly familiar.
The list of this future husband went something like this…
Un hombre de Dios.
Hijo de pastores.
Virgen, that he waited for me as I waited for him.
Que no venga de una famlia con padres divorciados.
I was supposed to aspire to be his ayuda y donia. Mi mami would tell me, with such hope in her eyes that she prayed for him, desde el dia que yo nací.
Imagine growing up, being told your aspirations and your family’s aspirations relied on your marriage to an hombre de valor, un hombre de Dios. I even went to conferences, where I prompted to list what I wanted in a man and was encouraged to pray for this imaginary man. I could not exist without someone jamming matrimony down my throat.
The more I think about that, the more I am angry that I was not even allowed to leave my parent’s house on my own. I was only allowed to leave unless I had a husband who would take care of me.
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