Today was the one year anniversary of my legal divorce from my now ex-husband. The past few weeks have brought some moments of relative peace between us. We have never been the sort to outwardly war with one another. Still, there has been fighting for the past year. Some of it bitter, some of it hurtful, all of it sad.
Tonight my ex had our children for a few hours. I was cleaning house and started watching Joe versus the Volcano. I had been reminded of this movie recently and so I ordered it through NetFlix. I watched the first hour until the kids got home. I forgot how alive Joe becomes after having been so dead in so many ways. I feel much the same way about letting go of my marriage. Each day, each week, each month that passes, I realize how dead I was in the relationship. What I understood my role to be, what I took on, what I perceived, none of it seems to make much sense to me anymore. I still wake up and wonder how I got so far afield.
When my kids burst through the door I said yet another prayer thanking God for them, and for my ex-husband who was part of their creation. I gave him some pictures I had taken of them recently. He thanked me. We talked about a friend who had a baby recently. Then he left. My daughter looked quizzically at me and said, "You know... you and dad can still get back together." I wonder if the woundedness she carries from our divorce will heal in time. I pray it will. My son quickly added, "I don't want you to marry anyone mom!"
Now a year later, I can see what I couldn't see a year ago. My perspective is shifting back into some semblance of focus again. It's not entirely in focus yet, but it's shifting. Like a kaleidoscope, the colors are becoming more brilliant and yet more cohesive again.
Tomorrow I will have go to my office and do my best to shepherd more people through a sticky process. And tomorrow night I will have dinner with an old friend. We will laugh and remember when. But best of all, my babies will come bursting through the front door and I'll remember my highest calling. To be a witness to their lives...their growing, their changing, their loving. What a gift my life is.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Funny
A few nights ago I went to a comedy show. In the interest of full disclosure, I knew nothing about the comic ahead of time...and this of course was my own fault. A friend had lent me a few DVD's of his work, but I never got around to watching them. I assumed that given my love of laughing, jokes and teasing I would enjoy the comic and even if his material wasn't hilarious, I would still laugh. It doesn't take much.
I have loved to laugh as long as I can remember. I crack jokes constantly. At one point in my life I'm sure it was a coping mechanism, but still all in all I love to laugh. I was voted "Class Clown" in high school. I have pulled awesome practical jokes on people, and have been the target of a few myself. I laugh at slapstick humor like Chris Farley, profane humor like Ron White and Chris Rock and more sophisticated humor like Jon Stewart. I'm not what I would call a comedy snob. I think a lot of things are funny.
So I showed up at this show thinking it would be funny. The opening act immediately launched into a song he wrote about how "Arizona has gotten it right" - referring to the current immigration reform. The song crossed more than a few lines and was quite simply offensive. He then cracked a few jokes about Democrats and launched into a rock star version of the national anthem.
This is probably the moment I should also confess to not being very patriotic. I think my country (and I do claim it as my own) does a lot of stupid stuff. I do not think that just by virtue of my birthplace I'm better or more entitled to anyone else on the planet. I'm bothered by the Pledge of Allegiance and am by and large a pacificist. I don't think we have any business invading other countries, and I don't think Muslims are to blame for the downfall of America. I think our own greed is.
So, the main act emerged on the stage and essentially spent 90 minutes making jokes of every stereotype ever known to white, straight men. Women are nags , Asians can't speak English, Hispanics are dull-speaking and lazy, Blacks speak in incoherent slang, wear big jewelry and listen to rap music all day long, gay men are all hairdressers. You name it, he generalized it. And then to top it off, he mixed it in with some good ol' "God Bless America" kind of Muslim hatred. He actually has a character he does named "Achmed the Dead Terrorist." His mantra, "I keeelll you."
I'm not laughing. As a matter of fact, the two hour show made me realize all that is wrong with my fellow Missourians who find this sort of humor funny. He wasn't laughing "with" these groups of people, he was clearly laughing "at" them. As if by virtue of his whiteness or straightness or whatever, he was obviously superior. To top it all off, his hatred of Muslims is so en vogue these days that it made him all the more popular with the folks who had paid, some of the more than $100 to see him, to see him and laugh with him.
I felt my face redden a few times, I'm not certain if it was embarrassment or anger...though certainly I felt both. I was bothered for all of the people I knew who fit his categories. My gay and lesbian friends, my Jewish friends, my black friends. And I felt as if I was somehow betraying them by sitting and there and not speaking out. Or at a minimum leaving the show.
I thought about what message I want my kids to have in this life about people who are different than them...I remember taking a barely 5 year old Melena with me to the voting polls in the election of Barack Obama...and the pride I felt at being able to vote, in this country of so much history of racism, for a black man to be our President. I remember the tears rolling down my cheeks as I watched the civil rights leaders of the 60's and 70's watching this man become President, tears rolling down their faces. I remember trying to explain to my 5 year old how important that day was...how much had had to change to reach that day. I recall those weeks after 9/11 and feeling embarrassed for our country as we lashed out at the Muslim community in misdirected hatred. I remember crying for Matthew Shephard. I know what it is to be a woman, and therefore judged to be less than a man. These things that separate us, what do we do with these distinctions? I am not naive enough to believe we are at a place in history where we are able to celebrate our differences. But surely we have come further than this...an arena filled with people who are laughing at those who are different as if they are and always will be inferior. A gathering to celebrate that which we fear...the unknown, the not yet understood.
I'm still not sure what I think my reaction should've been besides outrage. I had plenty of that. But I wonder what else I'm feeling and what lies below my own surface. What prejudices do I have underneath it all? What stereotypes and preconceived notions am I hanging on to that should be let go of? I'm still not certain. I just know that none of it struck me as very funny at all.
I have loved to laugh as long as I can remember. I crack jokes constantly. At one point in my life I'm sure it was a coping mechanism, but still all in all I love to laugh. I was voted "Class Clown" in high school. I have pulled awesome practical jokes on people, and have been the target of a few myself. I laugh at slapstick humor like Chris Farley, profane humor like Ron White and Chris Rock and more sophisticated humor like Jon Stewart. I'm not what I would call a comedy snob. I think a lot of things are funny.
So I showed up at this show thinking it would be funny. The opening act immediately launched into a song he wrote about how "Arizona has gotten it right" - referring to the current immigration reform. The song crossed more than a few lines and was quite simply offensive. He then cracked a few jokes about Democrats and launched into a rock star version of the national anthem.
This is probably the moment I should also confess to not being very patriotic. I think my country (and I do claim it as my own) does a lot of stupid stuff. I do not think that just by virtue of my birthplace I'm better or more entitled to anyone else on the planet. I'm bothered by the Pledge of Allegiance and am by and large a pacificist. I don't think we have any business invading other countries, and I don't think Muslims are to blame for the downfall of America. I think our own greed is.
So, the main act emerged on the stage and essentially spent 90 minutes making jokes of every stereotype ever known to white, straight men. Women are nags , Asians can't speak English, Hispanics are dull-speaking and lazy, Blacks speak in incoherent slang, wear big jewelry and listen to rap music all day long, gay men are all hairdressers. You name it, he generalized it. And then to top it off, he mixed it in with some good ol' "God Bless America" kind of Muslim hatred. He actually has a character he does named "Achmed the Dead Terrorist." His mantra, "I keeelll you."
I'm not laughing. As a matter of fact, the two hour show made me realize all that is wrong with my fellow Missourians who find this sort of humor funny. He wasn't laughing "with" these groups of people, he was clearly laughing "at" them. As if by virtue of his whiteness or straightness or whatever, he was obviously superior. To top it all off, his hatred of Muslims is so en vogue these days that it made him all the more popular with the folks who had paid, some of the more than $100 to see him, to see him and laugh with him.
I felt my face redden a few times, I'm not certain if it was embarrassment or anger...though certainly I felt both. I was bothered for all of the people I knew who fit his categories. My gay and lesbian friends, my Jewish friends, my black friends. And I felt as if I was somehow betraying them by sitting and there and not speaking out. Or at a minimum leaving the show.
I thought about what message I want my kids to have in this life about people who are different than them...I remember taking a barely 5 year old Melena with me to the voting polls in the election of Barack Obama...and the pride I felt at being able to vote, in this country of so much history of racism, for a black man to be our President. I remember the tears rolling down my cheeks as I watched the civil rights leaders of the 60's and 70's watching this man become President, tears rolling down their faces. I remember trying to explain to my 5 year old how important that day was...how much had had to change to reach that day. I recall those weeks after 9/11 and feeling embarrassed for our country as we lashed out at the Muslim community in misdirected hatred. I remember crying for Matthew Shephard. I know what it is to be a woman, and therefore judged to be less than a man. These things that separate us, what do we do with these distinctions? I am not naive enough to believe we are at a place in history where we are able to celebrate our differences. But surely we have come further than this...an arena filled with people who are laughing at those who are different as if they are and always will be inferior. A gathering to celebrate that which we fear...the unknown, the not yet understood.
I'm still not sure what I think my reaction should've been besides outrage. I had plenty of that. But I wonder what else I'm feeling and what lies below my own surface. What prejudices do I have underneath it all? What stereotypes and preconceived notions am I hanging on to that should be let go of? I'm still not certain. I just know that none of it struck me as very funny at all.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
A soft place to fall
Tonight I was struck by something. As is ordinarily the case for me, it took me a minute. Oftentimes when my kids return from visiting with their dad for a few hours they have vastly different reactions when they walk through my door.
My son is typically thrilled to see me. He flings himself at me and is laughing and smiling. He takes an hour or so to really unwind. It's as if he has pent up energy that he needs to be let out. While he is a high energy kid on a normal day, he seems even more wound up. Not in a bad way...just bouncing around. He is full of hugs and kisses and is clearly happy to be home.
My daughter is often the opposite. She typically rushes through the front door with her stuff in tow, dropping it on the way down the short hallway to my arms. She often is tearful. She will express something happened that day...she stubbed her toe, she missed a word on a spelling test, she didn't feel well...most often it is that something bothered her. It seems as if she has been waiting to tell someone this information all day, and now that it's spilling out she can't control her tears. She sits on my lap and buries her head in my shoulder. Most of the time she is consoled quickly and we move about getting ready for bed. During our "tuck-in" talk, she often is quiet, wanting reassurance that I love her. That life will continue on much the same tomorrow.
It's a strange thing, my children's reactions to me. I often describe them to others much the opposite of these reactions. My son typically is the quieter, more reserved child. He likes routine and is uncertain at times. My daughter is the outgoing charmer. Always making friends and with a great ability to "roll with the punches" she is rarely bothered by change or chaos.
Tonight it occurred to me what's happening. And in some ways I felt honored to be my daughter's mother. Yesterday when my son was again undergoing medical procedures and issues, I was pretty composed. I rarely show signs of stress, particularly when he is having medical issues. My job in these situations is to hold his hand, get thrown up on sometimes and to advocate for the best treatment for my child. And I know how to do those things well. There is nothing that bring outs the lioness in me more than when my child is sick. This morning, on my way to work, I had a mini breakdown in the car. I was talking out loud to God (something I do in my car often). And I lost it. I think part of me senses that it's ok. God has heard my stuff before. She gets me. It's ok for me to cry and to be out of control for a time. I feel some comfort in those moments with God. Knowing that despite my own judgments, I'm just Her kid, and the world is scary sometimes. And it's ok to cry about it.
I realized tonight that's what's happening with my daughter. She has this angst...sometimes it's a big deal and sometimes it's not...but regardless she needs an outlet...someplace to say it. And for her, I'm that person. Her mom will listen. I don't judge her feelings, and at the end of all of it I hug her, kiss her and tell her I love her.
All of us, as human as we are, need that place we can fall down and cry. As I find myself wandering deeper into this forest with God, I am so thankful for that soft place to fall. I don't know how I got here...to this place in my life...but I'm so thankful to have both sides of the coin...to be the one falling and to be the one someone else can fall on. I continue to pray for the ability to be the soft place for my child, to be whatever she needs me to be. I continue to pray that God will be my soft place as well. That She will listen, hug me, kiss me and still love me at the end of it all.
My son is typically thrilled to see me. He flings himself at me and is laughing and smiling. He takes an hour or so to really unwind. It's as if he has pent up energy that he needs to be let out. While he is a high energy kid on a normal day, he seems even more wound up. Not in a bad way...just bouncing around. He is full of hugs and kisses and is clearly happy to be home.
My daughter is often the opposite. She typically rushes through the front door with her stuff in tow, dropping it on the way down the short hallway to my arms. She often is tearful. She will express something happened that day...she stubbed her toe, she missed a word on a spelling test, she didn't feel well...most often it is that something bothered her. It seems as if she has been waiting to tell someone this information all day, and now that it's spilling out she can't control her tears. She sits on my lap and buries her head in my shoulder. Most of the time she is consoled quickly and we move about getting ready for bed. During our "tuck-in" talk, she often is quiet, wanting reassurance that I love her. That life will continue on much the same tomorrow.
It's a strange thing, my children's reactions to me. I often describe them to others much the opposite of these reactions. My son typically is the quieter, more reserved child. He likes routine and is uncertain at times. My daughter is the outgoing charmer. Always making friends and with a great ability to "roll with the punches" she is rarely bothered by change or chaos.
Tonight it occurred to me what's happening. And in some ways I felt honored to be my daughter's mother. Yesterday when my son was again undergoing medical procedures and issues, I was pretty composed. I rarely show signs of stress, particularly when he is having medical issues. My job in these situations is to hold his hand, get thrown up on sometimes and to advocate for the best treatment for my child. And I know how to do those things well. There is nothing that bring outs the lioness in me more than when my child is sick. This morning, on my way to work, I had a mini breakdown in the car. I was talking out loud to God (something I do in my car often). And I lost it. I think part of me senses that it's ok. God has heard my stuff before. She gets me. It's ok for me to cry and to be out of control for a time. I feel some comfort in those moments with God. Knowing that despite my own judgments, I'm just Her kid, and the world is scary sometimes. And it's ok to cry about it.
I realized tonight that's what's happening with my daughter. She has this angst...sometimes it's a big deal and sometimes it's not...but regardless she needs an outlet...someplace to say it. And for her, I'm that person. Her mom will listen. I don't judge her feelings, and at the end of all of it I hug her, kiss her and tell her I love her.
All of us, as human as we are, need that place we can fall down and cry. As I find myself wandering deeper into this forest with God, I am so thankful for that soft place to fall. I don't know how I got here...to this place in my life...but I'm so thankful to have both sides of the coin...to be the one falling and to be the one someone else can fall on. I continue to pray for the ability to be the soft place for my child, to be whatever she needs me to be. I continue to pray that God will be my soft place as well. That She will listen, hug me, kiss me and still love me at the end of it all.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Seek and ye shall find
Today I was sitting in church listening to the Gospel lesson, and a thought occurred to me. Admittedly this is not going to be a well-thought out post...but...that never stopped me before.
The Gospel was from Luke, "And so I say unto you, ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you." I'm fairly sure I've heard this gospel a hundred times in my life in the church, and yet the primary emotion for me today was one of doubt.
You see, I've known a lot of people in my life who aren't ever going to ask. They've been too wounded. It hurts too much. Maybe it's because they've been burnt by the church. Or because they've suffered wounds too deep to be able to believe that if they ask they might get what they want or need. The hope of it all has been beat out of them. Or maybe it's just because they aren't really the seeking kind. What about those people? What happens to them? If they never find their voice to ask, how will it work out for them?
Or perhaps it's not even that they don't know to ask, but they're not sure what it is they're asking for. I'm familiar with that scenario. "Um, God, I don't know where the hell (oops sorry God) you want me or how you want me or what you would like from me. But I'm here. And I want to understand. And I hope you want to understand me too." I'm not sure what my question is there, but surely it's not clear to me. I hope God can translate "confused and disoriented in Missouri" well enough that those well-meaning prayers count as "seeking."
There are even others who are lost. They have wandered in the woods so long, that they can't make it back out. What happens if they never get to the door in time? If their whole lives is an exercise in trying to survive and they never get to the point of seeking. In my opinion, it's hard to be a seeker if you're hungry and homeless or an addict or a mother of 4 and not sure where you're going to get your kids' next meal. Seeking in those situations seems an existential luxury that many never have.
I have to believe that God didn't mean the passage in Luke the way it sounds. That it never begins or ends with what we can muster up on any given day or time. That if we are weary and hopeless and confused and preoccupied, that She will seek us out. That if we cannot find the strength to lift our hands and knock... that if our voice has been stolen and disregarded by this world...that if we cannot seek, because we cannot bear the thought of another loss...that God in her wisdom and abounding love gets that and is able to meet us wherever we may be in ...this ...very ...moment. That She knows our hearts, our intentions, our capacity to love; and that rather than condemning our efforts, however small and insignificant, that She cherishes each of those moments when we are able to seek Her out. That She is delighted when we stumble over our words and hide our faces in doubt...but still offer what there is offer of ourselves. When we stand before Her and say that I don't know and I'm unsure and I'm fearful of how it will all work out...but still I have faith that God is good.
Even when I'm afraid to seek or ask or knock...I know that God still hears, responds and loves me. For all of my Lutheran upbringing, I have to think Luther stopped just short of getting it. While I agree that salvation is not something that can be earned...I would take it step a further and say I'm not sure Jesus cares much about how sorry we are or whether we have repented sufficiently. I have to believe that God loved us from the start. That anything good comes from God. And that we are enough on our own. Even when we don't know it or can't accept it or can't come to it on our own.
The Gospel was from Luke, "And so I say unto you, ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you." I'm fairly sure I've heard this gospel a hundred times in my life in the church, and yet the primary emotion for me today was one of doubt.
You see, I've known a lot of people in my life who aren't ever going to ask. They've been too wounded. It hurts too much. Maybe it's because they've been burnt by the church. Or because they've suffered wounds too deep to be able to believe that if they ask they might get what they want or need. The hope of it all has been beat out of them. Or maybe it's just because they aren't really the seeking kind. What about those people? What happens to them? If they never find their voice to ask, how will it work out for them?
Or perhaps it's not even that they don't know to ask, but they're not sure what it is they're asking for. I'm familiar with that scenario. "Um, God, I don't know where the hell (oops sorry God) you want me or how you want me or what you would like from me. But I'm here. And I want to understand. And I hope you want to understand me too." I'm not sure what my question is there, but surely it's not clear to me. I hope God can translate "confused and disoriented in Missouri" well enough that those well-meaning prayers count as "seeking."
There are even others who are lost. They have wandered in the woods so long, that they can't make it back out. What happens if they never get to the door in time? If their whole lives is an exercise in trying to survive and they never get to the point of seeking. In my opinion, it's hard to be a seeker if you're hungry and homeless or an addict or a mother of 4 and not sure where you're going to get your kids' next meal. Seeking in those situations seems an existential luxury that many never have.
I have to believe that God didn't mean the passage in Luke the way it sounds. That it never begins or ends with what we can muster up on any given day or time. That if we are weary and hopeless and confused and preoccupied, that She will seek us out. That if we cannot find the strength to lift our hands and knock... that if our voice has been stolen and disregarded by this world...that if we cannot seek, because we cannot bear the thought of another loss...that God in her wisdom and abounding love gets that and is able to meet us wherever we may be in ...this ...very ...moment. That She knows our hearts, our intentions, our capacity to love; and that rather than condemning our efforts, however small and insignificant, that She cherishes each of those moments when we are able to seek Her out. That She is delighted when we stumble over our words and hide our faces in doubt...but still offer what there is offer of ourselves. When we stand before Her and say that I don't know and I'm unsure and I'm fearful of how it will all work out...but still I have faith that God is good.
Even when I'm afraid to seek or ask or knock...I know that God still hears, responds and loves me. For all of my Lutheran upbringing, I have to think Luther stopped just short of getting it. While I agree that salvation is not something that can be earned...I would take it step a further and say I'm not sure Jesus cares much about how sorry we are or whether we have repented sufficiently. I have to believe that God loved us from the start. That anything good comes from God. And that we are enough on our own. Even when we don't know it or can't accept it or can't come to it on our own.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Relationships
So I've met this boy. My downfall starts and ends with that sentence. Alright, maybe it's not that serious or dramatic, but still, I know my own limitations. And keeping things in perspective is not my strong suit. I tend to get caught up relatively easily.
The interesting thing about this new boy is that I've finally (admittedly, it's taken me a minute) realized that relationships can be all different shapes and sizes. That not every relationship has to end up at an altar. And in fact, most aren't meant to ever reach that point.
My relationship with the boy...well it's not likely to be a marriage sort of thing. In fact, I can say 100% that it won't end there. We are more different than we are the same. We are different religions, have a pretty serious age difference and are at very different places in our lives. Still, he makes me laugh. A lot. And I enjoy spending time with him. And I make him laugh. A lot. Both of us have very clear priorities. He has two children (older than mine) and I have two children. They are the clear priority. So there's no real pressure. If one of us has our children, then we aren't going anywhere together that day. And there's no angst over being torn between a boy and my kids. It's just the way things are. And I'm not complaining about that. It's nice to have a part-time relationship. One that is there when I want it, but not when I don't. I would typically rather spend time with my kids than a boy. They are only small for such a short time...I'm not inclined to miss out on seeing them grow up to chase men. It doesn't make sense to me. They are the coolest people I know.
When we do spend time together, we're not talking about world politics or who the historical Jesus really was or how to solve the current recession. We don't talk shop much either, despite the fact we do much the same sort of work. We talk about our lives, how we got here, what we were like as kids, what we think about divorce and we joke even more. It's a fun distraction. A flirty thing. Sweet and somewhat innocent in nature.
I was talking with a friend recently about him, and questioning whether it makes sense to be involved with this boy. My friend laughed and said, "why the hell not? Don't you deserve to have fun and be loved with no strings attached?" I tend to agree, although it still seems foreign to me. To enter into a relationship realizing that it won't be the be all, end all of my life.
Sometimes I realize just how limited my experience has been with men. My relationship with my ex-husband started when I was barely 22. And didn't end until I was 34. I had very little history prior to him, and no history since meeting him.
I'm inclined to go with what my friend said, "why the hell not?"
The interesting thing about this new boy is that I've finally (admittedly, it's taken me a minute) realized that relationships can be all different shapes and sizes. That not every relationship has to end up at an altar. And in fact, most aren't meant to ever reach that point.
My relationship with the boy...well it's not likely to be a marriage sort of thing. In fact, I can say 100% that it won't end there. We are more different than we are the same. We are different religions, have a pretty serious age difference and are at very different places in our lives. Still, he makes me laugh. A lot. And I enjoy spending time with him. And I make him laugh. A lot. Both of us have very clear priorities. He has two children (older than mine) and I have two children. They are the clear priority. So there's no real pressure. If one of us has our children, then we aren't going anywhere together that day. And there's no angst over being torn between a boy and my kids. It's just the way things are. And I'm not complaining about that. It's nice to have a part-time relationship. One that is there when I want it, but not when I don't. I would typically rather spend time with my kids than a boy. They are only small for such a short time...I'm not inclined to miss out on seeing them grow up to chase men. It doesn't make sense to me. They are the coolest people I know.
When we do spend time together, we're not talking about world politics or who the historical Jesus really was or how to solve the current recession. We don't talk shop much either, despite the fact we do much the same sort of work. We talk about our lives, how we got here, what we were like as kids, what we think about divorce and we joke even more. It's a fun distraction. A flirty thing. Sweet and somewhat innocent in nature.
I was talking with a friend recently about him, and questioning whether it makes sense to be involved with this boy. My friend laughed and said, "why the hell not? Don't you deserve to have fun and be loved with no strings attached?" I tend to agree, although it still seems foreign to me. To enter into a relationship realizing that it won't be the be all, end all of my life.
Sometimes I realize just how limited my experience has been with men. My relationship with my ex-husband started when I was barely 22. And didn't end until I was 34. I had very little history prior to him, and no history since meeting him.
I'm inclined to go with what my friend said, "why the hell not?"
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Was that a spiritual thing or what?
This past Thursday I got my nose pierced. I almost took off out of the place before I could get seated in the chair...but the actual process was really simple and hurt very little. I was pleasantly surprised. I had been anticipating today being the day for the past several days. It's something I've considered for months, but the last few weeks of feminist writings sort of set me in motion.
Today at church, a woman I know slightly asked me, "So was that a spiritual thing or what?" I don't know that I would have called it spiritual...but then I thought about the word and realized that in fact, that was likely the best word to describe the experience.
The past few weeks have felt very much like an awakening for me. An awakening to what I have been denying and running from for years. My last post was the angry part...but there is a sad part of me, too. And there is an overwhelming feeling of change approaching. I feel it coming on, and part of me wants to abandon myself to it.
The image that has occurred to me and drove me to the nose piercing was of a woman (most of the time me, but increasingly my daughter) on her knees. It seems I've spent a good part of my life there, figuratively speaking. When I was a little girl, I was told regularly there were things I couldn't do or achieve. These messages came from both men and women ... my father, my church, my pastor, the older folks in my life as a child. I'm sure that no one meant much harm by what they told me...but harmful it was. Like a deep wound that is hard to even talk about...much less heal from.
Later on, during the month I turned 13 I was victimized by a man, and very literally pushed to my knees by him. What he did was horrible and I carry that scar on my spirit. 22 years later and that experience of being pushed down is still painful.
I went away to college at 18, and yet again I was greeted by young men and older ones alike who knew very clearly what a woman's role should be. That age though for me, brought my first real crisis of faith. Suddenly what I *knew* came into conflict with what I was being taught, told and preached. I wasn't sure how to reconcile the two worlds, and so I burrowed into the ground and went to law school.
Surely I had arived... there I was bucking all the gender stereotypes...a tough woman in a man's world. Still, a part of me felt lost in that world. I still do.
My marriage turned out to be one long exercise in kneeling...making my husband primary. He didn't even have to ask, I just did it. After all that's what women do, isn't it?
And so now I find myself on a very spiritual journey. One that is at least partially defined by the fact that I am a woman. Spiritual journey is really about becoming more of a comprehensive self, isn't it? One that can incorporate the parts of life that have been difficult and trying with the parts that are pure joy and light. Certainly there has been joy and light in my life...and the nose ring is about that. While I knew that the men in my life...my father, my ex-husband, many of the male attorneys I come into contact with...would disapprove of my choice...for me it was about rising from my knees and standing.
The thought I had immediately before the piercing was, "It's about time to stand up." And so I have. And I will. And I'm pleased that I've found the strength to again take the first steps on yet another spiritual journey. It feels authentic. And good. And full of promise.
Today at church, a woman I know slightly asked me, "So was that a spiritual thing or what?" I don't know that I would have called it spiritual...but then I thought about the word and realized that in fact, that was likely the best word to describe the experience.
The past few weeks have felt very much like an awakening for me. An awakening to what I have been denying and running from for years. My last post was the angry part...but there is a sad part of me, too. And there is an overwhelming feeling of change approaching. I feel it coming on, and part of me wants to abandon myself to it.
The image that has occurred to me and drove me to the nose piercing was of a woman (most of the time me, but increasingly my daughter) on her knees. It seems I've spent a good part of my life there, figuratively speaking. When I was a little girl, I was told regularly there were things I couldn't do or achieve. These messages came from both men and women ... my father, my church, my pastor, the older folks in my life as a child. I'm sure that no one meant much harm by what they told me...but harmful it was. Like a deep wound that is hard to even talk about...much less heal from.
Later on, during the month I turned 13 I was victimized by a man, and very literally pushed to my knees by him. What he did was horrible and I carry that scar on my spirit. 22 years later and that experience of being pushed down is still painful.
I went away to college at 18, and yet again I was greeted by young men and older ones alike who knew very clearly what a woman's role should be. That age though for me, brought my first real crisis of faith. Suddenly what I *knew* came into conflict with what I was being taught, told and preached. I wasn't sure how to reconcile the two worlds, and so I burrowed into the ground and went to law school.
Surely I had arived... there I was bucking all the gender stereotypes...a tough woman in a man's world. Still, a part of me felt lost in that world. I still do.
My marriage turned out to be one long exercise in kneeling...making my husband primary. He didn't even have to ask, I just did it. After all that's what women do, isn't it?
And so now I find myself on a very spiritual journey. One that is at least partially defined by the fact that I am a woman. Spiritual journey is really about becoming more of a comprehensive self, isn't it? One that can incorporate the parts of life that have been difficult and trying with the parts that are pure joy and light. Certainly there has been joy and light in my life...and the nose ring is about that. While I knew that the men in my life...my father, my ex-husband, many of the male attorneys I come into contact with...would disapprove of my choice...for me it was about rising from my knees and standing.
The thought I had immediately before the piercing was, "It's about time to stand up." And so I have. And I will. And I'm pleased that I've found the strength to again take the first steps on yet another spiritual journey. It feels authentic. And good. And full of promise.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
"I'm not bitter, I'm mad as hell."
Warning: This is likely to be contain some profanity, images you'd rather not consider and some seemingly irrational thoughts.
I've been reading a lot of feminist writings lately. I'm not sure why. I just know I've been drawn into it, and I haven't resisted as strongly as I might have years ago. Part of me has considered myself a feminist for years - hell I was labeled a "feminazi" in college by some of the more conservative white boys. But I don't know that I think I ever really got it. I think part of it has to do with the realizations of the past year concerning the role I played in my marriage and its destruction. Part of it comes from a wellspring deep in my soul that I've been struggling to hold down for years...perhaps my whole life. The problem of course is that one cannot hold back the water forever. Even with the best constructed levees, dams and fingers stuck in the dike, the water leaks out. And in my case it feels a bit like the levee has given way to a deluge of water.
At no time in my life have I been more aware of all the things women endure that men don't seem overly concerned about. From the skinny, childlike girls who give blow jobs in porn movies to the girl children who are prostituted in the streets all over the world to the girls who are raped, mutilated and abused to the women who are beat on by their partners...it angers me. I'm not certain what to do with my anger. It doesn't feel very instructive or able to be utilitarian...all I know is I'm mad as hell. For the parts I was assigned in these sorts of horrors, but much more so for the collective whole of all of us who are women who have had to endure such things. Throughout history we have been oppressed, abused, raped, tortured, killed for nothing more than being born female. Just this past year a woman was kidnapped and murdered 100 yards from my office by her spouse. I have been the guardian of countless girls who have been victimized by men - whether sexually or physically. I continue to be involved in divorce cases as guardian for children whose fathers beat their mothers. I lived in my own "traditional" relationship where I was secondary to his primary. I have survived my own abuse at the hands of a man years ago. I don't get it. Where the hell is the outrage among women, men, the church, society?
I remember arguing with my ex husband years ago about pornography. His view (as is seemingly common) is that ordinary porn is not degrading to women. I remember seething at the time, but not really expressing it. I mean really, these women on their knees performing all manner of humiliating acts on men who hold their heads and occasionally slap or demean them. Really, this is not degrading to women? I'm amazed at how acceptable pornography continues to be in our society. And the same things goes for strip clubs. Hell, I'm not certain I've met a man alive who hasn't ventured into one of these places at some point. But, I've been largely silent about these things. Why? I can't explain it entirely other than to say I blamed women for their participation and I didn't figure it affected me by and large. That's the mistake, really. To assume that the oppression of one woman doesn't impact all of us in some ways.
But back to why I didn't express myself years ago - as is common with even educated, seemingly independent women like me, we are indoctrinated from the day we are born to be nice, speak quietly, not contradict the men in our lives. And I think the thing that has me the most incensed is that my religion preached this shit. Girls were dirty from day one - after all we ate the fruit - we allowed ourselves to be manipulated and then we tricked our man into eating too. I recall vividly my ex husband saying more than once to me, "Well, it was all Eve's fault." REALLY? The downfall of our entire species was a woman's fault. I suppose that's why so many of our churches still relegate us to the backseat, where we are told to keep our mouths shut and our opinions to ourselves. Look pretty, speak softly and above all serve the men in our lives.
What happened to God - our Mother? And why precisely is that so threatening for people to say? I'm not suggesting we upend all of our tradition - well perhaps I am. And what of it? Isn't it about time we let go of the patriarchal, misogynist, sexist theology of the past 2,000 years? Hell, we have so little recorded history of the women who lived in the first 1,000 years of Christianity, one would think men birthed themselves. And even the women in the Bible were rarely central or integral to any story. Why? Surely they existed. But in so many ways we have not advanced much since that time. We still dumb ourselves down. We still struggle to make our appearance acceptable to the standard created ... and perpetuated by...men. We still try to be seductive and "serve" whether it's in sex or in the kitchen or at the workplace.
As I said earlier, I'm not certain where all this anger in me is going. I just sense it there, stronger than I've ever felt it. And for the first time I'm choosing not to push it back down. I am noticing the little nuances and not ignoring them. When my father waits for my mother to clean up after him or a man I know well cannot stop ogling the women around him or the fact that most of the men I know take their position in the courtroom, church, society for granted. I want something different for my daughter than what I've known than what my mother has known, than what her mother knew. I'm not certain how to show her something different. It seems oftentimes that even the stereotypes and ways of conforming are so a part of me, it's difficult to separate my soul from it.
This is incomplete and unfocused and largely a product of a lot of reading and insight in a short period of time. But none of what I have to say is untrue and all of it is rather painful in many ways. As I struggle with my anger, I hope that I can learn where to direct it and how best to change my life and affect the lives of the women around me in good and loving ways. Regardless of how I got this far in life without having this awakening sooner, I recognize it for what it is now...an awakening and opening of my spirit. God as Mother, Sister, Woman. It's still difficult for me to imagine, but all the more important for me to imagine. So that one day my daughter can realize it on her own. So that awakenings like mine aren't necessary at some point in our collective history.
I've been reading a lot of feminist writings lately. I'm not sure why. I just know I've been drawn into it, and I haven't resisted as strongly as I might have years ago. Part of me has considered myself a feminist for years - hell I was labeled a "feminazi" in college by some of the more conservative white boys. But I don't know that I think I ever really got it. I think part of it has to do with the realizations of the past year concerning the role I played in my marriage and its destruction. Part of it comes from a wellspring deep in my soul that I've been struggling to hold down for years...perhaps my whole life. The problem of course is that one cannot hold back the water forever. Even with the best constructed levees, dams and fingers stuck in the dike, the water leaks out. And in my case it feels a bit like the levee has given way to a deluge of water.
From the time I was a little girl, I was been conditioned to be less than, subservient, submissive. Whether at home, in church, at school, it was all really the same in the small, subtle ways. Cook and clean for your man, women weren't allowed to be in lay or ordained leadership and girls were to be seen and not heard.
At no time in my life have I been more aware of all the things women endure that men don't seem overly concerned about. From the skinny, childlike girls who give blow jobs in porn movies to the girl children who are prostituted in the streets all over the world to the girls who are raped, mutilated and abused to the women who are beat on by their partners...it angers me. I'm not certain what to do with my anger. It doesn't feel very instructive or able to be utilitarian...all I know is I'm mad as hell. For the parts I was assigned in these sorts of horrors, but much more so for the collective whole of all of us who are women who have had to endure such things. Throughout history we have been oppressed, abused, raped, tortured, killed for nothing more than being born female. Just this past year a woman was kidnapped and murdered 100 yards from my office by her spouse. I have been the guardian of countless girls who have been victimized by men - whether sexually or physically. I continue to be involved in divorce cases as guardian for children whose fathers beat their mothers. I lived in my own "traditional" relationship where I was secondary to his primary. I have survived my own abuse at the hands of a man years ago. I don't get it. Where the hell is the outrage among women, men, the church, society?
I remember arguing with my ex husband years ago about pornography. His view (as is seemingly common) is that ordinary porn is not degrading to women. I remember seething at the time, but not really expressing it. I mean really, these women on their knees performing all manner of humiliating acts on men who hold their heads and occasionally slap or demean them. Really, this is not degrading to women? I'm amazed at how acceptable pornography continues to be in our society. And the same things goes for strip clubs. Hell, I'm not certain I've met a man alive who hasn't ventured into one of these places at some point. But, I've been largely silent about these things. Why? I can't explain it entirely other than to say I blamed women for their participation and I didn't figure it affected me by and large. That's the mistake, really. To assume that the oppression of one woman doesn't impact all of us in some ways.
But back to why I didn't express myself years ago - as is common with even educated, seemingly independent women like me, we are indoctrinated from the day we are born to be nice, speak quietly, not contradict the men in our lives. And I think the thing that has me the most incensed is that my religion preached this shit. Girls were dirty from day one - after all we ate the fruit - we allowed ourselves to be manipulated and then we tricked our man into eating too. I recall vividly my ex husband saying more than once to me, "Well, it was all Eve's fault." REALLY? The downfall of our entire species was a woman's fault. I suppose that's why so many of our churches still relegate us to the backseat, where we are told to keep our mouths shut and our opinions to ourselves. Look pretty, speak softly and above all serve the men in our lives.
What happened to God - our Mother? And why precisely is that so threatening for people to say? I'm not suggesting we upend all of our tradition - well perhaps I am. And what of it? Isn't it about time we let go of the patriarchal, misogynist, sexist theology of the past 2,000 years? Hell, we have so little recorded history of the women who lived in the first 1,000 years of Christianity, one would think men birthed themselves. And even the women in the Bible were rarely central or integral to any story. Why? Surely they existed. But in so many ways we have not advanced much since that time. We still dumb ourselves down. We still struggle to make our appearance acceptable to the standard created ... and perpetuated by...men. We still try to be seductive and "serve" whether it's in sex or in the kitchen or at the workplace.
As I said earlier, I'm not certain where all this anger in me is going. I just sense it there, stronger than I've ever felt it. And for the first time I'm choosing not to push it back down. I am noticing the little nuances and not ignoring them. When my father waits for my mother to clean up after him or a man I know well cannot stop ogling the women around him or the fact that most of the men I know take their position in the courtroom, church, society for granted. I want something different for my daughter than what I've known than what my mother has known, than what her mother knew. I'm not certain how to show her something different. It seems oftentimes that even the stereotypes and ways of conforming are so a part of me, it's difficult to separate my soul from it.
This is incomplete and unfocused and largely a product of a lot of reading and insight in a short period of time. But none of what I have to say is untrue and all of it is rather painful in many ways. As I struggle with my anger, I hope that I can learn where to direct it and how best to change my life and affect the lives of the women around me in good and loving ways. Regardless of how I got this far in life without having this awakening sooner, I recognize it for what it is now...an awakening and opening of my spirit. God as Mother, Sister, Woman. It's still difficult for me to imagine, but all the more important for me to imagine. So that one day my daughter can realize it on her own. So that awakenings like mine aren't necessary at some point in our collective history.
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