My Whimsical Husband

Guest Author: kaprissavar

Ever since I was a child, although the word “child” here may sound strange for many, two doors were slammed in my face whenever I intended to make a decision:

”First get married, then do whatever you do with your husband“
and
“Never say no to your husband.”

These two sentences were both somehow connected to sexuality. One was possibly social sexuality, while the other was a sexuality that existed only in bed. What I call “social sexuality” would arise when I wanted to go abroad or out of town alone, or when I returned home late at night; while the “bed sexuality”, a life lesson by which would abide although I was not even married, would always arise unexpectedly wherever and whenever. That is why I never achieved to say “no” in my life, and that’s why I married having two drawers full of lingerie.  

The story sounds good so far, except the pathological anomalies in it. Imagine that there is a virgin programmed not to say no to anything, and she is really beautiful. She opens the door to her husband every night with nice clothes on, sets a fine table for him and always walks with high-heeled shoes at home. And the reactions she got since the first week of her marriage are like:

”What do you have to do such things?”

“The women are always exaggerating things…”

“Today I have a headache. Can we have sex later?”

“I am so tired…”

“I will go to the doctor for my premature ejaculation problem.”

“I’m very stressed out now. Please stay away!“

“I’m watching the series, we can do it after I am done with this…”

”The doctor said it would get better if we had the intercourse regularly, but, you know, we are busy with work, so there isn’t enough time for this.”

These are the reactions of a whimsical, coy husband, and the list goes on. What did I do against these reactions? No matter how hard I tried, I could not say “No” to a sexual intercourse which would take only a couple of minutes, and every time I thought that my whole-body ablution (ghusl) was pointless. Whenever I intended to say “No,” I would feel like a hadith was whispered into my right ear: “Angels curse that woman until the morning…” And into my left ear, my mother would say: “Never say no to your husband.”

In one of the days when I could not say “No”, thought about the pleasure and purse of my man, left the responsibility of protection to him and let him steer the ship, I got pregnant in that little while that did not last even a minute. (This is where the author listens Seyyal Taner.) I did not use a contraceptive pill because I grew up with the motto “Those who desexualize themselves are not one of us (Muslims).” As I believed it was wrong to “take a life given by Allah” I did not use the morning-after pill either (No, I could not convince myself that the sticky thing was not a living creature scientifically.) Moreover, all these reactions were involuntary. When the religion is brought into the equation, the conscientious objection cannot be applied in bed or for children. Let me tell you what happened next.

I gave birth as required (Turns out that my body did not want to give birth, and this is a completely separate story: “Surviving a c-section!”). My husband went away firstly from my bed, then my room, and then my house. He said that he could not stand the endless crying of the child. My child was not sleeping, and he had work to do. I had none. I was a woman. A woman studying full time at the university. Including the grocery shopping, the things to do neither in or out the house were impossible for me to handle alone. They were all my responsibility and I wanted to be loved. But not by him. “Oh, there got to be someone else then!” But no, I did not even have a boyfriend. And I started to say “No” to things.   

First I started to say “No” to housework, then to my husband in bed. Then, I said no to marriage too, on the day he sent me back to my father’s house (Yes, I’m divorced. Well, he asked for it. And I got divorced! I took my child. What’s the point in not being able to say “No” to someone I did not even share my home with?) Now, when I look back, there is only one question: “Are those angels cursing men, too?”