The Well
by Kim Blue
“Never name the well from which you will not drink*,” warns Marion Zimmer Bradley in her classic book, The Mists of Avalon. Never proclaim you won’t ever do some thing, at all or in part, because fate has an uncanny way of bringing you to your luck - good or bad. The well has a way of finding you.
For me, marriage has been that well. For 16 years, my male partner and I have righteously and conscientiously avoided getting legally married. Appalled that a relationship must be approved by the state in order to be legally recognized and valid, no matter the wishes of the individuals; appalled that only men and women may legally marry; appalled that marriage as we know it now has historically been a means to control children, women and women’s property; appalled that the history of marriage as we know it has meant untold suffering for so many; appalled that most everyone we know and have met believes marriage is the only way two people may commit to each other; appalled that so many women marry and change their names because of convention and tradition and so as to not make waves with their husbands and their husband’s family, and that the men support and/or expect this with no change of name in return; appalled that marriage has evolved into a shorthand way to express real relationship, real commitment, real love; appalled that marriage is assumed by most to be a religious convention only; appalled at all these things, including the principle of the thing, we have avoided marriage and all its trappings.
Until now.
Several months ago we found ourselves soon-to-be property owners. For many years we have discussed contracting a family lawyer in order to guarantee all those rights automatically ensured by a $70 marriage application fee and some signatures. And we have bemoaned our lack of rights and fear of family intervention with our children during times of possible crisis because we are not legally married. Our relationship has been tolerated and supported and now loved (though I hesitate to say accepted as right) by my family; my partner’s family is a different story altogether.
Civil rights.
Property rights.
Legal rights.
Financial benefits.
The benefits of legal marriage in this country have finally surpassed our political and ethical values. It has become that well from which we must drink.
I would love to say that we have just gotten over it and are going right ahead and getting married and that’s that. But we - perhaps more so for myself - carry a lot of anger about feeling coerced by societal convention into a contract we don’t personally need in order to feel loved and full and whole, which, of course, is what we really care about most. And carrying these feelings around will in time not only wear me out, but feel really ugly, being unable to find the joy in doing something that protects my family, something that we are doing out of love [for our children and each other’s welfare] and foresight [think social security death benefits]. So in looking for the joy I found that it would feel OK to throw a big party and invite all our friends and family and make a bonfire and work a little love into our lives over something that is really only a piece of paper and a right-handed handshake, an oath of faith in our ability to provide something important to our children and ourselves despite its otherwise ugly and oppressive social and legal trappings.
My parents are thrilled.
My 6 year old daughter wanted to know if I would still love her. If I would have any time for her after the wedding since my partner and I would, in her mind, be spending more time with each other now that we were getting married. If I was going to change my name.
My current friends are a little surprised that I felt so strongly about not getting married. They are all married.
My oldest [unmarried] friends don’t know yet.
It’s scary telling people that we’re getting married. Who am I now that I’ve lovingly and intentionally changed my mind? I found that when I told people about our getting married, I wanted them to comfort me, to say “Kim, I’m so sorry you have to do this, what a drag. But hey, at least you get to have a big party! I’ll be there!” Instead friends and acquaintances say, “Congratulations!” because that’s what you say to someone who is getting married. That’s what I say, anyway.
So we’re busy with the details of a big party out here on our rented land - food, music, parking, etc. It’s nuts how much work it is to plan a big party, but it’s exciting too. We’re looking for a goddess of bureaucracy or contracts, maybe Fides, to put on our party altar with some flowers and other things. We’re thinking of fun things for the kids to do. We’re thinking about how my elderly and sick parents will be able to make it here and be relatively comfortable. The fire. Toilets. Beer. Ritual. Fun. How to enjoy it all and feel the love without alienating everyone with my cranky criticism of everything.
We are fortunate to live in a state where couples may officiate their own weddings. So we are marrying ourselves, and throwing a big party to celebrate our courageousness. Because if doing something you’ve personally reviled for so many years, accepting it as necessary, and celebrating after the fact doesn’t show courage, what does it show? I’m not willing to accept any other interpretation.
From my new perspective of personal strength and courage, I remind myself that in Europe marriage was always and primarily a pagan ritual and civil contract before the Christian Church reluctantly decided to make marriage a sacrament in the 1500s. I remind myself that even though the laws of legal marriage and the marriage traditions of most religions exist to control women and women’s property, I don’t have a partner who’s interested in that, who in fact works hard to demolish societal attitudes and conventions that support and create male-dominated power, who loves me and our children and the world fiercely, and with fierce joy. And I remind myself that just because those who are glad we’re finally doing the “right” thing [for them], we are still ourselves, thinking, questioning, sad and happy at our great fortune. I think, may we always be so lucky.
*quote is from memory, but it’s pretty darned close.
“Never name the well from which you will not drink*,” warns Marion Zimmer Bradley in her classic book, The Mists of Avalon. Never proclaim you won’t ever do some thing, at all or in part, because fate has an uncanny way of bringing you to your luck - good or bad. The well has a way of finding you.
For me, marriage has been that well. For 16 years, my male partner and I have righteously and conscientiously avoided getting legally married. Appalled that a relationship must be approved by the state in order to be legally recognized and valid, no matter the wishes of the individuals; appalled that only men and women may legally marry; appalled that marriage as we know it now has historically been a means to control children, women and women’s property; appalled that the history of marriage as we know it has meant untold suffering for so many; appalled that most everyone we know and have met believes marriage is the only way two people may commit to each other; appalled that so many women marry and change their names because of convention and tradition and so as to not make waves with their husbands and their husband’s family, and that the men support and/or expect this with no change of name in return; appalled that marriage has evolved into a shorthand way to express real relationship, real commitment, real love; appalled that marriage is assumed by most to be a religious convention only; appalled at all these things, including the principle of the thing, we have avoided marriage and all its trappings.
Until now.
Several months ago we found ourselves soon-to-be property owners. For many years we have discussed contracting a family lawyer in order to guarantee all those rights automatically ensured by a $70 marriage application fee and some signatures. And we have bemoaned our lack of rights and fear of family intervention with our children during times of possible crisis because we are not legally married. Our relationship has been tolerated and supported and now loved (though I hesitate to say accepted as right) by my family; my partner’s family is a different story altogether.
Civil rights.
Property rights.
Legal rights.
Financial benefits.
The benefits of legal marriage in this country have finally surpassed our political and ethical values. It has become that well from which we must drink.
I would love to say that we have just gotten over it and are going right ahead and getting married and that’s that. But we - perhaps more so for myself - carry a lot of anger about feeling coerced by societal convention into a contract we don’t personally need in order to feel loved and full and whole, which, of course, is what we really care about most. And carrying these feelings around will in time not only wear me out, but feel really ugly, being unable to find the joy in doing something that protects my family, something that we are doing out of love [for our children and each other’s welfare] and foresight [think social security death benefits]. So in looking for the joy I found that it would feel OK to throw a big party and invite all our friends and family and make a bonfire and work a little love into our lives over something that is really only a piece of paper and a right-handed handshake, an oath of faith in our ability to provide something important to our children and ourselves despite its otherwise ugly and oppressive social and legal trappings.
My parents are thrilled.
My 6 year old daughter wanted to know if I would still love her. If I would have any time for her after the wedding since my partner and I would, in her mind, be spending more time with each other now that we were getting married. If I was going to change my name.
My current friends are a little surprised that I felt so strongly about not getting married. They are all married.
My oldest [unmarried] friends don’t know yet.
It’s scary telling people that we’re getting married. Who am I now that I’ve lovingly and intentionally changed my mind? I found that when I told people about our getting married, I wanted them to comfort me, to say “Kim, I’m so sorry you have to do this, what a drag. But hey, at least you get to have a big party! I’ll be there!” Instead friends and acquaintances say, “Congratulations!” because that’s what you say to someone who is getting married. That’s what I say, anyway.
So we’re busy with the details of a big party out here on our rented land - food, music, parking, etc. It’s nuts how much work it is to plan a big party, but it’s exciting too. We’re looking for a goddess of bureaucracy or contracts, maybe Fides, to put on our party altar with some flowers and other things. We’re thinking of fun things for the kids to do. We’re thinking about how my elderly and sick parents will be able to make it here and be relatively comfortable. The fire. Toilets. Beer. Ritual. Fun. How to enjoy it all and feel the love without alienating everyone with my cranky criticism of everything.
We are fortunate to live in a state where couples may officiate their own weddings. So we are marrying ourselves, and throwing a big party to celebrate our courageousness. Because if doing something you’ve personally reviled for so many years, accepting it as necessary, and celebrating after the fact doesn’t show courage, what does it show? I’m not willing to accept any other interpretation.
From my new perspective of personal strength and courage, I remind myself that in Europe marriage was always and primarily a pagan ritual and civil contract before the Christian Church reluctantly decided to make marriage a sacrament in the 1500s. I remind myself that even though the laws of legal marriage and the marriage traditions of most religions exist to control women and women’s property, I don’t have a partner who’s interested in that, who in fact works hard to demolish societal attitudes and conventions that support and create male-dominated power, who loves me and our children and the world fiercely, and with fierce joy. And I remind myself that just because those who are glad we’re finally doing the “right” thing [for them], we are still ourselves, thinking, questioning, sad and happy at our great fortune. I think, may we always be so lucky.
*quote is from memory, but it’s pretty darned close.
posted by Skim @ 12:35 PM
3 Comments:
At 12:53 PM,
Anonymous said…
I think you know my attitude toward marriage.
But it is a logical move here.
People will think of it what they will, but I know and you know that it is simply taking care of your family. Lord knows you've sacrificed plenty to that purpose already.
Jim
At 10:14 PM,
Anonymous said…
Yeah, it's yet another thing I have had to let go of during our arduous journey as parents.
So are you coming to the party? ;)
Kim
At 9:47 PM,
Anonymous said…
I'm sorry I live so far from Wisconsin, because it sounds like it's going to be a hell of a party.
We became legally married for convenience. It irritates me too, well, nearly everything the government sticks its nose into irritates me. But it turned out for us to be the lesser of two evils.
The name change still bothers me. I changed my name because I'd rather have my husband's name than my father's. I'd rather have my own name than my husband's, but I haven't yet come up with something that feels right. It grates on me that so many women -- good lord, *feminists* -- take their husband's names, and give them to their children as well, and don't see any problem with it whatsoever, and assume that I'm in the same camp. Not their fault that they make that assumption, but it still irritates me. I think the hyphenated names irritate me even more.
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