Sometimes your bristles are up for a length of time. I'm less sensitive to it now because I've worked through my feelings after hearing so many attacks on how I use my time.
One of the most offensive experiences happened in front of a room full of strangers. I enrolled in a writing class because I wanted to hone my talents for observation. Besides, being in the same room with a bunch of creative people gets the juices flowing. However – this class was not what I'd hoped for, nor was the teacher gracious or encouraging.
In the first class, each person answered a few ice-breaker questions and talked about what they were interested in. I took the plunge, because I got some 'spiritual' vibes from the teacher, and stated my Faith. Gulp!
'Write what you know' was the beginning mantra. Well, what DID I know?? I was defining Home and still discovering myself. So, that's what I picked. I faithfully attended class, but my instructor harbored thinly-veiled hostilities. She banged the drum of active verbs and insisted I start my triteste with: 'I'm a wife; I don't work.'
“The one who is unwilling to work shall not eat” (2 Thes. 3:10).
I acquiesced because I've always trusted the Teacher more than myself. But, it felt like a Lie. And It was. But I no longer need to justify myself. I Do work – a lot. My status as a married woman does not change that. Even though I choose my compensation, my labor is not second-class.