And the Tony Goes To…..

December 5, 2011 at 4:58 PM (Uncategorized)

Yep – in true JPK style – I’m a day behind on the prompts but at least I’m writing!  Besides, why mess with tradition?

This #ReverbBroads11 post is based on the prompt - In the movie version of your life, which actor/actress would play you and the significant players in your life? What kind of movie is it (e.g., made-for-TV, action, emo/indie, etc.)? What would be the major plot points, and how will it end?  (courtesy of Emily at warmedtheworld.blogspot.com)

While I love film, my preferred medium has to be the Broadway musical – so I’m using that instead of film to answer the question.  Let me hit these sub-points one at a time:

1. Cast – well goodness, there are so many to choose from?  Generally, I’d say an actress that combines Jeri Ryan’s facial features (we look somewhat alike) with Idina Menzel’s ability to sing and Sara Ramirez’ sass (yes, for those of you who ONLY know her on Grey’s Anatomy – she was a Broadway performer first – and has one hell of a voice!).  For my hubby – he’s an actor so I’ll let him play himself.  Besides, no one could capture the uniqueness that is my partner – he’s just too amazing in his own right.  For my mom – she would have to be played by Kathy Bates – she’s sassy and snarky and has a killer wit, but she’s also smart as anything.  My dad – we’ll cast Dennis Quaid – lots of sports references and movies to draw from.  For my stepdad – George Wendt – but George would have to shave his head.  One of my sisters would be played by Amy Poehler (yep Cherie – that’s you).  For my BFF – I’d say Kathy Bates again – she’s an amazing actress and could pull off a dual role!  I could go on – there are so many cool and amazing people in my life (for instance – my colleague Tina – yep, Tina Fey is playing her.).  I could cast each of my #WLsalt sisters, too – but I digress.

2. This is a flat out, 100%, musical review of my life and future directions.  If I had the time I’d generate an entire set list, complete with dance and musical numbers.  We – of course – would HAVE to have s show-stopping tap dance number with some ridiculous stunts – and why not?  I know the production would have strong themes of feminism, empowerment, whimsy, and social responsibility.  There would also be some number from “Cats” – yes, it’s true, I’m a crazy cat lady – and proud of it!

3. How will it end?  With a big party.  There will be no sad funeral.  Nope – we celebrate people’s lives in my musical – and yes, there would be a showstopping musical number.  What better way to end a life story than with one of those?!

And…..scene.

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Here Kitty Kitty…..

December 4, 2011 at 8:28 AM (Uncategorized)

I’m participating in #ReverbBroads11, a month of blog prompts promised to be silly and reflective. Today’s prompt is: How did you become more of a grown-up this year? Or did you pull a Peter Pan and stubbornly remain childlike? via Bethany at  bethanyactually.com

I’ve always believed the sage words of my mother, who always says, “You can always grow older, but never grow up!”  To that end, I’ve always reveled in the beauty and silliness of life around me.  I’m the first to be ridiculous, the first to bust out with my louder-than-life laugh (just thinking about it makes me laugh right now), and the first to jump in – head first – to any project, event, or initiative that I find interesting at the moment.  To me – these things make life fun.  Stopping to look at, admire and photograph a beautiful spring flower (thank goodness for camera phones), riding a roller coaster or Ferris Wheel, eating a fried Twinkie “just because” (it’s gross, I tell you, GROSS), or calling over a stray cat just to give it a little love – all of these things I believe are inherently child-like but also add to the quality of my life.

But this prompt made me think about these things a little more.  Why do I continue to embrace this philosophy?  Is it just to keep me feeling young (as the mirror continues to tell me, the “young looking” days are far behind me!), or is it truly part of my soul?  After some reflection (admittedly, not alot – so more is needed), I believe this is just who I am.  I love the world around me – I love the sights, the smells, and the involvement in life.  To that end, I believe taking those moments to be silly, to spin around until you fall down, to watch “The Sing-Off” in my living room and dance around to the music – all of these things make life worth living for me.

I remember an interview that Mike Myers gave on “Inside the Actors Studio” a few years ago, in which he was asked about being silly.  He said, “I think silliness is the natural state of things.  Serious is something you have to get through in order to be silly again.”  I. Love. This!

So excuse me – there’s a joke that needs telling, a laugh that needs laughing, and a kitty who is adamant that we play – so I’m in!

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There Can Be Only One – NOT!

December 2, 2011 at 2:43 PM (Uncategorized)

I’m participating in #ReverbBroads11, a month of blog prompts promised to be silly and reflective. Today’s prompt is: What is the stupidest thing you did this year? What about in your whole life? You can take stupid to mean: embarrassing, dangerous, funny, lame, whatever you consider “stupid.”

Oh wow.  This one is tough – not because there’s nothing to write about – but because there’s too much!  So I’ll hit both categories individually:

What’s the stupidest thing I did this year?  

I think the best answer here is not fulfilling the promises I’ve made to myself. Little things, like starting the Spanish language program I wanted to start, calling my Grandma more often, taking guitar lessons and getting that article written – all of these things add up.  The only person I’m disappointing or hurting is myself.  This issue will be the focus of my One Word promise for 2012 (just have to figure out what the heck that one word would be – if anyone has any suggestions – I’m all ears – or eyes, as the case may be).

What’s the stupidest thing I’ve done in my whole life?

Fortunately, there are way too many of these to mention.  However, I think wearing this and allowing myself to be a victim of the “pie-in-the-face” is probably a good start at an answer:

(Note to self:  Republishing this picture is probably another thing to add to the “stupid” file)

In all seriousness, I really believe that from some of my so-called stupidest moments, I’ve learned the most.  So even though they may be embarrassing, dangerous, scary or ridiculous – I’m moved through them and learned so much as a result of their occurrence in my life.  So I celebrate the stupid things – and hopefully I’ll be able to continue to laugh and learn from them for a long time to come!

If not, maybe the photographic evidence of these occurrences will simply serve as a warning to others!

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It’s Your Turn

December 2, 2011 at 10:45 AM (The Feminist Lattice)
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So maybe I’m a day behind, but in reading the other posts as part of this initiative – I’m putting my hat in the ring and participating in #ReverbBroads11, a month of blog prompts promised to be silly and reflective. Today’s (okay, yesterday’s) prompt is: If the you of today could go back in time and give advice to any of the previous yous, which age would you visit and what would you tell them? So here goes:

Dear 30-year old Julie,

You’ve had a hell of a year there, sister. You know it – and I know it even more completely. The issues you’ve faced have been incredibly difficult. Know that by simply living through it – you’ve become stronger, more confident, and more of who you really are – even when you fall into a heap sobbing on the kitchen floor (and yes, this did confuse the hell out of the cat).

Divorce sucks – plain and simple. It’s hard, it’s painful, and it’s a consistent reminder – at least in your mind at age 30 – that you failed in some way. I’m telling you not to look at it like that. Consider it differently – what decisions did you make that GOT you to this point? When I (your 40-year old self) look at it – this is what I see:

1. You tried to fulfill an image of the woman you THOUGHT you were supposed to be. Your ex-husband is a good man – but he expected this facade of a woman that he married to continue forward – one that said she wanted children, one that tried to be the good hostess, etc.; you know deep down that you were not being true to what you wanted and who you were when you entered into this marriage. You need to own this, and move beyond it. Who you are is VITAL, is PHENOMENAL, and you matter. Take that to the bank and cash it.

2. You never stood up for yourself. Trust me – that’s hard for me to even phathom anymore given how much we’ve grown since then. You went days, weeks, months and even years not speaking up for yourself, expressing what it is that you needed. That’s never okay – because every time you silence yourself – you devalue your needs and your voice. Stop it.

3. You thought that if you didn’t get married, other people would be upset and disappointed in you. Face it, lady, you cannot live your life based on other people’s perceptions about you. At the end of the day – you have to live with you, not with your stepsisters, not with your friends, not with his friends. You make your choices and you learn from them. Trying to live up to other people’s expectations will only cause you more pain – and you will always fall short. Live up to yours.

4. You let others opinions influence your decision. You’ve made a lot of decisions with that perspective in mind. But when you really think about it – the best decisions you’ve made up to this point are the ones YOU wanted to make. You decided to follow your passion of going into Student Affairs instead of following a career in genetics – because it made you happy. You joined a sorority that you loved instead of one that was huge and popular on campus – because it was what you wanted to do. Look at the amazing outcomes that happen when you follow your own voice. Listen to it more, and know that it won’t lead you astray.

I know right now all you can see is the pain and the hurt, and all you seem to be able to do is blame yourself. But please trust me, this will pass. Over the next 10 years, you will experience such amazing things – and your experiences during this time will help shape the woman you will become. I’m damn proud to be her – and I thank you for using this time to reflect, change, grow and shine.

And oh yes, your soul mate is out there – and he’s amazing. He’ll say hello here in about 3 years. Wait for him – he’s totally worth it.

Love,

Dr. JPK

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39 years, 364 days….

April 12, 2011 at 6:30 PM (The Feminist Lattice)
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Today is my last day to be 39 years old.  Tomorrow I will be 40 (or 30-10 as some young children like to say).

Many people don’t make it to 40.  Hundreds of thousands of people in my 40 years have died either due to starvation, genocide, abuse, neglect, violence, disease or catastrophe.  Others may make it to 40, but are damaged beyond repair – physically, emotionally or psychologically because of atrocities that one cannot bear to mention, let alone think about.  And still others are alive by the biological definition of the word – but they aren’t living.  They are simply existing, going through the motions of their lives and never truly connecting or giving of themselves.

And then there are those who truly LIVE.  You’ve seen them – people who embrace life with an unbridled passion and gusto that appears to be unquenched.  Some of these folks are outwardly exuberant, while others exhibit a quiet yet relentless curiosity that cannot be satisfied no matter how many books they read, how many people they meet or how many countries to which they travel. 

I’m not sure where I fall.  I am confident that some would categorize me as exuberant – but merely having energy doesn’t mean that I am truly living.  Nor does it mean that I’m not.  What I do know is that I’ve learned a lot in my first 40 years of life – and that both my good and bad experiences have forged me into the woman I am today. 

  • My challenges coming from a divorced home helped develop my independence, as well as a fundamental mistrust of relationships resulting in a lot of pain.  But these experiences also helped me figure out my own issues (along with the help of a fine counselor or two), and eventually recognize a true partner when our paths finally crossed.
  • My foray into all sorts of different activities (pageants, basketball, debutante, clarinet, musical theater, dance, singing (including Opera), science, running, mathematics, writing and advocacy) helped satisfy my curious nature, but it also reinforced a certain level of impatience I have when I don’t master something quickly. 
  • My determination and assertiveness have allowed me to advocate for those not as fortunate as myself, but I’ve also been selfish in that I’ve been looking more inward than out – something that I need to put back into balance to fully develop a giving spirit. 
  • I recognize the need for self-care, but I have significant challenges practicing it. 
  • My exposure to religion at a young age helped me garner an appreciation of spirituality – but it wasn’t until very recently that I realized it wasn’t an external spiritual construct I needed; rather, it was one from within. 

All of these situations, interactions and lessons have helped me become me.  Would I like to turn back time and be 25 again?  No way.  I remember what I was like at 25 – confused, weak, scared and not knowing a thing about what I truly wanted.  I am no longer that woman – but she will forever be a part of me.  Her lesson to me is one of true triumph over fear and doubt.  It was through both the harsh and subtle lessons learned in my 20s and early 30s that I finally found my path.

 As such, I’ll take the hurt mixed with laughter, the pain sprinkled with silliness and the thousands of miles I have traveled thus far on my own developmental journey.  I will wear each wrinkle I have earned with pride. I know I can do more.  I am convinced I can do better.  But my life lessons over the past 39 years and 364 days have reinforced that I will never stop growing, learning, trying, reaching and achieving all that I possibly can – for these are the lessons I will carry from my first 40 years into the next era of my life.

Now pass me a cupcake – it’s time to celebrate!

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I Want What I Want…(wait, is that okay?)

February 23, 2011 at 11:55 AM (The Feminist Lattice)
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(Cross posted to “SA Women Lead” – sawomenlead.com )

Time to chalk up another win for Twitter.

Not just for being a great social networking platform (for me, that’s a given).  The win comes from Twitter’s ability - yet again – to make me think about something I would not normally consider.  This time – it caused me to consider my own comfort level with the concept of ambition.

Recently, a quote was tweeted by Bobbie Denise Cole, a fantastic young professional in residence life, that talked about ambition.  Here’s the tweet:

Bobbie Denise Cole @BDeniseCole Bobbie Denise Cole

“A defiant charge to women to ‘reclaim ambition as a virtue.’ -Debra Condren #wihsng #wlsalt

13 Feb via Twitter for BlackBerry®  

This call, from researcher, author and executive coach Debra Condren, is something difficult I believe for women to do.  Ambition in and of itself is not a dirty word. However, ambition in women has long been perceived by women and men alike as a negative combination.  Generally socialized to be conciliatory and peace-makers, women are not “supposed” to be ambitious; rather, we are expected to “play nice”, “let others win” and be “happy with what we have”.  This relational straight-jacket has long relegated women to play second fiddle to men in a variety of venues, most notably the workplace.  In stark contrast, ambition in men is considered to be something to admire.  Questions like, “What are your ambitions?” are correlated with positive perceptions for men, whereas the same questions are viewed negatively for women, unless the “ambitions” expressed by women are acceptable female goals (i.e. “My ambition is to have a family”).  Research about this information is available in both Dr. Condren’s book, Ambition is Not a Dirty Word, and Sara Laschever and Linda Babcock’s book, Women Don’t Ask).

Something about all of these perceptions, expectations and assumptions really leaves me cold.  And quite frankly – it’s a load of crap.

Why is it that it’s NOT okay for me to state publicly what I want out of life?  Why is it, simply because of my gender, I am not allowed to openly discuss what my long-term goals are.  And, if I am viewed as assertively pursuing those goals, why I am viewed quite negatively because of it? 

I realize that many people reading this entry right now would immediately say, “We would never view a woman in aggressive pursuit of her goals in a negative way.”  To you, I offer this challenge.  Really think about the last time you interacted with a woman who was openly and articulately clear about her goals, and was working very hard to achieve them.  Perhaps she was volunteering to take on projects and tasks.  Perhaps she was openly expressing her concern about an issue facing the team at work or at an organizational meeting.  Maybe she was offering up specific and definitive solutions to some problem facing your organization.  Or perhaps, after an issue was brought up and others in the room negated her perspective, she kept bringing it up in an attempt to convince the group the direction was the right one to pursue?

What were your thoughts about her then?

Reflect on that for a moment.  If you’re like me – that type of reflection is like a bucket of ice water being dumped on my head. I have found myself, thankfully in my own mind and not through external means, saying things like, “Who does she think she is?” and “Can’t she just stop – she’s really coming on way too strong.”  Well – too strong for who?  For me?  Or for the society that continues to categorize women as passive, compliant and peace-making members of our society? Or maybe for both?

My challenge for anyone wishing to take it is simple.  The next time a woman speaks up or stands up for herself – celebrate and support her willingness to do so.  If a woman undermines herself as they discuss their dreams or goals – encourage them to stop belittling their own abilities and to start championing their skills and contributions.  Sponsor, don’t just mentor a woman, and talk about them to other people as vehemently and in similar terms as you would a male colleague.  For women – own who you are and where you want to go, and don’t apologize for doing so.  It’s your life – make it count and do so on your own terms.

The truth is, women’s voices are important, but so is their right and ability to own, voice and aggresively pursue their dreams.  We all need to embrace and support this idea if things are to truly change not only for women, but also for men - so let’s start now.

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HELP! I need somebody….

February 10, 2011 at 12:20 PM (The Feminist Lattice)
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(cross posted to http://sawomenlead.wordpress.com)

Asking for help has never been my strong suit.  EVER. In fact, I have a history of doing everything in my power to avoid it.  I will haul my own luggage through an airport and through a hotel lobby even when help is offered.  I will balance multiple shoulder bags and boxes down a flight of stairs even when a colleague (who is carrying nothing) volunteers to take something out of my hands.  I will multitask on projects to the point of exhaustion, even when others are there to take some of the load.  I take on far more responsibility than any sane person should ever consider doing – both at work, at home and in other arenas.

Women in general have a horrible habit of not asking for what we need.  There are reems of research on this phenomenon – in sociology, career advancement literature, negotiation literature, family/work life balance issues, promotion and tenure practices – the list goes on and on and on.  We are conditioned at a young age to not speak up for ourselves and to “make peace”; which often means putting other’s needs ahead of our own.  We stop self-advocating.  We stop even being able to identify our own needs.  The result is that we continue to take on more at work in exchange for more stress instead of more salary or time off.  We continue to do the lions share of domestic chores in the household, even when we’re working one or two jobs at a time.  We continue to be the primary caregivers to our children or aging parents, even when we are completely exhausted and we have a partner who could help.  We continue to carry the load alone, and we rarely ask for help.

This past week, after several more rounds of “No, I’ve got this” or “I can do that – no problem!”, I finally took a moment to think about this habit.  I asked myself, “Why do I do this?  Why do I feel the need to carry all of this weight on my shoulders, all the time?”  I didn’t immediately come to an answer, but I knew it couldn’t continue.  My health, my sanity and my well-being were at stake.

I was forced upon reflection to come to two conclusions.  I don’t ask for help because I am afraid – afraid of many things.  First, I’m afraid of appearing weak – as if I cannot do something and, therefore, would be perceived as “less than” in some ways.  My inner feminist doesn’t do well with this. I am woman, dammit, hear me roar AND watch me carry all this crap around ALL THE TIME.  Now that I type this out – it doesn’t seem so fierce.

Second, I’m afraid of letting people in.  I have built this amazingly strong wall around me – to protect no doubt the fear, anxiety and doubt I have in my own abilities – and I do not want to have any cracks in that wall.  If I let someone else see all of this “stuff” – I lose.  If I let someone in – ostensibly to help – I can get hurt – and I lose.  It’s happened before, so why should I let it happen again?  If I ask for help – I will ultimately lose.  Now that I type this out – it seems pretty ridiculous.

So I took a chance.  Last week, I sent an email to a core group of women that I trust. I told them all about the rapid changes and additional stressors that were happening on my campus – but this time, I didn’t try to push it off as ‘I can handle this!” or “Really, it’s no big deal”.  Rather my approach was along the lines of, “This is happening to me, right now, and it’s hard.  It’s really hard, and I need support.”  I will admit, I was scared.  I was worried that these women would, somewhere in the recesses of their minds, think of me as less than, as weak, as not a real woman in some way. 

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

The support came flying at me in all directions – DMs on twitter, public tweets about offering up support and positive energy, phone calls, emails – you name it, it came.  I even got a card in the mail this week (thanks, Laurie!)  Not one time did someone say that I was being weak.  Never did anyone push back and offer to solve my issues.  Not once did someone say “How dare you dump all your stuff on me!”  No - the gift I received from my personal moment of bravery was 100% genuine support, empathy, caring and affirmation from so many people. I was not only surprised, I was humbled.

The truth is – asking for help is not weak – it’s courageous.  We’ve seen some of the stories from other women recently about their triumphs over fear, weakness, uncertainty and doubt by simply reaching out to others.  Asking for help is one of the bravest things anyone can do, and it connects you to others in a tangible, supportive and amazing way.  The result is – you become stronger when you ask for help.  Your network is so much stronger than your individual resolve. 

When is the last time you asked for help?

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This Girl Likes Boys Who Like Boys…but doesn’t like the TV show

January 6, 2011 at 1:49 PM (The Feminist Lattice)
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Editors Note:  This is the seventh in a series of guest blog posts about the experiences of women in a variety of settings.  Ann Marie Klotz, a professional in housing and residence life, shares her perspective on a new reality show and it’s portrayal of women in this entry.

This Girl Likes Boys Who Like Boys…But Doesn’t Like the TV Show

by Ann Marie Klotz

I have been in love six times in my life and three of those men turned out to be gay…and they remain some of my very best friends to this day.  Therefore, it should come as no surprise that I enthusiastically anticipated the new show “Girls Who Like Boys Who Like Boys” on the Sundance channel.

On their website the show is described as: “A groundbreaking series that explores a special kind of relationship: a woman and her gay best friend. A bond that goes deeper than friendship, it’s a fresh perspective on love, companionship, and the meaning of “happily ever after.” (http://www.sundancechannel.com/girls-who-like-boys-who-like-boys/)

This show follows four diverse pairs of friends in New York City—mostly in their 30’s and 40’s—who have been close friends for decades.  Each pair features a straight, unmarried woman and her gay best friend.   There’s business partners Crystal and Nathan; native New Yorkers Elisa and David; newly “out” Sahil and his BFF Rosebud; and Sarah and Joel who are at opposite points in their lives, as Sarah fears she will be a “spinster forever” and Joel just declared his love for his partner at a commitment ceremony.   

Being a woman in her 30’s with a healthy group of gay male friends I thought this show would reflect some of my own personal experiences and demonstrate the reason why straight women love their gay “besties.” For me, my relationships with gay men have always been about having a vested interest in each others’ lives, having a caring and communicative friend, having friends in my lives who are always “down for anything” whether it’s dancing, museums, traveling, etc. 

How straight women/gay men friendships differ from those with other women or men is more difficult to explain.  As I chat with other women who have close gay male friends the common themes that emerge are a sense of connection, empathy and understanding.  Perhaps it is because they share some elements of disenfranchisement with society—in 2011 women are still paid less than man for equal work and gay men are not allowed to legally marry their partners in most parts of the country.  There is a shared sense of injustice without the complication of competition or sexual tension.  

With very high expectations, I finally got the chance to view the first three episodes and I was very surprised to see the messages that this show continuously reinforced.  What I thought would be an honest look at the bonds of friendship is basically 30 minute episode dedicated to making women look selfish, lonely, mean and pathetic.    

Let’s start with Crystal and Nathan.  Both hail from the Mid-West (Detroit and Chicago, respectively) and seem to have a shared appreciation for family.  Crystal is a single mother and ex-wife to an NBA player.  Nathan has declared that he wants to have a child within the year—something that Crystal seems hell-bent on trying to deter him from doing.  She ridicules him and makes him cry at his birthday dinner by insinuating that he has no business contemplating fatherhood because she believes he is not strong enough to handle the demands of raising a child alone—yet she is a single mother.  Is this what friendship looks like?  Crystal is portrayed as mean, vindictive and uncaring for her supposed best friend.  Their friendship feels foreign to me because belittling her gay best friend and making him feel bad about himself isn’t exactly the cornerstone of a solid relationship. 

Perhaps the most stunning example of portraying women in a negative light is in the relationship between Sarah and Joel.  When Joel excitedly announces that he is engaged to his long-time partner, Sarah looks at him with tears in her eyes and wails “But it should be me!”    Ugh, seriously?  Real friendship rejoices in the joyous milestones of each others’ lives.  Her selfishness and jealousy during what should have been a moment of happiness makes her look pathetic, uncaring and ugly.  More dangerously, she is reinforcing hetero-normative ideals because she is basically saying that it should be her who is getting engaged because she deserves it more–and inherently because perhaps she believes straight marriage is more important?

Being friends with gay men (for me) is about having politically aware, socially conscious, hilarious and caring folks in my life.  These are people who want to make my life better and vice versa.  The show portrays women as angry at life, overly protective of their gay friends yet do not offer them the same amount of support that these men give them.

If there is a season 2 of this show I suggest that they feature a new set of friends in a different city.  Being gay in NYC is very different than Fargo, ND or Little Rock, AR .  Also, none of the four straight women are married.  Two are divorced and two are never married.  As a married women, my relationship with gay men is very complimentary to my relationship with my husband.  I would love to see one example of happily married straight women who have a gay best friend.  Perhaps my strongest recommendation is to find examples of healthy relationships where the friends celebrate each other instead of compete against and belittle each other. 

Until then, this show will be more like “Mean Girls Who Sort Of Like Boys Who Like Boys.”

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Fat Acceptance vs. The Desire to be “Sexy”–a feminist dilemma?

November 16, 2010 at 4:54 PM (The Feminist Lattice)
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Editors Note:  This is the sixth in a series of guest blog posts about the experiences of women in a variety of settings.  This post is by Kate Small Scheu, writer, actress and feminist, concerning her perspective on appearance, health, media pressures and feminism.  She originally posted this as a note on facebook, and agreed to cross-post it here.

Fat Acceptance vs. The Desire to be “Sexy” — a feminist dilemma?

by Kate Small Scheu

I am mentally exhausted, which probably removes some of my usual inhibitions. So, here’s my admission for today: I HATE the way I look. I mean, really HATE it. Looking in mirrors pisses me off. Seeing photos makes me cringe.

I’m not thrilled with my hair (what woman is?), and I’m pretty peeved about the fact that I’m THIRTY-EIGHT FREAKING YEARS OLD and still breaking out with zits. But none of that’s really the problem. I am FAT. Fattest I’ve ever been. And it pisses me right off. And the fact that I’m so upset about it… upsets me even more.

 I know how to lose weight. I’ve done it before. Weight Watchers. Eat less, exercise more. Blah, blah, blah. Seriously, y’all. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist. And I know I’m supposed to do it to be healthy and all of that. And I admit. I DID feel better when I was at a lower weight.

 But of course, you shouldn’t really believe me if I tell you that I only want to lose weight to be healthy. It’s bull. I wanna be pretty. Sexy. Attractive. Desirable. Whatever, pick your Cosmopolitan magazine adjective and go with it. I’m lucky enough to be married to a man who insists that he still thinks I’m all of those things… and truthfully, none of my friends seem to give crap one about it. I know that I’m smart, and funny, and talented, and a good friend to have around, and all of that. So WHY does it matter to me that I don’t look the way I think I’m supposed to look?

A big part of me, the feminist, progressive, Jezebel-reading part of me, REJECTS that idea, absolutely. I’m a big supporter of fat acceptance, and I’ve read enough research to know that the BMI is a waste of freaking energy in terms of a useful metric of health. (Most professional athletes read as obese under that metric, for example.) Pretty much all the women on my mom’s side of the family probably weigh a good 20-30 lbs more than anyone thinks they do–including my size two cousin. I think we have lead-weight bones or something. The last time I weighed smack-dab in the middle of the “official” weight I’m supposed to be for my height, my docs were threatening to put me in the hospital because I had barely been eating for over six weeks. (CAVEAT here — it was NOT an eating disorder. I was genuinely sick.)

So I don’t buy into the BMI. And I don’t really even buy into the idea that a woman has to be stick-thin to be beautiful. In fact, I find most “plus-sized” models (most of whom couldn’t actually WEAR any of the clothes at Lane Bryant without looking like they’d been dressed by Omar the tent-maker) sexier than regular models. Search for images of Crystal Renn if you want to see a seriously hot mama. And I thought I looked fantastic in my wedding. See the pics here on facebook if you want to see what I mean. Here’s another confession for ya guys. I weighed somewhere between 170 and 180 lbs that day. I’m never gonna be a fragile creature, y’all.

The problem is, I still hate how I look NOW. Which makes me feel guilty. Like I’m betraying the ideals of fat acceptance, or feminism, or whatever. Which makes me resist changing my habits so that I can lose weight. (You can call it “going on a diet” or “changing your habits” or whatever you want. It all amounts to the same thing.)

 And let’s be honest — NO ONE wants to monitor every crumb that goes into their mouth every day for the rest of their lives. I freaking LOVE food. I like food that’s bad for me. (I actually like food that’s good for me, too… but nobody ever feels guilty about that, do they?) There are days when the only thing that gets me through the next work hour is chocolate. Hand over the Snickers bar and no one gets hurt. I realize that this is officially an unhealthy attitude towards food. Food does not equal love. Blah, blah. But I gotta tell you, when your life is exceptionally busy and full… doing serious cognitive behavioral therapy about food takes a back-of-the-long-bus seat to getting through the day without yelling, crying, or otherwise embarrassing yourself.

So, when you combine the part of me that experiences moral outrage at the idea that I have to be thin-NER to be sexy with the part of me that just wants a damn cookie, those parts can usually wrestle the wants-to-be-pretty part to the ground and feed her Pumpkin Pie Blizzards until she shuts the eff up.

 Until I do a rehearsal in a room with an entire wall of mirrors. Or admit–even if only to myself–my absolute horror of my picture appearing in the paper, photographed at a function for which I had dressed up, done my hair, worn “sexy” clothes, and everything. And then she’s back. And surly. And DANG she’s got some NASTY things to say about herself. 

Which then makes my feminist side sit up and get angry back… and we’re OFF! The cycle begins again. Yay.

I tagged a random selection of women on facebook who I think are smart, gorgeous, funny, and will understand in my original post. This is partly just to get out my own frustration. It’s partly to ask others how they deal. I am hoping that, amongst my wide and diverse group of incredibly smart friends (I’m not limiting it to women, here, by the way, even though I only tagged women here–feel free to post from your own point of view), I am not the first to deal with this particular set of apparently contradictory feelings. Am I alone here? If not… how do you guys deal with it?

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The Mommy Problem

October 19, 2010 at 12:50 PM (The Feminist Lattice)
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Editors Note:  This is the fifth in a series of guest blog posts about the experiences of women in a variety of settings.  Jodie Lopez (pseudonym), a professional in housing and residence life, discusses how her mother shaped her identitiy as a feminist and the lessons she learned from her mom.

The Mommy Problem

by Jodie Lopez

I’ve learned my greatest lessons in feminism from my mother. Unfortunately, she doesn’t know this because the vast majority of these lessons arrived in the form of her missteps and weaknesses. For as long as I can remember, I’ve perceived my mother as weak. Much of it is related to her lack of wanting more for herself than what she had. After my parents divorced, she held a string of ill-paying jobs. Though smart, she is not well-educated and has not in my lifetime actively sought to increase her knowledge outside of her kitchen.

Before you assume that I hate my mother, rest assured that I love my mother. I simply don’t always like her as a woman or a role model. The feeling is mutual; she doesn’t like who I am as a woman and makes that known regularly.

Growing up, I pushed myself harder than either of my parents pushed me. I fought to have more than what I was handed. It was a high school teacher who pointed out to me I would do well in college and walked me through the process of applying. When faced with the knowledge my parents would not be able to contribute to a college education – even unable to obtain a loan in either of their names – I funded my own education. I wanted more than a job so I built a career for myself. I actively find professional development and personal growth opportunities for myself, challenging myself and the way I think.

Because of my mother and her perspective, I’ve found the strength to choose for myself. I know who I am and what I want and how I want to be both perceived and treated. I’ve earned the respect I’m given (and am sure I deserve to not be given respect by those who feel that way, too). I’ve made my decisions because I saw how happy – or more often, unhappy – she was in her own shoes.

Still, even as an adult, I’m disappointed in who my mother is. She perpetuates stereotypes of women both through her actions and her thoughts. She frowns upon my career because it has interfered with a normal (according to her) life schedule of marriage and children. She doesn’t understand why my partner and I haven’t married and continue to live in different houses. She criticized my appearance my entire life because I wasn’t feminine enough. She can’t make sense of what my life is and why I choose this for myself.

I can’t thank her for these lessons. I can’t tell her that she’s been better for me than a bra burning protest or a private meeting with Gloria Steinhem. I can’t articulate to her that she influenced me to be this way by not doing it for herself.                

Feminism isn’t only about equality for women. It’s about the way women treat one another. If my mother were happy with her life, I would feel differently about her choices and support her. She’s clearly never been happy, though, and wants me to be able to commiserate with her instead of celebrating who I am. I can’t do that. Who I am is my greatest accomplishment.

 

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