Instead, when I was a child, my divorced, feminist, single working mom raised me on the good 1970s liberal themes: justice and equality. When I begged for a Barbie -- career Barbie, even -- my mother cut me off with "I don't care if they make her a rocket scientist, you're not getting a Barbie."

The catchphrases my mother sprinkled over my childhood and adolescence were the standard feminist fare of the times: "Men should do half the housework and child care." "You will get your college education and have a career -- not as a means to self-fulfillment but because you will not be economically dependent on any man." "You girls don't know how lucky you are to have access to birth control, but if you do get pregnant we're taking you to Planned Parenthood for an abortion." And, of course, there was always the feminist adage: "A woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle."

My mother's strongly feminist perspective provided a tremendously rich basis for my own sense of self and self-worth, but it caused confusion as well. Somehow I came away with the idea that romantic relationships with men were on some level a battle, an ongoing power struggle. So when Gloria Steinem got married recently, it eased my own considerable discomfort as I sit considering the prospect of my own marriage.

I am an unapologetic, card-carrying feminist with all the right credentials. I am not one of those women who say, "Well, I believe in equality, but don't call me a feminist." I worked at a rape crisis center for several years, co-founded a national nonprofit organization that serves primarily female victims of rape and sexual abuse, have mentored a dozen young women professionally and have worked on abortion rights and in the field of international women's human rights. I've never had a relationship with anyone who wasn't a feminist, who wasn't conscious of the complex nature of gender dynamics. But now that I am building a relationship with the man with whom I plan to spend the rest of my life, my own notions of feminism, masculinity, femininity, power and freedom are all being called into question.

I come to this relationship with Andy happy with who I am: a strong, confident, educated woman. Yet there is no question that being with Andy somehow enhances my existence. It is within the context of this loving relationship that I feel complete. In this partnership I am able to successfully do the dance of simultaneous vulnerability and security.

But it confuses me as well. How much power is too much for one person to have in a relationship? What does it mean that Andy takes care of the finances and the garbage and I take care of the laundry and the social engagements? What does it mean that Andy likes to choose my outfits when we go to parties -- and that I like it? The child in me who was raised on the monthly Stories for Free Children that appeared in Ms. magazine feels bad, ashamed, whorelike for participating in such an activity. The adult who is comfortable with her own sense of self and her own sexuality likes it -- finds it to be a turn-on.

Private Life Romance, relationships, and the personal side of Table Talk