Am I a Shitty Feminist?

Feminism...I remember as a young girl growing up in the 1970's hearing and seeing Gloria Steinem on television. Her fiery speeches on the struggle towards equality for women inspired me. I never saw myself as a "lesser being" as a woman--certainly not less than any man I knew. I had no idea that as I was enjoying my childhood in the endless sunshine of California, decisions that would impact my life and my daughter's lives were being presented and decided in the Supreme Court---1973 saw Roe v. Wade become law, finally making abortions safe and legal for all women. It wasn't until later in my life that I realized what an important landmark decision this was, how many women had died in back-alley abortions. In my isolated existence I had never been impacted in any way by reproductive rights for women--I thought I never knew anyone who had an abortion. I did. My sister had one when she was a young teen, but the shame forced that decision into the dark secrets of my family--the big closet with many inhabitants. I didn't discover this until much later in life. In the early 2000's I met Sarah Weddington at an event for Pro-Choice in Seattle and had the luxury of being able to talk to her one-on-one for an extended period of time. Sarah was the attorney who represented "Jane Roe" in the landmark case. To hear her recollect the days in which the case was tried was incredibly moving to me. She described being in awe of her legal work with Roe v. Wade, and wondered if she was really the right woman for the job. A beautiful woman in her fifties when I met her, the serious emotions she had surrounding working on the case after so many years still very plain on her otherwise happy, unlined face. "A life well-lived" I thought of her--she was continually greeting people she met with a warm and welcoming smile. As a young attorney in Texas she was "shaking in her shoes" at the importance of the case and it's ramifications. To this day she is *still* the youngest person (she was 27 at the time) to successfully argue a Supreme Court case. I realized that day as I stood and spoke to this remarkable woman that my generation was the first to take for granted the basic rights those brave women before us fought for---sometimes died for....and that subsequent generations would forget even more where we've come from and what we had to endure before brave women both known and unknown have battled for. Our daughters have no collective memory of the fight for reproductive freedom. They see the Conservative anger, but largely believe that our rights are well-assured. We should take nothing for granted. Ever.

My mother was a stay-at-home mom, not out of necessity, but because that's what my father wanted. She was never satisfied with her strictly domestic life. We could all feel her dissatisfaction. She had been an elementary school teacher and enjoyed engaging and inspiring the minds of young children. As soon as my parents adopted my oldest brother her career was over. Her responsibility was to her children, not the personal empowerment and satisfaction of having a career. In those days (50's, 60's and 70's) women who worked instead of staying home with their children were considered "selfish" and "self-absorbed." One quote from Gloria Steinem that really resonated with me was "Most women are one man away from welfare." In my mother's case that was an absolute truth. She had put all of her trust for her future into one man, and that one man ultimately took leave of her and his family for what he perceived to be the "greener pastures" of marrying a younger woman. My mother had sacrificed her career against her will to stay at home and take care of kids, and not only did it make her miserable, but it handicapped her when it came to her own survival. We ended up homeless at one point, and on food stamps. My father continued his life--bettering himself after the divorce while my mother struggled in the ditch, never able to pull out and move on. I was committed to never letting that happen to me. Guess what? By all accounts I have followed in my mother's footsteps....well, not really. I have an interesting history, and what brought me completely to where I am in life I'll tackle in a future blog.

My husband and I married at 19. When we had our own children I was compelled to stay home and raise them--I'm not sure if it's because that's what I was comfortable with because I had grown up that way, or if my mothering instinct took over and compelled me to do so. I had my first child when I was 21, and today we have three awesome kids--a boy and two girls. One in graduate school, one in college and the last in high school. Seeing them today and where they've gone in life so far, I'm grateful for my decision to make them my job in life. They are who they are because of how they were raised, and I regret nothing. The girls have grown up without the same programming I grew up with as a young girl. Early on I told them that they could do anything in life they wanted to--no limitations. The fact that they were women was not a roadblock to get where they wanted to go in life. They would have concerns and issues that men wouldn't have--but they should not accept the fact that being a woman should stop them. Our oldest daughter has certainly taken this to heart, working in the male-dominated field of sound engineering and excelling, really excelling. I am so proud of her. She signifies to me the harbinger of things to come, the breaking down of walls and barriers for women. I have been struggling my whole life with the fact that I don't have a job that defines me---I have had jobs and careers throughout my children's childhood--things that fit into my full-time mom life. Real estate, different promotional areas. In the end it was always motherhood that took the front seat. I have been berated at times by my feminist friends for my decision. I've largely ignored them. The nagging feeling in the back of my head was that I needed to be "more"--to do more, accomplish more. Thank you, programming....I'm happily un-learning you.

So here I am today, a woman in my forties all whipped up in feminism. Not that I haven't always been a headstrong, hell-bent-on-equality woman, but somehow now it's become more focused for me. These days I have more time as my children are pratically grown up, I'm able to spend more time researching and understanding the roots of feminism. I've discovered something disturbing. Feminists fight with each other about *what* is feminism, who is a feminist and who is not. This has happened throughout history, it's nothing new. We have always been divided, it seems. If you're a woman who likes pornography you aren't a feminist. If you don't have a career you aren't a feminist. If you love reveling in clothes, shoes, make-up and all the typical hallmarks of femininity---you're not a feminist. Apparently there seems to be all kinds of feminist value qualifiers I wasn't aware of. I've done a few other things that would instantly disqualify me from this particular club....my question is: if we are all so obviously different, why do we have to define "feminism" in such strict terms? Why can't we unite under the banner of inclusion based on the fact that we are all oppressed? It turns out the feminist movement has many subsets in which dissent from within is pretty much forbidden. Any criticism of the "movement" is met with anger, and it is my opinion that the "Sisterhood" is a complete myth. We aren't united, we're divided by the fact that many women are intolerant of the all different facets of womanhood---the shades of gray. My only qualifier for the feminist club would be the desire to see the paradigm shift--an end to rape culture and inequality. Like so many movements we have become too mired down in our own self-interests to unite. As a result we end up fighting each other rather than putting our efforts into actually changing the system. Not only does that work for our opposition, but many women just get sick of the in-fighting and give up. If we could ever *actually* unite we would be an undeniable force. Until then I'm putting my foot down....you can't tell me I don't belong.

I enjoy pushing boundaries and exploring. I love digging around in the gray areas of life, trying to be open to understanding all sides of any situation. I have spent a lot of time worrying about growing older. Women have a "shelf life"---that's what I told myself. At a certain point I will be "too old" for anyone, well, men, to be interested in me. That is the narrative women grow up with. That is our value---how attractive we are and our ability to gain the attention and favor of men. It is our measure and meaning. When I turned 40 I figured I was pretty much done....but something was *different* about how I felt. I felt more empowered. I felt "fierce." I felt beautiful in happy in my own skin. Content. I spent my youth in baggy clothes--always. I never wanted to call attention to my body, my curves. This was a difficult proposition, as I've always had large breasts. Hiding those puppies was a challenge. I'd just find the biggest sweaters, slouch my shoulders, cover my butt up with the giant sweater and soldier on. Getting naked was always something that filled me with dread. I didn't want anyone to see my body. I spent a lot of time trying to cover up, or ask that the lights be turned off when I was with the virile young man who would later become my husband. It wasn't that I wasn't sexual, I was....I was just terrified about being judged body-wise. I'm not sure where the hell that came from, but it was a serious thing in my young womanhood. I was just sure that my body, it's attractiveness was what gave me value. How was I to know I was being ridiculous? I figured it out....much later. I won't lament the time I've wasted, life's too great now to worry too much about it. I wanted to embrace this aspect of myself, then let the old insecurities go--to own my body, be proud of it.

When I turned 40 I decided to have a photographer friend of mine do some pin-up shots of me to give to my husband on his 40th birthday. I got all of my favorite vintage clothes out and found some fun things--1940's corsets, Marilyn Monroe-type dresses. I wanted to give him a glimpse of that era of history he loves so much, 1940's WW2 pin-ups. The photo shoot was great, and I got some really great shots for his birthday--and he loved them. The interesting side effect of having these photos done I would never have predicted. Sitting in my pajamas one morning a friend of mine posted on Facebook that she would be going to the Playboy Mansion to volunteer for an event that benefits veterans wounded in Iraq and Afghanistan. She said, "Join me at the Playboy mansion"---wow, who wouldn't want to see that mythical place? As a very young girl I found a box of Playboy magazines in our garage, relegated to a corner where it's presence wouldn't piss off my mother. I remember thumbing through them, 1970 nudeness, hair and breasts spilling out over sun-kissed bodies and tan lines. My measure of beauty was formed pulling magazines out of that box and devouring the contents. Those perfect bodies, beguiling eyes, flowing hair, gorgeous curves. They were the "gold standard" of sexual attractiveness and feminine beauty. My memory flowed as I clicked the link to the website. The page that popped up made me feel a bit deflated---it cost $1,000 to attend this event. Can't afford that....*wait*, down in the corner it said, "Ladies, for your free passes--click here." I'm a lady! *Click* The instructions on this page said to send four photos to the email listed. I pulled out the pin-up photos and filled out the questionnaire, age,(yikes) phone number, etc. No fear! Press the send button. Bye bye. I figured I'd never hear from them...10 minutes later I got a call. I picked up the phone, and the voice on the other end informed me I had a free pass to attend the event. WOW! At my age? I spent some time chatting with the guy who was in charge of gathering the women to attend the party. "You have to wear lingerie, that's the only condition of getting in free." Those words rang in my ears. Wear underpants and walk around the Playboy Mansion? Who did I think I was, Barbie Benton!? I was instantly overwhelmed. What the hell was I thinking? I was 40 years old for pity sake! I had 3 kids, and my 18 year old daughter was more qualified to walk around there in her skivvies than I was, for sure. The thought never occurred to me not to go. It was like hanging out at Graceland before Elvis died! I had to go....since my husband was a veteran he got to go, too--I couldn't leave him out, this was just too awesome!


I stressed out BIGTIME with the prospect of going to the Playboy mansion. I did. I worked out like crazy, I obsessed about what I was going to wear (or what I wasn't going to wear...lol). My husband got high-fives when his friends found out he was going, it was a pretty big deal for a couple of country-bumpkins like us. So....what did I find out about the Playboy mythology? It's an illusion, a fabrication designed to sell a product. Sex and magazines. The women there just looked like highly exaggerated versions of any woman you would see on a daily basis. Well, most had fake boobs, loads of make-up and had obviously been "worked on"--but they didn't spring forth from some perfect genetic pool or anything. They look like you and me--if we spent of time, money and effort on our appearance. Another surprising finding---most of the women were really insecure. The feeling was one of a huge competition. They were all vying for the attentions of men, most of them wealthy and/or famous, who were at the party. I had the luxury of just being able to observe this wild show. I'll admit that it was pretty cool, and I'm totally not sorry I went. I wore my undies proudly--I was fierce! I didn't care who was judging me, I was just happy to catch a glimpse. I cavorted with celebrities, I swam in the grotto with naked women and I got to share a really fun experience with my husband. He got to see the Land of his childhood fantasies and realized that real life---or Burning Man---was a better representation of beauty and sexual freedom. So I crossed the border into the land of the enemy of feminism (twice--we went the next year, too)....and it was fun. It made me examine where my feelings of inadequacy and insecurity about my body came from, and how very far from reality our inner-narratives actually are. Can I still be a card-carrying feminist? Some women who identify as feminists I've told have been horrified. They'd cut my card for sure.


I am a feminist. I like pornography, The job that has defined my life is "Mom", I get my hands just as dirty as men doing hard manual labor because I enjoy it, I've never stopped doing something because a woman should't be able to accomplish it, I have been to the Playboy Mansion twice because I was invited--while there I walked around in my underpants and had a marvelous time. I'm a feminist. I'm going to keep fighting whether you're with me or not.