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Mother, may I?

by fancypants, September 4, 2013

permissionI had an interesting conversation the other night about how, as women, we make ourselves ask permission for things and we become resentful because our husbands don’t.

Please understand that I truly have the most supportive husband in the entire world. Known fact. Didn’t bat an eye when I asked if I could go surfing in El Salvador in December. Didn’t even flinch when I asked if I could leave him with three kids for a week to go and sing vocal harmonies with Bobby McFerrin at an upstate NYC hippie resort. And the time I left him with same said kids to go to South Africa for ten days. Twice.

But do you see the catch? I asked. I asked for permission. I asked if it was ok. Sure, it’s the polite thing to do. But I do believe that we ladies feel the need to get this permission. My husband and I run the same business but I wouldn’t be surprised if he told me he was going somewhere without asking. And the group of moms I was chatting to, some working, some stay-at-home, all agreed that they do the same thing. And sometimes even don’t allow themselves the liberties they like their husbands to have.

So today I booked a one day trip to a conference, and I didn’t ask. I put on my big girl panties and registered and even booked my flight without anyone holding my hand. And it felt weird. And good. And weird. Like I was doing something behind someone’s back. And when I was all booked, I went and told my husband that I had booked a trip next week, and he said, “Oh, that sounds like a good thing to go to. Good idea.” Simple as that.