Posts by Guest:
- Feminism is not an excuse for activism or personal identity. It has legitimate goals that, if achieved, could make a positive impact on society.
- Feminism isn’t about women being right – it’s about women being heard.
- Feminism done right doesn’t make women look weak by making empty complaints. It demonstrates women’s awareness of real societal problems and innovative solutions.
- Feminism isn’t misandry – it’s gender equality.
- All or nothing mentality (perfectionism, an urge to control)
- All good or all bad personal relationships
- Great observance of and basing one’s actions on those of surrounding people
- Confusion of borders between self and others (i.e. when one avoids an Other, one assumes that the Other is avoiding him or her)
- Fear of abandonment, yet an aversion to being protected for fear of losing control
Guest Post: On hating the straight white male
April 20th, 2011This is a guest post from Gwenn Liberty Seemel. Gwenn is named after the Liberty Bell, a cracked ding-dong with a venerable history. Gwenn is a working artist who has sold her soul to the genre of portraiture, and she is the recipient of grants from the Regional Arts and Culture Council, the Oregon Arts Commission, the Celebration Foundation, the Haven Foundation, Change Inc, and the Artists’ Fellowship Inc. She blogs at gwenseemel.com.
Susan B Anthony wasn’t the only woman who led the fight for women’s suffrage in the 1800s, but her partner, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, is the women’s rights hero that no one cares to celebrate these days.
Stanton was cut out of feminist history because she lost sight of the real goal of feminism. She was so engrossed in women’s rights that when black men were given the vote before women of any ethnicity she lobbied for educational requirements for suffrage—requirements that would have disqualified most black men from voting as well as a lot of women and other groups without access, including the large immigrant population of the United States. Her elitism is all the more shocking when considered in light of the fact that she was an abolitionist before she was a feminist.
Though an important figure in US history, Stanton is barely known today. She’s the shameful secret of feminism in this country, but her legacy lives on in surprising ways. Countless present-day feminists follow in her footsteps.
I can think of so many examples of Stanton-like behavior that it nauseates me, but three of the more colorful and personal examples of it that come to mind are these:
– Just this week, I ran across this blog post, a rant about how society forces women to shave their body hair while seeing the same hair “as sexy on men.” I commented on the post, simultaneously trying to show solidarity for letting body hair grow and attempting to point out that society forces men to shave too. In fact, for men it’s arguably worse. It’s to the point that we forget that males actually have a lot of facial hair since so few of them wear full beards. What’s more, those that do are often thought of as hiding something. And, these days, some men shave not only their faces but much of their bodies as well. Neither men nor women got the better end of the shaving deal: the makers of disposable razors are the only winners in the body hair wars.
– About a year ago, a review was written about a showing of this series of mine. In it, one of the subjects of one of the portraits was described as having a “scrawny chest” and a “slowly receding hairline.” I’ve had some strange things said about my work in the public forum and I know how to react to them professionally, but this was different. Instead of directing the critical words at the work, the writer was commenting about one of the subjects’ physiques. When I expressed on Facebook my disgust with the critic, two female artists admonished me, saying that criticism is part of the art game and that I had best get used to it. I couldn’t help but think that they would have been as angry as I was about the word choice if the subject described had been one of the female ones.
– Recently, my partner received his graduate degree, but it was a struggle for him to do so for all the wrong reasons. During his time at the school, he had his genitals referred to in a demeaning manner by another student, had his person touched inappropriately by a faculty member, and was told on several occasions that his discomfort at having his boundaries crossed was a good lesson for him. Every time he tried to stand up for himself, the institution’s Stantonites knocked him down, even going so far as to redefine discrimination as something that could not be done to straight white males. This ended up being a really good lesson for me: I learned that I don’t even speak the same language as certain feminists.
When last I checked, men are people too, and it angers me when women can’t see this.
For Elizabeth Cady Stanton and feminists like her, the double standards come easily. These women make excuses, acknowledging that men feel societal pressures but still have more of a choice. They are unable to see people as individuals if these people happen to fit the traditional profile of the oppressor—if they happen to be male and especially straight white ones. And an offense that they would never tolerate if a female was the victim suddenly becomes “no big deal” when a male is the victim.
But these double standards are like all double standards: they are wrong.
Oppressing someone because he is a straight white male is the same as oppressing someone because she-he is not. Believing that someone is less deserving of respect because of his sexual orientation, ethnicity, and sex is always wrong no matter the sexual orientation, ethnicity, and sex of the parties involved in the exchange. Oppression is never okay.
I can understand the frustration of Stanton and her followers: it is hard to live in a world still so full of inequalities. But while I sympathize with them, I don’t condone their actions. Their lack of empathy makes all feminists look bad. It makes people think that we’re all that way even though we are not. Most of us remember that feminism is first and foremost about equality.
Guest Post: Is it Harder for Women in Criminal Justice Careers?
April 18th, 2011Today’s post is a guest post from Marie Owens. Marie works in security logistics. In her spare time she teaches a female self-defense course and studies law in Washington state.
When you think of careers in criminal justice, you probably first imagine men in any positions that come to mind. This is understandable: statistics from a study conducted by the U.S. Department of Justice, Office of Justice Programs – Bureau of Justice Statistics show that men outnumber women in all areas of federal law enforcement, in most places making up at least 75 percent of the workforce. Even as standards of equal opportunity employment have infiltrated the profession, there was at most a seven percent increase of female employment in any area of criminal justice in the years between 1998 and 2008. The in most areas the change was closer to four percent, with some departments reporting a lower proportion of female employment. With such a preponderance of men in the workplace, as well as a prevailing cultural stereotype of men dominating criminal justice, it can be difficult for women to successfully make their way in their chosen field even after receiving a criminal justice degree.
There are some challenges that these women face that are universally shared by women in any workplace where they make up the minority: double standards, harassment (sexual or otherwise), and unwarranted negative opinions of their abilities to name a few. Additionally, a lack of attention to women’s biological needs—for instance, failure to provide women with considerations like maternity leave—can also contribute to the hostile working environment. However, the potential problems faced by women go even farther.
According to a study regarding women who work in federal law enforcement conducted by Dr. Susan Keverline, Ph.D. in 2003, weapons and equipment are often not properly sized for female officers. Likewise, being women in a field where physical strength is considered desirable, female officers are pushed especially hard to exceed expectations and feel the constant need to prove themselves to co-workers and establish their credibility. Additionally, these women reported feeling isolated within their work environments, being excluded from the informal networks because they weren’t “one of the boys.” There is also sometimes the problem that families can be unsupportive of the career choice as well, adding an additional dimension of frustration.
These problems can be difficult to fix. For example, 31.8 percent of women in the survey who had been sexually harassed did not report the incident to their supervisors, citing fear of retaliation or being ostracized, or because they thought nothing would be done about the issue. Furthermore, less than half of the women who ended up reporting incidents of sexual harassment said they were satisfied with the outcome.
However, when these same women were asked if they would leave thanks to one or another issue they faced in the workplace, they were quick to say that they would not quit. One interviewee said “When I’m working—actually doing the job that I was hired to do—not being hampered or hindered or having obstacles put in my path—I think to myself, ‘I love my job,’ and that’s why I’m here.” While they may not be able to rely on their agency’s policy, superiors or co-workers for support, the majority of women in the survey had no desire to leave. There are many reasons for this, including adherence to their personal values, the opportunity to continue learning, because they found the work meaningful to them or because they believed that it was making a difference for women who would follow them in their choice of career.
In order to cope with these challenges, female officers often create coping strategies. The survey mentions that these women often develop a sense of humor and a “thick skin” in order to deal with jabs from their male co-workers. Women who are able to draw on support from their families and friends, or create networks with other women in their field. Some women also develop hobbies and interests outside of their work in order to cope.
Ultimately it is important for these women to continue with their work, and not just for their own sake. Their presence at the scene of a crime, as bureaucrats or as lawyers helps to destroy the long held stereotypes that women cannot do these jobs. Moreover, in certain cases having a woman on duty can be a boon to an investigation, like collecting information from an abused or raped woman whose experience makes her uncomfortable in the presence of men.
Regardless, there is no proof that female law enforcers are any less capable than men, and thanks to the challenges posed by their work environment they have proven themselves to be capable above and beyond the call of duty. For these reasons, a woman considering a masters in criminal justice and a criminal justice career should not be afraid of the additional hardships, but instead she should go after what she wants to do secure in the knowledge that other women have faced the same challenges and succeeded in spite of them. Eventually, we can reach a point where such reassurances won’t be necessary.
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Guest Post: All in the Family: Negotiating Views on Feminism
March 30th, 2011I love posts about people finding their feminism. They just make me so happy inside! 🙂 Here’s a great one by Lisa Shoreland. She is currently a resident blogger at Go College, where recently she’s been researching parent plus loan program as well as pell grants. In her spare time, she enjoys creative writing, practicing martial arts, and taking weekend trips. Read about her encounters with feminism, and see how they compare to yours. If you’d like to submit a guest post on this topic, please send it to samsanator(at)gmail(dot)com.
I grew up with very conservative, religious parents and wouldn’t have considered myself a feminist until just over a year ago. All throughout my childhood, I observed a mother who was completely subservient to her husband, and while I didn’t agree with this philosophy, I also was aware of “extreme” feminists who didn’t attract my loyalties either. There were a few feminist teachers and professors sprinkled into my educational experiences who displayed unprofessional favoritism toward female students and pushed their views through heavily slanted curriculum. One professor, in particular, almost erased all respect I held for the idea of feminism because of her indiscretions and obstinate closed-mindedness. She made feminism seem like an excuse to get attention, waste class time with rants, and brand herself with a superficial self-definition. And for a while, that’s how I perceived all feminists – until I met one who was incredibly intelligent, reasonable, and persuasive.
A Shiny New Feminist
I got engaged a little over a year and a half ago, and as it turns out, my fiancé’s aunt is a brilliant professor at UVA, a published writer, and an unapologetic feminist. As soon as I heard that she was a feminist, I started to worry about wearing pink around her, telling jokes that involved women, and even showing affection to my fiancé. I eventually learned that these concerns were ridiculous, and I can laugh about them now – but I remember expecting to meet an “extremist”. I was pleasantly surprised to have regular conversations with this lovely lady, and I even discussed political views with her. She is single-handedly responsible for reopening my mind to feminism, which catalyzed my interest in giving it a chance.
First-Hand Experience
I guess I’m lucky – I got to discuss all the stereotypes, struggles, and strange stories I’d heard about feminism with an expert on the subject. I learned a lot about the value of feminism, its potential impact on the world around me, and what it stands for. Here’s what this fabulous feminist taught me:
Once I realized that the worst I’d heard about feminism didn’t have to be true, I was more than willing to consider its finer points. Now, I’ve embraced this set of values and am actively showing the “real” feminism to the people around me.
Guest Post: Walk a Mile in Her Shoes
March 28th, 2011Today’s post comes from a college friend of mine, Molly, who is currently working at the Prairie Center Against Sexual Assault in Springfield, IL. She’s doing some great work with women and men in her community, helping prevent sexual assault, educating people, and assisting victims. All of the services PCASA provides are given free of charge, which is WONDERFUL. However, I don’t have to tell you all how expensive that can get, and how state funding is being cut left and right for programs like these. That’s why Molly is participating in an event to benefit PCASA – Walk a Mile in Her Shoes. I’ll let her tell you more about it in just a second here, but please, PLEASE consider donating. This is so important!
Hello! My name is Molly, and I am a college pal of Ashley’s, a fellow writer, a social work grad student, and unabashedly a feminist. I am writing today to talk about one of the ways I am currently making small strokes in advocating for women’s issues.
I am currently working at the Prairie Center Against Sexual Assault (PCASA) in Springfield, IL, which is an agency that works to serve people who have experienced sexual assault and abuse and to end these terrible societal problems through prevention education. (You can learn more about the agency at http://www.prairiecasa.org.) I am interning as a counselor, so I see adults and children who have experienced this kind of trauma, as well as other loved ones who need assistance in coping. I also work by night as an on-call medical advocate. This means that if someone is sexually assaulted and reports to the hospital for examination and the so-called “rape kit” (police investigation/evidence collection), I come out (no matter what time of night!) and provide comfort, explain options, and support choices. Given my passion for women’s and gender issues and creating a sex-positive society for all people, PCASA is a great fit for me, and I love the work we do.
PCASA holds an annual event called Walk A Mile In Her Shoes, which is actually an international event held in many locations in April. (Visit http://www.walkamileinhershoes.org for more info.) It is very possible that you may have heard of this event. PCASA’s Walk A Mile is in downtown Springfield on the morning of Saturday, April 16, 2011. We are aiming to raise awareness as well as fundraise for our agency, which provides ALL services at NO CHARGE.
During Walk A Mile, men will lead a mile-long march through downtown Springfield while wearing high heels. Others follow, with or without heels. 🙂 There’s then a rally and an after-party at Caitie Girl’s, a local restaurant. It is all about the role that men can play in preventing sexual assault–it is so important to have men involved in the cause!
I told Ashley about the cause, and she implored me to write a guest post talking about how you can get involved. The big way, of course, is by donating! I am determined to raise the most money of everyone who is registered for our Walk A Mile. Can it be done?? I think it can (and currently I am in the lead!) Initially, I set my fundraising goal at $500. In less than 4 days, I had surpassed it! My new goal is $1000. Right now, I need to raise about $350 more to meet that goal by April 16… but of course I just want to raise as much as I can. If I get to $1000, I’ll up it again!
So, without further ado… here’s where you go to donate!
http://www.firstgiving.com/fundraiser/thelifeinpink/walkamile2011
Since I work here, so I’m ultra-passionate about the cause! It is so hard for survivors of sexual violence to come forward for help, so keeping our services as easily accessible and affordable as possible is an absolute must, especially with the state of Illinois projected to cut even more funding from rape crisis services (as well as many other social services in great need of funding). I know times are tough right now, but please, donate if you are able.
Other ways you can help: attend the event (if you are local or passing through Springfield that day), publicize the event or the Walk A Mile in your community, or get a Walk A Mile or another sexual assault awareness event going in your community.
I greatly appreciate every effort–even the effort to finish reading this very long post. 🙂
Thanks,
Molly
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Guest Post: Feminism and Being a Housewife
November 4th, 2010Cat Rocketship, the author of this guest post, is maybe like my long-lost twin. She writes today about how she reconciles being a housewife and being a feminist, and her themes really work well with what I’ve been writing about this week and totally echo Emily’s post – the very first in this series – about being a feminist and changing your last name upon marriage. You all know by now that I’m a huge advocate of choices, and I believe that the very act of making a choice is the feminist act in any given situation, so hearing from Cat about making the choice to be a housewife and being confident in that decision has warmed my heart and helped me come to terms with some of the things I’ve been discussing here. I told you before that I didn’t have any answers, but maybe Cat can give you some if that’s what you’re looking for!
I am 26 years old, and I am a feminist housewife.
In my mind a “housewife” is a very specific role, largely influenced by the Nick at Nite shows I watched growing up. Housewives wear aprons around the house – to keep the unseemly muck from cooking and cleaning off their dresses. They wear heels 80% of the day. They have no spending money of their own and have to concoct schemes to loose money from their husbands’ hands. Housewives often get into humorous jams as a direct result of their poor spatial reasoning skills. And although the kids are a job all their own, when the kids are gone there’s plenty of leisurely time to read Better Homes & Gardens.
Granted, I recognize that this perception is wayyyyyy off. Similarly granted, I’m not a “typical” housewife – if there is one – let’s say I’m no fictional Nick-at-Nite housewife. I’m a work-from-home artist who chose to be in this position, with this label. I like the challenge of it.
Still, having grown up a tomboy-only-child-of-a-feminist-father, it’s hard to reconcile myself with what I see as my new role of Housewife. I never, ever, not even 6 months ago, thought I would be one. I do work during the day, but I work from home and I consider a large portion of the household chores to be my responsibility – if only because they’re more convenient for me to take care of.
I do “housewife” things: cook, clean, garden. I get groceries and daydream about area rugs. I make dinner for my husband. But I also research deck staining and lawn care, fix broken screens and mow the yard. And the bottom line is this: My husband didn’t ask me to do this. If I woke up one morning and knew that the path to my happiness was a 60-hour-a-week-job, he’d drive me to the interview, then congratulate me on my new position and start making his own dinners again.
And here is the bottom line:
Feminism is: being empowered to do whatever you want, regardless of your gender.
There are as many schools of thought on feminism as there are feminists, chauvinists, scholars and comedians in the world. But personally, I believe that feminism isn’t a new mold for women to fit into. It makes me sad to see so many women, mostly young women, fret over whether or not they are “good feminists”. I firmly believe that being a feminist is no more complicated than the mantra that my dad instilled in me since I was tiny: You can do whatever you want. Never let anyone tell you that’s not true. My dad changed story characters to girls, uses the pronoun “she” in discussing hypothetical people of power, and never really let me know that there was a gender divide in anything. I also have to thank him for never making any job that a woman had of her own choosing seem undignified.
And you know where that got me? I’m a 26 year old housewife. And it would be downright unfeminist of me to think that choosing to do what I do at this point is low, or limiting. You can do whatever you want does not continue on to say as long as you’re a doctor or an astronaut.
Because this is what I want to do, and having a solid feminist foundation gave me the cajones to make this job meaningful, something that I take pride in.
Cat Rocketship is an artist, organizer, and housewife in Des Moines, Iowa. She blogs about being a housewife at hipsterhousewife.tumblr.com, about painting at catrocketship.com, runs indie craft extravaganza Market Day, and reads the internet. All of it.
This was a guest post in the series on feminism and relationships and feminism and _____. If you’d like to submit a guest post for these series, see the guidelines here and submit your post to samsanator(at)gmail(dot)com.
Guest Post: Feminism & Tattoos: A Woman’s Right to Ink
November 3rd, 2010When Janet approached me with this guest post topic, I was really interested. I’ve always been intrigued by body modifications, particularly tattoos. I have one myself (it’s small and on my foot), but stopped there, mostly because there is such a stigma about women with tattoos, and when I got mine I was a junior in college, still very worried about my job prospects. I remember agonizing over the size and placement of the tattoo – it needed to be small enough and placed somewhere that was easily covered if I needed to cover it for a job interview. I did cover it, too, frequently because I was worried about what people would think of me.
So, needless to say, I was really excited for this guest post, and when I read it, I was even more excited to share it with you! I think Janet brings up some very interesting points here about women and their choices when it comes to their bodies. And many of these points can be applied to other choices women have, as well, and other stigmas we face.
What do you think when you see a woman with a tattoo? This is not a question with a right or wrong answer; this is a question of perception. So I guess, the real question is, “How do you perceive a woman with a tattoo in society? Does it affect how you judge her?” Of course it does. As much as a woman’s blond hair or pretty face leads her to be judged. But a tattoo isn’t the result of DNA, it’s a choice, an assertion. But how did tattoos become taboo for women, and most importantly where can we go from here?
History
Thousands of years before Christ, women were getting tattooed. Evidence of body art has been found on the mummified female bodies of both Egyptians and Greeks. The designs and reasoning behind the tattoos vary from culture to culture but the existence of markings is common. Early theories postulated that mummies with these tattoos were marked as women of ill-repute, “dancing girls” or of a lower class. But there are other factors which poke holes in this belief. The nature of the art implies that it may have been done for spiritual and protective purposes. Also, many of these women were buried in close proximity to royals, which could indicate higher status. And at least one body which was initially believed to belong to a concubine was later determined to have more likely been a priestess.
Throughout history though, tattoos have been used to denote some less than reputable activities. In Ancient China, criminals, bandits and prisoners frequently possessed tattoos. In Japan and other countries women engaging in the oldest profession used tattoos to tacitly communicate their role. But while histories like these denote tattoos as an indication of lower class, in other cultures, like the Philippines, tattoos on women were considered a thing of beauty. Unfortunately, when tattoos became commonplace in western culture it was with predominantly negative connotations. Religious beliefs surrounding tattoos have also done little to elevate the status of ink. Judism, Muslim and Christianity all frown on body modification for both sexes. These pervasive religious beliefs, combined with the history of tattoos on women help us understand the origins of the negative stigma associated with women and tattoos.
Stigma
We’d like to think a lot has changed. But ancient stigmas have managed to find their way into modern culture even though tattoos have had a long history on women in the US. They were popular among women in the 20’s even the “higher class” women. In the 60’s tattoos ran rampant on women in hippie culture. Today, celebrities and public figures of all kinds are sporting different forms of body art. All around us tattoos are pervasive in our society and yet we find that there are still negative stigma’s attached to tattoos on women.
Perhaps the greatest indication of this truth is the most famously labeled female tattoo, “the tramp stamp”. This particular icon is identified as a tattoo of any kind on the small of a woman’s back sitting slightly above (or below) the line of her pants. Women who have this tattoo are often branded as sexually promiscuous. Is it a fair assumption that women with these tattoos have gotten them to entice men or to advertise their willingness to engage in sexual activity? No probably not. Sure, art on the lower back is easy to reveal by wearing crop tops or low-rise jeans, and yes there are probably some women who have chosen that tattoo because of its sexual overtones. But it is also a location which can be easily covered by typical work clothing and it is a place which is unlikely to be drastically affected by pregnancy or weight change. Unfortunately the practicalities associated with tattoos on this part of the body are ignored in favor of the more popular, and degrading stereotypes.
To Remove or Take a Stand
The fact is, even now women receive more negative reactions to their body art than men. Whether it is because of the historical connotations or the modern stigma that still remains attached to women with ink, the fact is it is yet another battle for free expression. Even in a world so vastly more conscious of equality, women must still fight for their rights in both overt and subtle ways. A woman’s right to ink remains one of the latter.
A recent study from Texas Tech suggests that women are much more inclined to seek tattoo removal at some point in their lives than men. They also found that in many cases the decision to do so came from outside influences. Women who got tattooed early in life are later attempting to undo them. The reasons vary, but they seem to be predominantly linked to careers and life changes, like marriage and children. But is this a sign of women acquiescing to a society that views tattoos as out of place on respectable women? Although to be fully fair, men do undergo some of the same job and family pressures to conform to a particular image that often does not include tattoos. Perhaps it only seems that women are under greater scrutiny for their body art. But when you consider the history of tattoos, and how frequently a woman’s character is judged by her ink it’s hard not see an imbalance.
Tattoos are, in their own right, yet another way for women to assert independence and their right to equality. It is our right to express ourselves in any way we choose, in voice, in writing and in art, including body art. We can only hope that someday a woman can freely get a tattoo, anywhere she wants without fear of social repercussions. Perhaps, one day we will. We can only hope that in that same day we will be able to wear what we please, earn equal wages for the jobs we perform and not fear that our credibility will be undermined by our looks. And that will be a very good day
Sources:
Tattoos and The History of Tattooing
Attitudes Toward Women with Tattoos
Tattoos: History and Archeology
Women Race to Get Tattoos Erased
Janet is a writer for New Look a Houston laser tattoo removal clinic. She hopes to help tattoo bearers of all genders to wear their art with pride.
This was a guest post in a series on feminism and ______. If you’d like to submit a guest post for this series, see the guidelines here and submit your post to samsanator(at)gmail(dot)com.
Guest Post: Twisted: Women, Body Image, and Relationships
October 6th, 2010I cannot say enough about the importance of this post. Body image issues affect us all, even if we don’t want to admit it, and these issues can complicate our relationships so much. It can be difficult to maintain a relationship with anyone – significant others, friends, family – when you do not love yourself. Maria’s words here are so powerful, and I’m sure my lovely readers can offer her some insight and support, as well.
In my life, I have met significantly fewer women secure with their physical bodies than I have men. Without turning this into 58-page thesis (as was my Senior Honors thesis on this very topic, from which parts of this post have been taken), the reason for much of women’s body image distortion boils down to three concepts: historic gender prejudice, media, and dieting.
If a researcher selects four girls at random on an average American college campus, one of them will be a compulsive binge-and-purger. Geneen Roth, a self-professed connoisseur of eating disorders and now a speaker for feminism and self-love, says, “compulsive behavior at its most fundamental is a lack of self-love . . . . [and] an expression of belief that [one is] not good enough.” If this is true, then twenty-five percent of girls on college campuses do not love themselves, and therefore do not understand how or why they may be loved by others. Roth confesses, “[Self-conscious women] walk around feeling very sensitive, and sad, and lonely, and angry; and . . . it looks like it’s about our bodies. Our vulnerability . . . is like raw skin.”
They Psychology of Poor Body Image
According to research by St. Paul’s Kousen Senior High School in Japan, the beginnings of an eating disorder are a great psychological battle that affects one’s entire lifestyle, and most often display:
The everyday life of a disordered eater, then, may be full of mood swings and tiresome levels of attention given to perceived social signals and situations. Friendships, sexual relationships, and ties with the family may weaken or sour, further elevating one’s stress levels and aggravating his or her unhealthy eating patterns.
I won’t bother with the sordid details of my eating disorders, even those that others began noticing. If my friends wanted to go on a McDonalds run during our late-night study sessions at college, I would cower in the corner of my boyfriend’s room and cry. I didn’t know why I was crying or why I was even sad. Still, every night progressed this way; I would cry at the sight of food I knew I couldn’t allow myself. I found only temporary solace in friendly and loving embraces and after a while began pushing those away because I didn’t like being coddled (i.e. Kousen’s theory, fear of losing control).
The Effects of Poor Body Image: Relationships
I isolated myself, so my friends began going places without me, eventually without inviting me. I dreaded leaving the safety of my own room and began missing classes. Finally, I ceased menstruating. I blamed it on academic stress for months, never doubting my vanishing body’s perfect condition. My life seemed to fall to pieces, and I was still convinced I was not good enough—for food, never mind chocolate; for anniversary or holiday gifts; for friends; for my boyfriend; and maybe even life. It took crying into my boyfriend’s dubious shoulder one night that sometimes I made myself throw up that I first realized I needed help.
After over two years of active anorexia and bulimia, I had to swing to the opposite spectrum of bingeing—gaining twenty pounds in six months—before my eating habits and weight resumed some shadow of normality. Nevertheless, the trauma continued in the prison of my mind. If someone took more than ten minutes to answer my text message, I never texted him or her again because, obviously, he or she didn’t like me (i.e. observance of others’ actions). If someone reminded me of something unpleasant, I never wanted to see him or her again (i.e. all good or all bad relationships).
Moreover, after learning to express myself vocally rather than through food, erratic and often inexplicable emotional tantrums became a constant threat. The triggers were unforeseeable and frequent; as the Kousen research indicates, I coundn’t discern my feelings from those of others: if I was jealous of a girl’s leaner legs, I was certain that my boyfriend wanted her legs instead of mine. I would pick fights and belittle myself for hours before accepting that he had not have even glanced her way.
Today, over three years since the onset of my disorders, I am somewhat more able to control and reason through my rage.
Yet, it is the body image that heals last. I am still waiting.
Maria Rainier is a freelance writer and blog junkie. She is currently a resident blogger at First in Education and performs research surrounding online schools. In her spare time, she enjoys square-foot gardening, swimming, and avoiding her laptop.
This was a guest post in a series on feminism and relationships. If you’d like to submit a guest post for this series, see the guidelines here and submit your post to samsanator(at)gmail(dot)com.
Guest Post: A Feminist by Any Other Name
October 4th, 2010We have a fourth post from Not Guilty about relationships and feminism! She actually sent this post to me about two weeks ago, and I responded that I was taking a significant break from blogging so I could concentrate on last-minute wedding plans. But when she saw my latest post about name changes, thankfully she directed me to her post, which is on the same topic.
I find it incredibly interesting how my feminist life parallels so many others’. In this case, when I first told Tim I wasn’t changing my name, he was pretty upset about it, but I offered a compromise – he wanted kids and I didn’t (or didn’t really care), so I told him that if we had kids, then I could keep my name. He agreed, and lucky for me, he has since decided that me keeping my name is totally cool – in fact, he’s really proud of the fact – and has also decided that he’s not sure he wants children.
Not Guilty had posited an entirely different type of compromise – one that works for her – and has left herself open to a change in heart. But I think it’s important to read this post fully and understand that, no matter what your belief about name changes is, the decision and the decision-making process is different for everyone.
A big issue in modern feminism is the right of mothers to breastfeed their babies in public. Even when I had no intention of having children, I was a big advocate of these rights. We also often hear that we should be careful not to belittle mothers who are unable or uninterested in breastfeeding. As with everything in feminism, it comes down to informed choice and some governing feminist body should not artificially limit those choices.
I was reading a blog post, the topic of which isn’t relevant, but in it there was this quote by Sally Quinn, a Washington Post journalist,
One thing I’ve noticed is that high-powered women today are all taking their husbands’ names. These women are in their 20s and 30s and sometimes in very high-powered positions. When I got married, I never would have considered taking my husband’s name . . . I think it’s a good thing. I think it shows that women feel more comfortable with their power.
That quote pointedly tells me that as a woman soon to be in a high-powered career, if I take my husband’s last name, it is because I am uncomfortable with my power. Anybody who knows me will tell you the last thing I am uncomfortable with is power. This attitude definitely floats around in the feminist world and feminists are told that taking their husband’s last name is submitting to the patriarchy. Just like being told I can’t shave or compromise with men, telling me how submissive it would be to take my husband’s surname really pisses me off.
My boyfriend and I have discussed the future and this topic has come up. At a BBQ I was quite drunk and at one point, for a reason I cannot recall, I turned to him and said, “by the way, I’m keeping my last name,” to which he replied he figured I would. I have no idea what lead to me saying this, but I do recall saying it. Sometime later the topic came up again and we started discussing it. He said that while he would support my decision to keep my last name, he didn’t love the idea. When I asked him why, he presented primarily emotional reasons. His best reason is that he is the last person in his family with his last name and thus it is up to him to carry it on. At this point I wanted to know that if we didn’t have a boy, was he going to expect me to keep reproducing until we had one (which would not happen); he said no (so what’s the point; it’s a crapshoot anyways!). I, on the other hand, have a number of logical reasons, primarily, career-wise; I would be known by my current surname and then it would change. I threw out alternatives, such as hyphenation, him taking my last name, or even creating a new surname from both, none of which he was really keen on.
At this stage I think it is important to mention that a year ago I was seriously considering (i.e. I’d printed off the forms) changing my last name to my mother’s maiden name because I don’t get along very well with my father’s family. I hadn’t gotten around to it because it costs money. Here I find my boyfriend and I at a minor impasse: it is important to him that I take his last name but I’m a feminist and feminists just don’t do that.
My boyfriend isn’t keen on a ‘traditional’ wedding (he prefers destination weddings), primarily for cost reasons, which is a good reason. I really want a ‘traditional’ marriage (i.e. not a destination wedding), for no other reason than I’ve already planned it in my head. Here is a great opportunity for us to play my favourite game: let’s make a deal (a.k.a. compromising). So I presented him with this: if I got to have my ‘traditional’ wedding (with a reasonable budget) I would take his last name, to which he agreed.
At this time, I would like to define submission,
the action of yielding to a superior force or to the will or authority of another person
I can assure you, I am not submitting to my boyfriend; we are compromising. Just because I do something that was traditionally used to oppress women does not mean that I am oppressed. If society were to avoid anything that was ever used as a tool of oppression in the past, we’d have to give up race and sex-segregated schools [there are all-black schools in Ontario]; it’s a ludicrous proposition. What has to be emphasized is the choice to do something. By definition, if you choose to do something you have not submitted (assuming there is no duress). Rather than feminism telling me I’m a bad feminist because of X, Y, Z, what I would really love is for feminists to understand that being forced to “submit to the patriarchy” is the problem. So I will take my boyfriend’s surname if/when we get married, and I will still be a feminist because a feminist by any other name is still a feminist.
Not Guilty writes at her blog, Finding My Feminism. She is 25 years old, on the cusp of finishing her law degree, and has been a feminist her entire life, but just recently became active through blogging and organizing/attending rallies. You can follow her on Twitter @atheistincanada.
This was a guest post in a series on feminism and relationships. If you’d like to submit a guest post for this series, see the guidelines here and submit your post to samsanator(at)gmail(dot)com.
Guest Post: Feminism and Eco Friendly Family Planning
September 17th, 2010When this post showed up in my inbox, I was drawn to it for a few different reasons. First and foremost, Diego, the author of this post, is a long time friend of mine from undergrad. We met around the time I met The Undomestic Goddess, in fact, as we were all on the staff of the campus literary magazine at the time. Diego and I quickly became close friends for many reasons – we were very much alike and had very similar interests. We were even in the same undergrad English/Creative Writing program. We used to sit around in our dorm rooms or in coffee shops and discuss the problems of the world, perhaps trying to solve them or perhaps just trying to understand the weight of them as we began to embark on the rest of our lives.
After graduation, as we went our separate ways, Diego and I still kept in touch and my respect for him only grew over the years. He recently graduated from an MFA program at Rutgers, and has since moved back to Chicago.
I was drawn to this post, also, because many of its points hit home for me. Tim and I have discussed adoption at length as a way to expand our family – in lieu of having our own children, even if we can. As teachers, we do see children who are going through/have been through the foster system or who become orphans at some point, and the results are sometimes heartbreaking. It’s difficult to think of conceiving our own child when faced with the reality that there are babies born and unwanted to whom we could give a loving home. There’s also the idea that I don’t particularly want my body/fetus/baby to become the subject of public scrutiny (“Are you gaining enough weight for the baby?” “Are you sure you should be eating that? Think about the baby.” “You DRANK a glass of WINE?! Haven’t you ever heard of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome?!” “You’re over 30 having this baby – do you know the risks involved?!” OMG WHAT WILL YOUR BABY’S LAST NAME BE?!?!?!?!”) which makes adoption an even more attractive option.
But enough of my ranting. Tim and I have decided to take on one thing at a time at this point – we’ll get through the wedding and then start really talking about children at some point after that. However, the thoughts in this post are definitely something to consider for us as we go about planning our family, and perhaps for you as you think about feminism and its many manifestations and, not only what it means to be a feminist and have relationships, but what it means to be a feminist and have children.
Diego has expressed a wish to receive comments and thoughts on this post, so please do comment. We’re both anxious to hear what you have to say on the topic!
As per many of this blog’s posts’ titles, I wanted to try to pair “Feminism” with some other topic or arena of discourse to think about something that bothers me. But when I started thinking about the ways the former intersects with “Eco-Friendly Family-Planning,” I ended up with way more than my buffalo nickel’s worth. Here’s why:
I hold what strike me as two contradictory opinions. On the one hand, I don’t think anyone has any business making babies (save MDs and midwives, but more on that), because, depending who you ask, the world is either already overpopulated or quickly approaching an apocalyptic tipping-point. Plus the number of orphaned, homeless, abandoned, abused, or otherwise qualified candidates for adoption means no one should procreate; everyone should adopt. (Obviously this isn’t an option for everyone. Financial issues and simple logistics aside, religious proscriptions and personal preferences prevent many people from even beginning to consider adoption as a way to create what the IRS understands as a family household.)
The problem with this position is that even a radical reduction in the world’s net population -let’s say all of a sudden population growth nose-dives or flat-lines, or at least drops dramatically in a very short time (à la Children of Men starring Clive Owen in a role he seems increasingly to play and thentofore not-much-filmed Clare-Hope Ashitey as Mother of said Men [Men of course here used to you guessed it mean “humans”])- that just because we humans discontinue to procreate our planet won’t still suffer the environmental impact of our race anyway -that oil rigs won’t still explode in the Gulf, or Amazonian logging won’t slash even greater CO2 output worldwide- this idea that human population growth at anything other than continued par for the course will result in disaster or salvation is basically baseless; there’s so much more to it than that. So already I have to acknowledge the Manichean encouragement of widespread childfreedom is way out there and radical and pretty much useless to address everyday life. But I need to keep this ideal in play to show how it conflicts with what starts out as another kind of problematic absolute…
Because on the other hand (and this may be the more contentious claim), I believe women have the right to experience the full potential of their bodies’ reproductive capacity. Contentious, because I don’t mean to say that every woman has the right to bear children (think of the clinically unwell or women without the resources to raise them), and the system already in place that determines who’s well or well-off enough tends to privilege certain kinds of people over others (think now of why and what conditions produce women unfit [plus according to whom?] to bear children). Which means our beliefs about human (here, women’s) rights are very much products of the culture within which they’re understood. This shouldn’t be news to anybody. The reason it’s worth mentioning here is because the qualities we tend to use to assess a mother’s fitness frequently surface only after the fact. Consider the woman screaming at her toddler in the supermarket. Kids in the kinds of torso-leashes you see mostly at Wal-Mart. A single mother with her stroller on the Green Line. All of which seems unfair and biased, and means rights aren’t as absolutely applicable as maybe I’d like to believe.
But plus the more difficult question of what constitutes “capacity”. Do infertile women have a right to fertility treatments? (financial limitations notwithstanding? [that is, should the State or something like it subsidize artificial insemination?]) Probably not. Take Nadya Suleman a.k.a. Octomom e.g., a pretty strong case against IVF offered gratis. If women have a right to experience their reproductive capacity, the right to enhance or expand that capacity seems outside the scope of whatever I’d like to get at eventually. But if we treat IVF like a luxury (which means fertility treatment isn’t so different from plastic enhancement or Viagra; technology that enables the otherwise dis-), then when we consider that many women can’t conceive naturally, even the ability to do so seems less like a right than just an ability, something some people possess and others don’t, like mathematic proficiency or a helluva jump shot. Childbirth seems then more up to chance and less something to which one’s entitled. (And what’s odd also is that, unlike other, published Rights, this isn’t one “to be exercised,” but rather experienced, with tangible, autonomous end-results, but more on that.)
So on this same hand’s palmar side it seems like a woman’s right to conceive shouldn’t include the right to artificial impregnation. But then on the flip(per) side, do ridiculously fertile (and too often Catholic or conservative Christian) women have the right to birth a brood of ten or twenty? If they possess adequate financial resources, your free-market economists might say, sure. (But plus you’d like to believe only if they have also the emotional reserve and disciplinary fortitude, but more on that.) Take the lovable Duggars, the subject of TLC’s series “19 Kids & Counting,” in which a patriarch who resembles slightly a young Jimmy Carter and his wife’s resilient uterus star. Despite their ridiculous numbers and what I have to believe would be a gross and uncomfortable homogeneity, the Duggars seem to be able to support themselves. So who’s to say they shouldn’t continue to force more mouths to feed into the world?
But here’s where the first hand’s topic conflicts. Because if anyone should care about sustainable human population, or the planet, or just people in general other than themselves, it has to be mothers-to-be. Because women (again, not all) are equipped with the capacity to increase the world’s population according to their ability and desire, this particular issue of rights and entitlement becomes a question of control. The same way a woman in Octomom’s position needs to consider seriously the ramifications of artificial insemination, so too should women blessed with great fertility exercise a kind of mindfulness re the size of their nuclear families. This consideration I think best approximates what I maybe should’ve appended to the second big statement above, that the right to bear children is only a right “within reason”. I realize this language is dicey and so par for the course, but what I mean it the same way “consideration” or “accountability” assume a woman’s accounting for not just her own best interests and desires, but also those of the planet’s at-large, and esp. her child-to-be.
It’s the conspicuous lack of accountability that makes the two examples above so the opposite anything measurably “within reason”. It’s not just the headcount that seems most unreasonable about the Duggar’s TLC series; it’s the “& Counting,” as if why even stop for a minute to think about how many fucking people they’ve introduced to the planet. In the first case, Octomom’s alter ego was in no way prepared (financially or mentally) for the demands of motherhood, and even supposedly received plastic surgery to resemble another well-known matriarch and mother many times over, which doesn’t exactly advertise a fitness for motherhood.
And here’s where this ramble starts to circumambulate back into conversation.
Because it’s the actual Angelina Jolie, a woman with means who chose both to adopt and bear children, who I think best exemplifies what I mean by exercising reproductive rights with a great deal of reason. Considering her situation, she might have chosen to have 20 kids, or if she couldn’t, to receive fertility treatments (in either case she could afford it), or not to have any at all. Any of which I suppose would be fine, unless of course she’s interested in “saving the planet” and the people on it. It seems to me that, according to her means, Jolie made a reasonable, and responsible, series of decisions. Which isn’t to say there aren’t millions of women who have done the very same; I think many mothers do. But to speak of rights and responsibilities and try then to reconcile sometimes radical opinions in the interest of being mindful albeit in a different kind of way, maybe invites circuitous and discursive thinking and of course certain concessions. But I think it’s important to assert the fundamental difference re this particular right of exclusively women.
Because like many things we understand to be human rights, a woman’s right to bear children implicitly requires a whole lot of work and a lifetime’s responsibility. But unlike other rights -to the pursuit of happiness, to life and liberty- the right to bear children is one of those freedoms that’s not exclusively individualistic, the way so many of our Bill thereof are written. Because the end result of “a woman’s reproductive capacity” turns out to be another human entirely, dependent and weird and totally bestowed with whatever rights its culture sees fit to endow. Or, it might result in miscarriage, or termination, or fatal complications. All of which are really intimidating and scary, considering how many people take it upon themselves to risk procreating anyhow. And this uncertainty, this not knowing, should be part of the appeal.
Diego Báez contributes increasingly less frequently to Barrelhouse and HeaveMedia. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in RHINO, Flatmancrooked’s Slim Volume of Contemporary Poetics, and Granta (online). He lives and writes in Chicago.
This was a guest post in a series on feminism and ______. If you’d like to submit a guest post for this series, see the guidelines here and submit your post to samsanator(at)gmail(dot)com.
Guest Post: The Relationship Adventures of an Unapologetic Feminist
September 16th, 2010In this latest piece in a series about dating as a feminist, Not Guilty effectively and interestingly tackles the inevitable issues of compromise that arise in any relationship, but especially, it seems, when one person is trying to hold on to her feminist values.
Here, Not Guilty is discussing issues of compromises that arise in budding relationships, and she tackles them quite well. I’m sure at some point you all have been in a relationship in which you’ve had to consider when you’re willing to compromise and when you might just need to walk away, and I think that is an ongoing struggle with relationships. There’s a lot to learn here, and if you have any advice, we’d love to hear it!
Every time you interact with another person, there is a compromise. As you walk down the sidewalk, you have to compromise with oncoming traffic so you don’t collide. When going out with your friends, there is compromise involved in picking a place to go. Life is filled with compromise and yet, for some reason, there is a notion out there that compromising with a man, such as a boyfriend, makes one a bad feminist, as if such a compromise means one is submitting to the patriarchy. I have begun to notice that my relationship is going to require me to make a number of compromises. As my mother jokes, I had a 15 year plan when I was 10 years-old. My boyfriend’s job is tied to the city we both currently live in, whereas my career gives me great flexibility in work location. As a result, if our relationship is to last, I have to compromise on my dream of living in downtown Toronto; there is no realistic middle ground. Am I a bad feminist because I am giving up this dream for, *gasp*, a man? Does it mean I’ve submitted to the patriarchy?
As I noted, all relationships require compromise. Sometimes you even give up your dreams for friends and family. I believe that distinguishing between those relationships and ones with men is ridiculous. Feminism, to me, is about equality, and as my boyfriend pointed out, it isn’t an equitable relationship if it is a one-way street. If in order to be a “good feminist” I can’t compromise with my boyfriend, then we do not have an equal relationship. Not only is it wrong that compromise makes one a bad feminist, but it is in fact the total opposite. In order to be a good feminist, I must compromise with my boyfriend. Perhaps the distinguishing feature is what I compromise on.
There are obviously limits to how much I compromise for my relationship. I would never give up my legal career for my boyfriend, but at the same time, he would never ask me to. The biggest compromise, or rather, change, that I am potentially making for my relationship is with respect to children. Before we started dating, I had made comments around him about not wanting children. It is no secret that I don’t want kids. He told me that he does one day want children. Clearly this is a significant impasse. Both of us agreed that trying to change the other person’s mind was wrong because it is such a fundamental issue. As a result, we agreed we would re-evaluate at a later point in time. I walked away from that discussion and did some soul searching. I more or less had to decide if I was in fact so opposed to having kids that I could walk away from him. After a couple weeks of talking with friends, I began to realize that I’ve really been telling myself that I hated kids and that I’d be a terrible mother. After talking about my fears, I’ve decided that they are, for the most part, unfounded. As a result, I have reconsidered my vehement opposition to children. Funnily enough, as soon as I stopped telling myself that I hate kids, I find myself having a little more patience for the ones I know and I like them more. I still have a huge internal struggle to resolve, but I’m only 25 so I do not need to write anything in stone.
These are two huge compromises in my world. So have I submitted to the patriarchy? Well, I always thought I’d be happy with a man who “tolerated” my feminism, kind of like tolerating weird personality traits. I never dreamed I’d find somebody who enjoyed my feminism. I really can’t accept that I may have submitted to anybody, except perhaps myself; swallowing my pride and admitting maybe I was wrong is hard. The reward for these compromises is, well, happiness. We get along smashingly well. He voluntarily reads my blog (Hi Honey!) and asks questions about the things I write. He listens to me rant about things I read online or see in movies [Note: The Other Guys will make you facepalm frequently]. Not only that, but he makes compromises too. At the end of the day, I make compromises with everybody I meet. I make more significant compromises with my boyfriend, but he makes significant ones as well. That is what a relationship is; it is a two-way street because both parties can’t get their way all the time.
I’ve done everything for the past 25 years for me, answering only to my parents (sometimes). I loved living in Australia and doing all the things I did while I was single; I had a lot of fun. Now, I am ready to do things for somebody else, to stop thinking only of myself and to stop being the only person (aside from my parents of course) that thinks about me. I’m ready to make compromises and that is why I am not a bad feminist, because I’m choosing to compromise.
Not Guilty writes at her blog, Finding My Feminism. She is 25 years old, on the cusp of finishing her law degree, and has been a feminist her entire life, but just recently became active through blogging and organizing/attending rallies. You can follow her on Twitter @atheistincanada.
This was a guest post in a series on feminism and relationships. If you’d like to submit a guest post for this series, see the guidelines here and submit your post to samsanator(at)gmail(dot)com.
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Guest Post: Feminism and the Glass Ceiling
September 10th, 2010When I started my new job three years ago, the author of this post and I quickly discovered that we were very alike – we both consider ourselves feminists, we both work very hard to do a good job teaching, we both work outside of teaching as well, and over the years, we’ve both faced major life changes at around the same time – she both got married and had her first child within the past year and a half. We have spent many hours discussing the work-life balance as well as feminism and relationships, and I’ve often thought she should write a guest post for me. So when she sent me this piece as an example of a literacy narrative she wrote for her students, I managed to convince her to let me post it here, and I’m really excited about it. I imagine many of you can relate to these words – we all struggle between our jobs, our relationships, our writing, our hobbies. This is, honestly, the best, most eloquent, most real article on the subject I’ve ever read. As you sit there, reading, nodding to yourself because you understand her drive and ambition, think about how you relate to this post; we’d both love to hear your comments!
They say the glass ceiling is still in existence; women just do not stand a chance when it comes to earning as much money as men. I say I was born to break through the glass ceiling that American society has placed over my head. Unfortunately, this desire to shatter the norm has come at a pretty steep cost.
I grew up in a middle class family that held working class values, a fact that I feel makes my story more applicable to many. Early on, I decided I did not care about grades; rather, I went through school for the purpose of socializing. The led my parents to believe I was irresponsible and lazy; they obviously had not met me yet. It was actually my desire to socialize, and buy Abercrombie and Fitch clothes, that led me to my first job at Dairy Queen. Slowly, but surely, a workaholic monster began to take shape.
From Dairy Queen, I had a brief stint at JC Penny and Boston Market, both higher paying jobs that just were not right for me. After my few month hiatus from ice cream, it was after all the winter, I was hired back to Dairy Queen. I had a problem though, for I was also recently hired at Kreamy Delight, another, albeit tackily named, ice cream store that would provide me a much higher earning potential. At sixteen, I made the decision to opt for Kreamy Delight and remained there for the next nine years.
Many things happened during that nine year period. I got a job as a babysitter that led to a long-term, in-home childcare position that lasted for six years. Concurrently, I also worked for a while at a tanning salon and as a legal secretary. All the while, I went to college full time and earned an Associate’s, Bachelor’s, and began a Master’s degree. While working on my Master’s, I began a teaching career and worked in various junior highs year-round. At twenty-three, I bought a fixer-upper that I used as an outlet to dump my money. Juggling the work was exhausting at times and left little room for what I originally set out to do: socialize.
At twenty-four, I got a job at the high school I attended. Early on in the school year, a problem quickly arose in that I realized I was serving some of my students and their families at the ice cream store regularly. The sacred barrier of separation that teachers strive for was obliterated by my decision to stick with the job that I had since I was my students’ age. I quit the ice cream store after. I was now faced with free time, which was a scary thing. I continued to take classes towards my Master’s and volunteer for any extra-curricular activity that came my way at the high school, but I still had more time off than ever before.
This change led to changes in the little personal life I had. I finally had time to realize that I was in a bad relationship and that I needed a break from graduate school. I began cutting ties with my old self. I quickly made a new set of non-work friends, through a work friend but still. I soon after began dating a new guy, who I worked with but whatever. I reestablished what was missed by being a workaholic: a life.
I would like to say this was a life changing experience, which it was, and that I was altered for forever, but that would be a lie. I finished that Master’s I started, and eventually, I started a new one. I married that guy I met at work, and my new friends were all my bridesmaids. Soon after, we had a child, which of course is a job in and of itself. Old habits die hard though and that underlying desire to make money was further fueled by my maternal instinct to provide for my child. I still teach at the same high school but also teach at a local junior college. I am also finishing up my second Master’s degree and am as overworked and overwhelmed as ever. Being a workaholic is part of who I am, part of the lazy and irresponsible kid my parents would have swore that they raised. I do come out of this all, however, with a better understanding of what having a life truly means and striving for the time when I will have broken through that glass ceiling and can live comfortably.
Schaller Manering is a teacher in the Chicagoland suburbs. She is married with a one year old son.
This was a guest post in a series on feminism and ______. If you’d like to submit a guest post for this series, see the guidelines here and submit your post to samsanator(at)gmail(dot)com.
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Guest Post: “I’d have moved over the moon…”
September 8th, 2010I think is interesting how feminism and long-distance relationships seem to fit together and be mutually beneficial. I, myself, was in several long(er)-distance relationships throughout undergrad and well into my first teaching job. In fact, I had relationships that involved some sort of travel all the way up until I met Tim – soon to be Mr. Samsanator. 🙂 I actually found that I enjoyed these long(er)-distance relationships because they allowed me to be myself and do my own thing and explore my studies or my career without distraction. When I all of a sudden found myself ready for a close-distance relationship, though, I found myself with Tim. But there were (and still are, truth be told) times where I miss that distance and that ability to test the waters and be truly focused on something other than your relationship, so to speak.
So when Jessica sent me a pitch for a post about her long-distance relationship, I jumped at the opportunity to publish it. And this time, when Rachel pitched her post about the same topic to me, I immediately told her I’d love to read her post, because I’m both fascinated by and nostalgic for long-distance relationships and what they mean for feminism. I’m so glad Rachel sent me her post, because it is both so similar to and so different from Jessica’s – just like any relationship can be so similar to and so different from anyone else’s – that I absolutely had to share it here. So, enjoy! And be sure to get all the way to the end, because the last sentence is so poignant, it took my breath away!
For the past two and a half years, my boyfriend and I have maintained a long-distance relationship, and the first chance we’ll have to change—or not change—this setup is eight months away. On the surface, the origins of my decision to stay in a long-distance relationship look righteously feminist. I’m comforted by the freedom and independence that living and working alone towards my career grants me. I lug my own groceries, and I study wherever and whenever I please. I cook and clean and launder, but only for myself. (I’m also, I’ve learned, quite talented with a power drill and a hammer.) I’ve held up my relationship arrangement as proof both to myself and to others that no man can affect my career goals, or I’m doing this for me, or every decision I make is with myself first in mind.
The (I thought) feminist underpinnings of my relationship have become much more complicated with our time apart coming to a close. I’m sure—especially now that we’re looking forward towards marriage—that I want to end this back-and-forth, and make a life for myself alongside my boyfriend in the city where he currently lives. Where in this carefully built feminist self will I find room to shelve all these assertions, these beliefs I’ve clung to as evidence of me doing me?
Right now, both of us are apprentices at the beginning of our careers. We’re both broke, we both study all the time, and we’re both putting miles on our shopworn cars. Despite this equality of practice, my partner’s and my career paths diverge sharply in areas of earning potential: he’s a medical student, interested in surgery, while I, a graduate student in the fine art of poetry, work as a freelancer and teach undergraduate writing classes. When we first left college and met new people in our respective programs, the same quip surfaced enough times to make my blood boil. “Thank you,” a writer in my program once said to my boyfriend at a party, his hand outstretched in mock gratitude, “for being a patron of the arts.” My ears red, all I could hear from his tone was judgment: you dabble, poet-woman, because he’ll make enough cash for you both.
It’s a joke, sure, but one that implicates me as mastermind in some sort of financial love-coup—one that insinuates my place as the taken-care-of one, the domesticated woman who needn’t worry. Yes, our projected lifetime incomes are inequal, and while I cannot deny that this imbalance makes me feel uncomfortable and defensive at times, I know that pursuing a life in the arts means embracing the in-hand lifetime of income uncertainty—and no, thank you, a marriage is not a patronage. If feminism dwells within a woman’s power of choice, then my love of poetry comes from the most feminist part of myself. The paycheck, mine or his, bears no concern on my life’s work.
My long-distance relationship, over time, has both raised and answered many questions about commitment and feminism. First: who gives in? When is it acceptable to compromise, and when does work come before a visit? When I give in, and he doesn’t, am I giving up more—traction, power, sense of self? On the weekends when I have piles of papers to grade or he has a test to take, we stay in our respective cities. If a month goes by—well, those are the months I thank AT&T and keep my nose to the career grindstone. Sometimes, I’m grateful for the space and the quiet; other days, the space and the quiet devastate me. It might sound cheesy to say, but I think I’ve learned more about love, its variants and textures and mutabilities, from allowing myself to miss someone in this manner. It also makes the work I do feel that much more important, and vibrant, because I know what I’ve given up—for now—to pursue it fully.
I’ve found myself redefining love at the same time as my ideas of feminism shift and grow, a pairing that I don’t believe to be accidental. Feminism, for me, is now more than just my decision three years ago to cultivate a life apart from someone I love; it’s also my realization that loving someone through the ebbs and flows of compromise is a form of self-assertion and self-value. Making decisions about a shared future—where two ambitious people in love can look across a couch, or a dinner table, or a stack of books at each other and make a life that works—need not become an exercise in power struggles or failed expressions of self. A feminist love can move closer, eradicate highways and flights and set up shop in a single apartment or home. It wasn’t the distance I placed between myself and my boyfriend that made my long-distance decision feminist; it was my determination to know myself wholly, and for my partner to know himself wholly, before I allowed room for mutuality and compromise.
Last week, I talked to my mother on the phone. I’ve been in a long-distance relationship, in a way, with my family ever since I left for college many years ago. She shared two thoughts with me whose force sat me down at the computer to begin drafting this post. First: you’ll never be with everyone you love forever. Life is one long wave, all comings and goings. Even the most stubborn of us (and I can hear her cough pointedly, implicating her oh-so-stubborn daughter), with so much to prove about their independence and career successes, need to make room for another person if that’s what the heart surely wants.
Second: “I’d have moved to the moon,” she said, “to be with your father. When I was ready to go to the moon, of course.”
Rachel Mennies is a writer currently living in central Pennsylvania. While in Pennsylvania, she’s spent time working for the University of Pittsburgh, and is nearly finished with her MFA in poetry from Penn State. She writes a blog at http://www.rachelmennies.com on creative writing and technology.
This was a guest post in a series on feminism and relationships, but is also about the author’s relationship with feminism and with religion and culture. If you’d like to submit a guest post for this series, see the guidelines here and submit your post to samsanator(at)gmail(dot)com.
Guest Post: The Dating Adventures of an Unapologetic Feminist, Part 2
August 30th, 2010You might remember Not Guilty from her previous post about online dating as a feminist. She had designed an experiment in which she decided to sign up for an online dating site and include the fact that she is a feminist in her profile. She wanted to know if including the “f-word” in her profile would make any difference in who decided to contact her, or who decided not to.
I thought it was a fascinating experiment, which is why I was so eager to publish this series from her. With all of the stigma surrounding the word “feminism,” I thought it would be fascinating to see what happened when she included the word in her profile. Interestingly enough, many of you commented on her first post that you had done online dating and had written in your profiles that you are feminists as well, and that your online dating experience ended successfully. Not Guilty’s online dating experience has also ended successfully, except not in the way you might think. I’ll let her tell you all about it.
It has been about a month since I began my mini “experiment” in online dating. I’ve received messages from half a dozen men and have exchanged messages with the first few, but I’m stopping because I’ve found a match.
It’s amazing how quickly things can change. I’ve been single for a number of years, primarily because I’ve been very focused on school. This summer I changed my attitude and decided that I was ready to start dating now that I have a job upon graduation and only one semester of school left. People have always said that these things happen when you least expect them and I have to say, they were right. However, we did not meet online, which was even more unexpected!
To my delight, he has said that he considers himself to be a feminist. He boils it down to equality and doesn’t see the big deal with the label. I have ranted a little about abortion, but he enjoys the discussions. He’s already asked my opinion on a few topics and allowed me to “educate” him. He even called out another guy in the group for saying something sexist in front of my friend and me, warning the guy he was between two feminists and might want to watch himself; it was quite funny. He has said numerous times that while he never expected to date a feminist, he always wanted an equal partner. He used to think that all feminists were misandrists (a term he taught me because I’d never heard of it!), but he has realized that is in fact not true. As I explained to him, none of the feminist I know of hate men. It is great to be able to demonstrate that to at least one man.
He has also taken it upon himself to read my blog. I was a little nervous at first, but I figured if he was put off by what I wrote, then it wouldn’t work anyways. He says he has enjoyed reading it and he has asked me questions about a few things. I think what I love most isn’t just that he respects my feminism, and me, but that he wants to learn about it. He doesn’t agree with everything that I say, but he disagrees in a respectful fashion. I think I have to learn to let him disagree better because sometimes I take his disagreement as a challenge to “make” him see it my way.
I am so grateful to feminism for giving me the self-confidence to ask him out. I suppose I can declare my experiment a success to some extent. I received a half dozen messages online, and started dating somebody; all of whom knew I was a feminist. I guess the conclusion is that it takes a strong man to not run away from something he doesn’t understand; feminism being something many men don’t understand. He continues to surprise me everyday with his interest in feminism.
I let him pick a name that I would refer to him as for posting. He has decided he would like to be referred to as He-Man (from He-Man and She-Ra comics or something). I roll my eyes, but if he is going to let me blog about him, the least I can do is let him pick his own pseudonym. I have already started a follow-up post because this relationship has literally turned my world upside down, and I think feminism and compromise is an important topic that should be explored. The end of the dating experiment earlier than planned is just the first of my plans that my relationship with He-Man has derailed, and the next post is the first compromise of many that I will be making. The trick is compromising without losing yourself, and I know I can do that, so keep an eye out for part 3 of The Dating Relationship Adventures of an Unapologetic Feminist!
Not Guilty writes at her blog, Finding My Feminism. She is 25 years old, on the cusp of finishing her law degree, and has been a feminist her entire life, but just recently became active through blogging and organizing/attending rallies. You can follow her on Twitter @atheistincanada.
This was a guest post in a series on feminism and relationships, but is also about the author’s relationship with feminism and with religion and culture. If you’d like to submit a guest post for this series, see the guidelines here and submit your post to samsanator(at)gmail(dot)com.
Guest Post: A Porch Swings Between Two Cultures
August 26th, 2010Over the past few weeks, Safa – the author of the following guest post – and I have written back and forth quite a bit and have found that we are quite kindred spirits. Her wedding is in October, and so is mine. In many ways, her family situation is similar to mine. She is also a feminist working against the confinement of patriarchy while still following many of its rules, as am I. She also blogs about weddings and marriage as a feminist choice rather than something that should be regarded with feminist disdain, as do I. As you can imagine, we have had much to talk about.
So when Safa asked me if I’d like to cross-post this article about what it means to be Muslim, Iranian, Catholic, American, a feminist, a fiancee, all of the above and none of the above all at the same time, I jumped at the change. Her words are incredibly pertinent and passionate, and so important. And this is only a part of what she has to say. I encourage you to go read her blog, especially if you like what you’ve read here lately. Safa’s words exist in the space between contradictions, paradoxes, and binaries and, as such, challenge us to explore what it means to exist on a spectrum between these ends. As you read her words here, think about what your culture means to you and what your partner’s culture means to him or her, because it isn’t always simple, and, sometimes, when it’s not simple, that’s when the most beautiful revelations begin.
According to recent surveys, 18-20% of the American population thinks President Obama is Muslim. Why, I don’t know—maybe it’s because he’s black, or because his middle name is Hussein, or because he was raised Muslim, or because he’s been sympathetic to Muslims trying to build an Islamic Center by Ground Zero. Maybe it’s because it’s Ramadan. Not pardoning the blatant American ignorance that’s soaring twice as high as our national unemployment rate, another part of this equation bothers me, and that is the shock factor I see played up in the media, like the idea of having a Muslim president comes as a source of shame. His Christian affiliation is repeatedly reinforced, and it makes me wonder, why should it matter in the first place? Under the First Amendment, Obama can prescribe to any religion he wants. What, I ask the media, is so sensational about being Muslim?
It’s a question I’ve been grappling with lately, because even though I chose not to prescribe to an organized religion, I was Muslim-born, and while my religious book of choice for my wedding is Hafiz and not the Koran, I still feel an attachment to Islam, in all its spiritual beauty and politicized dysfunction, more than any other religion, because that was what conditioned me for the world. Catholicism, which is what Rene was confirmed into, was a moderately close second, but that was more because of Jesuit nuns than its doctrines. When I was a child, my mom received her nursing degree from St. Louis University (Jesuit capitol of the US) and then went on to work at a Catholic hospital. Both housed the Sisters of Mercy, and when they saw my veiled mother, they took her in immediately and protected her because to them, her hejab was no different than their habits. So I grew up with a different version of Catholicism than many people I know, and for the longest time, I didn’t see it as any different from Islam, because these women, who were just as covered as my mom, looked after me and coddled me like a group of grandmothers. I hear the word infidel thrown around today, and the word is Islamically so foreign to me, because my mom made sure I grew up with a version that wouldn’t damn these sweet nuns to hell.
The other night, a Persian friend of mine of Zoroastrian and Jewish descent asked me, “How did you get out of the radical part of Islam and still learn to respect the religion?” I told her I think it was the mix of several factors—I had contact with my American (Catholic) family, I spent time with nuns on a regular basis, I was always an outsider because of my artsiness, and I couldn’t play and socialize with the other Muslim kids. The house our Iranian Shia community would congregate in at least once or twice a week belonged to a family that also owned several guinea pigs. For some reason, going near the guinea pigs put me into anaphylactic shock. I still remember the first episode. I was eight years old, and right after petting the animals, I broke out into hives, my eyes swelled shut, and my wind pipes closed. Somehow, blind and unable to breathe, I stumbled my way downstairs to my mom. Immediately, she rushed me to the ER. It was the only time in my life I saw myself dying, and the idea scared me so much, I fought to cry, only my eyes were too swollen to make the tears and my throat was too constricted to make the sounds. For the longest time after that, we thought I was allergic to rodents, but after living in New York without a single rat or mouse-induced episode, I don’t know what made me trigger that night. All I know was that it stayed in that house. For the next three years, my father would insist on going back to that house, and he forced me to come along, arguing that if I didn’t touch the guinea pigs, I would be fine. He couldn’t be more wrong. On the nights he dragged the whole family over, my mom had to give me Benedryl so that I arrived there so drugged up, all I could do was sleep in her lap. On the nights she worked or was in school, I didn’t have any medicine, so I spent all my time outside on the house’s front porch swing, away from the other kids. It sounds lonely, but really, it ended up being a blessing in disguise, because it taught me to look at my father’s version of Islam from an outsider’s perspective, and from that, I created my own adaptation of it, one that valued women and artists and little girls who couldn’t go around guinea pigs, one where you could dance with God, like the Hafiz poem. Little did I know at the time that my Islam was closer to the real thing than my father’s was.
This is the Islam I carry with me today, and this is the Islam I see get threatened in political rhetoric that paints it as less American than say, Christianity. What eventually drove me away from worship wasn’t Islam or Christ himself, but that organized religion is just that, a system of categorizing people based on what name they call God. Each faith leads you on a different path up to the same hilltop, and for that reason, I see spirituality as a very personal relationship, one that shouldn’t be anyone else’s business but the person who holds it. Instead, I see people blindly putting their fates in God, and then turn around and damn others who are different, as if they have the power to determine what every holy book says is beyond man’s control.
So when I hear all this rhetoric going around, particularly about Obama’s past and current Christian faith and this Wall Street mosque, I can’t help but feel threatened, because it makes me feel like I’m navigating a middle ground where no matter where I step, I’m bound to topple the balance, because embracing either my Muslim or my non-Muslim side implies some sort of betrayal of the part of me that gets discarded. It bothers me that people use hyphens to separate others from the rest of Americans; what if I used mine to elaborate what type of American I am? Most of us came here from somewhere else in the world. I have a hard time feeling comfortable with the establishment of ethnic and inter-personal borders when so many of us have the shared experience of some person in our family crossing a border to come here.
This has been my life—an Orientalist, mumbo-jumbo of us versus them, and borders getting drawn all over the place, north, south, east, west. It didn’t help that my father loved Khomeini and my grandpa mapped the moon. Iran versus America—the rhetoric of my childhood, and in the middle was the mixed girl from both worlds who wasn’t enough of one, so I constantly felt like the other. Add in annual FBI visits we used to get when I was a child—I grew up a somewhat schizophrenic childhood where I really wasn’t quite sure if America wanted me and was protecting me, or if it was stuck with me and kept an eye on me to make sure I wouldn’t cause any trouble. I can’t help but wonder if this is how other Middle Eastern and Muslim Americans feel too, because if you’re wrongly attributed to be Muslim, people are very quick to correct. Islam is a legally recognized religion in this country, so what’s the big deal?
And now that I’m marrying a non-Muslim, it seems like such a no-brainer to let that part of me go, especially because we agreed not to raise our children within an organized religion, but I can’t. Islam is almost like Judiasm, where it’s so embedded with an ethnic region of the world, that to deny it and still call myself Middle Eastern feels almost like I’m denying where half of me comes from. So where does that place me? Am I American? Am I Iranian? The logical thing would be to say both, but politics have placed the two worlds on such different binaries, I still feel like the little kid playing by herself on the front porch swing, like maverick solitude is the only way to survive two countries bickering like a pair of divorced parents.
Safa is a writer based in Denver, Colorado. She writes mostly autobiographical stories that look at womens issues, performance studies and ethnic identity. Her essays have appeared on numerous sites online, and her one-woman shows have been seen in Denver, New York, Vermont, and abroad at the Women Playwrights International Conference at the University of Mumbai. She is currently the author of the blog Naked Lady in a White (Silk) Dress.
This was a guest post in a series on feminism and relationships, but is also about the author’s relationship with feminism and with religion and culture. If you’d like to submit a guest post for this series, see the guidelines here and submit your post to samsanator(at)gmail(dot)com.
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Guest Post: Dear Dad: Thank you for making me a Feminist
August 25th, 2010Today’s guest post literally moved me to tears. I was sitting, waiting for the train after the last Chicago Feminist Tweetup when I first read it, and it was so powerful and honest, I just had to share it with you here. It’s about relationships and feminism, but in a different way – which I really like because relationships don’t just have to mean boyfriends and girlfriends and husbands and wives and partners. Relationships with all people, especially family members, help shape our definitions of feminism from a very young age, and help shape our relationships with other people as we grow older. I’m sure almost all of you can relate to Laura’s words here, so, without further ado, here it is.
My father was found dead the morning of June 3, 2010. It’s a complicated loss I will try to spend a lifetime attempting to define and understand. After all, we didn’t have a lot of Hallmark moments filled with perfectly expressed love or even understanding. Most of our interactions were a tense game of seesaw; one of us angry and the other one silently judging. He was the volcano I tiptoed around as a child. I remember his loud snore, his drunken stumble, and his violence that would often erupt.
After my parents’ divorce I spent my teenage years shuffling between the poverty of a single-mother household and the opulence of a well-off and uncommitted Father. As a young woman trying to make sense of this culture’s expectations, I didn’t know how to talk to a father whose ideas of gender were rigidly binary. I remember our ‘father daughter’ talk, when I was sixteen, started with a racist tirade against Jesse Jackson – only a tad more topical in 1995 – and ended with, “I would rather die than have a woman president.”
Following my teen years we saw each other less and less. My father knew I was liberal and ‘politically active’ but never sought to discuss specifics, only to make sweeping, nonsensical statements that he knew would make me mad. More like the older sibling goading on the younger child every conversation followed the same premise: “Laura is a reactionary, look at how quickly she gets upset.” Our interactions quickly became stories my friends loved hearing because the only way I could process my father saying lewd things about my body while claiming to compliment my tattoo was to turn it all into a big joke.
Growing up in poverty, surviving parental bullying and domestic violence certainly shaped my slowly raising consciousness. Also, I can’t help but see how my love of ‘taking a stand’ was made easier by such an outlandish parent. Nowadays it takes a lot for someone to get a reaction out of me. After all, I’ve heard it all before.
A couple of months before my father died we got into yet another fight about my perceived ‘oversensitivity’ to his racist humor and I stood my ground telling him he had to respect my lived experience. What was different than all of those times before was that he did. Not only did he admit defeat in the rehashed battle, he continued by saying that he was proud of all that I had accomplished in my life.
I don’t hold any delusions that if he lived longer he could have been the father I so desperately wanted any more than I could become the daughter that would have been his perfect match. Our relationship was never easy, but I still miss him as much as any child can miss a parent. I can say with confidence and certainty that my father’s influence and contrarian personality has made me the feminist, loud-mouthed-activist that I am today.
Laura Craig Mason is the feminist podcaster for Fully Engaged Feminism, and who is lucky enough to blog occasionally at RHReality Check. “Offline” Laura participates in DC feminist activism & conference organizing. Not too proud to still live in the suburbs of the capitol Laura strives every day to make the world a little better by talking about feminism with anyone who will listen.
This was a guest post in a series on feminism and relationships, but is also about the author’s relationship with feminism! If you’d like to submit a guest post for this series, see the guidelines here and submit your post to samsanator(at)gmail(dot)com.
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Guest Post: On being an artist and a feminist
August 20th, 2010This is a guest post in a series on feminism and relationships, but is also about the author’s relationship with feminism! It’s a feminist guest post double-whammy, if you will! And, Gwenn has guest posted here before! You can see her other guest post here. If you’d like to submit a guest post for this series, see the guidelines here and submit your post to samsanator(at)gmail(dot)com.
Gwenn Liberty Seemel is named after the Liberty Bell, a cracked ding-dong with a venerable history. Gwenn is a working artist who has sold her soul to the genre of portraiture, and she is the recipient of grants from the Regional Arts and Culture Council, the Oregon Arts Commission, the Celebration Foundation, the Haven Foundation, Change Inc, and the Artists’ Fellowship Inc. She blogs at gwennseemel.com.
To hear my family tell it, I was a feminist before I was an artist, but I remember the story a little differently.
When I was five, I discovered that the United States had never had a female President. And I must have made something of a fuss over it, because my father gave me a book of portraits entitled The First Ladies in order to appease me. Instead of being further outraged that the first wives were supposed to make up for there never having been a first husband, I was thrilled to be given my first book of beautiful art.
In other words I was distracted from my feminist goals by a bit of shiny.
It’s not a proud moment for me, but it is a telling one. My identity as an artist has always come easily to me, but I’ve struggled my whole life to assume more fully my role as an activist for women’s rights. Maybe it’s a function of being a millennial feminist—maybe the cultural waters are muddier these days—or maybe I’m just too scared to be forceful about my feminism.
The truth is that it may not be easy to be an artist, but it’s a whole lot more difficult to be a feminist. Artists are thought of as cranks and scammers, radicals and bad influences, feckless, starving, and utterly unreliable, but at least they aren’t viewed as whiny victims whose ideals are passé and who must, by definition, be unsexy.
Gwenn Seemel
The Next President
2007
acrylic on denim
34 x 31 inches
(For more information about the making of this painting, visit this post.)
Twenty-some years after the First Ladies entered my life, I am looking to respond to that book and to everything it represents to me. I’m tired of being one of those women who believes in everything that the women’s rights activists from the 1960s (or from the 1860s for that matter) fought for but who sometimes lets inequalities slide in public and then rages in private about those same inequalities while making art about them.
When I call myself a feminist, I want to feel like I feel when I call myself an artist: strong, not vulnerable.
Guest Post: How important is feminism to relationships?
August 19th, 2010This is a guest post in a series on feminism and relationships. If you’d like to submit a guest post for this series, see the guidelines here and submit your post to samsanator(at)gmail(dot)com.
Dena Robinson is a feminist activist woman of colour and student at Colgate University by day. By night she blogs for many blogs including Feministing Campus, and the Feminist Majority Foundation’s Choices Campus Blog. In addition, she tweets about social justice activism, queer rights, feminism and politics on Twitter at @DenaRobinson. One day, Dena hopes to become an attorney working for women’s, children’s, and queer people’s rights or a pro-choice, feminist elected official (read: politician).
How important is feminism to relationships?
It is a question I often ask myself when entering into new relationships, when talking to friends, and when talking to family. To many feminism is an important thing in relationships; to me it’s much the same. Feminism is so much a part of me that I find it hard to disconnect the “personal from the political” (very cliché, I know). It is so much a part of me that I evaluate most of my relationships using a feminist lens.
I identify as bisexual. Coming to that revelation about my identity and how it intersects with my race and religious beliefs was an easier process because of my feminist ideology. My feminism taught me that my identity as a person was more complex than who I was attracted and that my identity was shaped by all of these other factors. My feminism also increases my comfortability level with same-sex partners as well as opposite-sex partners. When partnered with a woman, my feminism has allowed me to become more and more increasingly open with those partners. It has taught me that while being with women is different, I should treat it no differently than with a man. My feminism has flowered because of that and helped to shape more the qualities I want in a male partner. My feminism in same-sex relationships has manifested itself in the way I communicate with those partners, what I ask of those partners, and the way our relationships work. I think that in a lot of same-sex relationships, while gender roles are not the same as in opposite-sex relationships, they do exist. I’m not very fond of gender roles and I think that exudes itself in my relationships. Also, in same-sex relationships, when not with an outrightly feminist partner, I always find myself talking to them about feminism or discussing my dissatisfaction with sexism, misogyny, what have you.
Now, this may seem cliché, but feminism really empowered me to lay claims to my identity. Before I came to feminism I saw labels as things for canned goods, not people. But once I came to my feminist identity I felt extremely comfortable with taking on an identity for my sexuality (though at times I still have issues with the taking on of labels). Therefore, in relationships my feminism has allowed me to carve out a niche for myself and be confident in the things I want from a partner. Many partners have been scared because of my feminism (because women are supposed to be docile and quiet), but since being with me have desired feminist traits in their future partners. In relationships I am easily able to find controlling, jealous, or abusive traits in partners because of my experiences and my feminism. In same-sex relationships I am able to stand tall and confident in expressing my love towards my partner. What is weird, though, is that for me, bisexuality has almost been an extension of my feminism. I go into male-partnered relationships expecting the same benefits I had from same-sex relationships: mainly the communication, the expressing of emotions, the friendship, etc. I mean, after all, feminists know what they want and get it and in my relationships I do the same.
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Guest Post: Absence makes the heart grow…more feminist? Long distance and relationships in a feminist world
August 18th, 2010This is a guest post in a series on feminism and relationships. If you’d like to submit a guest post for this series, see the guidelines here and submit your post to samsanator(at)gmail(dot)com.
Jessica Mack is a Senior Editor at Gender Across Borders, a global feminism blog, and a lifelong global feminist. She works in the global women’s health field, loves to travel, adventure, and has not lived in one place for more than four months in the last year and a half. She is currently living between NY and Seattle, dreaming of far-off places.
Long-distance relationship.
What an odious term. I’ve always disliked it, and what it represented – long hours on the phone, suffocating logistics of weekends and holidays shared here and there, that persistent pang of missing someone, and that distinct feeling of dislocation one gets living between two worlds.
So how did I end up in one?
In the five-plus years that I’ve been in my relationship, my partner and I have spent a total of 27 months apart – in Kenya, in India, in NY and Boston – and are on the precipice of another year on top of that. I would say it’s part personality, part feminist persuasion that drives me to endure distance in the pursuit of personal/professional gratification. And I am deeply appreciative of a partner who feels the same way.
In contrast to the age-old character of long-distance relationships, in which the woman is often left behind, pining, while the man goes off to work or war or otherwise, ours is mutual and often driven by myself.
My partner and I are both very driven people, deeply committed to our careers and proscribing to the notion that if we individually are not pursuing our dreams, then we cannot pursue our collective one. And if that takes us apart from each other now and then, well that’s a price we are willing to pay.
The feminist in me reviles against the notion of sacrificing for another until I am good and ready to, and it’s my choice to do so. While I hate that constant missing, I sort of revel in the independence that it gives me and deeply appreciate the elasticism of my relationship.
Despite growing up in a more progressive environment than women before me, the specter has still hung over my head all these years that a “good” wife/partner/woman sticks by her significant other for support and because she can’t bear to be apart from him. She doesn’t go off to live in a rural village in Mali to bolster her career; heck, she doesn’t even put her career ahead of his.
It is this archaic model that I am resisting against, silly as it may be. And though I was raised in a very different time from my feminist ancestors, who were denied the right to vote or attend university, I am still conscious of the relative rarity of these privileges…no rights…for women worldwide. Therefore I feel a feminist duty to take advantage of the opportunities afforded to me, in honor of all the women who cannot or will not.
I think it’s deeply important for women especially to feel licensed to take risks professionally and personally, and move beyond the sphere of comfort. There is a pervasive stigma against women traveling alone, striking out on their own, etc. that we need to continue pushing against.
Contrary to the onerous long-distance relationship of old, I think that the long-distance relationship of today can be re-envisioned and re-appropriated for the feminist project. For a younger generation of women, the world has gotten more global, more connected, and more traversable. This means for most of us, we’ll be moving around, traveling, perhaps living among continents. And meanwhile, relationships happen – not always when and where you want them to.
It is possible to have a relationship amongst two individuals who are equally supportive of the other’s pursuits and dreams and willing to endure distance to ensure personal growth. It is fighting against the clichés that when the cat is away the mouse will play – or if you are apart from your partner, you will be replaced. It is fighting against the cliché that you cannot be a supportive partner and pursue your own career as a woman. And in that independence, and in that distance, I think our identities as women and feminist can become even stronger.
Obviously it doesn’t always have to happen this way. Plenty of relationships function just fine when two people are in the same space, and one can have utter independence while not having a long-distance relationship. In many ways, that is of course ideal. But it is my hunch that far too many women shy away from inducing a long-distance relationship because of the stigma and the expectations that we still carry with us on this regard.
Almost every relationship in life becomes a long-distance one at some point. People move, they leave, they fall out of touch, they pass away. I’ve realized that repulsion to goodbyes won’t do me any favors in a long life of comings and goings. As a person who considers herself at times cripplingly sentimental, having long-distance relationships has provided me an important series of meditations on distance and closeness – not just with my significant other, but with friends and family as well.
My wanderlust continues to grow and I’m not sure it will ever be sated – but part of why I love leaving so much, whether it’s saying goodbye to my partner or to my best friend, is the eventual return, the eventual reunion…and how oh so sweet that is. It is in the contrast of that binary, I’ve found that I’m learning much more about love and relationships.
My latest revelation, that I’m slowly coming to embrace – is that it’s OK to compromise for another person in the relationship, and it’s OK to move closer when distance becomes too much. One can be feminist and compromise. For me, I’ve had to move stubbornly in my own direction in order to come back around and feel secure in moving in another’s.
Guest Post: The 1960s radical separatist feminist in my head
August 13th, 2010This is a guest post in a series on feminism and relationships. If you’d like to submit a guest post for this series, see the guidelines here and submit your post to samsanator(at)gmail(dot)com.
Gwenn Liberty Seemel is named after the Liberty Bell, a cracked ding-dong with a venerable history. Gwenn is a working artist who has sold her soul to the genre of portraiture, and she is the recipient of grants from the Regional Arts and Culture Council, the Oregon Arts Commission, the Celebration Foundation, the Haven Foundation, Change Inc, and the Artists’ Fellowship Inc. She blogs at gwenseemel.com.
I have a friend who hears her mom’s voice in her head. It comments now and again on her behavior and chimes in when she’s making decisions. It’s the same for me, only the voice in my head sounds like a 1960s radical separatist feminist.
I first noticed the voice in 2006, and its sudden appearance probably had a lot to do with the fact that I was in love with a man for the first time in my life and that our relationship was just as important to me as my relationship with my work. It also probably had a lot to do with inClover, a group show that I was participating in that summer. The concept of exhibition stemmed from the saying “to be in clover,” which means “to be living a carefree life of ease, comfort, or prosperity,” and with my contributions to the show I addressed some of the discoveries I was making in my new relationship.
Gwenn Seemel
Over Grown Up (Woman)
2006
acrylic on canvas
2 x 10 feet
(In order to read the text included in this piece, go here.)
Since inClover was presented in a Portland park, each of the two pieces I created for it was designed to be wrapped around a tree so that the strip of portraits was seen as an endlessly repeating cycle of the many different faces of one person. The themes for the individual portraits were “over grown,” “grown up,” “upstart,” “start in,” and “in clover” (each written under the individual busts). With the cycle of themes I wanted to convey how finding that place of ease, comfort, and prosperity is usually a dynamic process. We are never in clover for long, but rather searching for how to get back there.
detail image of Over Grown Up (Woman)
This strip consists of self-portraits with quotes from Betty Crocker’s Hints For The Homemaker from 1961 interspersed among the faces. The Hints include advice like the following:
“Have a hobby. Garden, paint pictures, look through magazines for home planning ideas, read a good book, or attend club meetings. Be interested—and you’ll always be interesting.”
detail image of Over Grown Up (Woman)
With this piece, I wanted to confront the pressures that I feel to be a proper, domestic, and nurturing woman, expectations which I both resent and embrace. I was asking myself what it meant that I want a career and that I also love to cook for my man. In a sense, I was visually portraying the arguments that go on between my one self and my other self—also known as the 1960s radical separatist feminist in my head.
Gwenn Seemel
Over Grown Up (Man)
2006
acrylic on canvas
2 x 10 feet
(In order to read the text included in this piece, go here.)
This second piece consists of portraits of my partner with the same cycle of themes. Instead of trying to find a text like Hints For The Homemaker that might apply to men in general, the words in this painting are more intimately tied to David in particular.
detail image of Over Grown Up (Man)
Depicting him suited and beardless along with a run-on of HTML code represents the time my partner spent in Manhattan as a corporate trainer in web-building among other things. He was making scads of money but also losing his voice as an artist. The remainder of the text in the piece is from a story by David which tells about a man who forgoes the so-called respectable life so that he can pursue his dream, breaking away from a kind of societal pressure that’s not too different from the one that bullies some women into being homemakers.
detail image of Over Grown Up (Man)
At the one-day event that was inClover, I got into a conversation with two of the other female artists about the practice of a woman taking a man’s name when she marries. Neither of the women I was talking to had changed their names, and I was curious about their choices. The one who was my age revealed that it wasn’t a decision she had agonized over; it had just sort of happened when she and her husband went to register their marriage. The other woman had a much stronger opinion—both about her own choice and the choice she felt I should make. She was in her 60s, and she described the trouble that her generation of feminists had gone through to obtain this right, chastising me for even questioning what I would do. And this woman wasn’t alone in her rebuke: the feminist in my head was laying into me too.
It didn’t occur to me at the time, but I wish that I had pointed out to my colleague that what she had fought for was not my right to refuse to take a man’s name, but my right to choose whether or not I would. Instead I looked down at the artist’s bare legs and said, “you shave your legs; I have never shaved mine. We each have our own ways of chipping away at the patriarchy.”
My colleague blinked at me and turned away; the feminist in my head berated me for bringing another woman down.
Guest Post: Girl Power
August 12th, 2010Today’s guest post is more about the author’s relationship with feminism, rather than feminism and relationships. Did you know I accepted posts about personal experiences with feminism, too? Well, I do! Especially after becoming so disillusioned with the feminist community a while back, and after hearing from so many people that they felt the exact same way, I would love to publish more about people’s personal relationships with feminism, as I think it fits in with the purpose of this blog really well. So, should you feel inspired to weigh in, send your posts my way!
Lauren Kaminsky, 25, is enthusiastic about empowering young people, especially young women. She writes Outside the Girl Box , a blog for pre-teen girls that encourages them to stay true to themselves and stay out of the “box” in which society tries to place them. She is also a coach and volunteer for Girls on the Run Chicago, and writes for Equality 101.
In her spare time, you’ll find Lauren running, biking, and swimming, in no particular order, training for as many races as she can cram into her weekends. She also enjoys rocking out to Hanson (yes, the band that hit it big with “Mmmbop” in 1997), watching Glee with her husband, and drinking way too much Diet Coke.
You can follow Lauren on Twitter @outgirlbox or contact her via e-mail at outsidethegirlbox@gmail.com.
My favorite color is pink. I’m a teacher-turned-nanny. I’m married, and I happily took my husband’s last name. I doubt that “feminist” is a word that most would use to describe me. In fact, when asked, I typically respond with something non-committal like, “I’m big on girl power,” or “I’m not boy-negative, just extremely girl-positive.”
However, though I may not fit the typical definition of a feminist, it’s hard not to see that I fit into the movement. I am passionate about helping girls grow into young women who think critically, believe in their tremendous power and self-worth, and analyze the messages they are sent by the media and society. I believe that girls should have opportunities to explore, create, dare, and dream. I write a blog for pre-teen girls called Outside the Girl Box. The girl box is a term coined by Molly Barker, the founder and vision keeper of Girls on the Run International. It is used to describe a place where many girls go around middle school, when they begin to believe the messages they’ve been sent by media and society that they aren’t good enough and need to conform to a certain type of behavior to be accepted. Rosalind Wiseman calls it the “act like a woman box.”
During my time as a teacher, I became actively involved with Girls on the Run, a non-profit organization that teaches girls in third through eighth grade about positive self-image and living a healthy lifestyle through training for a 5k race. The program nurtures acceptance, compassion, being critical of media messages, belief in oneself, and so much more.
I firmly believe that girls can do anything they want to do – but I also believe the choice is theirs to make. Growing up, I admired women like Amelia Earhart and Sally Ride. I was an aviation enthusiast. My parents took me to air shows and fly-ins, and even allowed me to co-pilot a family friend’s single engine aircraft. To this day, I read anything I can get my hands on about Amelia Earhart, and jump at any opportunity to fly in a small plane. I plan to get my own private pilot’s license someday.
I also admired my mom, a stay at home mom who contributed so much to my development. She volunteered at every school event, compiled and edited school newsletters, and organized trips for hundreds of high schoolers. And despite the fact that she stayed home, my parents never gave me the impression that my mother was “lesser” than my father. She wasn’t. She was and is very obviously an equal partner in all decisions. In fact, my parents waited to have children until they were financially able for my mom to choose whether she wanted to work or not. It just turned out that after meeting me, she wanted to stay home.
I hesitate to call myself a feminist because I refuse to believe that a woman is less strong because she makes more traditional choices. Ideally, the feminist movement should be about choice. Women and girls should have equal access to careers, but they should follow their own passions and desires about what to do with their lives. I have a hard time aligning myself with a movement that is judgmental of women who stay at home, teach, are nurses, or follow any path that is traditionally a “women’s” path. I know that during my three years in the classroom I nurtured young women to believe in their power and self-worth. For me, that was the best kind of activism – reaching girls at a difficult time in their lives and teaching them to celebrate being a girl. Others’ brands of activism may be different, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s okay.
As I taught my students and continue to teach girls through my blog, if someone can’t accept you for who you are, they’re probably not worth your time anyway. So until the feminist movement accepts a broader lens of what powerful women look like, I’ll continue with my own brand: I’m big on girl power.