A Change Of Direction (Traditional Marriages & Domestic Discipline)

On Friday, I was introduced to this interesting read by my dear friend, Bill, from Rope & Roses. This article was interesting for me, and resonates quite strongly with many of my thoughts on my role in life: The role of a traditional wife.

Before I started dating my Ten Shades, I was very clear with him that I was a very traditional person, with traditional ideas of what a woman’s role was in the home. Even if I wasn’t against women going out and working, I believed that a man was the head of the household, and a woman should look after the home. Fortunately, his thoughts and ideals largely mirrored my own.

Later on, I had started to pursue a career. Of course, I had been through school and college and I was more or less told that a job was the next phase for me, so I went out and sought employment. Because of my disabilities, I immediately fell under the wing of Remploy, a disabled persons employment agency. Even if my conditions aren’t much, just having them on board meant that I was hopefully able to find employment that was more sympathetic and lenient towards my capabilities.

Unfortunately, finding any such manager proved impossible, and owing to my lack of physical need and somewhat above average intelligence (the last time I checked, my IQ was around 127), finding me work in which I’d be stimulated, rewarded and accepted seemed monumentally challenging, if not impossible. I was later unjustifiably awarded the title of “awkward candidate”, while sat within striking range of such an inconsiderate imbecile.

“Fuck it,” I said as I stormed out of the office, “I’ll just become a housewife. If I can’t do anything, I’ll just have to make a man happy”. I wasn’t proud of my decision. It was one of resignation, defeat. I couldn’t find a job, but I could clean and keep a home.

For our so far 8 years of living together, I have always had the responsibility of maintaining our home while Wolfie works. Sometimes, I bemoan it and yet other times I love it. When the lounge looks clean and tidy and I have dinner on the table, what is not to love about that?

For us, we are not ‘traditional’ in the same sense as depicted in the article by the #tradwife movement. I wear jeans and t-shirts not dresses for a start, and my husband does not mind that I am not made up every day, as long as I’m washed and presentable. The rules I follow are his and our own, for example:

  • Be washed, dressed cleanly and presentable
  • Mind your language
  • Be kind and polite to others
  • Remember your manners
  • Be feminine and modest in your behaviour
  • Maintain the home, and running order of it
  • Look after your body and mind

And these are all rules that I live by, and find easy enough to live with. Why? Because they please my husband, and seeing him smile is so worth it. Every alternate Monday, without fail, I make him his favourite bacon-wrapped pesto chicken. On a Tuesday in winter months, I make a beef stew and ordered a cremé brûleé torch a few days ago so that I could make his much loved cremé brûleé. I listen carefully to what my husband wants and I am attentive to his needs.

It all sounds very submissive and like I have no personality, and yet, part of being submissive to my husband is remembering what drew him to me. As well as wanting to please him, I was witty, competitive and stubborn, and he loves this about me. I will happily play him at chess or pool and I will willingly tease and flirt with him if he wishes. Even if my behaviour doesn’t appear submissive or respectful, I am submissive to him because he wants that behaviour from me.

The way I dress is carefully refleected in my submission to my husband, too. Before him, I wore a lot of black. I was heavily embedded in the Goth culture (I still am, in many ways) with some leanings towards the emo scene, too. Over time, he has enouraged me towards navy blue, and lo and behold, he unleashed a femininity that I never knew existed, a feminine woman inside that I never knew I had. My husband wanted to see me in thongs, and I rushed out to buy them. Goodbye to my old, Bridget Jones-style full briefs, and hello to lace thongs. Uncomfortable during a busy day, yes, but you know what? I’m learning. Moreover, that discomfort reminds me of why I do what I do, and it is such a turn on.

My greatest fear with entering any kind of domestic discipline dynamic is.. well.. discipline. On the one hand, I want it, I crave it and I need it with him, and on the other, it terrifies me to lose too much of my autonomy. While I need guidance to keep me from distraction, it feels unjust that I be punished on what is a genuinely stressful and chaotic day. Fortunately, I believe that if this were to happen, then my husband is fairly lenient in such circumstances that he wouldn’t punish me, maybe.

Spanking has always been something I’ve loved. Ever since an over-the-knee spanking from an ex, I was a changed woman. It was the untimely end of our relationship and I was fussy and sad. Hauling me over his knee, he allowed his hand to connect with my bottom as the tears fell. At first, I squirmed and tried to resist him, but then I fell into something else. A calm, rhythmic inner peace, and wanton arousal. Even with my Ten Shades, they are surprisingly quite delicious. I want this.

I’ve always avoided “strict Doms” and “maintenance spankings”. For me, they instill fear and take away my personality. I have no desire to be conditioned or changed from what I am to what I could be. Even if I have (or have had) one or two behaviours in the past which my husband has asked me not to repeat, I am still largely free to be me. Even though he considers himself my Dominant, I am his wife first and his submissive second. He has no need or desire to micromanage me. At least, perhaps not for more than an evening.

All of this sounds very backwards from the modern day woman, and yet, this is merely how I choose to live inside my home. I neither consider myself a “Tradwife” nor a modern woman. I am a housewife and a dog mom, who also happens to run a blog between times. I’ve won more than my fair share od arguments in the meeting room. Submissive to one man doesn’t make me submissive to all.

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