"Feminism"

I am going to get down on the ground for a minute here, and talk openly about my thoughts and struggles with "feminism", and my purpose and power, "as a woman". 

Firstly, let me start out by explaining my use of quotation marks. "Feminism" is in quotations because I am not sure what it actually means, only the abrasive nature and the implicitly simultaneous victimization and heroism it exudes when a PERSON decides to define both their struggles and triumphs based on one facet of their existence. Gender, race, sexual orientation- whatever.

Please understand that my aim here is to understand my feminist counterparts. It is difficult to get behind something you don't have a precise understanding of, but I certainly don't want to condemn it for that reason either. Please also understand that the way I walk thru life, generally, is to treat people as I would want them to treat me. This is painstakingly difficult to do sometimes. At least it has been for me. I have learned that it is called "golden" and a "rule" for a reason- it isn't always easy, but it is what must be done, for the highest and best good of if not everyone, then at the very least, for yourself. All in all, I've found that it works out. When it doesn't, I've had to ask some very hard questions, usually to myself. Asking these questions are the catalysts for a strength that has allowed me to handle my own scale of difficult situations. The test of ones character is what builds just that- Character. 

I have a hard time identifying with the feminist ideology, or culture, or whatever it exactly IS, exactly, because it doesn't implicitly explain  who a woman is, or how she treats others, or even herself. It only states that "A feminist" is a woman, who believes in women, and their equal and right treatment and greater good. A woman that demonstrates this belief in an air of confidence and perseverance that commands respect. 

Sounds pretty good. Definitely not satan worship. Good intentions are certainly obvious. 

However.

Yes, however. 

And here is the hard question I have been grappling with-

In a nation of beautifully determined and spirited soul sisters, why should that be the reason "we"- as PEOPLE- not women- are deserving of success and human decency? 

Does feminism exist in order to define A Woman and their worthiness of womanhood? Or their humanity? What is the prime directive of feminism precisely?

Women, at least in the western world, (which is obviously not the only place in the world) have done truly incredible work. Our foremothers most notably. There was a time which none of us know first hand, when I would be condemned for even speaking as I am, which is just simply, honestly. Perhaps even women would look down upon me. No, we aren't "there" yet, but more women are graduating from college than men than ever before, women are testing their entrepreneurial powers, and owning their bodies and sexual freedom in all of it's beautiful goodness.  

But what else?

There is a striving for women to "have it all". Women want to be educated, to have a career, to be a mom, and still have time for sex.

And if a woman wants to do it alone (minus the sex part, of course ;) although...) then more power to her. Literally. Because she will need it.

There are only 24 hours in a day. If women work 8-10 hours a day, and also have children, who, if they are any sort of parent, will want and BE a present force in their child's life, then that is another few hours in the morning and evening of making dinner, giving baths, brushing teeth, maybe reading a story, and putting to bed. Perhaps maybe that woman will get a full eight hours of sleep until it's time to repeat the routine. Perhaps not. Perhaps she doesn't have children, because it's late and her fertility isn't as strong as it was at one time. Perhaps she is trying desperately and maybe taking other measures to make her dreams of motherhood come to fruition, like in vitro fertilization, or considering adoption. These are all hard choices, and harsh realities of "having it all". And while I am truly proud of such astonishing determination, I am still concerned for women. Not just for the way they are treated, but for how they treat themselves. Are we stretching ourselves too thin? Is it so defeatist and unspeakable to question whether or not there might be a certain amount of voluntary responsibility that may not be impossible, but unhealthy, and ironically self-sacrificial?

I am still concerned for the children we will raise. What will our daughters aspire to? What will our sons aspire to? What will they say to each other when they discover their anatomical differences? Will it matter? Does it matter? What will you say to them?

How can men and women ever cross the historical gender specific boundaries that are practically evolutionary at this point, without meeting each other half-way? Without accepting our most primal truth: that men and women simply are NOT the same. Both are human, capable of all things human. Our chemical makeup, our very brains are biologically un-identical. This is neither negative, nor positive. They are fact. What makes the experience of womanhood, manhood, and humanity a positive or negative one, is how those experiences interact with one another, and how they interact with themselves. Without letting go of pride, and taking hold of our differences, embracing compassion and understanding, how can we, humans, ever hope to come to a truly harmonious, unified existence? 

"I am a hopeful romantic." 

This is what an old boyfriend of mine told me, very early on, when we were still in an emotionally charged friendship, and not in an intermittently charged-in-every-way-possible to drained-in-every-way-possible relationship.

How I remember these words as though they were said yesterday. 

Ironically,  however, we are often capable of accepting a reality so far off the mark of "romantic", that what grew from a place of beauty and innocence-inherently FULL of hope, can quickly and easily become hopeless. 

The balance of reality with fantasy, romance with practicality is not an easy thing to master. Too often, we are scorned once and go on to carry the venom of the bite in our veins for far too long, tethering ourselves to a lasting pain and an eventual numbing down of our true soulful potential. I have seen my own steel-toed footprints walking at varying speeds in this grave direction myself over the years. It took a particularly long march for me to reach a mark that urged me to re-assess my chosen spiritual and emotional route. Only I hadn't realized until that point- which wasn't too long ago- that I had made that choice long before I knew I ever had one. I assumed that all misfortune, pain, and heartbreak, had happened TO me. I knew I wasn't the only one, but I never took responsibility for the conjecture my life was taking. 

This is because I sincerely didn't realize I had that power. Or that freedom. I like that word better, because thats more of what its about; finally taking the wheel after years of watching people and places pass by too quickly, or never going down that road that you always wanted to go down because it's heavily wooded, brightly lit, or just because there's just something about it, and finally  making the turn necessary to go down into it. Understanding that yes, life is hard, and bad things might have already happened that never should have, but they did, and here you are, still breathing, still standing, still living to see another day when you could make this day the day that all others could have been and should have been had you known you were the one that could have made them that way. Which brings us full-circle, and even allows us to appreciate all of those miserable times, for without them, you may never have reached this wondrous, powerful shift in your souler universe. 

I drove home from my boyfriend's tonight- NOT the "I'm a hopeful romantic" boyfriend, who is an ex boyfriend- but my current boyfriend's- who is still surprising me with both his other worldly sweetness and earthly dedication. I drove home from his house begrudgingly, as I wasn't ready to go home, even though I knew I would be greeted by the most loving and lovable   (and hungry) cat in the world, I just knew I would miss the company of my boyfriend, whose friendship is steadily growing in its value and depth. A funny thing happened on my drive home, though. Funny, odd, bittersweet, a bit sad, but more relieving. 

That funny thing is that I reached a red light, and something about the dark night, and the subtle tones of a Mariah Carey cd I'd had in my cd player playing in the background permeated my heart, and I suddenly started to cry. I cried a few soft tears at this light, turned up the MC, and then I cried some more as I shifted into first gear and hopped forward thru a couple more lights, now crying a bit harder. By the time I got to the next red light, I was really crying. The kind that exhaust you when you're finally thru, and you know its what you needed.

By the time I got home I realized, I'm finally ready to redefine the words my ex boyfriend said to me so long ago, words that it's taken me basically until today to understand were simply void of the wisdom and appreciation it takes to both be hopeful, and romantic. And to realize that those words are nothing without the trust in oneself as well as each other, to back them up.

The venom is finally gone, in this respect. 

And to honor the time and incredible energy it has taken to reach this moment so surprisingly, I will steadily strip my heart of all of its safety nets and barbed wire fences, and let someone else show me what love really means to them, but more importantly, what it means to me.