Nobody's Crush, Everybody's Girlfriend

I wasn’t often sexualized in my teenhood, but I was always wifed.

I think that with all of my exes I always had to play the part of the dead wife. You know how in those movies with the dead wife, or the dead mother, they always show those home-video-montage-that-totally-wasn’t-staged? Where the wife/mother wakes up with perfect hair and glowing skin, under white bedsheets without a single stain, a smile always on her face and her husband always on her mind? But she was simultaneously the wife that the husband would describe as “independent” and maybe even “somewhat mysterious” and always had some type of “creative streak”. Oh, of course she was far from perfect, but she was “perfectly imperfect”! Right? 

In a conversation with a friend a few weeks back, on her front porch when the sun had just set and the crickets were tuning their instruments, we bonded over common ground that I’d never vocalized before. During both of our teenhoods, we were seldom someone’s crush, but we were regularly someone’s girlfriend. Don’t ask me how this works, because I still don’t know. Obviously you have to initially be a crush to then become a girlfriend, right? But for whatever reason, that’s not how it usually goes. 

I didn’t realize I was this type of person until I was about 16 years old and upon introducing my second-ever boyfriend to a friend, she asked me, “Paula, why do you always have a boyfriend?” I didn’t know how to answer. I wasn’t someone who’d ever had a lot of boyfriends, but the relationships that I did have were always long-term—to this day, my shortest relationship was 9 months. Because of that, I didn’t consider myself to “always have a boyfriend”. But, in a different way than I thought, I suppose I did. 

Playing the role of the dead wife in the lives of boys at such a young age resulted in every relationship being too much pressure, way too fast. Boys would say they want to marry me when we were barely 15, dating for less than a month, because they just knew I was “the one.” They’d envision some sort of life, complete with a white picket fence and picturesque kids, and vow to go wherever I go to make this life a reality. I was never the one for any of them—I just wanted to be someone’s one, so I was good as hell at acting like it. 

Here’s how it would go: I’d always start out as the manic pixie dream girl in a boy’s life. (One time, someone in high school was convinced he was in love with me for a week because I told him he looked sad and asked if he was okay, and I was the only one who ever did so.) From there, it goes one of two ways: They’d think I’m “different” because I’m “sad”. They’d obsess over me for two weeks, max three, and then quickly figure out my depression wasn’t only on the surface. From there, they could choose one of two paths: snap out of it and realize I’m not the one, or ask me to be their girlfriend and try to “fix” me, ultimately idolizing me into their ideal dead wife.

The ideal dead wife meant different things for different boys. For one, it meant I only liked the things he liked—my music taste was weird, so we only listened to Drake together. For another, it meant that I had to be as sad as him—I spent a day happy? Totally happy? How dare I? The nerve of me! And for yet another, it meant that I was the ground he walked on—I held him up, and he trampled over me. 

Regardless of their choices, I was always complacent. I wanted to be loved, so I let them try to like me. But I ultimately did not lack the depth necessary for the one-dimensional role of the dead wife. 

Women are almost always placed into one of two categories: the wife or the slut. I wasn’t often sexualized in my teenhood, but I was always wifed. I felt that I wanted this—I must want this, right? Most women in my community would often get married at 18 or 21—so if I didn’t get a boyfriend at 16, and keep him forever, then I must be a failure. I had to choose one of these categories for myself. And I couldn’t be the slut; I felt that I wasn’t cut out for that—I had to be the wife. 

Now, at 21, nowhere near getting married, I can see the reality that has always been in front of me. I was never fully myself around any of my teenhood boyfriends (not that I knew who I was at the time anyway). FaceTime always had to be at just the right angle, God forbid they see my double chin. I was always quieter where they were always louder. I was weirder where they were cooler, but never too weird that they’d scrunch their nose at me. I was the supportive girlfriend and they were the all-star. I was the dead wife, and they were the living husband. 

After another breakup when I was sixteen, on a day when the sun was shining and I was in a particularly good mood, a very close friend of mine shook his head at me. He told me, “You’d never act like this around him. You’re so loud. But you’d make yourself so small around him.”

When I began my current relationship, I swore off my smallness. I knew I wanted to be completely myself right off the bat. I’d laugh my loudest laugh. I’d give him the worst FaceTime angles. I’d let him see my double chin but still tell him how much I hate it. I’d eat my food messily around him. I’d be grumpy. I’d be childish. Sometimes I’d be mean, but I’d always apologize. I’d be weird and let him call me weird and keep doing the same weird things. And I’d give him the space to do the same around me. I feel prettiest with him because he allows me to be ugly. 

In a world of sluts and wives, women are neither. In a world of crushes and girlfriends, I am neither. That’s not a choice that I need to make; it’s a reality that I just needed to see. In a world of dead wives, I live. 

Who knew graduating college could be so exhausting? Needed a break, but I’m here to stay now, and prepare to be sick of me. To keep up with all of my news, stay tuned with my Instagram for regular updates, but here’s what I can tell you right now:

Pluto’s podcast is coming back! Currently recording an episode as you read this! Follow on Spotify to be notified when my next episode is out on the important and relevant topic of, “Is college worth it?”

And now, what I’ve been itching to announce:

My poetry book is finally coming out. June 23, 2023. So much love and effort has been put into this creation, and I am so excited to finally share it with you. Mark your calendars! Keep an eye on my Instagram for the book cover and title reveal coming soon! Being a full-time writer isn’t for the weak, so if you’d like to support me, this is going to be the best way to do so (and hopefully it’ll be fun for you too).

As always, thank you for being here. I love you.

- paula <3