Balabusta

Pronunciation: BAH-leh-bos-teh
Definition: A good homemaker; an individual who runs their home with efficiency and skill.
Example Sentence: Tina is a true baleboste. Her home is always clean, her meals are delicious, and her children are well-behaved.

Some Fun Thoughts:

Happy Monday! Here is that repeat of a word that I spoke about a few days ago.

Let’s talk about sex(ism), baby! Let’s talk about pa-tri-arch-y. Let’s talk about sex(ism). That was awkward... Did I at least get your attention?

So yeah, let’s talk a little about this. Complicated word today. On one hand, we have an endearing word that describes an extremely competent and self-assured homemaker. She's the fearless emotional center of her family, who makes sure her table is not only full of gorgeous food, but also full of friends, love, and laughter. On the other hand, we are examining a word that has come to represent the feeling of being "chained to the stove" and denied opportunities outside the home. How do we as speakers of language remedy these conflicting and, at times, painful definitions? Can they even be reconciled?

Let me start by saying I am a man and the extent to which I should even be welcomed into this linguistic space should be limited because this word is not traditionally meant to describe me. Where I would like to inhabit the discussion is as a speaker and one whose language affects people.

I find the most trouble when using words like balabusta—and housewife, stay-at-home mom, etc.—when I struggle to not make a woman’s sole identity related to the home, while also trying to acknowledge the difficulty, skill, and commitment that comes with being a balabusta. In other words, trying to not glorify gendered roles, while glorifying the work it takes to be a mother and a woman. I don’t know directly what it takes to be either of those things, but I know how hard my mom worked as a single mother to give my brother and me a good life. And yet, I still believe my mother could have been anything: a nurse, lawyer, pilot—not a chef, but still. She chose to be a mother. So many women, though, don’t choose and this role is forced upon them and they work so hard. And so many women don’t choose this at all and are incredible. Knee-deep in all of this ambiguousness, I think maybe I am asking the wrong question.

I remember a conversation I had with a rabbi when I was trying to reconcile all kinds of different identities for myself. He told me, “None of us are one thing. We are layered and diverse. We have different identities.” Maybe a balabusta is not one thing or the other, but like all things is complex. It can both at once be glorious and a compliment while being a remnant of oppression. As it is with all language, it depends on context and intent, and should remind us that words are only as inclusive or exclusive as we make them. Being informed, being open, and being adaptable are the most important things. So few things are black and white. Life deserves a little complexity. So, next time you see a balabusta working in the kitchen, try to see them with as much beautiful color as they deserve.