I don't know if it's because of the New Year, the way that Facebook reconnects you with your past, or the fact that I will turn 40 later this year, but I've been thinking a lot lately about how my life may have been different had I made different relationship choices along the way. I used to say that I lived my life with no regrets, that every choice had led me to where I was now and and played a part in making me the person I had become. While I still believe that my past choices and actions have played an important role in me becoming the person I am, I can no longer say that I wouldn't change some of them if I had the chance. I think back on my romantic relationships, and I wonder what (and who) I could have avoided had I made different decisions.
One of my first serious boyfriends went to another high school. He was a nice guy and was older than me. He asked me to his junior prom. I remember shopping for the perfect dress and learning all about strapless bras and full skirts. I was all set to have my first prom experience with this nice guy when I met a "bad boy" who planted the seeds of doubt in my mind and heart. Just one day after the prom, I broke up with the nice guy and started to see the bad boy.
Now, those who knew me during my high school years know exactly who this bad boy was. We dated for nearly two and half years. We had some really good times together, but I would have to say that most were bad. He was controlling, possessive, and jealous. I was insecure and made excuses for his behavior. My friends could see that the relationship was unhealthy, but I was too headstrong (or too helpless) to get out. In college in upstate New York, surrounded by new friends, and excited about my future, I was able to end the relationship weeks into my freshman year. Sadly, I gave him a chance to "just be friends" a couple of years later and paid for that decision with bruises and a vandalized car.
From that point, I seem to have entered into a pattern of dating a good guy, becoming bored, leaving him for a bad boy, getting sick of said bad boy, and going back to dating a good guy. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. The details of each relationship matter little, though I used to analyze the hell out of them, trying to figure out what went wrong, why I couldn't foresee their demise, and wondering when and where I would finally find "the one."
I thought I had found "the one" for a long time. He was the last (and perhaps baddest) of all the bad boys. He was that special mix of bad boy on the outside with the soul of an injured, little boy on the inside. You know the type. He's in all the movies. He's the rebel with a cause, the boy from the wrong side of the tracks, the starving artist, the tortured soul. He's unbelievably good looking, deeply passionate, and even more deeply flawed. You're drawn to him like a moth to a flame, knowing that he will most likely completely consume you, destroy you, kill you, but you can't help yourself.
We met when we were fairly young--21 and 22. And we officially dated twice, though we tried to get something going at least four other times. I knew that things would never work between us, but it was hard to give up on the dream, to let go of the "what if." Though my official answer had something to do with turning 30 and wanting to go back to the South, he was largely to blame for my decision to leave Fort Wayne. We were "talking" again just before I made up my mind to go. I knew that I would have to physically distance myself from him if I ever hoped to emotionally and spiritually separate from him and from what he represented for me.
Of course, you all know that I stepped off the dating merry-go-round over 9 years ago. And, happily, I ended up with a good guy. He was patient and strong enough to wait it out while I healed from the wounds of the past, and he's never once let me down. The boredom that used to play games with my mind is a distant memory. He's my intellectual equal and my best friend. We laugh at the same stupid stuff, and we accept each other as we are. And, yes, while he is "the one" for me, I now realize that the problem with my past relationships wasn't actually who I was dating, but was who I was.
I see now that what changed had a lot less to do with whether a good guy could keep my interest or whether a bad boy could change his ways and a lot more to do with how well I knew myself and what was important to me. Instead of constantly trying to adapt myself to the situation or the guy, I needed to figure out who I was and find someone who actually liked that person. I only wish that I could have figured all this out sooner than I did. Don't get me wrong. I'm happy to have found my current partner and don't wish that I could have found this clarity and made it work with someone from my past. I only wish that fewer people could have been hurt along the well--the good guys who deserved better, the bad boys who had feelings despite their rough exteriors, and me.
And, in case you were wondering. The first guy (my prom date)...he's married, has five kids, and is one of my Facebook friends.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Friday, February 12, 2010
ham & beads
I was born in New Orleans. My family moved away when I was 11, and I have lived in six different states since then, but I will always consider New Orleans to be my hometown. It's a unique city, unlike any other, anywhere in the world. When I think of New Orleans and what sets it apart, I think of two words--character and flavor. The food, the music, the people, the traditions, the architecture, the accent, the vernacular, even the weather are unique to the region, and they all play a part in making New Orleans what it is.
I was lucky enough to be in New Orleans this past weekend, the first weekend of the Mardi Gras parades and the weekend of the Super Bowl. It was a trip I almost didn't take after learning that my sister (with whom I would be staying in New Orleans) was going to Miami for the game and getting sick just days before my flight would be leaving Connecticut. I knew the trip would be fruitful, however, when I saw local celebrity and former Saints quarterback Bobby Hebert standing in line waiting to board my plane. Bobby ended up directly across the aisle from me! For a lifelong Saints fan, this was a positive omen for the game. (Also on the plane, but much less exciting, was Louisiana State Senator Mary Landrieu.)
This wasn't the end of my celebrity sightings or auspicious signs. I walked off the plane behind Bobby, hoping to stay right behind him through the airport where I could soak in his aura and witness the looks of those he passed. Instead, he was walking too slowly, and I had to use the restroom, so I broke formation. As luck would have it, though, this allowed me just enough time to be present when New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagin walked through the concourse with his entourage. Now, I am no fan of Ray Nagin, his politics, or his now infamous ability to say all the wrong things at all the wrong times, but still...he's the mayor of New Orleans! I wanted very badly to say something crazy to him, like "Gimme some chocolate!" or "Hey! It's Willy Nagin!" Instead, visions of bodyguards taking me down flashed through my head, and I opted for a calm and respectful, "Hey, Mr. Nagin" to which I received a suave and somewhat smarmy, "Hey, darlin'." I was pleased with the interaction overall.
I walked on, catching back up to Bobby. (I mentioned that he was walking really slowly, right?) On the other side of the security check-in point, I saw my sister waiting for us. I was brimming with excitement from my multiple celebrity encounters and motioned to her with my head at Bobby. In her hands, she held a sign she had made which read, "The Who Dat Nation welcomes Bloomfield, CT!" She presented us with black and gold beads and gave me a black and gold boa, which I wrapped around my neck...not an uncommon look in New Orleans. A woman walked up to us and said, "I don't know you, but I'm from Bloomfield." Another omen! "Well, the Who Dat Nation welcomes you, too," said my sister.
My first night in town was spent at two Mardi Gras parades, one on the West Bank and one in Metairie. I also got to see a childhood friend whom I had not seen since moving. After 28 years, I recognized her right away. I hadn't been to a Mardi Gras parade since moving away from New Orleans, so it was fun to experience them again. Of course, Mardi Gras is when all of the characters come out of hiding. Men are unashamed to dress in tights or tunics. People beg for beads, plastic cups, doubloons, stuffed animals, spears, hatchets, and coconuts. Anyone with a hint of fame can become a Grand Marshall or even a King. Mardi Gras is an excuse to let your freak flag fly at full mast!
Another thing that Mardi Gras brings out is garbage. The streets are lined with discarded beads, broken cups, empty boxes that once contained throws, plastic bags, and a sundry of other objects--both odd and mundane. At one point, I watched as two groups of parade watchers played kickball across the street with an empty beer carton. The game would pause briefly while marching bands and floats passed, resuming again once the opportunity arose. Not long after that, I noticed a stray plastic sandwich bag which had been blown by the wind from its place of origin to my little stake of property. It briefly danced around at my feet before continuing on its way down the street. It was a simple plastic baggie with a simple, three-letter word written on its side, but somehow it represented both every piece of garbage and every weird character on the streets of New Orleans at any given moment and particularly during the Mardi Gras season. Yet another omen? Why not?
Sunday was the Super Bowl. Like an athlete preparing for the big game, I spent the day resting, performing my rituals, praying, and anxiously waiting. After 60 minutes of football, the New Orleans Saints had defeated the Indianapolis Colts, winning the Super Bowl in their first ever appearance. It's now a part of history. The Saints won the Super Bowl! Unless you're a Saints fan, I don't think you can truly appreciate what that means. Being in New Orleans, I got to experience the energy of the city and all of the Saints fans as we witnessed this miracle. I ran out into the street, screaming at the top of my lungs, while my sister's neighborhood erupted with the sounds of fireworks, car alarms, cow bells, and screams. Strangers shared in a magical moment of disbelieve, looking at each other through teary eyes, and hoping that we weren't experiencing some sort of mass hysteria. All over the city, people flooded out of their homes, bars, restaurants, and hotels. The streets of the French Quarter were clogged with people. The bridges and roads were packed with cars. No one wanted to be alone. We needed one another.
We celebrated through the night and into the following day. We walked around like zombies, hungover from a night of unprecedented joy. While many retreated into their homes, some of us continued to seek out each other. We ran out early to buy the morning paper by the armful. We cleaned up the garbage of the night before. We replenished ourselves with food and rich chicory coffee. And all over again, we recognized and appreciated the character and the flavor of the city of New Orleans--my hometown and the greatest city on Earth.
I was lucky enough to be in New Orleans this past weekend, the first weekend of the Mardi Gras parades and the weekend of the Super Bowl. It was a trip I almost didn't take after learning that my sister (with whom I would be staying in New Orleans) was going to Miami for the game and getting sick just days before my flight would be leaving Connecticut. I knew the trip would be fruitful, however, when I saw local celebrity and former Saints quarterback Bobby Hebert standing in line waiting to board my plane. Bobby ended up directly across the aisle from me! For a lifelong Saints fan, this was a positive omen for the game. (Also on the plane, but much less exciting, was Louisiana State Senator Mary Landrieu.)
This wasn't the end of my celebrity sightings or auspicious signs. I walked off the plane behind Bobby, hoping to stay right behind him through the airport where I could soak in his aura and witness the looks of those he passed. Instead, he was walking too slowly, and I had to use the restroom, so I broke formation. As luck would have it, though, this allowed me just enough time to be present when New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagin walked through the concourse with his entourage. Now, I am no fan of Ray Nagin, his politics, or his now infamous ability to say all the wrong things at all the wrong times, but still...he's the mayor of New Orleans! I wanted very badly to say something crazy to him, like "Gimme some chocolate!" or "Hey! It's Willy Nagin!" Instead, visions of bodyguards taking me down flashed through my head, and I opted for a calm and respectful, "Hey, Mr. Nagin" to which I received a suave and somewhat smarmy, "Hey, darlin'." I was pleased with the interaction overall.I walked on, catching back up to Bobby. (I mentioned that he was walking really slowly, right?) On the other side of the security check-in point, I saw my sister waiting for us. I was brimming with excitement from my multiple celebrity encounters and motioned to her with my head at Bobby. In her hands, she held a sign she had made which read, "The Who Dat Nation welcomes Bloomfield, CT!" She presented us with black and gold beads and gave me a black and gold boa, which I wrapped around my neck...not an uncommon look in New Orleans. A woman walked up to us and said, "I don't know you, but I'm from Bloomfield." Another omen! "Well, the Who Dat Nation welcomes you, too," said my sister.
My first night in town was spent at two Mardi Gras parades, one on the West Bank and one in Metairie. I also got to see a childhood friend whom I had not seen since moving. After 28 years, I recognized her right away. I hadn't been to a Mardi Gras parade since moving away from New Orleans, so it was fun to experience them again. Of course, Mardi Gras is when all of the characters come out of hiding. Men are unashamed to dress in tights or tunics. People beg for beads, plastic cups, doubloons, stuffed animals, spears, hatchets, and coconuts. Anyone with a hint of fame can become a Grand Marshall or even a King. Mardi Gras is an excuse to let your freak flag fly at full mast!
Another thing that Mardi Gras brings out is garbage. The streets are lined with discarded beads, broken cups, empty boxes that once contained throws, plastic bags, and a sundry of other objects--both odd and mundane. At one point, I watched as two groups of parade watchers played kickball across the street with an empty beer carton. The game would pause briefly while marching bands and floats passed, resuming again once the opportunity arose. Not long after that, I noticed a stray plastic sandwich bag which had been blown by the wind from its place of origin to my little stake of property. It briefly danced around at my feet before continuing on its way down the street. It was a simple plastic baggie with a simple, three-letter word written on its side, but somehow it represented both every piece of garbage and every weird character on the streets of New Orleans at any given moment and particularly during the Mardi Gras season. Yet another omen? Why not?
Sunday was the Super Bowl. Like an athlete preparing for the big game, I spent the day resting, performing my rituals, praying, and anxiously waiting. After 60 minutes of football, the New Orleans Saints had defeated the Indianapolis Colts, winning the Super Bowl in their first ever appearance. It's now a part of history. The Saints won the Super Bowl! Unless you're a Saints fan, I don't think you can truly appreciate what that means. Being in New Orleans, I got to experience the energy of the city and all of the Saints fans as we witnessed this miracle. I ran out into the street, screaming at the top of my lungs, while my sister's neighborhood erupted with the sounds of fireworks, car alarms, cow bells, and screams. Strangers shared in a magical moment of disbelieve, looking at each other through teary eyes, and hoping that we weren't experiencing some sort of mass hysteria. All over the city, people flooded out of their homes, bars, restaurants, and hotels. The streets of the French Quarter were clogged with people. The bridges and roads were packed with cars. No one wanted to be alone. We needed one another.
We celebrated through the night and into the following day. We walked around like zombies, hungover from a night of unprecedented joy. While many retreated into their homes, some of us continued to seek out each other. We ran out early to buy the morning paper by the armful. We cleaned up the garbage of the night before. We replenished ourselves with food and rich chicory coffee. And all over again, we recognized and appreciated the character and the flavor of the city of New Orleans--my hometown and the greatest city on Earth.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
catching up
It's been over two weeks since I've sat with the keyboard to write, and it feels like ages. I've wanted to sit down and write several times, but just didn't have the time or the energy. I've thought about it as I lay down to go to sleep. I've wanted to put down my work and do it. I have felt a pull to write much like an addict has to use. I have no idea now how I survived all of those years without writing. I used to say that I was a writer with a severe, several years-long case of writer's block. I have always thought of myself as a writer, but I feared that after so long away from it, I had lost my ability to write. I'm still waiting for the stories to return, for the characters to inspire me, for their voices to fill my ears and to direct my hands, for the places to grow inside my mind's eye until they are almost tangible to me. I am still waiting for that to happen, but I'm not stressing over it. I believe that it will. So, until then, I will continue to write about what I am doing, thinking, and feeling.
The last couple of weeks have been so busy and so emotional! My workload has picked up this month, so I've been a bit more behind than usual. I don't know why, but I get stressed out whenever I accrue even the slightest bit of a "to do" list. I like to complete tasks and put them away. I don't like to have things waiting, with unanswered questions and lingering actions. Because I work as a part of a team, what I can do is often determined by what others get done. At the present time, the two PO's that I work with have a growing list of clients whose probation may be violated, so all I can do is wait for the go ahead. I will also soon be covering for my supervisor while she is out on a maternity leave. This means that my work from home days will now be devoted to working in another office, with another team of PO's and therapists, learning new probationers names and offenses, and connecting with new victims, complete with a hour plus commute each way.
I'm really feeling the need to whittle down my outstanding workload, because I'll be leaving this Friday for a 4 day trip to New Orleans. That's right! I will be in my hometown, the greatest city on Earth, during this historic weekend. My favorite team of all time, the New Orleans Saints (Who Dat!) won the NFC Championship game last Sunday night. A field goal kick in overtime literally saved me from what I am sure would have been a fatal heart attack and carried the Saints into their first ever Super Bowl. I spent the next couple of days in a haze, waiting to find out that it had all been a hoax, feeling hungover and out of touch with reality, but soon snapped out of it. By Wednesday night I had booked our flight, reserved the dogs' space at the kennel, and confirmed the petsitter for the cats. We will get to experience a little bit of Mardi Gras, taking in Alla, my childhood favorite parade, and we'll be there to breath in the atmosphere of the city at this most amazing time.
After Katrina, the people of New Orleans, those who still live there, those who left after the storm, and those who have been away for years, need something positive. The Saints have been a source of hope and renewal for all of us. They have embodied the spirit of the region and they have provided respite from the reality of destruction and loss. Like the city, rebuilding after the hurricane, the Saints have become a true Cinderella story, the beloved underdog, David facing off against Goliath. And, I (as always) want to be in that number when the Saints come marching in!!!
GEAUX SAINTS!!!!
The last couple of weeks have been so busy and so emotional! My workload has picked up this month, so I've been a bit more behind than usual. I don't know why, but I get stressed out whenever I accrue even the slightest bit of a "to do" list. I like to complete tasks and put them away. I don't like to have things waiting, with unanswered questions and lingering actions. Because I work as a part of a team, what I can do is often determined by what others get done. At the present time, the two PO's that I work with have a growing list of clients whose probation may be violated, so all I can do is wait for the go ahead. I will also soon be covering for my supervisor while she is out on a maternity leave. This means that my work from home days will now be devoted to working in another office, with another team of PO's and therapists, learning new probationers names and offenses, and connecting with new victims, complete with a hour plus commute each way.
I'm really feeling the need to whittle down my outstanding workload, because I'll be leaving this Friday for a 4 day trip to New Orleans. That's right! I will be in my hometown, the greatest city on Earth, during this historic weekend. My favorite team of all time, the New Orleans Saints (Who Dat!) won the NFC Championship game last Sunday night. A field goal kick in overtime literally saved me from what I am sure would have been a fatal heart attack and carried the Saints into their first ever Super Bowl. I spent the next couple of days in a haze, waiting to find out that it had all been a hoax, feeling hungover and out of touch with reality, but soon snapped out of it. By Wednesday night I had booked our flight, reserved the dogs' space at the kennel, and confirmed the petsitter for the cats. We will get to experience a little bit of Mardi Gras, taking in Alla, my childhood favorite parade, and we'll be there to breath in the atmosphere of the city at this most amazing time.
After Katrina, the people of New Orleans, those who still live there, those who left after the storm, and those who have been away for years, need something positive. The Saints have been a source of hope and renewal for all of us. They have embodied the spirit of the region and they have provided respite from the reality of destruction and loss. Like the city, rebuilding after the hurricane, the Saints have become a true Cinderella story, the beloved underdog, David facing off against Goliath. And, I (as always) want to be in that number when the Saints come marching in!!!
GEAUX SAINTS!!!!
Friday, January 15, 2010
taking responsibility for myself
Nearly three years ago I took a job that scared the absolute shit out of me. As a Victim Advocate in a probation office, I would be required to attend the treatment groups of sex offenders. I knew how to work with and for victims, but I had no clue what to expect from working so closely with sex offenders. I imagined a dark room full of seedy, smarmy child molesters and rapists, something akin to an AA meeting in a cramped church basement--big, sweaty men in rickety chairs, an old coffee pot brewing in the corner, and the air thick with cigarette smoke. Of course, the groups are nothing like that. In fact, they're quite sterile, professional, yet relaxed...boring, really. Getting to know the men in these groups, and, in many cases, their family and friends, I was reminded that real monsters are less common than TV and the movies would lead us to believe. We are all human and, thus, all fallible....and, perhaps, all forgivable.
On top of learning to see others in a more holistic way, I have learned in my work with sex offenders that healing and growth cannot begin until one truly takes responsibility for his own actions. The first step in taking responsibility is being honest. Denial can run rampant in the sex offender community, as one might imagine, but we are lucky in that we can utilize polygraphs with deniers. Can you imagine? How cool would it be to be able to use a lie detector test with the people in your personal life? From your significant other to the office gossip, you would be assured that you were being told the truth at all times.
Of course, it's impossible to hold those in our lives to complete honesty, so sometimes we have to accept that they won't be honest and, therefore, that they won't take responsibility for their own words or actions. I've come face-to-face with this reality lately. Even when confronted head on, some remain unwilling to tell the truth, which simply triggers what I've named my "bullshit alarm" to sound. I've found that the alarm is particularly sensitive to misplaced blame and the refusal to acknowledge one's own behavior. Is it really that hard to say, "I screwed up," "It was my fault," or "I did it, and I'm sorry?" Is it worth it to keep up the charade? At what cost do you make that decision? And isn't it just plain exhausting?
No matter what choice those around me have made, I have decided to be honest. Don't ask me a question unless you want to hear the truth. My choice has been both a blessing and a curse. It's brought me closer to some and has driven a wedge into some of my relationships. I stand behind my choice, though, and don't see how I can live an authentic life without being authentic. I've attempted to model honesty in my personal and professional interactions, and I have been proud to see some follow my lead and embrace honesty, but I have seen others react with withdrawal, whining, and even venom.
I've struggled since the other day with what to do when someone seems unwilling or unable to own up to his/her role in hurting me. A big part of me feels that I should remain adamant that I am unwilling to forgive and forget without that person taking responsibility for his/her role. Another part of me argues that by holding out for that person to make a move which seems highly unlikely and uncharacteristic only allows him/her to control the situation. If I take responsibility for my own actions, words, and deeds, I need to take responsibility for my reactions to others. By waiting for another person's decision, I am not fully taking responsibility. In fact, if I can forgive, even when it seems unforgivable, if I can move forward, even without closure for the past, if I can remain in control of my own feelings, even when others may not handle them with care, then I am truly living a life of responsibility...responsibility for myself--for my thoughts, my feelings, my actions, my words, and my impact on those around me.
I'm not perfect. I am far from being the person that I would like to be, but I continue to try. I only hope that others will recognize that and will try just as hard.
"The men who try to do something and fail are infinitely better than those who try to do nothing and succeed." ~Lloyd Jones
On top of learning to see others in a more holistic way, I have learned in my work with sex offenders that healing and growth cannot begin until one truly takes responsibility for his own actions. The first step in taking responsibility is being honest. Denial can run rampant in the sex offender community, as one might imagine, but we are lucky in that we can utilize polygraphs with deniers. Can you imagine? How cool would it be to be able to use a lie detector test with the people in your personal life? From your significant other to the office gossip, you would be assured that you were being told the truth at all times.
Of course, it's impossible to hold those in our lives to complete honesty, so sometimes we have to accept that they won't be honest and, therefore, that they won't take responsibility for their own words or actions. I've come face-to-face with this reality lately. Even when confronted head on, some remain unwilling to tell the truth, which simply triggers what I've named my "bullshit alarm" to sound. I've found that the alarm is particularly sensitive to misplaced blame and the refusal to acknowledge one's own behavior. Is it really that hard to say, "I screwed up," "It was my fault," or "I did it, and I'm sorry?" Is it worth it to keep up the charade? At what cost do you make that decision? And isn't it just plain exhausting?
No matter what choice those around me have made, I have decided to be honest. Don't ask me a question unless you want to hear the truth. My choice has been both a blessing and a curse. It's brought me closer to some and has driven a wedge into some of my relationships. I stand behind my choice, though, and don't see how I can live an authentic life without being authentic. I've attempted to model honesty in my personal and professional interactions, and I have been proud to see some follow my lead and embrace honesty, but I have seen others react with withdrawal, whining, and even venom.
I've struggled since the other day with what to do when someone seems unwilling or unable to own up to his/her role in hurting me. A big part of me feels that I should remain adamant that I am unwilling to forgive and forget without that person taking responsibility for his/her role. Another part of me argues that by holding out for that person to make a move which seems highly unlikely and uncharacteristic only allows him/her to control the situation. If I take responsibility for my own actions, words, and deeds, I need to take responsibility for my reactions to others. By waiting for another person's decision, I am not fully taking responsibility. In fact, if I can forgive, even when it seems unforgivable, if I can move forward, even without closure for the past, if I can remain in control of my own feelings, even when others may not handle them with care, then I am truly living a life of responsibility...responsibility for myself--for my thoughts, my feelings, my actions, my words, and my impact on those around me.
I'm not perfect. I am far from being the person that I would like to be, but I continue to try. I only hope that others will recognize that and will try just as hard.
"The men who try to do something and fail are infinitely better than those who try to do nothing and succeed." ~Lloyd Jones
trust women
On May 31, 2009, Dr. George Tiller was gunned down while serving as an usher for a Sunday morning service in his Wichita, KS, church. Dr. Tiller operated a women's health clinic, one of only three nationwide that performed abortions after the 21st week of pregnancy, so-called "late-term abortions." Most of Dr. Tiller's patients made their excruciatingly difficult choice after learning later in their pregnancies that their unborn children suffered from severe, and sometimes fatal, birth defects. Some even had to choose between their own lives and the lives of their unborn children. For providing this medical service to his patients in desperate circumstances, Dr. Tiller was granted a death sentence. But, there was no trial. There was no testimony. Dr. Tiller's murderer, Scott Roeder, who will be afforded a trial of his own, served as Dr. Tiller's judge, jury, and executioner. Reports claim that Roeder will argue that his premeditated murder of Dr. Tiller was "justifiable homicide." That hardly sounds pro-life to me.
Dr. Tiller was known to wear a button that stated, simply, "Trust women." So, today, on the 37th anniversary of Roe v. Wade, on the eve of Scott Roeder's trial, and in honor of "Blog for Choice Day 2010," I want to share what those words me to me.
Trust women. Those two small words strike a very powerful chord in me. As a woman myself, I can't say that I always trusted myself, let alone other women. I didn't always know how to connect with other women. My own insecurities caused me to distance myself from them and often made me appear "snobby." I thought that this meant that I formed friendships with men easier, but I know wonder if it actually taught me to use my gender and sexuality as a means of connecting with men. I'm still not a "girly girl," and I can't relate to other women when it comes to topics like shopping, motherhood, or fashion, but I'm more comfortable in my own skin than ever before, and I've learned that our shared experiences as women tie us together in a way that we can never relate to men.
I had a great conversation with a female co-worker yesterday. She was frustrated over the lack of understanding that her male co-workers demonstrated regarding violence against women. She wondered if they could ever truly get it. I said that I didn't think they could. And, I believe that. As females, we grow up experiencing the world as an inherently dangerous place, with strangers and intimates capable of hurting us at any moment. We are taught about personal safety at a young age, and we internalize our responsibility to always be on guard. Walking to our cars, being alone in our homes, sitting at our office desks, even sleeping in our own beds, we are constantly aware, even if unconsciously, of our vulnerability.
Men, on the other hand, are conditioned to believe that the world is theirs to conquer. What we fear, they approach with a sense of entitlement and ownership. Does a man ever think about how he carries his keys as he approaches his car? Does he check the backseat? Does he ever worry that someone will force him/herself upon him? Does he worry about angering his partner for fear that violence could result? For that matter, does he ever struggle with the fear of losing his identity when he marries (and changes his name), with choosing between his career and his children, with trying to live up to the unrealistic standards portrayed by the media and espoused by his culture? Can a man ever really know what it feels like to be a woman?
During our conversation yesterday, my much younger co-worker said, "The sad thing is that they're right. It IS a man's world." I couldn't argue with her. While racism is still actively alive in our culture, I think that the threads of sexism are woven even deeper into our fabric. The citizenry of the U.S. elected the first black man to the presidency before the first woman. The numbers spoke for themselves. A strong, confident woman still must defend herself against the label of "bitch" when she aspires to do what men are doing. God forbid!
I trust myself, as a woman, to know when there is something wrong with my body. When I began experiencing strange symptoms and bodily changes, I searched for many years for a diagnosis. I was told that I had "fork-plate-mouth syndrome" when I started gaining weight at a fast rate. I couldn't control my weight despite medication, exercise, and a controlled diet. I knew it wasn't normal. I knew it wasn't just aging. I kept asking. I kept searching. After several doctors, a spinal tap, ultrasounds, and countless MRI's, I was finally diagnosed with a pituitary tumor. My problems didn't stop there, though, because when I started gaining weight YET AGAIN, I was told, "Yeah. It's hard. We're all on a diet in the office." The pounds kept coming. I searched some more. I asked some more. I was finally told by a renowned specialist that not only could the pituitary tumor affect my metabolism and cause me to gain weight, but that the medications prescribed for the tumor could do the same. Duh! That was what I had been trying to say all along. But, none of my doctors have ever believed that I could be right, that I could know my body better than they could. None of them trusted me!
I trust the women in my life with my deepest, darkest secrets, feelings, and fears. I trust them with my fun, my laughter, and my heart. My trust them with my love, my soul, and even with my life. I have jumped out of airplanes with them. I have cried with them. I have smuggled boycotted coffee with them. I have been pissed off with them. I have marched with them. I have had a blast with them. They are my sisters, some biologically and some spiritually. They are my mothers, not by birth, but by virtue. They are my teachers, my friends, my mentors, my inspiration. I trust these women, and I hope that they trust me.
And, I trust men, like Dr. Tiller, who trust women. I trust men who believe the victims of sexual assault when they report, when they testify, and when they want justice. I trust men who want a woman to be his partner, his equal, his mate. I trust men who speak out about violence, even when it has not affected them personally. I trust men who do their best, despite our biological, emotional, physical, sociological, psychological, and experiential differences, to truly connect with women, to empathize with women, and to support women.
Trust women. Trust yourself.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
operation freefall
On April 24, 2010, I will be making my fifth tandem skydive as a part of Operation Freefall.Operation Freefall started in 2001 when, on the anniversary of her rape, Speaking Out About Rape, Inc.® (SOAR®) founder, Kellie Greene, made her first skydive. When Kellie did this, she took a day of personal tragedy and turned it into a day of triumph. She reclaimed the day that had been taken from her and turned a dreaded annual memorial into a keenly anticipated celebration. Operation Freefall is the only event of its kind to increase awareness of sexual violence. The event is held simultaneously across the country on the last Saturday of each April, and it benefits both SOAR and local community-based anti-sexual violence organizations. In the past nine years, Operation Freefall has raised over $1,000,000 with nearly two-thirds of that going back to local communities.
Kellie Greene is both a mentor and close friend of mine. I know firsthand that the work she does has a positive impact on survivors and their loved ones. She has changed my life!
I hope that you will support me in my fundraising efforts. I have pledged to raise a minimum of $1,000 before March 15, 2010, and I have a long way to go!!!
Check out my fundraising page at http://www.firstgiving.com/shannonsmith2010. You can watch a video of last year's jump, read more about Operation Freefall, and make a secure on-line donation. Thanks for your support!!!
Blue Skies!!!
Shannon
Saturday, January 9, 2010
grounded
We went to see the movie "Up in the Air" today. The movie stars George Clooney as a guy who flies from city to city, contracted by companies to terminate their employees. He grows from someone who is happily unattached, unencumbered, and unemotional into someone who longs for connection. It was a funny, touching, sometimes discouraging commentary on how we choose to relate to others in our increasingly impersonal society.
I was surprised at the feelings that the movie stirred in me and at the different ways that Mitchell and I reacted to the movie. As we walked through the cold, he said, "That was a depressing movie."
And that's how I feel. I'm grateful for the deep and meaningful friendships that I have.
I have everything that I want and need in my home. I have a job that I love, and I stay busy volunteering for organizations and projects that I am passionate about. I am proud of the life that I've built and of the person that I have become. I have a loving family of four-legged children and a partner who makes me laugh, supports my ideas, helps me feel safe, and loves me just the way I am. I feel lucky to have lived in many places, experiencing this country from different perspectives and building relationships along the way. I don't know where the future will take me, but for now I like where I am. I am content.
I was surprised at the feelings that the movie stirred in me and at the different ways that Mitchell and I reacted to the movie. As we walked through the cold, he said, "That was a depressing movie."
"Depressing if you're him, I guess," I said, referring to Clooney's character. "I think it's supposed to make you feel glad that you're not him."
And that's how I feel. I'm grateful for the deep and meaningful friendships that I have.
I have everything that I want and need in my home. I have a job that I love, and I stay busy volunteering for organizations and projects that I am passionate about. I am proud of the life that I've built and of the person that I have become. I have a loving family of four-legged children and a partner who makes me laugh, supports my ideas, helps me feel safe, and loves me just the way I am. I feel lucky to have lived in many places, experiencing this country from different perspectives and building relationships along the way. I don't know where the future will take me, but for now I like where I am. I am content.
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