The Wife’s Confession

I know you’re judging me.

You’re wondering how a woman could do the things I did. Before you decide what kind of monster I am, ask yourself a question:

What would it be like to be married to one?

Better yet, what would it be like to raise two of them?

Every morning I sat across the breakfast table from people who could destroy the world if I let them.

People call motherhood the hardest job on earth. They’re wrong. The hardest job is loving monsters.

Despite the abuse and the lies, I thrived in a world that expects women to smile while suffering behind closed doors.

I did what I had to do.

I took moldy lemons, cut away the rot, and made the most expensive lemonade on the planet and millions drank it by the gallons. I should be praised. I should be worshipped. Monuments should be built in my honor.

Instead, I am judged. Judge not, lest ye be judged. Isn't that what the great book says?

But if you insist on judging me, read my confession first. If you had lived my life, you may have a little more empathy. I think this world needs more of it. Don't you?

Signed,

— Beatrice Witherspoon