I guess it depends on your definition of “crappy.” My sense, from having lived through an extremely white middle-class childhood in the 1960s (I turned 12 in 1970), is that the worst problem for financially secure married white women is how restricted their lives and options were. Some random recollections:
My teachers were all young white single women. It was understood that upon getting married (which simply had to be their goal, that was a given) they would quit, if not immediately then within a couple of years, to raise children.
Mothers absolutely did not have jobs outside the home except if the father’s income was not enough. A mother working meant the family was poor, and it was shameful. I remember finding out that the mother of one of my classmates worked, and feeling terribly sorry for him.
One specific memory that has always stuck with me is my mother cross-examining my father at the dinner table about his day, asking him for every scrap of detail about his activities. One night, my father erupted in annoyance, saying, “for heaven sakes, Kay! Who cares whether my hamburger had pickles on it! I’m tired, I don’t feel like answering all your questions.”
My mother responded, practically sobbing, “You don’t know what it’s like! I sit home all day and it is boring. Nothing happens. The only variety in my life is finding out what you did while you were out working!”
Scenes like that helped form my views as a feminist. And probably contribute to my undying hatred of the Rolling Stones. I have never forgiven them for the song, “Mother’s Little Helper,” which placed all the blame for Valium abuse on women themselves, when in fact they were being given drugs by male doctors to calm them down when they understandably felt dissatisfied and anxious with their lives.
All seen through a very middle-class WASP cultural lens, of course. I wouldn’t presume to speak for what it was like to be a woman from a different background then.