It was an article that briefly trended in facebook news yesterday that caught my eye.
Some actress, I sort of recognized her face but didn’t know her name at all and can’t even remember it today, was all in a dither during an interview about how much she hated to see a man put his arm around a woman. It was some kind of show of ownership and made her furiously angry every time she saw it.
And I thought, how stupid. It does not.
But then I thought about it for a little longer and realized I totally agreed with her even though my response is obviously completely different from hers.
When Rob places his arm around me he is making a declaration to friend and foe alike.
He is saying that I belong to him.
That I am under his care and protection.
That he makes provision for me and will keep me,as much as humanly possible, free from harm.
And I love it. It thrills me when he slips his arm around my shoulders and pulls me to his side or puts his arm around my waist. I delight in feeling his hand at the small of my back when we’re walking somewhere. It’s gives me a sense of well being.
It is a declaration of ownership but not that of a slave owner. Rather it is of a man who would willingly lay his life down for the woman he loves. It’s the, “I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine,” kind of declaration.
I’ve only ever entertained the idea of one tattoo…his name on my ring finger. But since I can’t quiet convince myself to do it (and he would hate it if I did) I will take the statement that his arm around me apparently makes, the assertion that his ring on my finger makes, and the mark that his love leaves on my soul.
I’ll take all of that, however much it is disdained and held in contempt by the world, over the empty promises of self ownership that lead to a culture where woman can possibly believe that the baby in her womb should die for the freedom to not be “owned” by a man.
If ownership is this thing that he and I have, then I am all in. Shackle me close because what she holds in derision I have found to be a glorious delight…and as much as I belong to him…he belongs to me.
It is fitting, good, and right.
The Common Place 