I Ought To Be Happy

This is the thrice anniversary of our marriage.  I ought to be happy.  Here I have a nice comfortable home, a dear kind husband.  Two of the dearest little ones in the world.  I am, most of the time.  Sometimes I am about half sick - feel real bad + imagine Mr. Grimes don't love me, but I reckon he does - he does think to say a few kind sympathetic words.  I was never petted in the least in my life.  Why should I expect it now?   - Frances, June 1892

Every time I read Frances' diary, this entry stands out.  Here she is, on her third wedding anniversary.  Living the life she is 'supposed' to live.  Raising two children.  Living in a nice house.  Maintaining that household (with the help of a cook and a nurse).  Supporting her husband.  She has all the comforts a woman could want.

But why isn't she happy?  Are these fleeting moments of sadness - or a more telling description of her married life?  She calls her husband Mr. Grimes - was this just formality, or something deeper?  Was she seeking more affection and connection with her husband?  Or was she just tired that day?

So many questions from one entry, and such a revealing glimpse into her world.  Have you ever felt like Frances?  Felt disconnected from your loved ones?  Felt guilty for not being grateful enough?  Those are definitely familiar to me. 

Journals contain more than lists and recipes - they also hold our doubts, fears, and insecurities.  We are all complicated, messy, beautiful humans - at both our highest and our lowest - and we are more alike than we are different.