I Want You Here

…And the other night I dreamed that I lay beside him on the embankment, and we talked and laughed…

He may never let you back around again, but I still want you here
I tried to run away from you, I tried to flee, but it was no use
I’ll never be free of you
Come for me and make me yours, and I’ll give to you the most precious thing I have to give
I’ve hid nothing from this world
I wrote my poems for you, I wrote my novel for you
And to anyone who asks, I’d gladly tell them that I love you more than life itself, because I do
My heart will always war with the love I feel for two men, but I’d let none other touch me, because I’d want to come pure to you
I’m a bit older and wiser now, but these hips are still full, this waist still tiny,  and these breasts are still lush
I’ve fought you for so long now, but I can fight no more
I gave up, I gave in, and I told you how I still loved you
I’ve cried in pain without you here, and there’s nothing anyone can ever do to stop that
If I belonged to you, how much I could love you
I loved you as my family, and I loved you as a man
I thought it was all over, but I’m still falling deeper every day
I don’t want you to be gone anymore, I want you to stay
Because I want you here

“I looked at him then. He looked so good. I loved everything about him. I felt heat course through my body as I sat there with him, talking to him and quietly observing him. I began to get flushed. I felt so much inside how I longed to take all of him in, to receive him for who he was and who he might ever be- to accept and love him… Yes, I thought. Once the leaves fall from the trees, if he can prove himself real to me, then I shall give myself to him.” (Hunter, B.A., Memoirs of a Traditional Woman’s Rights Activist, 2016)

Needing/Wanting a Man

If there’s one thing that really irritates me, it would be people thinking I should “get out of the house” more. It irritates me because 1) I actually DO get out of the house quite frequently and 2) what’s so wrong with being home anyway? I’ve never really bonded much with other women. I don’t really do well having female friends nor do I care to, say, bond with the mother-in-law or anything. I’m kind of a loner and it doesn’t really bother me. I actually prefer it that way.

I was in deep thought about some things the other day. I have often contemplated this life and wondered what the purpose of it all was. I mean, we’re all going to die one day, right? What’s the point? It occurred to me that it must be love that is the point. That’s why when someone we love dies or leaves us even the most basic of human necessities such as eating and sleeping cease to matter. That’s why people would give up everything they have, sacrifice themselves, make complete fools of themselves or go to the ends of the world in the name of something called “love,” because without it, life doesn’t seem much like living anymore. Without that love there is no happiness, no sadness, no good, no bad, no…nothing. It’s like nothing even matters anymore.

I walked into my grandmother’s house earlier this week. Though I love my grandmother, it just wasn’t the same without my grandfather there. There was a warmth and presence that he brought to the house that cannot be replaced. The house is a real nice house with all the physical possessions one could ever want, but it still felt lonely and empty. None of us got a single penny out of his death (except my dad, who insisted before grandpa was even put in the ground on grabbing up all my grandpa’s old tools for himself and insisting he’d probably end up with his truck too), but that didn’t matter because material possessions are just replaceable objects- nothing more. It also occurred to me that, no matter how much we are supposed to be able to bond with the same sex and spend most of our time with members of our own sex, there is simply a deeper bond, both in sexual and non-sexual relationships, with members of the opposite sex that just can’t be replaced.

One can have a group of their girl or guy friends all around them, yet still be and feel “alone” and like something is missing in their lives. Instead of bonding with one another and building our lives together we are also told that we must establish our own identities and independent lives before we go out and try to find someone, even though our deepest connections are formed in our youth, even though the building of our lives together and even creating new life is part of what bonds men and women to one another. I want a man to provide for me mostly because it gives me this sense of closeness to him, this feeling of dependence, trust and love that’s just hard to explain.

Maybe there’s something wrong with me, but I’ve just never felt it. I’ve never wanted to go out and so-called “have a life” and I’ve simply never formed deep connections with other women. The only thing that’s ever happened when I get around other women is endless gossip, bickering and petty fighting.

It occurs to me that the male-female bond cannot be replaced. In romantic relationships it intertwines the bodies and beings of two people together and bonds them together and I find it sad how some people don’t want that. They would rather live lives that are focused on material means or eschew relationships with the opposites sex altogether or pursue meaningless relationships with them. A night out with the girls seems like a completely empty and meaningless pursuit unless the night ends with me coming back to the arms of a man I love, nor can I, forgive me (or not doesn’t matter) see how the same bond can be achieved in homosexual relationships as in heterosexual ones. I also can’t see how it can be truly achieved through “equal” relationships either to be honest. It’s just not the same. There is just this deeper intimacy and warmth that occurs between men and women that just can’t be replaced.

We’re always told: “You don’t need a man!” But surely, at the most deepest level, I do. And even if I didn’t “need” a man (if I was providing myself with the necessities of life), there would still be this part of me inside that always longs for one. Part of being feminine is in both needing and wanting to rely on and bond with a strong man, and part of being human is both wanting to love and be loved.

Recommended: The Value and Purpose of Oneitis

Death and Changing Times

On Tuesday night close to midnight my grandpa passed away. Though there have been deaths in the family before, this was the first time it had ever been so close and personal. I remember getting the call Sunday that he might not make it through the night and so I sped up to the hospital. He was in really bad shape and I was sure I was going to witness him dying right before my eyes at any second, but he was trying to hold on until my aunts could make it from out of state. He knew that he was fixing to die and he said he was ready for it. He was 89 years old and I still think it was a miracle that he lived as long as he did. Though his heart was giving out, his mind was still sharp. He was incoherent at times and my grandmother had to tell him a couple of times that they were in the hospital and tell him where they were, but other than those moments he could talk to us and knew who everyone was. He certainly knew who I was.

I eventually had to leave Sunday as I had a long drive home. It was a miracle when the next day I learned that he had not only made it through the night, but he was doing a little better. I came back up to the hospital and there were a lot of other people there too that had been close to him over the years, as we all knew he didn’t have long to live.

He and my grandmother were married for 67 years. My grandmother said a few months back that she married at 18 years old, about the same age as I was when I got married. They were together until he took his last breath. Though I had never discussed politics with my grandmother or anything, she was a housewife as well for a long time until the kids were about in high school. There was no stigma surrounding it.

And my grandpa, he was a good man and did a lot of things in his life. He had been in the service when he was younger, he had been badly injured and burned at work before- all things you see MRA types these days and men in general complaining about. But my grandpa never complained about anything and every time you’d see him he’d be happy and friendly, even at the end of his life when he was in so much pain. In fact, the only time I ever even heard him cuss was there in the hospital when he was about to die. We’d try to make him comfortable because he was in so much pain, and even then he was talking to me and trying to say the things he wished to say about us before he died (all good things). He never complained about how unfair life was or anything of the sort.

Death is a part of life, but I know it still hurts to think I’ll never walk in that house again and hear his voice. He’ll never be sitting in that chair of his talking to us again and he’ll never come walking down that hallway again. He’ll never tell us stories of his childhood again the way he always did throughout the years. And I always loved to hear those stories. I’d listen knowing that one day he wouldn’t be around to tell them anymore. He’d tell me about life during the Depression, going to school while WWII was going on and how they lived and survived during the hard times before there was any welfare.

I was there at the funeral home yesterday. Most of the family was not there as most live out of state. But I was there and we were talking about the pictures and memorabilia for the funeral this weekend. I thought of this one contraption he always used to show us when we were over. My grandpa was pretty good at making things. It’s funny how it’s always the little things in life like that that you remember at the end.

I’m glad he was alive to see one last Thanksgiving, one last Christmas, and one last New Year’s, but I also knew that, no matter how much we might have wished him to be around forever, he was in so much pain and could barely even function anymore and it was simply his time to go. In some ways it seems almost kind of selfish, to want someone to still be around simply because you might miss them, when it’s their time and there is peace that they might find in death. It hurts, but at least I know he doesn’t have to suffer anymore. I hope now he is at least resting in peace, even though I know he’s gone from my life forever.

The Radical One Presents… Memoirs of a Traditional Woman’s Rights Activist




“Everything was different. I saw the world through different eyes…They talked about sex like it was nothing. But how could it be so casual of a thing the way they claimed? Just look what it had done to my life…”


“Perhaps there was a reason why I felt all the things I felt inside- feelings about how something feminine inside of me was being repressed…I knew I couldn’t continue on this path of women’s empowerment… I proposed that we stand up for the rights of the traditional woman- and thus the term Traditional Woman’s Rights Activist was born…”

A Story about Love…

“God only knows what might have been had I come to him that next day…Yes, I wanted him, but physically desiring him could only ever be the half of my fulfillment. The other half could only ever come from loving him- and in knowing that he could love me in return.”


“As I looked around the dark room, I realized I was still in bed, alone. I had been dreaming, but if felt so real. He felt so real. It was as if he had really been there and I could still feel him as though he had really touched me and had been inside of me…”

And Heartbreak…

“I could barely breathe. I didn’t want to go back, but formally leaving him would mean being alone. It would mean doing for myself; it would mean giving up everything I’d ever known…At that moment I would have almost preferred death than to become the modern woman I had tried so hard all of those years to keep from being…”



Rather be Oppressed 

Over the past weekend my husband and I went to town. I began to grow saddened again when we went into stores and I saw all of the women at work. Most of them were not very good looking women either, might I add. I just remember thinking how fortunate I was to marry young and follow all of my feminine instincts to just stay home.

Even still the thought of being independent makes me sick. I just held onto him the entire way home, wanting him to lead me and take care of me. I let him make love to me, and I clung to him and it felt so good, wonderful and right.

There’s a lot of people, including my own relatives, who hate me for who I am and for what I believe. I’ve been pushed non-stop to be the independent woman that relies on nobody but herself. But that’s just not me. I’d rather be “oppressed.” I’d rather be open and loving towards a man. I’d rather be controlled and under the authority of a man that I love and trust. I think we women are vastly unhappy when we are given too much freedom.

There’s nothing unhealthy about feeling a real and deep need to depend on a man. I believe that’s how we women are made to feel. It only seems to me that women become the most psychologically unhealthy when we stray from the protection and authority of our men.

Sitting here writing this, I’m actually in pain right now. I’m not in pain because there’s something wrong with me. On the contrary, I’m in pain because I’m a female and I’m healthy. I’m fairly weak right now simply because of the design of my biology.

I have the option of medicating myself, getting up and forgetting about this female side of me. I could make a few jokes about it, perhaps even some crude ones, and go to work and be Miss Independent- plenty of women do that. But I don’t really want to do that. I’d rather just lie down and rest and enjoy being female; enjoy being weaker and more vulnerable. Sometimes it’s hard and sometimes it’s a bit painful and messy even, but it’s who I am and how I’m made. I’m not supposed to be a man or strong in the same ways as a man. My strength is in my femininity.

It’s ingrained in men to want to take care of women, but the modern woman’s attitudes and behaviors are causing men everywhere to have a “Screw the b****” attitude.

Can you look at the man you love, or the man you think you could one day love, and tell him you are open to him? Can you tell him that you would trust and follow him and live under his authority? Some men don’t want or can’t handle that- and that’s fine. Let them pair off with the feminist women they deserve.

I don’t really believe men only want sex. Men can get sex if they want it. Men can pay for sex. I think most men just want their women to be open to them and trusting of them. They want to be acknowledged as men.

I’ve dealt with the criticism of others but it doesn’t matter. I’ve dealt with men that hate housewives and independent women trying to push me to be like them. I’m different from others and I always have been. That’s what makes me who I am and that’s why you’re reading this article right now.

I would rather be oppressed than liberated. Everyone else lives hectic lives and their families are all torn apart. Why would I want to be like them? Perhaps they just want to bring me and others like me down to their level. Perhaps they want us to fail.

Patriarchy isn’t always perfect or even fun, but it’s the best option for families and ultimately for women too. That’s why women, such as myself, have always fought for it. Plain and simple, we don’t want to leave the protection of coverture or be away from the guidance of our men. That’s why we always come running back while everyone else just shakes their heads thinking there’s something wrong with us. We don’t want to be liberated or really care about women’s “rights.” In the end, we’d rather be oppressed.