When Privilege Meets Passivity: Why Strangers Reminded Me Women Deserve Better Narratives
I’ve been making my way through Belle Burden’s Strangers, and I honestly can’t remember the last time a book left me this unsettled. Not confused—unsettled. As a woman who has fought hard to find her voice, protect her family, and stand firmly in her own truth—especially through everything I’ve poured into Dinner at 45—this story had me nodding in recognition one moment and slamming the book shut the next.
Let’s start with what’s impossible to ignore. Belle grew up privileged. The Martha’s Vineyard house. The curated lifestyle. The beautiful meals, the ease, the access. And listen—I understand that privilege doesn’t equal happiness. I get that money doesn’t insulate you from pain. But what frustrated me deeply was the absence of urgency. I kept waiting for her to meet the moment—to push back, to assert herself, to say no, this is not enough for me.
Instead, her husband’s boldness takes center stage. Kissing her out of the blue in her office before they’re even dating. Sending emails that dictate the direction of their relationship. Deciding—almost administratively—how their separation will unfold. It felt like a chilling throwback to a time when women were expected to simply absorb what men decided. To be agreeable. To be quiet. To be “along for the ride.” And I found myself thinking, Are we really still here?
Then came the part that truly stopped me cold. Early COVID. Total uncertainty. Fear. Isolation. And her 17-year-old son—still a child, no matter how independent he may seem—is away with friends while the rest of the family isolates. That didn’t sit right with me. Not even a little. Regardless of whether he wanted to be with his friends, regardless of whether he said he was “fine.” As a mother, my instinct is protection. Presence. Especially in moments we don’t yet understand. I took COVID seriously. I protected my adult children and our youngest son fiercely. That’s what mothers do—we show up when things feel uncertain and scary.
And then—planning to tell him about the divorce on Zoom? Ultimately calling him instead? He’s 17. Still forming. Still vulnerable. Still needing grounding and reassurance. Of course he hung up on them. That wasn’t defiance—that was pain. That was confusion. That was a young man who needed support and didn’t feel it. That section? Book down. Full stop. I was frustrated, sad, and honestly angry.
When I think about family, connection, and hard conversations, this is the exact opposite of how I live. In my world, we sit at the table. We look each other in the eye. We don’t outsource pain to emails or screens. We face the mess together. Now, I recognize not everyone operates the way I do—but that doesn’t mean I have to understand it easily. And in this moment, I didn’t. The book went down again. I needed space.
I kept putting it down because every time Belle didn’t stand up for herself, it echoed a much larger, heavier question: Are women still allowing others—especially men—to dictate the terms of their lives? I’ve spent years advocating for women to stand tall, to own their narrative, to stop shrinking for comfort or convenience. So yes, I struggled. And yet, I kept picking the book back up. Maybe because I hoped she’d flip the script. Maybe because I wanted redemption. Maybe because I wanted to believe the ending would feel earned.
In the end—or at least where I am right now—this book has taught me something very clear: what I don’t want. I don’t want women waiting for a man’s email to decide their future. I don’t want quiet resignation disguised as grace. I don’t want passivity framed as strength. I want women writing their own stories—boldly, intentionally, and without apology.
I’m still struggling with this book. Still processing. Still conflicted.
To be continued…
