On Being a Feminist

The Golden Stairs by Edward Byrne-Jones, 1867

Linda Lowen writes:

“The power of a well-written blog is undeniable. It resonates with readers, keeps them coming back for more, and creates a strong buzz.

“I’m partial to blogs written by women. I love that the Internet is giving women a larger voice in the conversation. And the more women we can promote, the greater our power will be…online and in the world beyond.” ~Women's Issues

This is a list of blogs written by women that Linda has added to her website. If you would like to nominate someone OR add your own blog to her list, click on the above embedded link.

I have read Linda's blog for a while now, including it in my reading schedule amongst other blogs written by women. Even women I don't necessarily agree with. What's valuable to me is gaining a broader perspective of women's lives upfront-and-personal. How they are coping with change. How they are coping with the lack of change.

I'm also in love with women, in case people haven't noticed. The woman’s journey, our story, is yet to be told which is why it takes a variety of voices to create a more realistic view of who we are as a collective and as individuals. For the majority of my life, women served as backdrops to men’s dramas. Especially women like myself: almost sixty, traditional values, progressive ideals, liberal and conservative at the same time, a feminist, a realist, and a bundle of contradictions I prefer to call ‘complexity’ not ambiguity.

It ain't easy growing up in the 1950's, choosing to be a stay-at-home Mom and refining your identify through decades of confusion, and yes, disdain for what used to be a respectable way for a woman to live her life.

At a certain point, I had an awakening. I write awakening intentionally because that's what it was like in the 1990's when my kids were grown, my husband had settled into an excellent career, the garden was flourishing, my culinary repertoire was awarded five stars, and suddenly, I was free to do what "I" wanted to do! I had paid my dues, earned my stripes as they say, and now it was time for me; which I never really expected to happen in my early forties. I was fine being me without questioning whether I ought be doing something more with my life than following in my grandmother's footsteps.

My awakening was a compelling urge drawing me to Women's Studies like a square-headed-nail clinging to an academic magnet. Questions like "Why am I the one designated to clean toilets?" came to mind. What happened is that one night, I rolled over in bed, stared at my snoring husband and suddenly realized how much he looked like Hitler.

What I assumed to be my Midlife Transition turned into my husband’s Crisis which probably reflected the lack of domestic tranquility for a lot of second-wave feminists.

Of course, I can only in hindsight say my awakening was a crisis for my ex-husband because at the time, I assumed individuation was a desirable thing; that he would relish in the meditative glory of washing dishes and fixing dinner when I was occupied with other things. Like throwing pottery in a studio. Or writing a research paper on The Men’s Movement. I was finding myself and discovering what made me tick, even understanding why was I comfortable looking like Doris Day and voting for Ralph Nadar.

From that point on, my brain was an efficient Brillo pad scrubbing the scratch marks of my identity, cleaning the grime and letting my true self shine. The one who valued a traditional woman’s role but didn’t see herself as a man’s subordinate.

From this initial awakening, new books were stacked on my nightstand. Books by Andrea Dworkin, Catherine MacKinnon, Simone de Beauvoir, and an occasional novel like The Bridges of Madison County, which made me cry my eyes out at two in the morning when I read the last chapter. My tears weren’t there because an ordinary housewife had sacrificed her one and only true love, but because she looked outside herself for value through a man’s validation.

This idea bugged me for the longest time---loving who you are when you’re a woman. I kept thinking about how hard it was for a woman to feel passionate about her life when the most exciting event of the day was waxing linoleum. And yet, my role as a wife and mother provided a deep sense of satisfaction. I was doing my bit to promote my equality, while welcoming social change. I was even able to recognize and deflect occasional disdain for a stay-at-home Mom who couldn’t prove her worth with an executive job or high-paying salary. At least we women used to validate our status with a high-paid executive in our bed. *grin*

Listen, you just can’t take the easy way out defining who you are if you’ve subscribed to traditional notions of female care-taking. Homemaking is a job that pays no salary, offers no promotions, lacks luster and interest at cocktail parties and basically, tells other folks more about your lack ambition or maybe intelligence since you’re pretty darn happy scrubbing the woodwork and changing diapers. More than one executive dinner left me stammering for answers when people asked what I did. “Ummm”, I’d say, “ I don’t work.” This was a robotic and deceptive reply coming a woman who paints her own second-story rain gutters. A common enough answer to fill-in-the-blanks when we aren’t quite sure what to say.

Or the other stupid answer spilling out of my mouth, “I’m a housewife,” which made me blush with shame because I didn’t marry a house. I married a man though it still wasn’t fair to call myself a manwife as if I were his possession. I stumbled around for words which luckily, didn’t last very long because most women excused themselves to meander through the crowd and find someone who was interesting to talk with. At least, that was my impression which probably isn’t far-fetched and please don’t call my reaction a ‘victim mentality’ either. It’s hard for women to relate to one another without talking about their new-and-improved status in society. As if that status tells us we are worth something or even worse, that WE are doing better than other women who aren’t as tough and strong as ourselves, or even as intelligent.

Talking with other women has been a challenge during changing gender roles from 1960 to 2010. Through the transition from Phil Donahue bringing feminism to my attention, to Susan Faludi’s Backlash, to Sonia Johnson’s Housewife to Heretic, and the Perkin’s nail-biting novel, The Yellow wallpaper, I've still found meaning and purpose in a nurturing role that did not include a marketplace career.

“Homemaking is a career,” people placate us, which is more true than they realize. Like all careers however, your boss might fire ya just in time to deny your pension. Getting the pink slip five years short of full retirement is a bitter pill to swallow, especially if you did your job and did it well and never expected to be replaced without notice.

The job contract may be precarious but lemme tell ya, a marriage contract is even less trustworthy. For example, with a real job you can sue for sexual harassment, age discrimination, bullying, stress, and unfair firing if you work in a corporation. Love Inc. has no such recourse and even worse, you’re held responsible for not being able to please the CEO who kept you off the sidewalk out of his good graces and forbearance.

Displaced homemakers end up getting what they deserved, or so folks lie to themselves because they don’t want to admit how close women are to the sidewalk. One man shy of the concrete is how many middle-class women live their lives, never realizing the precariousness of their situation.

When Linda Lowen asked readers to contribute their blog and their reasons for writing that blog, I asked myself why I felt compelled to do a very atypical thing: stick out my neck and step up to the spotlight and draw attention to myself which of course, is okay because I don’t ask for money. If there’s anything I learned in my social milieu, it’s that women’s contributions are more valuable if they’re free. Which puts some of us traditionally inspired women in a tough spot when the benefactor we called ‘husband’ decides we aren’t earning our keep.

Old patterns are hard to see. Assumptions make us blind. And when we see through the seductive lies of our lives, we know we’re threatening connections to valued friends by questioning the status quo. Just write a blog and say you’re a feminist and you’ll see what I mean.

My daughter is a much more aggressive Gender Studies feminist than myself though she's told me time and again that feminism is based on Inclusion, not Exclusion. She puts theory into practice by listening to my thrilling stories about making banana bread with a perfect crack in the middle, or my amazing domestic success shining household brass with lemon juice and soda. Oh, now and then she rolls her eyes which gives me permission to reciprocate when she’s telling me about the workplace and her problems managing employees. I pat her little hand and tell her about getting along in a neighborhood and building relationships with people you don’t much like or might not much like you.

Still, we talk and we connect and we have learned to appreciate one another’s life as one more step towards women’s equality. I will say that when I sit down now, I stretch my legs comfortably, no longer making myself small enough to keep from crowding a man’s space. And I no longer defer to a man when he’s pouting because he can’t get a word in edgewise. 

What I do believe and put into practice every day of my life is connecting to other women despite our differences. This IS feminism. The goal is action behind words, practice following theory. This goal is much easier if you honestly and passionately respect other women and yourself whatever your role may be in life, whatever your circumstances.

Once you get the respect bit down, love is a natural consequence. You don’t have to struggle with high-minded intentions to love other women or yourself really; just work on connecting and listening and valuing women. Respect will naturally follow.

Inclusion, not exclusion. That’s what feminism taught me. My deep and abiding love for women has been an unforeseen yet natural consequence.

Hugs,

CZ