A Teddybear's Perspective
(In my last marriage, I immersed myself into the relationship and forgot to maintain my own personality. I became an extension of my husband, molding myself as close as possible to his ideals. By the time I'd realized my mistake, it was too late to reestablish my independence or reclaim my own wants and needs without damaging the marriage irreparably. This story is a retrospective statement about being true to yourself.)
My name is Mine, although my alias has been Smith these past fifty-some years. I am a well-loved, frayed, sightless and treasured teddybear and have been with my mistress since she was a toddler. I have watched her grow from a child to a woman, witnessing much of her life, through sad times and happy. During the happy times, she pulls me out of storage and shares her life with me. When she is unhappy, she packs me away tenderly as if to spare me the sadness.
The last time she put me aside was when she fell in love and married a monied man. My mistress has a great desire to please. So she packed me away with child-like things and took on all the trappings of the well-heeled to please her husband. She dressed up every day to uphold the image required of his station. She learned gourmet cooking and maintained an impeccable house and yard to entertain his guests. She became proficient in the art of polite, persuasive and banal conversation for socializing with the rich and famous whose company he liked to keep. She indulged in politically correct philanthropy and learned the value of wealth, of the privileges traded for large donations, of the arrogance that accompanies those who can afford such privileges. Over the years, she increased her pace of activity, seeking her husband's approval by participating in more and more of the favored organizations. She felt less and less like she was doing anything constructive. Actually, she was more like a gerbil on a wheel: going 'round and 'round, busy, busy, busy, not accomplishing much of anything.
After seven years of trying to fit into the lifestyle of the nouveau-riche, my mistress moved on. Leaving her husband to his money, she pulled me out of storage and hugged me tightly. She vowed to never, ever set me aside again because being happy, being true to herself, was much more important than pleasing someone else.
Today, my mistress wears comfy sweats and jeans sans make-up. She cooks to satisfy herself (sometimes gourmet), cleans the house and yard to her own specifications, and talks on a meat and potatoes level when she does talk. She surrounds herself with kind people of intellect and honesty rather than people of station. Her pace is measured and satisfying, her life is more interesting and, though money is as rare as a triple rainbow, she is happy.
And me? I sit close by, within arm's reach of the bed, smiled upon and loved.
Email Me: webmistress AT sunnisan DOT com
Copyright 1998-2008 Colleen D. Bergeron.
Last revised: November 13 2008