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A Pensieve View

~ One woman's perspective

A Pensieve View

Tag Archives: mothers

I.W.D.

08 Thursday Mar 2018

Posted by Blueinkwriter in Opinion, PSA, Women's Issues

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

abuse, activism, change, daughters, equality, international women's day, motherhood, mothers, persistence, persisting, possibility, raising women, sisterhood, sisters, social justice, women, Women's Issues

Life doesn’t stop when you are struggling physically, emotionally, mentally or spiritually. It doesn’t stop when you’re grieving someone or something. It doesn’t stop when you have someone or many someones to care for.

The world keeps spinning. People still have to eat. Still have to get haircuts and get to doctors appointments and have clean clothes. Things and people still need and demand your attention.

We are women, and we are expected to do it all. And do it well. In heels.

We are expected to do whatever it takes to get our jobs done, but not to the point that it makes any man uncomfortable. Or overshadows him in any way.

In addition to our jobs, we are expected to set the table and order the food and make sure everyone has what they need for the meetings.

And clean up after.

We are expected to make sure we always look polished and put together. Even though polished and put together can be twice as expensive for a woman than a man who can pull off that look with 2 pairs of pants and 5 different shirts or ties.

We are expected, in general, to go along and not be too vocal.

Not push too hard (because then we’re nagging).

Not feel too deeply.

Not initiate, but always initiate.

Be strong, but not emasculating.

Be pretty, but not overdo the makeup, oh more than that though.

Have children.

Don’t have children.

Have one child.

Have lots of children.

Let everyone give you their opinion about that decision and smile when they not-so-subtly hint that your biological clock is ticking.

We wait 20 years for promotions that men can get in 3.

We show up early, stay late, and still have to go home and go from professional to domestic. No time to stop. No rest until you’re dead.

We are mocked when we stand up for things. Blamed when we are the victims. Judged when we we didn’t file the charges. Or report to HR. Or speak up when it happened.

Even though we’ve been talked over or shushed all our lives. Told that our worth lies in our looks. And if we promoted our looks, we were asking for it.

Our justice system has demonstrated over and over again that we should just try and “work things out” with that abuser.

Because we talk too much.

If we’re confident, and stand firm, we’re a bitch.

If we don’t speak up, we’re weak.

We can’t win.

Or can we?

On International Women’s Day, I work toward and strive for the day when my daughter doesn’t have to work in a world of double standards, and prevalent harassment, and unequal opportunity and pay.

When she, God forbid, doesn’t have to worry about her marriage ending up being a trap she can’t get out of with a man from whom she can’t protect her children.

And if my speaking up makes me a bitch, I guess I’m a bitch.

And if my writing about it makes me misunderstood or judged, those have everything to do with the reader, not the writer.

With every passing year I develop less and less tolerance for the double standard.

For the weakness of men to rise up beside us.

Women are finally realizing that we’re stronger united than divided.

The conversations are changing.

We’re finally the ones doing the talking.

And people are being forced to listen.

Many of them don’t like what they hear.

It makes them uncomfortable.

It doesn’t line up with the bubble they’ve been living in.

But it’s real. We are real. We’re not going away. We’re not going to shut up.

And, man or woman, you can walk away and shake your head, or you can join the conversation and do your part for your sisters.

But we’re not going away.

We’re celebrating each other today.

Every day.

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Using The “F” Word

21 Thursday Dec 2017

Posted by Blueinkwriter in Opinion, personal, Women's Issues

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

activism, adversity, advocacy, bravery, controversy, daughters, discrimination, feminism, mothers, Opinion, overcoming, raising women, reflection, sisterhood, truth, women, Women's Issues, writing

Feminism

1 : the theory of the political, economic, and social equality of the sexes
2 : organized activity on behalf of women’s rights and interests
— feminist play \ˈfe-mə-nist\ noun or adjective

As I reflect on 2017, what I learned, mistakes I made and would like to not repeat (or the ones I would like to make again – depending on the situation!), in general, it’s a time of meditation and letting whatever was significant sort of rise to the surface.

I wrote, several times, about women’s issues this year, or something that tied to current events regarding feminism. I share all of my posts on my personal Facebook page and, I will say, those particular posts got a mixed bag of responses.

In general, when you talk to another woman, one-on-one, they will likely agree that there are still huge strides to be made in the pursuit of economic, social, and political equality. But many of them will go into hiding when it is mentioned publicly. 

Lest they be called….the F Word.

And it might as well be THE “F” word, for all of the negative connotations it holds among certain people. 

I grew up hearing it associated with extremism. Making it out to be a bad thing. Mocked. 

And yet, here I am, a big ol’ “Feminazi”, trying to take over the world, castrate all men, and never make another dinner for my family ever again.

Please tell me you heard the sarcasm.

If you don’t get anything else from this blog, and reading my drivel, I hope I have made you see, as other writers have helped ME see, that many times, our preconcieved ideas are not necessarily correct.

I hope that, if you know me in person especially, when you read some of my more passionate posts about women’s issues, or depression, or religion – that the character you know me to have does not line up with the notions you may have always held about certain things, and you begin to see a different perspective. I hope it makes you think. Reconsider. And maybe even question your own position on things from time to time.

I hope.

But I really don’t think I’m that good of a writer.

And I know how deeply ingrained people’s biases can be. 

But I do it anyway.

Because, truth be told, I’m not a “protester”. I guess, if push comes to shove, I can be. I would be. But while I believe in public demonstration, I think the thing that changes people’s hearts and minds is a more intimate approach. 

That’s how my heart and mind have transformed over the years.

It wasn’t loud voices, but quiet ones, and the deafening sound of personal experience that made me realize the definition of feminism was not something ugly or shameful.

It was working, full time, for the last 20 years, and seeing for myself that the wage and promotion gap is, in fact, quite real.

It was seeking custody of my daughter and watching other women lose their children over things that a man would have gotten a slap on the wrist for if the roles were reversed.

It was getting pregnant at 16.

It was having serious and significant reproductive health problems.

It was seeing the inequality and hypocrisy of a religious denomination that will allow women to do literally ANY AND ALL OTHER types of work within the church, but finds them unfit to preach the gospel.

It was becoming a boss this year, supervising another woman, and knowing that I had become partially responsible for another female and her livelihood.

It was working with other women for the last 20 years, hearing their stories.

It was being sexually harassed on the job.

It was having a daughter of my own.

It’s been a LOT of things that have brought me to a place where I claim the title of “feminist”.

But mostly, it was a combination of all of the aforementioned things. Personal encounters with the “system”, but more importantly, with other women, that brought me to the understanding that feminism was not a dirty word. 

Quite the opposite, in fact. 

It is a word that should be celebrated and imprinted onto the heart of every young girl. 

I look back on this year, and I see progress, though not how many women expected or hoped it would come about. But progress is happening. If in no other way than by the unity of women (and men) rising up together and calling out abuse and harassment. Stepping out of the shadows. Finally realizing who we can trust to have our backs.

I have hope. I see a future for my daughter that includes opportunities for not just economic choices that I might not have had, but a new freedom of expression that no longer has to be so cautious, sexual harassment policies that might actually be enforced, and victim shamers being the ones forced into silence.

But there is still work to be done.

And some of that work is what I’m trying to do here, when I write about women’s issues.

I’m trying to dispel the myth of the F word. 

The one that says, “Feminists are just a bunch of angry women who wish that they were men.”

Can I just say, for all of the aggravations that accompany it, being a woman is….quite amazing?

I’m proud to be one. I’m proud of the sisterhood of other women that I have forged over the years and that it continues to expand.

And I’m not angry. I can GET angry. Gender equality does light a fire under me.

But I’m not inherently angry. I, and thousands upon thousands of other women, we’re just tired. And we’re fed up. 

And that’s not anger – that’s the result of hundreds of years of being treated less than.

Oh we have made so much progress, but to be content in that is to become the opposite of vigilant. And I think that’s why we have seen a surge of powerful demonstrations by women this year. When you have a man of extreme chauvinism in the highest place of power in the nation, there is a compelling force within those of us who have been dealing with that type of attitude all our lives.

That force is what propels us forward and stirs us to action. To march. To come forward and share our experiences, consequences be damned. To write. And to not let one man, one election, slow our roll.

It was a hard hit. It was a sickening blow to watch someone so disgusting and blatantly sexist take the White House. But good is coming from it. Progress is often born of adversity. Of pain. Of discomfort. 

And we’ve seen women take back something for themselves this year. 

We might have a long road ahead politically, economically, to gain real equality, but at the very least, there is finally, finally, some light being shed on problems that should have never been hidden in the first place. 

There are finally some eyes being opened.

And some of the voices being heard were kept silent for far too long. 

I applaud their bravery. My heart hurts for the pain and shame they bore. And I link arms with them.

When I think about the F word, I don’t think about Gloria Steinem or Hilary Clinton or Gloria Allred.

I think about my mom. How she did the work of 3 people in our house, when I was growing up. 

I think about my sister, raising her family and making sacrifices to be a stay at home mom and follow her heart.

I think about the single moms I know, who have been screwed over and abused not only by a former spouse, but by a system that has failed them.

I think about the female coworkers I’ve had, who’ve had to work twice as hard and 3 times longer to be considered for and receive promotions that it has taken younger and more inexperienced men a fraction of the time to achieve.

I think about the women have encouraged me and helped me navigate the waters of being a working mom.

I think about both of my grandmothers, and how they defied the status quo in their own lives. Working and having a career before pursuing marriage. Going back to school and having a career AFTER marriage and 4 children.

I think about my priest, and other women of the cloth I’ve observed and gotten to know over the last couple of years. How they’ve breathed new life into my faith.

I think about all of the women I know that have experienced loss and heartache, who have picked themselves up, dusted themselves off, and forged ahead. Alone. And reinvented themselves into something stronger and more stunning than ever before.

I think about my nieces, cousins, little girls of friends. I think about what I want their future to look like.

I think about my daughter. I think about the example I set for her in my actions and attitudes.

I never want her to be complacent, but neither do I want her to be cynical. 

I just want her to be hopeful. 

These are the women I think of when I think of “Feminist”. 

It’s not a dirty word. It’s beautiful. Underestimated. Misinterpreted. Inspired. 

I claim it, and wear it proudly. 

*photo credit to my cousin, Amy – one of the best feminists I know. Thanks for living by your own rules, and inspiring me to dig deep and do things that challenge me. Love you.

Strength & Courage

15 Monday May 2017

Posted by Blueinkwriter in personal, Spiritual Thoughts, Women's Issues

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

daughters, mothers, women

She couldn’t have known when she picked out this gift that every day for the last week, this has been my prayer. That God would give me strength, give me courage. 

I wonder how many times my own mother has prayed this same prayer. Because knowing what I know now, about having a daughter, she must have. 

I feel a multitude of things today. Mother’s Day is a beautiful celebration and yet, for many, I know it is a bittersweet spot on the calendar. For those who have lost children, or lost their mother. For those who never had a good mom or were able to have their own babies. It’s not easy for everyone. It’s not a day of celebration for every woman. 

I don’t know why I have been so fortunate to have such a wonderful mom. Why I have the amazing daughter I have. But most days, I don’t question it. I’m just thankful. 

I know that I’ll never live up to the example of my own mom. Her level of awesomeness is just….unattainable. And I also know that I fall incredibly short of the kind of mother that my daughter deserves. Which is why this bracelet is such a poignant gift. 

For the most part, I’ve stopped praying for tangible things. It’s not that I don’t think God cares about people’s life situations. It’s just that I’m more interested and I think GOD might be more interested in the intangible. The things that I believe He can supernaturally provide that can’t be found elsewhere.

Strength.

Courage.

Peace.

Joy.

I had lunch today with 4 generations of women. My grandmothers and my mom represent strength. The knots at the end of my rope. Their example proves to me over and over that I come from strong women. I am a strong woman. I made a strong woman.

My daughter and my niece represent courage. The future. Hope. My daughter is the reason I do anything. I have faced some scary things in my life. But courage is being afraid yet doing the hard things anyway. If not for her, I think I’d have a lot of quit in me by now.

I have no doubt that when I pray for strength and courage, I am not alone. And I don’t just ask for me. But for my own mom, my sister, my friends, and my daughter.

These universal traits of so many women come from a long lineage of prayers throughout the ages. I’m just continuing the chain.

Water

13 Saturday May 2017

Posted by Blueinkwriter in personal, Spiritual Thoughts, Women's Issues

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

death, love, mothers, peace

We’re lucky in my little spot on the map. You don’t have to go too far in any direction to find a body of water.

About 3 hours south of me is the Gulf of Mexico. About another 3 hours southeast is Mobile Bay. A couple of hours west is the Mississippi River. And everywhere in between are smaller rivers, lakes, and creeks. 

Nothing soothes me quite like the sound and sight of water. Maybe it all goes back to that protective feeling we have as babies in our mother’s womb. Maybe it’s because, from a Creationist perspective, there was water before there was any other element. 

But it’s timeless. Eternal.

When I was a kid, I’d ride a 4-wheeler down to a nearby creek. I’d sit on the limb of a tree that stretched out of a bank and just watch the water for a long time.

Right now I’m sitting in silence, listening to rushing waters at a nearby park. Just me and my thoughts. And the water.

My goal is to have a condo on the Gulf Coast one day. Someplace I can retreat to and hear the waves. Sometimes I think I’d be a much calmer, more relaxed, less anxious person if I just had moving water near my windows. 

I just left the hospital, visiting a friend whose mother will not be going home. Not her earthly home. My friend has taken care of this woman, her mother, for the last several years. 

It is not lost on me that while I’m celebrating my mother tomorrow, and my own motherhood, this friend will be watching her own mother take the last steps of her earthly journey. 

The arrangements are made. Now the waiting. Hospice says it may be days, may be weeks. There’s no way to know. But my friend is there. Just waiting. 

I have no words for her. I have no statements, no clichés. Nothing I can say will make this experience easier. I can only stand with her. Sit with her. Pray for her. Love her. 

And that’s what mothers do. We stand and sit and pray and love and hold more in our hearts than our mouths can express with words. 

We feel our children’s deepest pains. We feel our sister’s most raw and heartbreaking experiences. We stand there, often alone, and internalize all that would break a mortal man to pieces.

I know some strong men. Respect many. Love many. But I’m going to tell you something true: the strongest people I know are women. 

The kind of love that women have, the compassion, it’s this writer’s opinion that those are the characteristics of the God who created women in Their image.

We talk about God in the masculine. But “male and female created he them.” 

The God I believe in is neither male nor female. The Spirit is both. How could the Divine have created both man and woman in a preformed image without female characteristics to draw from?

It was a woman that birthed God into human likeness. It was women that prepared his broken and lifeless body. And it was women who first knew of his resurrection. Women are special. We are the only one of the sexes that can grow and produce a life from our own bodies. Not that a man plays no part in that, but it’s a different role altogether.

And mothers…….well, they aren’t just the ones who birth children. 

I know so many women who don’t have children from their own bodies, yet love others maternally. And many of us, one day, will have to love our own mothers back in the way they first loved us. Or maybe in the way we wished they had loved us.

We’ll have to sit in silence, or with calm reassurance.”Everything is okay,” we will say. “Shhhh. Everything is fine.” We’ll pray for God to be merciful and kind. We’ll try to provide the same soothing atmosphere that surrounded us in our earliest days. 

The water. 

The rushing water. 

The peace. 

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