Tag Archive | princess

Fairy Tale or Reality?

I wonder how many of us young women realize what’s truly in our hearts. I know I don’t. I’ve been faced with the facts, with the literature, and I still don’t quite believe it. But my heart… my heart is screaming, sobbing, begging for me to believe.

You see, I want desperately to be the princess in a fairy tale.

I want the prince who instantly falls madly in love with me, not just for my beauty but because of something deeper.

I want the prince who fights dragons and slays witches and battles evil enchantments to rescue me.

I want to be the belle of the ball, swept off my feet and twirling the night away.

I want to be the princess.



I am willing to do anything for the facade of the idea, too. Judging from my news feed, so do many of you. My heart cries out to be sought after, to be wanted above all else. And it isn’t a foolish, silly little girl dream, like we’ve convinced ourselves. It’s something placed within each of us. We are the yin to a man’s yang. They need a princess to rescue, a princess to have an adventure for, to protect, to live for.

Most of us, though, probably aren’t living a fairy tale.

I wanted desperately to be seen.

I wanted to be asked to dance at homecoming.

I wanted to be chosen out of the crowd.

I wanted to have a romantic encounter.

I wanted flowers and a sweet walk down a Christmas light-ridden street.

I wanted to be cherished and protected and delighted in.


We are told, though, that those are silly ideas. Only little girls play dress up. Real women survive on their own. We put on our “big girl panties” and take on the world. We understand that romance is dead and that sometimes you just get what you get. That pizza and a beer on your pee-smelling couch while the littles try to go to sleep is the height of romance. That ramen noodles on your dorm bed at 3 in the morning is true sweetness. That his doing the dishes is prince charming material. And don’t get me wrong, I love each of those moments just as much as the next girl. But deep down, I don’t believe that that’s all there is.

From my news feed, neither do you.

If we believed that was all, we wouldn’t…

Dress up in our most flattering outfits for a night on the town.

Learn how to do facial contouring or cat eyes with liquid eyeliner.

Listen to “Bleeding Love” and “Wrecking Ball” on repeat.

Search for “the One.”

Give ourselves to our men in the hopes of keeping them.


The truth is, deep down, we know that we are supposed to be the princess. It’s why we gravitate to princess and romance and rom com movies. It’s why, as we grow older and more jaded, we start to tear down the movies we once loved. Life tries to tell us that romance doesn’t exist, and our tiara is nothing more than a little girl’s costume piece.

But I’m learning something. Slowly. Oooooh, so slowly. My mind doesn’t want to believe it, because it will hurt so badly to be disappointed again.

I’m learning that I am a Princess. And nothing here on Earth will ever fully satisfy my desires to be adored, but my husband’s love can come close. IF I let him.

If I am to be a princess, I have to start living like one. I have to act like someone worth saving, rather than like the maid who hides in the corner. And I have to start treating my man like a prince who will rescue me. I get tired of books that say things like, “God is enough. He will supply everything you desire.” Yes. He will. But he doesn’t expect me to do it on my own. There is a reason that marriage is lifted up in the Bible, and it’s not just for a future generation.

God shows his perfect love and desire and delight in his princess through the shadow of the man made in his image.


You see, I am the princess in a fairy tale.

I have the prince who instantly fell madly in love with me, not just for my beauty but because of something deeper.

I have the prince who fights dragons and slays witches and battles evil enchantments to rescue me.

I can be the belle of the ball, swept off my feet and twirling the night away.

I am to be the princess.





An Open Letter to Men


Dear men,

You might not realize it, but you have incredible power. What power, you ask? You have the power to make your woman invincible or the power to completely destroy her. We, as society, either don’t talk about or diminish this awesome power of yours. Maybe you don’t realize it, so here are some of the ways you show your power.

If we say a strip club or porn is ok with us, ignore us.

I’m sure there are some women with whom this is actually ok. I know some who say it spices up their sex life. As for me and most of the friends I have, this is a lie. In reality, your trips to the strip club and your escapades online or in magazines destroy us. We might play along, maybe even watch a few videos with you, but inside we’re dying. All we can thing about is that some other girl is better than us, that there is something in her that you like more than us. No amount of you telling us that “they didn’t do it for me” or “it’s just a video” will convince us. You keep going back. That means something has got your attention, and it isn’t us. What hurts worse is that it might be something we can’t do, don’t know how to do, or just won’t do. And it scares us.

When you bring home flowers, or even one flower, you make us feel like a princess.

A simple flower can do that? Oh yes, my dear. One little flower, picked off the side of the road, can send us into fits of ecstasy. Why? It means you took time out of your busy day to think about us. It means you picked something specifically for us. Even if you just grabbed the nearest dandelion because you felt like you had some sucking up to do, it will mean the world. Why do you think we moms treasure our kids’ bouquets of weed flowers so much? Because for just a moment, we get to have the focus of their, and your, adoration. And we love it.

We hate how much you watch tv/play video games.

Again, there are some women out there who don’t mind and join in. Many, however, secretly dream of smashing either your xbox or your computer. Why? Because the majority of your time is spent with a machine, not with us. It isn’t that we’re psychotic. It’s not that we’re all like Obsessed Girlfriend. We want your time. We want to feel important and special to you. When you spend your waking moments with zombies and warlords, we feel second-rate. We have been usurped from our throne as your goddess by a video game. And feel free to call it jealousy, just don’t scoff at it. You’d be jealous, too, if we preferred our “sexy time” to be with 50 Shades of Grey and a toy over you. Remember, our emotional and relational self is the mirror of your sexual self. We need a relational connection just as much as you need the sexual connection. Don’t deny us, and then expect us to have the desire or energy to give to you.

When you help out with a chore, you become infinitely more attractive.

Want an automatic boost of attraction? Is your love life lacking? Try this simple step: pick up. Pick up your stinky socks and put them in the hamper. Pick up your dishes, rinse them, and put them into the dishwasher. Pick up the screaming baby. Help. Someone once compared life to a series of activities with point values. For example, sex to a woman was 60 points, even if it was rockin’. Why? It takes a lot of energy for us to get our minds off the thousands of other things we still have to do, disengage from motherhood, transform into a sexy wife, and then tackle the almighty task of getting aroused. For you, men, I don’t know what your equivalent 60 points is, but if you take on just a little of the chores your wife/girlfriend has to do before bedtime, she’ll have that much more energy to spare. It might not equal sex the first time, but it’ll get there.

There is a line between teasing and being mean/crude.

I’d like to say, “Don’t cross this line,” but I have to be honest. I’m not even sure where this line is. It seems like a fairly common issue, though. Perhaps my mother can describe it best. When they were younger, she and my father would have tickle fights. All was good, until he would pin her down for more efficient tickling. That crossed a line, and she would panic. Why? Because we women are well aware that we are not as strong as you. His pinning her down removed her safe zone. She was vulnerable and he could do anything. Not that he did, but the possibility was there. If it’s physical teasing (like tickling, wrestling, etc.), be gentle. There is a limit to when we feel playful and when we feel trapped. If it’s sexual teasing (like groping, biting, spanking etc.), remember that you have to work up to it. We want to, again, feel like your goddess. We don’t want to feel like the neighborhood stripper that you grope as soon as you see her.

Your words mean the world to us.

This is perhaps the biggest power you have, at least for me. Your words can uplift us or crush us. Tell us we’re beautiful, especially when we’re sick, right after we’ve had a baby, or first thing in the morning with spit stuck to our face. Tell us that the house looks awesome (unless it looks like poo, wherein you do the “pick up” thing), that our new haircut looks stunning, or that dinner was amazing. Tell us that the kids are doing great, or that you love the way our skin feels, or that you love the smell of our shampoo. Tell us things. Just like you thrive on us recognizing your accomplishments, we thrive on your adoration. Don’t tell us to stop complaining. Often, our “complaining” is our feminine attempt at communicating. Don’t tell us that we’re slacking if we’re doing our best. (Again, loving criticism is ok.) Don’t tell us to “come to daddy” after ignoring us all evening, or ask us when we’re going to give you the next (for us) unpleasant sexual favor. That cheapens us and makes us merely an accessory to your lifestyle, the maid, nanny, and sexual object you want when you want it. We want to be in a give-and-take relationship, not a one-sided affair where we do all the giving.

You have the ability to make or break us. Cheesy? Yeah, I think so, too, sometimes. And then the husband will do a long, dorky sniff of my hair, sigh, and say, “God, you smell so good,” and I will completely melt into a puddle of goo. Or, he’ll casually mention a friend’s bachelor party, and everything inside me will wither, even though I know it’s irrational. Just remember: your woman wants to be your one and only. You are the most important person to her. Your opinion, your attention, and your love are what drive her throughout the day.

As Uncle Ben told Peter Parker, “With great power comes great responsibility.” You’ve got a great power. Do you use it responsibly?


One Woman Among Many

The Power of “Thank You”

I am so excited. I don’t think you quite understand how excited I am. Why? The husband has been amazing today and put up both our wall mount for the TV and my precious 2′ by 3 1/2′ mirror. I finally feel like we’re moved into the place. I suppose it really does take three months to be completely moved in. My only issue currently? My stupid choice to remove a 24″ by 36″ picture off the wall to show the husband where the previous family put their wall mount. I am too annoyed at the cheapo hanging clip to bother with it right now. Seriously, how hard is it to make one of those that doesn’t fold flat the moment it touches the tack?

Anyway, I am so excited. Rather, I am thankful. I, as a power tool challenged person, could not have put them up myself. Note, it isn’t because I’m female or blonde. I am just… challenged. And having a hands-on hubby who excels at all things manly is awesome. There’s just one catch. I never used to thank him.

Ladies, I didn’t realize how massive just saying “Thank you” to our men really is. In my superior female mentality (sarcasm), I just assumed that he could tell from my beaming smile as I step in nanoseconds after he hangs it, rag in hand to clean my precious mirror. I mean, come on. How hard is it to guess that I’m thankful? I couldn’t have done it. And Lord knows, I’ve asked for long enough. He should just know that I’m thankful to him.

Alas, men are not always as intuitive as we ladies are. If we’re honest with ourselves, we’re often not as intuitive as we like to think we are. Men, especially, though. They aren’t mind readers. They aren’t built to thrive on relationally connecting and emotionally bonding. After all, if they were, we’d be too busy discussing the latest KDrama to hang anything other than our heads in shame.

Men need us women to cut the “intuitive” crap and tell them what we assume they know. “Thank you for putting the mirror up. I love how it lights up the room.” Or here’s a kicker I always forgot, and still struggle to remember: “Thank you for providing for us.” Especially if you’re a working wife/girlfriend, too, this one is big. Don’t fall into the trap I did of thinking, “Well, it’s equal. He could say thank you to me, too, and then I’d say it to him.” Nuh-uh, ladies. That’s not the way it works. As your mama said, “The world ain’t fair.” Neither are relationships. If my husband were to tell me, “Thanks so much for working. It means a lot,” I’d probably smile, nod, and feel a little ball of warmth. And then I’d move on to the myriad of other things I also have to do. For a man, though, recognizing his efforts is huge. I don’t even know how huge, but I do know that my husband changes when I thank him. It energizes him. He goes from exhausted and barricaded in his office to giving bear hugs and playing with the boys. That is a huge different to me. I don’t know about your husbands, but if my sincere thank you can do that, I will say it as much as I can.

In his book Cracking the Communication Code, the sequel to the Love and Respect books, Emerson Eggerichs expounds on this. Saying “thank you” reaffirms your husband’s conquests. It says, “I see that you triumphed today. Thank you for fighting for me.” Sound dorky? Let me break it down in my favorite language: fantasy.

Imagine that your husband is a knight and you are the princess. He trains every day, fine-tuning his craft and going out into the world to slay dragons and defeat the enemy for you. He takes hits, battles fatigue and long days on the road. He holds your image in his mind, using it to power through those hard times. “I am doing this for her.” Cheesy? Maybe. Now, imagine that the knight has done all of this and has come home battered, bruised, and in need of his wife’s compassion. Instead, she is busy cooking and shouting at the children and demanding he take off his mud-caked armor before he tracks mud all across her freshly scrubbed floor. And while he’s at it, will he go wrangle the pig out of the cellar and get Junior away from the fire? All the knight wanted was a kiss, perhaps, and his princess to say, “Thank you.”

Now, before I get attacked for a chauvinistic view, let me explain. I’m not saying that the wife cater to the husband. We women do a lot, as well. Life is crazy, and sometimes our husbands will have to forgo our affections and comfort in that moment because we are losing our minds. Example? The other day I had a terrible migraine, had to cook country fried steak (LORD, why I did that, I’ll never know), had a teething baby and a stir-crazy four-year old, and couldn’t seem to do anything right. When the husband came home, I had nothing left to give him except for tears. Is that normal? No, and he knew that. He stepped in, helped with the dinner, held the baby, gave me a hug, and gave up his “me time” for the night. On an average night, though, he gets a hug and kiss just for him the moment he comes in. I also give my husband between 30 minutes and an hour when he first comes home to be by himself and relax. The boys are not allowed near his office, and I leave him alone unless I must talk to him. After that time, I expect him to come and be a part of the family. Does he? Nine times out of ten, yes. Did he used to? No. But I also used to great him just like that princess greeted the knight: dismissing his efforts and denying him comfort.

If you don’t believe me, try this experiment. Without mentioning your plans to your husband, start leaving him little thank you notes. Send a text in the middle of the day, leave a sticky note on his computer or tv, or my favorite, write a note on the bathroom mirror in dry-erase marker. Do this for two weeks, as well as giving him a huge just-for-him hug when he gets home (or whenever you first see each other at the end of the day). Then, don’t do it for a few days. See if there’s a difference.

Women, “thank you” for us is another phrase. We accept it demurely and move on. For men, it is their energy. It tells them, “Good job. I appreciate you.” It validates their efforts and gives them strength to get up the next day and tackle the world. The power of “thank you” is so often overlooked. Don’t miss out on this. In your life and your marriage, it’s almost a super power. Don’t be the princess who gets caught up in her own world. Be the princess who brings her knight into it, giving him the credit he’s due.


historica-frank-dicksie-knight-and-ladyFrank Dicksee – La Belle Dame Sans Merci


Today was a relatively good day, but for the wrong reasons. Have you ever noticed how life smooths out when you stop fighting the current? Today was one of those “this fight is over,” “retreat and recoup,” enemy victory dance kinda days.

I honestly am not sure what to write about it. I’m not feeling entirely comfortable even admitting that I made such a foolish choice, but I promised not to hide behind a mask. Masks are so much more comfortable than the reality of this shame. Th perfectionist and good Christian girl inside me is hiding in a dark corner.

That’s the real reason today has been calm. What need does the Enemy have of targeting me when I’m doing an even better job of destroying myself. The technicality of my choice was ok, but the circumstances were not. Everything in me is overwhelmed by shame and guilt and fear. How could I, someone who knows the warning signs and knows the Bible, do something like this? How can I face my Father? There is no way I’m a decent representative of my faith. If people knew what a hypocrite I was…

I don’t have a solution to these thoughts just yet, other than to lay them out before you and before Jesus. As cheesy as it sounds, I don’t know of any other way. My stifling those fears has only led to harm in the past so this is the last option I have. I am afraid, though. I’m headed into a throne room covered in mud and grime where hundreds of people and my Family will watch me walk the walk of shame. I’m not entirely sure I can handle it. Still, here I go. Tonight, as much as I’d prefer to avoid the conversation, I’ll talk to God. If a solder is defeated and wounded in battle, he runs to his commanding officer, not away from him. If I keep that mentality, maybe tonight won’t be so difficult to face.

~day 3