Category Archives: Parenting Politics

These are not womens issues.

6 Replies

photograph taken near a jungle market in Borneo 2009

When I was doing my undergrad degree I was studying a double degree in writing and international politics. Feminism is always something that I’ve had a strong interest in, though it took me a long time to identify as a feminist. It took me a long time to identify with a lot of things, I guess that’s just part of growing up. I was living in Melbourne and studying at Melbourne University, it was all very hip and edgy and alternative. I wore the Melbourne uniform of black skinny jeans and tattoos. I enrolled in a few units on women’s rights, one semester, I think they are under the blanket term of “gender issues” at university.

I remember sitting in the lecture, my nails painted black, take away chai in hand, and listening to the lecturer talk about “women’s issues.” I remember listening to the atrocious way that women have been treated around the world, and the horrific way that women are still, to this day being treated. Not only in developing nations, but right here, in our own backyards. I remember learning about the construct of gender for the very first time. The idea of femininity and the negative connotations it brings. I remember walking out of that lecture, my mind full of ideas and frustrations and information and statistics. I started thinking of how we define people, how we, as a society, label the marginalised with terms. Terms that make excellent academic papers and political discussions. Terms that only tell half of the story.

I remember wondering then why issues that seemed to be based on fundamental human rights, were being classed as “women’s issues.” I wondered then why there was only ONE male student in my tutorial. I wondered why the word “feminist” was used as an insult. I wondered why these issues weren’t more important to everyone. I remember thinking, if I have a son one day, I hope I can raise him to be that one guy in the class if he’s interested in politics. I hope I can teach him that women’s issues aren’t just for women. I hope I can raise him to care about issues even if they don’t directly relate to his own personal experience.

Now that I have a child of my own these issues are even more important to me than ever before. In the eyes of the girls all around the world I see her face. In the pain and the hunger and the sadness and the injustice I see Bo and I. I don’t think these issues are more important to me because my child is female. I think these issues are more important to me because my child is human.The only thing that separates us from those men and women and children who are suffering is where we were born. Nothing else.

How much do you know about the injustices facing women and children in the world right now?

The following are facts from studies conducted by the United Nations on “women’s issues”:
  1. Every 90 seconds, one woman dies as a direct result of pregnancy or childbirth. Most of these deaths are preventable with good education and access to medical care.
  2.  One in three women internationally will be beaten, raped or abused during their lifetime.
  3. More than 80% of displaced people and refugees are women – most of whom are caring for small children.
  4. Girls are less likely to reach adulthood than boys because of gender discrimination. This includes gender selection during pregnancy, undernourishment of female children, and
  5. The majority of victims of human trafficking are women. Women and girls are more likely to be bought and sold internationally as a part of sex trading.
  6. Women make up 70% of the people living in poverty internationally.

These figures are absolutely staggering, but for most of us, they don’t affect us personally. Yes, it is unlikely that as a western woman living in a western country that you will be sold as a part of a sex trading rink. It’s unlikely, but it’s not impossible. It’s unlikely that you will ever be a refugee, it’s unlikely you will ever be completely displaced. It is unlikely you will die from (a medically preventable condition) pregnancy or childbirth because you have access to good medical care. Our female children are just as likely to reach adulthood than our boys. Aren’t they?

So let’s put it in more local terms.The following are facts that were collected by the Australian Bureau of Statistics and published as a part of an Australian Government report on “women’s issues”:

  1.  One in three Australian women will be abused, assaulted or raped in their lifetime.
  2. In Australian women aged 15 – 44 violence is the leading cause of death, illness or disability.
  3. More than one third of violence against women happens in the home by the hand of someone they know.
  4. More than 80% of women surveyed who said they had experienced violence also said they did NOT report this violence to the police.
  5. Women are more likely to be abused by men they know whereas men are more likely to be abused by men they have never met before.

Are all of these statistics accurate? I hope not. Statistics are easily misrepresented and shouldn’t always be trusted. What these statistics do is give us a place to start the discussion. The reports issued by the Australian Government call these “women’s issues.” But they are not women’s issues. They are everyone’s issues. What these reports fail to mention is that men are twice as likely to be victims of assault than women. So if men and boys are just as likely if not more likely to be abused and assaulted than women and girls, isn’t this everyone’s issue? Isn’t maternal deaths everyone’s issue? Isn’t single parent families (regardless of gender) living below the poverty lines, everyone’s issue?

International issues of people trafficking, rape, maternal deaths, gender selection, domestic violence, abuse… these are not women’s issues. These are issues of humanity. These are issues for all of us as people and these are issues that we should all consider as parents, raising people.

Aren’t they?

For a very interesting conversation on men, feminism and human rights I urge you to watch this TED talk. A man talking about why HE is a feminist, and why he thinks everyone should be. He is engaging, interesting and has some strong, powerful ideas that are really worth listening to.

The Aesthetics of Maternity…

22 Replies

Do you read “those” blogs? I do. You know the ones I mean. The BEAUTIFUL ones. Where every photo is styled and every child is dressed perfectly and the lighting is spectacular and every image looks like it just fell out of some sort of awesome edgy children’s catalogue. White washed, soft hues, beautiful children, amazing homes, incredible architecture… Do you know the ones? I love them. I do. I love to look at the pictures and dream of a life outside of my lego-land existence, outside of the housing estate, outside of middle-class Australia with it’s department store furnishings and every-one-has-the-same wall decals and rugs and little colourful lights… I like to dream of far off lands and access to beautiful antiques and styling and money for funky clothes and magically becoming that effortless woman who knows how to style her own hair… (don’t let me near a hair dryer… I’m a menace).

I love these blogs because they make me dream. They remind me of the beauty in the world that can so quickly become so unbelievably ordinary it makes me want to poke out my own eyeballs.

But at the same time… they can make me feel inferior. And this isn’t “THEM” this is me. This is us. This is our social conditioning.This happens in all areas of life but at the moment I’m most interested in how this particular aesthetic encourages us(as mothers) to judge and compare.

Let’s talk about it. The aesthetics of maternity.

There has been a lot of recent research that has concentrated on what mothers DO. All of the mommy wars, the parenting debates, the articles, they focus on what we do as mothers. How we parent. But then all you have to do is have a look at some of the popular “baby-blogs” or turn on the TV or what a romantic comedy that has anything to do with pregnancy, childbirth or parenting to see that the styling of motherhood is becoming more and more prominent.

A focus on what mothers wear, what sort of stroller they push, what branded cotton their baby is dressed up to the nines in (don’t get me started on boleros, diamante encrusted doo-dads and knitted designer shrugs for babies – since when did our infants become teenagers?)… All you have to do is look around you (particularly in the affluent West – I didn’t encounter much of this if any in rural Indonesia) to see there is this incredible concern with the presentation of the maternal self. The mother.

Is there any link between how we good look and how well we parent?

Of course not. Of course not. Whether I wear my silk trousers (and who would with a one year old) or my bleach stained track pants – I am the same mother. Whether I push a stroller that costs the same price as the car I drive or I push the second hand run-around I got for a bargain price… I am the same mother. Whether I have shit on my foot or spew down my back or I smell sweet of perfume and perfectly groomed… I am the same mother.

So what is the obsession with how we look?

Mothering through consumption. We must have. We must own. Why? It’s very clever advertising. All mothers, regardless of their economic standing, regardless of their bank account, regardless of their upbringing, all mothers just want to do the best they can for their children. They want to nurture and provide and give and love and love and love. Companies selling baby paraphernalia know this. So they tell us, to be a better mother, you must buy THIS AMAZING PRODUCT. And we believe them. Because we are desperate to do the right thing by our kid. We don’t want that beautiful little person we have been gifted with to miss out on something.

I get it. I feel it too. I do. When friends say, Oh we got this amazing XYZ… it’s so great… I think, wow, maybe I should get it too. Maybe Bo is missing out. Maybe her little life would be better if she had it. But would it? Most of the time my logic kicks in and I shake a little sense into myself. No. What Bo needs is me. She cares very little for much else. She needs good food and comfortable clothes and love, love, love. That’s about it. That baby stuff? It’s not for the baby… it’s for us.

I choose carefully where we spend the little money that we have. I choose to spend it on good food and good experiences and the essentials like rent and bills and fuel. The rest? The little that is left over gets saved, so that one day we can move out and have our own space and I can feel a little more complete again.

The term “Yummy Mummy” is a somewhat new phenomenon . Along with “MILF” and the more recent sexualisation of the mother. On the flip side there is the “slummy mummy” – the mother who has “let herself go”.

I know that I see what we would call a “yummy mummy” in the shops and think how the hell does she do it? She is well groomed. She has long nails and beautifully groomed hair. She wears perfect clothes and is often in heels. I wonder how she does it. I’m there in the t-shirt I slept in… I haven’t showered today and I have a spit up stain on my shoulder that I won’t notice until I get home. Yummy? I don’t think so. Does that make this other mother a better mother than me, because she has it all together she has managed to wash clothes and put together a nice outfit and do her hair? Does it make her a worse mother, has she neglected her child so she can do these things? Of course not.

Judgement goes both ways. It truly does. It’s just as easy to judge the young mother in her low cut jeans with her g-string sticking out the back as it is to judge the dressed-to-the-nines thirty something mama complete with diamonds, bugaboo and nanny in tow. It’s easy to judge. It’s easy to make comment. But is it fair? No. It’s not fair at all.

We class ourselves and each other. We are classed into groups, just like we were in highschool. The nerds, the jocks, the drama kids, the rebels, the art-freaks, etc. etc. Because of how we look, choices we make and how we present ourselves to the world. It probably doesn’t surprise you that I think this sort of pigeon holing is ridiculous. But it’s when these groupings start to define the way we parent or the way we are judged on our parenting that I find it all a bit distressing. The crunchy mama, the routine mama etc. etc. this unspoken class system that opens up for mothers to be judged depending on a gross generalisation of their parenting philosophy…

There is so much to be said here about the aesthetics of maternity. How we present ourselves to the world to be judged. How much money we make. The car we drive. The husband who provides (or does not provide). Some people have it all wrapped up in a neat, pretty little upper middle-class package complete with the people mover, the three bedroom house and the gloriously groomed Labrador.

Others, well, others are like me… Just muddling through with food on our jeans and a car that wont start.

And you know what? These things. These aesthetics. They shouldn’t matter at all. We are all the same. You and me and your pretty house and your stunning lounge room and your gorgeous kid and your beautiful blow… we are the same.We are mothers. We are women. We share an experience that is so much deeper than any of that surface crap. We are the same in all our glorious differences.

xox

Women and Babies…

20 Replies

Making babies is a right of passage for a woman. In past lives we would have gathered together around the birth of a new child. Women coming together to recognise the incredible social and biological transformation that takes place, not in the birth of the child, but in the birth of the mother. It’s spectacular.

Things are different now. We don’t gather together. We tend to judge instead of celebrate. We buy things… lots of things… for new babies. But what we don’t offer is recognition. Support. To the mother. And at the end of the day, who needs all of these pastel things anyway?

I’ve been thinking a lot about pregnancy and babies. It is coming very close to the time that we I had planned to start trying for a second child. Planning… not knowing what was just around the bend for my family. I was planning the growth of our family, while he was dismantling it. Seems somewhat silly now. I still have the list of prospective names tucked in my desk drawer. Names for a baby that I was dreaming of. A baby that doesn’t exist. A baby that isn’t mine. But I can’t throw it out.

After a year or so people generally start asking a new mother, new parents, when they plan to have another. And another. From what I have gathered from my enormous birth club community is that after the first year women are in one of two camps. The I do not want another baby (right now) camp, or I desperately need another baby (right now) camp. There isn’t too much in between. Women become jealous and sad when other women get pregnant. They get annoyed or upset that they  feel that they have to justify their desire to push for career or other goals instead of another child.I sit pretty firmly in the I’d like another baby (right now) camp. Which is frustrating… because it’s not an option. And although I know that it’s silly and it’s illogical and it’s out-of-my-hands right now, and although I am extraordinarily grateful (and exhausted by) the little person I already have. I can’t help but let my thoughts stray to those tiny fingers and toes. To the bulging belly and the whispers of promises in the night. The imaginings of face and the incredible unbelievable rush that is that very first moment together. And then feel a little pang of sadness. A little pang that comes from grieving a child that doesn’t even exist yet, from a relationship that has fallen apart.

I know the logic. And it’s how I talk myself down from these feelings every time they creep in. Every time they wrap their little hands around my heart for one good, hard squeeze. I talk myself down with logic. But the feeling is still there.Lurking behind closed doors. Waiting in the shadows, ready to pounce.

What is it? Where does it come from? Hormones? Probably. Isn’t that the age old excuse for irrational female behaviour (note the extent this concept is dripping in sarcasm, can’t stand anything more than being called an irrational woman, emotional woman… like my sex is an insult – but that’s another story)? Hormonal.

As women I think we are isolating ourselves by not talking about these things. One of the many silences… one of the forbidden topics. These emotions, these feelings of yearning and need and pain and loss and love and joy and… and… and… surrounding childbirth both past, present and future. Surrounding pregnancy and loss and relationships. They are universal (are they not?). They are part of the female experience. Part of who we are. Part of our physiology. Are they not? Where is our voice to speak up and say, Hey, no I don’t want another baby, get off my back. Or, Yes, desperately, I feel like I’m not done… but it’s not possible right now. Instead of removing ourselves from each other to deal with our jealousy and our grief. Why do we not band together? Together we say, I am jealous of your pregnancy and I am also so absolutely, wonderfully, completely over-the-moon joyful for you at the same time.Together we say, I feel your pain. I feel your joy. I feel your comfort. I feel your passion. Together.

We can feel jealousy and happiness at the same time and not be ashamed to admit it. We can say, I want what you have, without being bitter or resentful. We can feel joy and sadness and grief together without having to hide. Can we not?

What has happened to our red tent? What has happened to our rite of passage and our village? We used to give birth surrounded by people we knew, women with strong hands and minds and love. Now we give birth with strangers. We return home to our homes. Alone. With no time with which to transform from woman to mother. With many gadgets and pretty little things that are designed to make life easier… but really just encourage us to be alone. Gadgets designed to help us mother alone. And when we come to some of the biggest emotions, perhaps even illogical emotions, we turn inwards. Solitary. Silenced. Afraid that what we feel could be judged as ungrateful, or irrational, or ridiculous. So we turn inward. Leaving us alone.

There is nothing simple about women and babies. The link between the mother who bares a child and every mother who has ever born a child is undeniable. We are many and varied and different. But we are also one.

We are not alone.

Breaking the silence: On being a single parent.

38 Replies

My husband had an affair, but long before he did this he made choices that kept him away from us. Right from the very beginning. He chose other people, other events, other places over his family. So even though our relationship only broke down two months ago I’ve been functioning as a single parent for about eighty percent of the time that Bo has been alive.

My mother was a single parent. When I was eleven my parents marriage ended and my mother became solely responsible for my two younger brothers and I. It sunk her into a deep dark hole. She did the best she could for us, but it nearly destroyed her. I didn’t understand then, but I do now. I didn’t always agree with the choices she made, and I still don’t, but I know that everything she did was out of love for us. I knew then that she wasn’t coping. And I understand that now, more than I ever wanted to.

Except for women who choose to fall pregnant (via sperm donor or the like) and know right from the beginning that they will be a single parent (and for the record I don’t think this makes it any easier really), I don’t think there is a single woman on this earth who faces single parenthood without some reluctance. Doing it alone, for most of us, was never the game plan. Relationships fall apart, people die, people fall out of love, people cheat, people move on, people make choices… good and bad… that affect the course of the lives of everyone around us. We are all intrinsically connected after all.

There is so much to be said about the honest experience of the single parent. There is so much silence surrounding the truth. There are so many things that people are afraid to say. Women so afraid of admitting they aren’t coping. Afraid of the judgment that they face. So many women who are terrified to ask for help. Women who are asking for help and not getting it. Women who are struggling financially, emotionally, spiritually but who aren’t being heard. So many truths that aren’t understood. And therefore, there are so many misrepresentations and the great social prejudice that comes with a great social silence. The attitude that our society has that tends to blame a single mother for her circumstances, I believe, comes from a greater unknowing. An incredible cultural ignorance.

There is a great social prejudice against single mothers. Women who have babies and who leave their husbands. Women who choose to continue a pregnancy even when the paternal father refuses to acknowledge the baby as his responsibility. Women who make great personal sacrifice for the sake of a child. For the well being of a child. The woman who decides to continue a pregnancy even though the man she is with (or was with) chooses to opt out. The attitude of our society that choosing not to terminate a pregnancy somehow equates to her having sole responsibility for the care of that child makes no sense to me. Because of biology (and society) men have the option of cashing out of a relationship, of a family. They can walk away and continue their lives much like before, without great (financial or emotional) responsibility, sleep deprivation or stress. They can go back to friendships and relationships and family… But the woman (and I say woman here, but this is of course not only the case, single dads experience the same if not greater prejudice at times) is left behind. With a great responsibility, (almost always) a decline in living conditions and lifestyle and more often than not no real help.

I don’t think anyone can truly appreciate the incredible emotional responsibility that a woman is left with when she becomes a single parent. It is not only the 24 hour a day 7 days a week responsibility of the care of a child. It is not only the (incredible stress) of sole (in many cases) financial responsibly. It’s not only the incredible pressure of being the only person to make every choice surrounding a child’s care and upbringing and circumstances. It’s not just the fact that it is completely and totally unreasonable that our society expects that ONE person, alone and completely without support can be undeniably patient and giving to a child day in, day out for many, many years. It is insane and it is just not humanly possible. It is all of these things in combination with each other, and so many more.

For me, as a single parent, the biggest challenge with single parenting is time. The lack of time is directly related to my own issues of a loss of identity and self esteem. Issues that I am trying to conquer, trying to overcome, trying to become empowered by, instead of feeling powerless because of. I am a parent for every minute of every day. Even at night when Bo has gone to bed and I have gone to work, sitting at my desk in the spare room, I am still the only parent in the house. I know when she wakes (and she does, often) that it is always me who will go to her. I can’t pop out for a trip to the supermarket alone or catch up with friends without a baby or have a long bath or go for a walk because there is no one else for the day-to-day. It is isolating and it is a very displacing feeling. I’m not sure if anyone who has not lived in it could understand the incredible loneliness that comes from being trapped, in isolation, with a small child the only regular company and a lack of adult conversation. As lovely as my daughter is, and as wonderful a conversationalist she is becoming – we still don’t speak the same language. It’s not enough. That is something that people don’t truly talk about. About the late nights alone. The frustration with a clingy, needy child that you get no break from. Caring for a sick child alone (and then often sick, yourself). There is so much silence, and in that silence I am sure there are other mothers suffering. Truly suffering with little or no input from outside of the relationship she has with her child. But why can’t she speak up? What have we done as a society that has alienated all of us from each other. Where asking for help is seen as a weakness? Where offering help is a last resort?

Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the incredible responsibility that is being a sole parent. I look at Bo and I think, how can I possibly do this, all of this, alone? This isn’t what I wanted. I wanted to be with her father. I wanted the happy family. I wanted to be together. To share the load. To share the joy. I wanted to be able to sit on the couch with my husband at the end of the day and laugh about the beautiful things she did, and cry over the frustrations and have him there to hold my hand and help out and love her like I do. Because as hard as it is to not be able to share the challenges… it’s just as hard not having someone right there to share the joy. The little things, like a kid finally doing a poo after being bunged up for a few days, or eating their whole lunch, or having a proper nap… we want to share these things with someone and let’s be honest, no one else cares about those things as much (or if at all) as the parents.

The other night Bo woke at 10pm and wouldn’t go back to sleep so I got her up and snuggled with her on the couch in front of a movie. She was so beautiful. She sat eating peanut butter on toast. Licking her fingers and talking to me very seriously in her own language, every now pausing and raising her eyebrows at me… as if to say, do you understand mama, are you hearing me? And I would say, yes of course. She would then start giggling and shouting at the people on the TV. And it was such a perfect moment. I looked at her and I could see a glimpse of the little girl she is going to be and I wish her dad had been here to see her. To share in the absolute joy that she is. I wish I had someone to truly share those moments with. The moments of pride.

When I think of the incredibly unreasonable expectations we have on mothers in general, I am shocked. Our society pushes for (unreasonable) perfection. Our society expects that mothers should raise these perfect children whilst being essentially isolated from the world. Instead of offering support, we offer judgmental advice, books with parenting “rules” and guidelines that have the potential of stripping mothers of their instinct.  And then we add on top of that a mother without the support of a partner, without the small moments of respite that the partnered mother is given. Without the time to find herself. And we turn around and we judge these mothers. Single mothers. We judge them. I know a young single mother who was called the most disgusting names by her own brother, because she is without a man. Because she chose to continue her pregnancy and raise her beautiful child alone. Because she didn’t have the choice to just “walk away.” Because she chose life. We judge women we see alone, wrangling children. The plight of the single parent has become fodder for television shows and sitcoms and jokes… what we don’t do is offer real, supportive, full assistance. I’m not talking about pensions or money or aid. I’m ashamed (albeit extraordinarily grateful)  to have to ask for a handout from the government to survive… and I’m sure most people are. I’d prefer to have the facility to raise my child the way (I believe) she deserves to be raised and work enough to make good money to support us without help. But as one person, that is not possible right now, our society doesn’t support working options for mothers who want to keep their children with them.

I’m talking about swapping judgement for humanity. Hate for love. Do-it-my-way-advice for hands-on help.

Why is it so hard for us as a society to be supportive of our people? Why are we always so quick to judge and so slow to react. When did we become so distant from eachother? When did society stop being about community? When did parenthood become more about rules and less about raising good. strong, caring people, together.

Perhaps a little jumbled, but food for thought nonetheless. Even better for discussion.

Breaking the silence: On motherhood.

27 Replies

When I think about the way that our society expects us to parent, I am surprised. Surprised that there aren’t more women standing up and saying… This is hard. Seriously. It wasn’t all that long ago that we, the women, were a part of a collective, where we gathered together, raised our children together and shared in the responsibilities, the joys and the heartaches. Where motherhood was respected but parenting was not the sole responsibility of the parent, but the community banded together to help raise and grow and shape their little people. Together. It probably doesn’t surprise many of you that I believe that this is the ideal way to parent.

It comes back to the old saying it takes a village to raise a child.

But we live in virtual villages now. We live in housing estates and cities and suburbs where we don’t even know our neighbours. We live in societies where we are scared of each other. Where not being perfect, not being the *best*, is unacceptable. Where being unique or making different choices or going against the grain is not celebrated, where we are judged by men, by healthcare professionals, by teachers, by other mothers. Where we are told that we need to have the right *things* to be the right parent. Where we try so hard to show everyone that we are coping, that sometimes I think we lose ourselves in the every day shuffle of it all. I think there are a lot of women out there who are really struggling. Who aren’t actually coping with the responsibilities and the difficulties that come with the role of motherhood. Women who don’t have support networks. Or even women that do. I know some days I am that woman. I’m sure we all have days like that. But we don’t often talk about it, the true reality of the experience. Or when we do, it is downplayed not only by us (the mothers) but by the rest of society too. Like it’s a joke, good fodder for a meme. Why?

I’ve heard it called the conspiracy of silence. And I think it’s sad that a collective experience that is both as unique and as universal as motherhood is often misrepresented. Where many mothers I know (myself included) feel that they need to define themselves as something more… something more than *just* mother. Even though being a mother, once you are one, is everything. We still crave more. We still ARE more.

I think that we, as a society, put a lot of pressure on mothers to be the givers of life, to be educators, and to raise the future generations. But at the same time we, society, expect mothers to do so in isolation. Yes we have playgroups and mothers groups and support groups and baby groups and baby yoga and library sing a longs and… and… and… where we can book a thousand events for our children one after another all day long. Where mothers come together and talk about snacks and sleep schedules and nappy bags and teething and fevers and… and… and… but it isn’t very often that you hear a mother say, I’m not coping.

Society expects us as mothers to be able to raise children who are gentle and kind and compassionate and able to solve conflict without violence. We are expected to raise children who are cooperative but society allows violent programming. But when a child behaves inappropriately, we place the entirety of the blame on the parent.

We expect women to raise our children but we also expect them to work. We are expected to want “it all.” But having “it all” is defined by society, not by the mother herself. Because if you don’t work. Then you are just a mother. And if you are *just* a mother… are you allowed to have opinions on anything outside of the realm of baby food and burp cloths and stroller configurations?

I think a lot of these problems have arisen due to a silence. A silence about the truth of the experience of motherhood. Not the drivel that is shown on American sitcoms or reality television. Not even the sleepless nights or the stained clothes or the endless cooking and cleaning and washing and scrubbing… But the truth of the every day experience of the mother, the woman, the person. Maybe if we as a society recognised the truth in the role of the mother, there would be more acceptance, more assistance, more genuine interest in the woman behind the mother. The individual who is taking on one of the greatest most important roles she will ever play, without an ounce of training (or pay for that matter!).

Maybe then we would stop these ridiculous debates about whether a mother should breastfeed her child in public (yes, we are STILL debating this in 21st Century Australia and honestly, I’m ashamed) and we would focus more on the act of mothering from the perspective of the woman. Maybe then we would stop judging the mother in the supermarket who is saying “No” to the screaming child in front of the child-height chocolate stand… and we would make more appropriate cultural decisions on advertising and product placement. Maybe then we wouldn’t be selling juice with a baby teat attached to the top of it as a health drink for babies. Maybe then instead of being so quick to judge and we would be quick to offer help. Not advice. But help. Real help.

It’s hard to speak up, I think. To say, what I want or what I need is not in line with the societal expectation. Or even to just say, I’m not enjoying being a mother today. Or, this is the hardest job I’ve ever done… without first assuring everyone, I really love my child. Because of course you do, of course I do, we all do. I think it is rare to grow and birth a child without love and only another mother really understands that. How much you can love LOVE another person with all of your body and soul… but the role of mother, however it does change you, it does not define you, the woman.It does not make who you were before invisible. Even if society expects it to.

It’s something to think about. That’s for sure.

Feminism is not a dirty word.

13 Replies

I am a feminist.

There I said it. Loud and proud. And I don’t know why you wouldn’t be. I know lots of feminists. Some are little girls. Others are middle aged women. Some are men. Yes, men can be feminists too. Then I know lots of people who visibly shudder at the word. Women too. Shudder. Are you a feminist, I ask. God no, is their response.

And I can’t help but raise an eyebrow. How could you not be? I think. But I try so hard not to judge. So instead I posed the question to over 300 women that I have regular contact with (thank you internet). I asked these women if they would identify themselves as being a feminist (and why or why not). And the response I got was surprising.The majority of women who responded (well over 180 women) said No. But it wasn’t the No that surprised me most, as by looking around me at the world right now, it’s blindingly obvious that there are so many women out there who are not. It was the reasoning.

I would never burn my bra. I’m not really into all that stuff. Not all women can physically do what a man can do – equal work for equal pay doesn’t always make sense. I’m a humanist. Not a feminist. I’d rather be called an equalist, not a feminist…

And perhaps the most honest of all.

… I don’t even understand what it means.

And I think that’s where the primary problem is. There are hundreds of beautiful, educated, independent, strong minded and interesting women in my life… and the majority of them balk at the idea of feminism because they don’t understand what it means. The discussion on each of the threads I posted became focused on comparing a woman and a man and how much they are paid. Feminism is about so much more than that. Like general equality, having a voice, having the freedom of choice (no matter what that choice is), reproductive freedom, open conversation, awareness, education, forward thinking. It’s certainly not man-hating. There are many women out there that hate men, but that doesn’t make them feminists. Like so many other things in our life the media has controlled our understanding of something that is, fundamentally, so important.

As a young woman I was filled with doubt. I was told that I was dramatic. That women are emotional. That women are stupid. That a women should be afraid. I was taught by the world that women should have equal rights as men on paper, but that reality is different. That a woman’s opinion is not as valid as a mans. That a woman uses her body to get what she wants. That when a woman is impassioned about something, she is being emotional and it is most likely “that time of the month.”

As a young woman I was called a tease, I was taunted, I was bullied like most girls (and boys). The young women around me called each other sluts and whores and bitches. They hated on each other because women were the enemy. It was us against each other. Life was a competition. High school is a competitive place where girls line up to compare their clothes, their fashion, their bodies. Where boys wolf whistle and grope and laugh with their hands up the short skirts of their female classmates. Classmates who don’t know any better. Girls who think boys groping them somehow makes them popular. It makes them win.

In the adult world, I’ve found, girls are much like they were in high school. Life seems to be a competition. Who is bigger, better, thinner, pettier, richer. We still use those awful names for each other. It’s the media, yes, but it’s also our culture. It’s also us. 

I had bad things done to me. By men. By women. I lived it. I blamed myself. It was my fault. I was young. I was stupid. I was female. I felt worthless. I called myself a feminist before I even understood what it meant. I wasn’t. I wanted to be, but I wasn’t. I used to say, it’s my body, I’ll do with it what I like. I told myself I was being strong and in control. Saying yes isn’t always right. I thought if I always agreed, if I also went along, if I always did it… that no one could hurt me. But I was wrong. I could hurt me. I wasn’t free. I was being used by myself. I knew better. But I didn’t know how to be better. I was young. I was lost.

I’m not so young anymore. And even though I’m still lost most days. I know how I am and I know that I want to be better. Better for myself. Better for the world. And better for Bo.

Feminism is defined by the oxford dictionary as being: the advocacy of women’s rights on the ground of the equality of the sexes. To anyone who says that we live in an equal opportunity world, I call bullshit. To anyone who says that feminism isn’t needed any more, I want to show them the truth. The world is not an equal place. Australia, even with all of its equality is still patriarchal. It is still controlled by the male voice, even with a woman as the prime minister (just look at what WOMEN say about our FEMALE leader – look at the comments on her fashion, her dress, her hair, her relationship – where is the equality in that?). Women are still not taken as seriously. We have a long way to go. Even if the Australian system was perfect, and it is not, you don’t have to go far to see that women are still being treated as lesser creatures in many countries across the world. Is the well being, the safety and the basic human rights of these women not our responsibility. If you even have to question it, IT IS OUR RESPONSIBILITY. Not just us, the women, but us, the men and women, the people of the world. It is our responsibility to make change. Because that woman, she could have been you. If only you had been born somewhere else.

It’s a long road to learn to love ourselves again. To love the women around us. To change the voice in our head and the voice in our heart.

Feminism isn’t about man-hate. I love men. I have loved many men in my life, in many senses of the word love. Most of my close friends are male. Feminism isn’t about hating men (for hate of any kind is not something I would ever attach myself to). It is about loving women. Now, as a woman you might think that all women love women… because how can you not love what you are? Sadly enough this is not the case. The most women-hating behaviour I see? It comes from other women. Because women, in general, are not feminists.

A new wave of feminism is needed. A wave where we reestablish a sisterhood. We need to learn to love ourselves. Our sisters. Our children. To teach our sons and daughters that what’s between your legs doesn’t define you. I know this now.

I’ve never been much for labels. In fact I despise them. I push against them. But this label, Feminist, is one I’m proud to be attached to.  I’d be happy to wear across my chest every day of my life if I thought it would make a difference.

I am a feminist.

For her. For me. For us.

Because standing up for ourselves, is the very first step to standing up for the world around us. For those who don’t have a voice. Because women matter. Mothers matter. Daughters matter. Men matter. Sons matter. People matter regardless of gender, religion, race, age, education, economic status. And to be complacent to that fact is not good enough.

You matter.

xox

What are we so afraid of?

12 Replies

In Australia last week, not far from where Bo and I are living right now, a young girl was given detention for hugging a classmate. Hugging. A punishable offense apparently. I heard it on the radio and was instantly ashamed. Has it really come to this?

I’ve been thinking about it for the past week. It’s one of the few news stories that penetrate my sleep-deprived brain and for whatever reason, stick. I thought about it as I watched my niece and her best friend (both 16) hanging out together. And the beautiful affection that close friends have. The play fighting and the sharing of secrets. Those moments that make up our most coveted memories that we grasp for now, when those days are all but gone, and we are feeling nostalgic.

I did a quick Google to see if this sort of ridiculous thing was happening anywhere else. And what I found shocked me further. Kids being banned from doing handstands in the playground in Eastern Australia. Little boys in the USA being expelled for kissing games. Girls in Australia being kicked out of a concert for kissing each other. Boys and girls being policed all around the Western World. Childhoods being limited. But, for what.

Our new local area has it’s own Facebook page. Because, who doesn’t have a Facebook page these days? The page is designed to get local people buying and selling and passing on local news. But what it is truly used for is fear mongering. Only yesterday there was a woman who seemed genuinely concerned for her own safety. A group of wayward youths, she writes, are sitting on the curb on my street. And street drinking!! i think they are casing the joint out. A warning to all!! OH. MY. GOD. COME. ON. NOW. WOMAN!!

Is she for real? Yes. And apparently, many people agree with her and are also concerned. What is the world coming to?? They question. Have they already forgotten what it’s like to be a teenager? Have they already forgotten what it is to be young and carefree? What it is to sneak a bottle of beer or to pool your coins together with your friends to buy a cask of wine and to share it together, to have a day of silliness. Does this make kids criminals? I think not.

I was one of these wayward youths. We passed stolen cigarettes from chipped nailpolished fingers to ink stained ones. We laughed and we swore and we tested the boundaries. We may have also stolen many garden gnomes in a game we called “gnoming” and re-homed said gnomes in the early light of morning. We drank and we climbed trees and we played games. We were young… we were living and loving and full of good old fashioned teen angst and melodrama. We partied HARD. We kissed and fooled around and boxed and skated and  at the end of the weekend we all went home to our parents. Because even though we loved to pretend we were all grown up, we still knew we weren’t. We did lots of stupid things, but never did we do any of them with any kind of malice. We weren’t criminals. We were just experimenting hell out of life. We weren’t doing anyone (except for maybe our parents and the sleepless nights we caused) any harm.

I’ve worked with kids since I was a teenager. I’ve worked with teen theatre groups. I’ve worked as a nanny. I worked as a counselor at summer camp in Canada. Kids do some freaky stuff, that’s for sure. They push boundaries. They experiment. They do some disgusting things! But should there be rules to stop them from doing so? Imagine what your childhood would have been like without it all.

Why are kids being punished for enjoying the beautiful, carefree joy that youth brings. Why are we, the adults, so hell bent on policing kids? Too many rules is never a good thing. These are the best times of your life, people once told me, and in many ways they were right. Are we taking these “best-times” away from our kids? Is my kid going to be given detention; or worse perhaps, given that school days are still many moons away; for being affectionate in the playground. If hugs are outlawed between girl-friends (or boyfriends, or young couples, or whoever), what’s next? What about kiss chasey in primary school? What about that first awkward kiss behind the sheds in high school? What about holding hands with your first boyfriend? What about passing notes to your best friend or holding her hand when she feels crappy… If these kids grow up with rules outlawing some of the most simple of childhood pleasures… I tend to think that the level of rebellion may lead to more harm than good.

I don’t know about you but when I was growing up I did everything that I was told not to do. And then I did it again. And again… and again. Are there mistakes I made? Absolutely. Are there times I wish I had chosen differently, in hindsight. Yes, sure there are. But those mistakes (and the consequences of said mistakes) were mine, and mine alone. And I learned a thousand times from them. I learned what it is to be human.

Paranoia and fear are infectious. They spread like a plague. I get fear. I truly do. And being a parent has instilled this kind of constant low level fear in me that will probably never truly go away. I absolutely understand being afraid that something will happen to your child. I get it with every fibre of my being. Since Bo was born, in fact, since the moment I saw those little blue lines appear on the stick… I’ve had moments of weakness where I let my imagination play out all of the horrific things that could possibly happen to this little being that I love more than anything, more than anyone, in this world. I have moments where I torture myself by playing these twisted movies through my mind and more often than not when the tears begin to well in my eyes I scold myself and I try desperately to move my mind on to other things. I get it.

It can be a scary world at times. But I think that the scariest thing about the world right now is that we have so much access to it. The world is scarier because we know more. We see more. The media plays into our fear. Our governments rely on our fear. When afraid, we are easier to control. The people. The masses. The subordinate. We are taunted continuously by the media with the awful things that happen to people in this world. The rape and the murder. The hurt and the pain. The war and the famine. The death and the poverty. We are taught to fear it all. We are taught to fear each other, to fear ourselves.

But life is often loud and dirty and painful and sexy. And you do not need to be frightened of it to be informed. I don’t want Bo to be afraid. I want her to be fearless, informed, educated and to know when rules are meant to be broken, to know when she should dive on in and take a risk, and when to stand back. Understanding limits that are her own, not limits that have been placed on her because of a mass induced fear.

It is this blinding fear that separates us from each other. Blind fear is what creates terrorism. It separates us because of our race, our religion, our sex. It separates men and women, adults and children and every day I find it separates us from ourselves.

For us to come together.And coming together is what we need in this fast paced, technological, hard-ass world. We need to stop being so afraid for no reason. I truly believe that the world is not a bad place. It’s a beautiful place full of happiness and hope and love. There is so much wonder that is being lost. Culture that is being forgotten. Joy that is being forsaken. For what??

What are we so afraid of anyway?

 

Don’t hate the haters… hate the game.

2 Replies

In this past week I lost something that is (was) to me a safe place. Yes it may have been on the internet… and yes to some people that isn’t as “real” as other things. But I still mourned it. The way I have lived my life for so many years the internet has been a safe common place for me. Whether I was in a rat infested hovel in India or being eaten alive by mosquitoes in the jungles of Borneo, the internet gave me a sense of connection to the world that I seemed so hell bent on running away from. The internet is a place where I work and socialise. This may seem sad to some people, and some days it does to me too… but the world is a crazy place now, technology rules and we are all connected yet completely disconnected from one another all the time.

I digress.

I faced, once more, the negativity and hurt that can come from misspoken words and stubbornness. I saw friends get hurt on both sides of an argument. I watched as names, petty, hurtful names, were thrown around as if we were children in the playground testing the boundaries of the real world. But this is the real world. These are real people, with feelings. I made a decision to step away from it all. To step back so that I could retain the love and the respect I had for each of the individuals involved. So that I could protect my relationships, each separate relationship – to do that, I lost the whole.This post isn’t about what happened though. The event that took place did so in a private place, a safe place that is respected and the last thing anyone needs is it to be publicly discussed any further than it already has been.

But this event, it reminded me of something that it is easy to forget both as an individual and as a parent. It reminded me of the responsibility we all have over ourselves. Our own happiness and the affect that we have on each other and more so the incredible affect we have on our children. I looked at Bo a lot this week, wondering who she would turn into. What sort of adult she will be. What sort of woman she will be. Will she be strong? Will she be feisty or argumentative? Will she be calm? Will she have a short fuse or will she be patient. How many of these characteristics are already in built into her and how many are given, like gifts, as a direct result of the behaviour that she is surrounded by. Her fathers behaviour. His choices. The way he talks to her and to me. And mine. How much will her friends influence her? How will her first boyfriend shape her? How will her siblings (which I truly hope she has) change her? I know that all of these people; friends, parents, siblings, lovers, teachers; had an incredible influence on me. Both good and bad. Shaping and changing me throughout my life. But some of this. Some of who I am, must have been there when I was born… But more of it, more of it was choices of others that turned into choices I made again, later down the track.

When a baby is born they know nothing of fear. They know not of discrimination, they don’t understand bigotry, sexism or elitism. They don’t know that in our world we are classed in a system. Where some of us are more valued than others. Babies don’t know. Babies don’t know trust or love or respect. They know not of cruelty or homophobia or injustice. They don’t know pain or joy or friendship. They have no understanding of empathy or decency or the difference between the truth and a lie. They will learn all of these things, throughout their life. And the very first person they will learn it from is us, their parents.

What sort of teacher are you?

We walk this path of life alone. Together. Each of us with our own path to tread, our own decisions to be made our own mistakes to learn from. But we are never alone. We are standing right beside each other. Instead of fighting it. Instead of judging, if we banded together. Truly banded together not only would be set a better example for our children… we would be better for it in ourselves, too. Motherhood, or perhaps life in general, is a gift. A terribly difficult, rewarding, painful gift. No choice you make can take that gift away.

This game of competition that has been built around us. This world of judgement. It’s not actually necessary. We don’t have to be like that. We have learned it. We learned it from the people around us as we grew up, but we don’t need to pass all of it on. Haters don’t mean to be haters. Maybe they just don’t know any better. Maybe they are scared and lonely and unsupported. Maybe we can never know enough about anyone to ever truly place judgement upon them.

What do you think… is it possible? Is a utopian world where women stand side by side with other women, in support and in love and in trust… is it possible?How will any of this affect my daughter? How will this change her? Who will she be?

Don’t hate the haters ladies. Hate the game. Hate it enough to change it, together, because together is the only way that it will change.

xox

Open for transformation.

2 Replies

Today I look in the mirror and this is what I see. I see age where before there was only youth. I see exhaustion and dehydration and not enough self-care. But do you know what else I see? A blank canvas.

Sometimes it is hard for us, as women (and perhaps men, but I wouldn’t know), to truly accept who we are without all the trimmings. Our world (our peer group too) is so hell bent on making us feel shitty about ourselves that we take it as a given. We shouldn’t love the way we look. It’s like it’s written in some rule book about life. I don’t want this for my daughter. I want her to know that even when she’s having a down moment, even when she doesn’t love the way she looks in the mirror… that those feelings, that niggling little voice in the back of her mind, it has nothing to do with her self worth. That she can, albeit perhaps not entirely (in a perfect world, right?), overcome it.

Having lived on the edge of the world for almost three years, I have lost any sense of self-style. I’m not talking about magazines or trends or fashion. I’m talking about me. Who I am, how I like to dress, how I express myself on the outside. In the village I wore t-shirts and jeans every day for years. I wore clothes that were practical, comfortable and culturally respectful. I simplified my life before I left on my trip, I donated most of my belongings to charity keeping only those things that held true significance to me. I packed away the styled things I thought would be important to me when I returned. Many of them, three years later, I now have no idea why I kept. My style has changed… I don’t know what it is, but it isn’t what it was before. I have changed. I have grown up. I left a 20-something kid, searching for inspiration, for freedom and for life. I came back a wife and a mother.

I got an email from one of the lovely editors at, The Conversation (an online publication that I write for), who said she’d been looking through my blog and wondered if  would be interested in writing a piece for her on style. I almost fell off my chair. She said, you have great style! Would you like to write about it? And I spat water across my computer.

What style? I said. I will write a style article for The Conversation. But not this week. I will write about transformation. About how I lost my style and how after three years I rediscovered myself, my style and my feet in this wild world.

You have to be open and ready to accept change. And in this area of my life, change is necessary for growth.

I am now, as I always have been, open for transformation.

Bring it on.

xox

The winner of the Ergobaby Doll Carrier competition is: Amber Lee. Congratulations Amber!! Your email address has been passed on to Babes in Arms and they will be in touch shortly to get your address for delivery. Thanks everyone who entered!!!

Controversies, compliments and giving praise…

15 Replies

A few weeks ago Dr Peggy Drexler published on Huff Post a pretty controversial thought provoking piece on compliments and how the habit of “over-complimenting” our children is creating generations of spot-light babies who don’t know their own self worth if they aren’t praised. In The Key to Raising Confident Kids? Stop Complimenting Them! she writes:

They grow up placing their self-worth in that praise: If I’m not told I’m beautiful, she’ll start to think, then I must not be.

I read the article, then I reread it. Then I sat back and I thought. And I thought. And I thought… Hell no. I do not agree. At all. I am pretty new to this parenting gig and in no way do I see myself as any kind of parenting expert… I am not an expert on my own little fire-cracker so I could never claim to be anything but a novice in the general parenting world. What I am an expert at is the hard knocks that life deals out. I’ve experienced more than a few in my relatively short 26 (almost 27) years of life. And you know what? Compliments feel good, encouragement is awesome and knowing that the one person who is supposed to have your back in life (your mama) has your back and thinks you’re super amazing is sometimes the only thing that you have to fall back on. When you fall hard, it’s nice to have that little bit of cushioning to break your fall.

Drexler writes:

But how often do we find ourselves saying “great job!” to the 4-year-old who cleans up her crayons after a coloring session? Or to the 8-year-old who finishes his broccoli? By dishing out praise to a child for doing things she should be doing anyway, we teach her that she gets rewarded just for being…

Research with children and families has indeed told us that praise has the opposite intended effect. It does not make children work harder, or do better. In fact, kids who are told they’re bright and talented are easily discouraged when something is “too difficult;” those who are not praised in such a manner are more motivated to work harder and take on greater challenges. The unpraised, in turn, show higher levels of confidence, while overpraised are more likely to lie to make their performances sound better. Praise becomes like a drug: once they get it, they need it, want it, are unable to function without it.

I’m not sure where this research comes from, I for one would like to read it as I don’t believe it nor do I support it. Does this mean that praising my little person for learning to crawl, for standing up on her own is going to turn her into an under achiever who pretends to be an over achiever? When I’m having trouble getting her to sleep and she does, she sleeps for five hours (IN A ROW) and I meet her with open arms a smile and a “good job” – I’m doing her some sort of disservice? I think perhaps that is absurd a little extreme.Praising a child for good behaviour, we aren’t talking about rewarding them with a new toy or chocolate bar for behaviour that is expected but words. WORDS! Positive, wonderful words from a parent who loves them. I can’t see much wrong with that. Life is hard, life knocks you down and covers you in bruises and tears and awful days where you just don’t want to get up and try again. Life tells you that you aren’t good enough all the time. That you aren’t pretty enough, smart enough, strong enough, brave enough… As Bo’s mama I want her to know that I am here, that I think she is wonderful in every way, even when things aren’t super shiny and perfect. I have written about this before HERE. I want her to know that even though she is MY number one, that she is no better than or worthy than any other child in the world – no more important than any other person whether they be rich or poor, young or old, male or female no matter their race, religion or beliefs. But that this goes the other way too. I want her to know that she is EQUAL, that she has rights and that she should stand up for her own rights and even more importantly for the rights of others. This things are MY job as her Mama. These are my lessons to teach her. How can I do that if I can’t empower her through words and joyful, loving praise?

What happened to Empowerment? Isn’t it taught through balance? Helpful, constructive criticism is important, that’s part of learning but so is praise. Praise for trying. When a child falls down, and gets up and tries again… is this not praise worthy? I’m not saying everyone should get a trophy, I’m saying that we could perhaps encourage children to forget about the trophy and concentrate on the skill, the joy, the journey. We live in a culture that is so focused on the end result that we often forget that all of the experience lies in the journey itself. We are raising children in an era where they are told they must be “the very best” at everything. Much like we are told we must be “the very best” at raising them. Can’t we all just take the pressure off? Only praising a child when they are “the best” – isn’t that just reiterating this awful competitive lifestyle we seem to be all trying to stay afloat in?

Praise isn’t going to stop a child from becoming a confident, grounded, earthy human being. Can’t we praise children for being the wonderful unique people that they are. This of course needs to come hand in hand with teaching a child that although they may be the center of your (the parent) universe they are one person in a big world and to have empathy, respect and genuine interest in the people around them, but as far as I’m concerned that’s a given. Right?

As an adult I have struggled with self esteem. As a woman I have struggled with self image. I feel better about myself when I make the effort to do positive things well. I want to teach Bo to do the same. I want her to know that she is appreciated, that she has potential and that her effort is noticed and that she did a good job. Children are so full of hope and light and love, they naturally want to please and to impress – I’d be very careful when it comes to encouraging that to be quashed.

I will not stop trying to empower my daughter through encouragement and praise. I will praise her for the wonderful things she does. I will praise her for trying new things and encourage her to try again when she will undoubtedly fall down. Like the little girl she is know pulling herself up on furniture, looking around to see a smiling face. When she catches my eye and I smile at her, she beams from ear to ear. She tries to let go, she teeters for a moment and then she falls. Hitting her bottom on the floor. She catches my eye again. I smile. Instead of crying, she smiles. And she tries again. In my world, that’s a win.

Embrace the positive, embrace the love and the joy and the praise and remove all of this negativity. Why the hell not?

For the record, I don’t think there is all that much wrong with being praised just for being – especially by ones parent. I often praise myself for creating such a little person – she’s bloody gorgeous. I’m her mama and if I can’t say to her you are the most spectacular little creature in the whole world, just because – then who will? I want her to be loved that way… I think we should all be loved that way by at least a few people in our lives.

Do you think we should stop praising our children?