So, those consequences I mentioned earlier. I never really did get to those did I? Well there are two. One of them has come up in my past and isn't a surprise. One I wasn't quite prepared for.
When one person wants kids and the other doesn't, either one of them compromises and gives up something important or they have to break up. I have watched this video exactly once. And it made me bawl. Just finding it for you for this post, I didn't even let it play. This is something that has actually happened to me.
To breed or not to breed. This is understandably a deal breaker in relationships. I've always found it important to be upfront about this sort of thing right from the beginning. For the sake of any future partners so they know what they're getting into and for my own sake. I remember how much it hurt to be broken up with because I don't want children. It's not so much a blow to the ego, it's not me that's the problem, it's my choice. And in this circumstance, no matter how much it really hurts, I can't fault or hate the other person for not wanting to give up what they want.
I will never expect anyone to compromise or give up on something they want because I don't. That's not fair and I wouldn't do it for anyone else. As the title of these posts has been suggesting, reevaluation does not equal compromise or giving in. It's been a long time since a relationship ended for this reason. A really long time and I have learned so much about myself, other people and relationships since then.
I've learned that just because you disagree on this point does not mean you can never speak to each other again or that you can't be friends. Not wanting to make babies or vice versa is no reason to cut someone out of your life if they're special to you in any way.
It is hard to find a partner who really doesn't want kids. If a person has even thought they might want them they probably do, eventually. Dating at my age (not terribly old but getting there) means that a fair number of the available dating pool want or probably already have kids. I know that the 30s are the new 20s. It's completely true, I've had more fun in the last four years than I ever really did in my 20s.
The other unexpected consequence is age. People always told me when I was much younger that I didn't want kids then, but I'd change my mind when I got older. It was always something said with the tone of trying to either excuse my behaviour (as if I were just misguided or idealistic) or to make themselves feel better about it.
I haven't changed my mind, but I am older now. No one uses that excuse to dismiss my choice to not have children anymore. Because I am older, I guess they believe me now. Here's the thing, I'm 34 and damn close to 35. I've been on The Pill for 13-14 years now. I can't just skip it next month in an effort to get pregnant to beat the biological clock if I had a sudden repentant, desperate urge. If I changed my mind it would take time to reset. I can't spin on a dime and do it. But do I want to face the prospect of having a child at 36 or 37? Scary, isn't it?
I know it's not impossible to have children late in life, but it's not always wise to do so. That window of time for me to ever change my mind is getting smaller and smaller. I'd be a much wiser parent now than I would have been if I'd started this a decade ago, so there's that. On the other hand, there's a certain amount of patience and energy needed to raise a small child. If I'm pushing 40 is that something I want to be doing?
Here I am talking as if I'm already a senior citizen or as if I've changed my mind. But these are the practical things that have occurred to me this time around in reevaluating this decision. I said in the last post that, for now, I am prepared to regret this decision. And when I say this, as I get older I'm starting to become more and more aware that I might regret this decision.
I was asked, "what have you got against kids?" There's a list, but for the sake of brevity, I'm prevented from breeding by a complete avoidance of pain, squickiness and because I am at this time unwilling to change my lifestyle to accomodate a child. It wouldn't be the end of my life, but it would spell the end of the current life and the start of a different one.
Am I tired of living alone? Am I tired of being able to stay out as long as I want and sleep as late as I need to? Am I tired of not having dependants and disposable income? Am I tired of parties and community theatre? Of course I have many friends with children and they are not prevented from having/doing ... most of these things.
The only pressure I have in this is from myself, which is as it should be. I hear other women talk about their children and about how upset they would be if they don't get grandchildren, that they would harass and harangue their children until they had children. Because they want them to whether their children want to or not. As if their children owe it to them. There's the pointless argument, that what if my mother didn't want kids. Well I wouldn't exist and we wouldn't be having this discussion, would we?
I find this time around time is offering me external pressure to either keep this up or give in. I'm probably far too stubborn to change my mind. But will I still be so proud at my strong will to go against the grain when I'm too old to change my mind? This is something that hadn't occurred to me before. When I was younger I didn't think about being old, I didn't think about my future much or what life would be like at this point. What goals I'd have (historically, none) and where I would want to be going.
I want to make one thing absolutely clear. Regardless of what choice I make I am doing this for myself and no one else.
Friday, 28 December 2012
Thursday, 27 December 2012
Reevaluating Does Not Equal Compromise or Caving In Part II
I broke these up because I knew I'd need more time for the second half. You thought marriage in the modern age and feminism was heavy for the holidays? Try coming over here and holding on to this any time of the year.
"Just because one can, is no reason that they should."
I was born a female and I come fully equipped with all the working female bits, no assembly required. Though no one thought to ever buy batteries to put in my biological clock. This intro presupposes that maternal instinct and the desire to make babies are not included in the base model.
Since I was twelve, I have not wanted to have kids. I can't properly articulate the screaming heebie-jeebies I get at the thought of gestating a living human being in my body, birthing it and then breast feeding it. It's a life long commitment that I've never felt prepared to make. And I'm not alone in this. We all have our reasons.
Here are a few of mine and their dire consequences.
There are enough people on this planet already, seriously. We are not in danger of dying out as a species. I also think about the state of the world and whether or not we can all get our collective shit together as a species and fix this place for future generations. I might be more invested in this change for the adults of the future if I had my own, but I have a niece and nephew for that and I adore them. Especially now that they're a little older and I can rationalize with them like tiny adults.
I don't hate children. I don't want to have a whole bunch of them either. The only living creatures I'm responsible for are my house plants and I've specifically selected hardy ones that require little to no effort from me. If they live? Awesome. If not, well I won't shed a tear. Of course children and even pets are not the same as house plants. I say this to illustrate my willingness to have something be completely dependant on me for sustenance. I am fiercely independent, some might say stubborn, I expect those in my charge to take accountability for themselves, hell even my favourite plant was chosen for it's ability to take moisture from the air to keep itself alive. Babies cannot do this. Toddlers cannot do this. Adolescents, some teenagers and a lot of adults cannot do this.
Don't get me wrong, babies can be adorable and they are really fun to photograph (when they're still) I've discovered. I don't think I've even held a baby. I think I might have held my nephew for a whole three minutes when he was an infant, but he cried almost immediately. My instinct wasn't to comfort or console him, it was to give him back to his mother. I have never changed a diaper. I cannot deal with drool and spit up. I envy babies' ability to just gob all over their faces without a care in the world, but internally I want to throw up at the sight of it. I'm not even keen on my own drool. I can deal with my own bodily fluids, but other people's? Even an infant. I... I just can't.
You may be saying to yourself that's not a good enough reason and once you become a parent, you stop caring about that stuff, it becomes unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Just like the pain of labour. Horse hockey. I've had kidney stones, right up there with the same level of pain so I'm told. True, I'm not feeling it any more and I didn't die, but it's not something I'd volunteer to feel again, no matter what rewards might await me.
If kids hatched from pods potty trained and with all their teeth I might reconsider. I don't balk at the notion of shaping a human being to be an awesome member of society. I think I'd make a pretty kick-ass mom, I really do. Seriously. Creepy as this sounds children are so much easier to mould and manipulate than adults. I don't mean manipulate in the negative sense, but in the sense that I could teach them to be decent caring human beings much easier than I could with another adult. A lot of grown ups aren't as maleable. This reason all by itself is not a good enough reason to birth a child.
Now, whether or not you think my reasons (or anyone else's reasons) are "valid" is not the argument I'm trying to make here. If I may borrow from the ever witty Adam Savage, I reject your value judgements and substitute my own. The other reason for this massive, multi-part post is the consequences of my choices.
Only those who really want to raise children, and can devote all the time money and love to it that they can should have children. There are already so many children in existence that were never really wanted. And that's a fate I wouldn't wish on any enemy. To be unwanted, neglected and not loved with any sincerity is a terrible thing to do to a member of your family, especially one that you made (almost) by yourself from scratch.
Most would consider me lucky to not be barren, I could have kids if I wanted. And for those who cannot have children and also desperately want them... I won't pretend to understand your sorrow at this loss until I'm old enough to regret my choice. But that's just it. This is a choice I get to make and for now, its a choice I am prepared to regret. Let that sink in for a moment. I'll wait.
It's a hard one for a lot of women and a good chunk of men to understand as well. This isn't just about the choice to abort a pregnancy if I want to. This is about choosing a path, this is about choosing to be pregnant, to become a mother on purpose. And it is one of the most important choices I will ever make in my life. So it deserves occasional reevaluation, revisions, and testing. It is always there in the back of my mind, like a peacefully hibernating bear. Every so often I or someone else pokes it with a sharp stick. I like to live dangerously.
Not long ago a woman who chose not to have children was probably going to become a nun or there was something wrong with her in the head. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm almost sure there was a category for it in the older versions of the DSM, right along with homosexuality. It wasn't natural for a female of the species to not want offspring because it's what we are "equipped" to do. Isn't that a woman's role in keeping the human race going? A woman is more than just her ability to reproduce. Whether she simply can't or isn't willing to. And I will always believe that.
Heavy? I'm just getting warmed up.
Part III is coming.
"Just because one can, is no reason that they should."
I was born a female and I come fully equipped with all the working female bits, no assembly required. Though no one thought to ever buy batteries to put in my biological clock. This intro presupposes that maternal instinct and the desire to make babies are not included in the base model.
Since I was twelve, I have not wanted to have kids. I can't properly articulate the screaming heebie-jeebies I get at the thought of gestating a living human being in my body, birthing it and then breast feeding it. It's a life long commitment that I've never felt prepared to make. And I'm not alone in this. We all have our reasons.
Here are a few of mine and their dire consequences.
There are enough people on this planet already, seriously. We are not in danger of dying out as a species. I also think about the state of the world and whether or not we can all get our collective shit together as a species and fix this place for future generations. I might be more invested in this change for the adults of the future if I had my own, but I have a niece and nephew for that and I adore them. Especially now that they're a little older and I can rationalize with them like tiny adults.
I don't hate children. I don't want to have a whole bunch of them either. The only living creatures I'm responsible for are my house plants and I've specifically selected hardy ones that require little to no effort from me. If they live? Awesome. If not, well I won't shed a tear. Of course children and even pets are not the same as house plants. I say this to illustrate my willingness to have something be completely dependant on me for sustenance. I am fiercely independent, some might say stubborn, I expect those in my charge to take accountability for themselves, hell even my favourite plant was chosen for it's ability to take moisture from the air to keep itself alive. Babies cannot do this. Toddlers cannot do this. Adolescents, some teenagers and a lot of adults cannot do this.
Don't get me wrong, babies can be adorable and they are really fun to photograph (when they're still) I've discovered. I don't think I've even held a baby. I think I might have held my nephew for a whole three minutes when he was an infant, but he cried almost immediately. My instinct wasn't to comfort or console him, it was to give him back to his mother. I have never changed a diaper. I cannot deal with drool and spit up. I envy babies' ability to just gob all over their faces without a care in the world, but internally I want to throw up at the sight of it. I'm not even keen on my own drool. I can deal with my own bodily fluids, but other people's? Even an infant. I... I just can't.
You may be saying to yourself that's not a good enough reason and once you become a parent, you stop caring about that stuff, it becomes unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Just like the pain of labour. Horse hockey. I've had kidney stones, right up there with the same level of pain so I'm told. True, I'm not feeling it any more and I didn't die, but it's not something I'd volunteer to feel again, no matter what rewards might await me.
If kids hatched from pods potty trained and with all their teeth I might reconsider. I don't balk at the notion of shaping a human being to be an awesome member of society. I think I'd make a pretty kick-ass mom, I really do. Seriously. Creepy as this sounds children are so much easier to mould and manipulate than adults. I don't mean manipulate in the negative sense, but in the sense that I could teach them to be decent caring human beings much easier than I could with another adult. A lot of grown ups aren't as maleable. This reason all by itself is not a good enough reason to birth a child.
Now, whether or not you think my reasons (or anyone else's reasons) are "valid" is not the argument I'm trying to make here. If I may borrow from the ever witty Adam Savage, I reject your value judgements and substitute my own. The other reason for this massive, multi-part post is the consequences of my choices.
Only those who really want to raise children, and can devote all the time money and love to it that they can should have children. There are already so many children in existence that were never really wanted. And that's a fate I wouldn't wish on any enemy. To be unwanted, neglected and not loved with any sincerity is a terrible thing to do to a member of your family, especially one that you made (almost) by yourself from scratch.
Most would consider me lucky to not be barren, I could have kids if I wanted. And for those who cannot have children and also desperately want them... I won't pretend to understand your sorrow at this loss until I'm old enough to regret my choice. But that's just it. This is a choice I get to make and for now, its a choice I am prepared to regret. Let that sink in for a moment. I'll wait.
It's a hard one for a lot of women and a good chunk of men to understand as well. This isn't just about the choice to abort a pregnancy if I want to. This is about choosing a path, this is about choosing to be pregnant, to become a mother on purpose. And it is one of the most important choices I will ever make in my life. So it deserves occasional reevaluation, revisions, and testing. It is always there in the back of my mind, like a peacefully hibernating bear. Every so often I or someone else pokes it with a sharp stick. I like to live dangerously.
Not long ago a woman who chose not to have children was probably going to become a nun or there was something wrong with her in the head. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm almost sure there was a category for it in the older versions of the DSM, right along with homosexuality. It wasn't natural for a female of the species to not want offspring because it's what we are "equipped" to do. Isn't that a woman's role in keeping the human race going? A woman is more than just her ability to reproduce. Whether she simply can't or isn't willing to. And I will always believe that.
Heavy? I'm just getting warmed up.
Part III is coming.
Wednesday, 26 December 2012
Reevaluation Does Not Equal Compromise or Caving In: Part I
A few words recently sparked a giant shit storm of thinking in the wee hours this morning (Dec 24). It had started before I went to sleep, I managed to quiet it down or just go to sleep from exhaustion. Then my brain decided it would be a good idea to snap out of whatever unrelated thing I was pleasantly dreaming about at 4:30 am and start thinking good and hard about those words. Whether I wanted to or not and kept me up the rest of the day. Ever try Christmas Eve on 4 hours of sleep or less? My advice is: don't.
I had a fantastic conversation last night (Sunday). It was intelligent, ideas and analogies were bandied about, a few more bits and bobs about personal experiences and getting to know each other just a little more. Two interesting topics came up. Child bearing and marriage. I saw the child bearing discussion as something I really didn't want to tackle two days before the holiday (my brain was going to do that anyway on its own). Marriage on the other hand had a good discussion.
I am super keen on marriage. I don't entirely get the whole notion of western wedding traditions like rings and bridal showers etc. I completely understand the idea of throwing a hell of a shindig afterward to celebrate. Love is something that should absolutely be celebrated since it seems to be so rare to me. Granted, I'm not really girly, but I love an excuse to dress to the nines, look fabulous and be the centre of attention for a day. I completely get that. It's everything that comes with it, all the external expectations. Like who to invite and of those who can you afford to feed? Showers, stag and doe parties, bachelor parties, all that excess. That's the part I don't get, but I heartily celebrate in anyway that a bride or groom I know wants to celebrate because they want me to share in their joy and dammit, I'm going to.
I'm super keen on marriage, but I could never picture myself actually doing it and it's not a fear of commitment, no it's just that it seems so unlikely, to happen again. I was proposed to exactly once. I said yes and then we just just kind of didn't get around to it. It became a bit of a joke, though in retrospect I'm glad that's how it worked out since he was a free-loading moron, but I digress. I was not the little girl that dreamed of a prince charming to sweep her off her feet and have a huge, romantic (there's that word again) ceremony. I don't claim to be able to see the future, but simply visualizing myself walking down the aisle... I just can't, it doesn't seem to fit.
And so I explained this during our conversation. Marriage is cool and all, I'm all for finding that one person I could spend the rest of or at least a significant portion of my life with. I just don't go in for all the pomp and circumstance around it. And this was not even the heaviest part of our conversation.
There's the heavy handed, down with the patriarchy feminism that proudly proclaims "I don't need a man" in the old traditional sense. I don't, I can take care of myself just fine thank you very much. And there's a place for that shade of feminism, but it clashes with my being a human being that seeks companionship with a man.
I've been asked by people - co-workers, new friends, extended family - whether or not I'm married, why not and whether I could ever consider it. I am the oldest, unmarried grandchild on both sides of my family. That just occurred to me right now. I've always outwardly eschewed the notion that I should have to get married and if I wasn't married after all this time, then there might be something wrong with me. Which is depressing so I threw on this persona of being the proud Black Sheep, different for the sake of being different. The young, intelligent, and independent woman. I don't need a man, I'm awesome just the way I am. Right?
Yes. That is right. Sometimes it's more of a persona than others. Humans are social creatures, we seek companionship. Even asexuals seek companionship (as I learned from the aforementioned documentary). Sometimes behind that Proud Black Sheep and the young independent modern woman persona is a person worried about becoming a spinster and dying alone.
Heavy.
What would I compromise to not die alone? Some of my independence? I do so enjoy having only my own space and mess to worry about, but who's going to pick up after me when I can't? Big scary joint financial ventures like buying and maintaining a home? Maybe, it's not like I haven't considered that all on my own (can't afford it, but I think about it). Personal values? Nearly life long convictions? Touchy subject that.
Stay tuned for Part II.
I had a fantastic conversation last night (Sunday). It was intelligent, ideas and analogies were bandied about, a few more bits and bobs about personal experiences and getting to know each other just a little more. Two interesting topics came up. Child bearing and marriage. I saw the child bearing discussion as something I really didn't want to tackle two days before the holiday (my brain was going to do that anyway on its own). Marriage on the other hand had a good discussion.
I am super keen on marriage. I don't entirely get the whole notion of western wedding traditions like rings and bridal showers etc. I completely understand the idea of throwing a hell of a shindig afterward to celebrate. Love is something that should absolutely be celebrated since it seems to be so rare to me. Granted, I'm not really girly, but I love an excuse to dress to the nines, look fabulous and be the centre of attention for a day. I completely get that. It's everything that comes with it, all the external expectations. Like who to invite and of those who can you afford to feed? Showers, stag and doe parties, bachelor parties, all that excess. That's the part I don't get, but I heartily celebrate in anyway that a bride or groom I know wants to celebrate because they want me to share in their joy and dammit, I'm going to.
I'm super keen on marriage, but I could never picture myself actually doing it and it's not a fear of commitment, no it's just that it seems so unlikely, to happen again. I was proposed to exactly once. I said yes and then we just just kind of didn't get around to it. It became a bit of a joke, though in retrospect I'm glad that's how it worked out since he was a free-loading moron, but I digress. I was not the little girl that dreamed of a prince charming to sweep her off her feet and have a huge, romantic (there's that word again) ceremony. I don't claim to be able to see the future, but simply visualizing myself walking down the aisle... I just can't, it doesn't seem to fit.
And so I explained this during our conversation. Marriage is cool and all, I'm all for finding that one person I could spend the rest of or at least a significant portion of my life with. I just don't go in for all the pomp and circumstance around it. And this was not even the heaviest part of our conversation.
There's the heavy handed, down with the patriarchy feminism that proudly proclaims "I don't need a man" in the old traditional sense. I don't, I can take care of myself just fine thank you very much. And there's a place for that shade of feminism, but it clashes with my being a human being that seeks companionship with a man.
I've been asked by people - co-workers, new friends, extended family - whether or not I'm married, why not and whether I could ever consider it. I am the oldest, unmarried grandchild on both sides of my family. That just occurred to me right now. I've always outwardly eschewed the notion that I should have to get married and if I wasn't married after all this time, then there might be something wrong with me. Which is depressing so I threw on this persona of being the proud Black Sheep, different for the sake of being different. The young, intelligent, and independent woman. I don't need a man, I'm awesome just the way I am. Right?
Yes. That is right. Sometimes it's more of a persona than others. Humans are social creatures, we seek companionship. Even asexuals seek companionship (as I learned from the aforementioned documentary). Sometimes behind that Proud Black Sheep and the young independent modern woman persona is a person worried about becoming a spinster and dying alone.
Heavy.
What would I compromise to not die alone? Some of my independence? I do so enjoy having only my own space and mess to worry about, but who's going to pick up after me when I can't? Big scary joint financial ventures like buying and maintaining a home? Maybe, it's not like I haven't considered that all on my own (can't afford it, but I think about it). Personal values? Nearly life long convictions? Touchy subject that.
Stay tuned for Part II.
Friday, 21 December 2012
Wait, what?
This hurts my brain a little lot. The Iowa Supreme Court upheld a decision of a male dentist to fire a female employee at his wife's request because she was attractive and could have caused further sexual tension or even *gasp* an affair.
Here's the story from the wire should you wish to have your brain hurt as much as mine does. This panel of judges are all patting themselves on the back for making the decision and claiming it had nothing at all to do with gender. I have little faith that the same ruling would have been upheld if any of the gender roles were reversed or if the genders were the same. Actually I'm quite sure that if the man in question had been attracted to a male employee, he would have found some other reason to fire him and this would never had hit the news wire.
This whole fiasco is entirely about gender. Reading the article it comes about that the man in question had actually sexually harassed the woman before firing her, but there wasn't a complaint made, since she wasn't offended. Personally, I would have been offended by some of the remarks quoted in the article, specifically if they were coming from my boss unsolicited.
What this ruling sets a precedent for is that it's okay for a male employee to think and act with his penis then fire the object of his desire instead of using some manner of self-restraint or applying the ability to do some soul searching about why he might be thinking about having an affair.
"Oh, please Iowa Supreme court, please take pity on this lowly middle aged professional and protect me from the dangerous feminine wiles of my own employees (and their wardrobes) who've never even blatantly flirted with me. Because I have no self-control and can't think with anything other than my dick. Save me from having to save myself. Oh, and my wife is jealous, so let's make this about the law and not about avoiding a difficult conversation with her."
That sum it up?
First, the terms of someone's employment should not be entirely contingent on their employers ability to keep it in/out of their pants and/or to keep their desires in check.
Second, the only person responsible for the stability of a marriage is the two people involved in it. If your partner can't keep their libido in check at the workplace where it absolutely must remain in check, the solution is not to fire all the pretty employees. The solution is to confront your partner, have a rational discussion and maybe even separate if need be.
Third, the whole notion of 'hooray we're not sexist because this isn't about gender because we said so therefore it's true', bull shit? Uphold the same ruling for a different mix of genders and I will believe you. Until then, the all-male panel of judges are full of crap. Dear Iowa judges, congratulations for trying on a little feminism but you're doing it completely ass backwards.
Fourth, this makes slut shaming kind of legal. Apparently the woman who was fired wore 'tight clothing'. So this is all her fault? How about NO. Wearing tight or revealing clothing is NEVER an invitation for harassment of any kind and it shouldn't be the basis for legally firing someone for being too attractive.
I think that's enough anger and brain hurting for one day. It's the holidays after all and I've picked up a cold from somewhere. Though I forgot about it for a moment in my ranting...
Here's the story from the wire should you wish to have your brain hurt as much as mine does. This panel of judges are all patting themselves on the back for making the decision and claiming it had nothing at all to do with gender. I have little faith that the same ruling would have been upheld if any of the gender roles were reversed or if the genders were the same. Actually I'm quite sure that if the man in question had been attracted to a male employee, he would have found some other reason to fire him and this would never had hit the news wire.
This whole fiasco is entirely about gender. Reading the article it comes about that the man in question had actually sexually harassed the woman before firing her, but there wasn't a complaint made, since she wasn't offended. Personally, I would have been offended by some of the remarks quoted in the article, specifically if they were coming from my boss unsolicited.
What this ruling sets a precedent for is that it's okay for a male employee to think and act with his penis then fire the object of his desire instead of using some manner of self-restraint or applying the ability to do some soul searching about why he might be thinking about having an affair.
"Oh, please Iowa Supreme court, please take pity on this lowly middle aged professional and protect me from the dangerous feminine wiles of my own employees (and their wardrobes) who've never even blatantly flirted with me. Because I have no self-control and can't think with anything other than my dick. Save me from having to save myself. Oh, and my wife is jealous, so let's make this about the law and not about avoiding a difficult conversation with her."
That sum it up?
First, the terms of someone's employment should not be entirely contingent on their employers ability to keep it in/out of their pants and/or to keep their desires in check.
Second, the only person responsible for the stability of a marriage is the two people involved in it. If your partner can't keep their libido in check at the workplace where it absolutely must remain in check, the solution is not to fire all the pretty employees. The solution is to confront your partner, have a rational discussion and maybe even separate if need be.
Third, the whole notion of 'hooray we're not sexist because this isn't about gender because we said so therefore it's true', bull shit? Uphold the same ruling for a different mix of genders and I will believe you. Until then, the all-male panel of judges are full of crap. Dear Iowa judges, congratulations for trying on a little feminism but you're doing it completely ass backwards.
Fourth, this makes slut shaming kind of legal. Apparently the woman who was fired wore 'tight clothing'. So this is all her fault? How about NO. Wearing tight or revealing clothing is NEVER an invitation for harassment of any kind and it shouldn't be the basis for legally firing someone for being too attractive.
I think that's enough anger and brain hurting for one day. It's the holidays after all and I've picked up a cold from somewhere. Though I forgot about it for a moment in my ranting...
Thursday, 20 December 2012
Things We're Expected to Hate
I have a tiny little bone to pick, but when don't I?
I've become increasingly aware of Things that not only are We are Expected to Hate, but it's socially acceptable and you don't there might be something wrong with you. And it bugs me because some of those things are things that I like. And there's nothing wrong with me, thank you very much.
Example number one. Christmas music. The first thing that people do is roll their eyes and make faces and sounds like they hearing someone squeezing a goose. Because that's what everyone does. It's become 'cool' to hate Christmas music. And not just after we've been hearing it for a month and a half, people make this face immediately after it starts playing in stores and on radios.
Well. I like Christmas music, dammit. Even the religious stuff. So there. I don't mind it most years and if I don't want to hear it, well that's why portable music devices were invented. And if you find yourself too poor to have a portable music device to block it out, chances are you also aren't at the mall to hear it (unless your homeless and your at the mall to stay out of the elements, only in that case do I feel sympathise with your hatred of holiday tunes).
I had a spectacularly awful Christmas last year, mostly internally and for my very own deeply emotional reasons. I am so determined that this year is not going to be the same. I refuse to let that happen again, so I'm seeking out Christmas music on purpose because it makes me happy and above all else that's what I need this year.
The other thing people expect you to hate? Your job. Seriously, unless you're a doctor or some other kind of semi-famous, highly-paid professional you should probably hate your job. Everyone should have this dream of never working again because working is for chumps and a waste of time. I was talking to one of the directors at my office today, and he said that if it weren't for the fact the he loves his job so much he would have retired long ago.
It was so refreshing to hear someone say it. In some circles if you love your job then there must be something wrong with you. I don't hate my job. Sometimes I really don't love it, but I recognize it as important and it's a fulfilling part of my day. It also guarantees that I will have food in my kitchen and a roof over my head. I've been seeing someone who has unbridled enthusiasm for what he does, it slips out in regular conversation and only sometimes apologetically. I think it's fantastic (and an attractive quality to boot).
If you can't get even a little excited about what you do to generate funds to cover your basic needs, then you either need to work towards something that does or you shouldn't be doing it at all. If you can't find a little joy in something that you know makes other people happy, then maybe you need to reevaluate what makes you happy, if it's anything at all.
I've become increasingly aware of Things that not only are We are Expected to Hate, but it's socially acceptable and you don't there might be something wrong with you. And it bugs me because some of those things are things that I like. And there's nothing wrong with me, thank you very much.
Example number one. Christmas music. The first thing that people do is roll their eyes and make faces and sounds like they hearing someone squeezing a goose. Because that's what everyone does. It's become 'cool' to hate Christmas music. And not just after we've been hearing it for a month and a half, people make this face immediately after it starts playing in stores and on radios.
Well. I like Christmas music, dammit. Even the religious stuff. So there. I don't mind it most years and if I don't want to hear it, well that's why portable music devices were invented. And if you find yourself too poor to have a portable music device to block it out, chances are you also aren't at the mall to hear it (unless your homeless and your at the mall to stay out of the elements, only in that case do I feel sympathise with your hatred of holiday tunes).
I had a spectacularly awful Christmas last year, mostly internally and for my very own deeply emotional reasons. I am so determined that this year is not going to be the same. I refuse to let that happen again, so I'm seeking out Christmas music on purpose because it makes me happy and above all else that's what I need this year.
The other thing people expect you to hate? Your job. Seriously, unless you're a doctor or some other kind of semi-famous, highly-paid professional you should probably hate your job. Everyone should have this dream of never working again because working is for chumps and a waste of time. I was talking to one of the directors at my office today, and he said that if it weren't for the fact the he loves his job so much he would have retired long ago.
It was so refreshing to hear someone say it. In some circles if you love your job then there must be something wrong with you. I don't hate my job. Sometimes I really don't love it, but I recognize it as important and it's a fulfilling part of my day. It also guarantees that I will have food in my kitchen and a roof over my head. I've been seeing someone who has unbridled enthusiasm for what he does, it slips out in regular conversation and only sometimes apologetically. I think it's fantastic (and an attractive quality to boot).
If you can't get even a little excited about what you do to generate funds to cover your basic needs, then you either need to work towards something that does or you shouldn't be doing it at all. If you can't find a little joy in something that you know makes other people happy, then maybe you need to reevaluate what makes you happy, if it's anything at all.
Sunday, 16 December 2012
Romance
I have a hard time with romance. We have a love/indifference kind of relationship. Don't get me wrong, I'm perfectly capable of showing affection, but I'm not showy about it. For the sake of clarity, when I say romance I refer to the little things, the "I miss you" notes, public displays of affection, candle-lit dinners and *gag* Valentine's Day (okay so I'm never gonna like that day, but that's a whole other post).
In a way, I've conditioned myself to believe that expressing feelings in a romantic sense, or in anyway that might be viewed as saccarine or "hallmark" or just plain romantic, is a profoundly girly thing to do and I'm not girly therefore I am not romantic. If there were romance I'd automatically have to be girly and wear pink/frilly things. And there's no alternate universe where that's happening. I refuse to believe that.
I learned a long time ago that romance as Hollywood defines it simply does not happen in real life. It certainly never happened to me therefore it never will. Self-fulfilling prophecies, let me show you mine. I became cynical and did the opposite of giving up on the ideals foisted on me. I scoffed at the notion of romance. All of it. It was a senseless mushy waste of time, a sign of weakness. Beneath me. It's a shield, and I hide behind it so well.
Here's the part where I'm not sure how my head hasn't imploded.
I still hold some of those feelings, I hide behind them. At the same time I still crave a little romance. I still want just one of those little moments to null and void my cynicism about the whole thing, I want to be proven wrong. And in these modern times it should be perfectly acceptable for me to initiate a little romance if I want it so badly. This seems like a reasonable solution, yes?
It is. Can I do it? Ha. Ha ha ha. *sob* No.
Not yet.
I couldn't even send an email without twisting it around and downplaying the notions contained therein. So I didn't send it. It's one of the large number of sentiments that remain unsent. How strange to find myself embarrassed about something only I would shame myself for, no one else would dare, or give a shit. How dare I lower myself to that old standard that only I held onto for so long?
When I see little romantic things between other people my reaction is either 'that's sweet', or I roll my eyes because that sort of thing never happens to me or I ignore it completely. Truth is the only person's opinion that should matter is the object of my affections. Typing those words out on the screen is one thing. Believing it and then changing those little messages from unsent to sent? Changing the things/lies I tell myself to weasel my way out of it? That's a horse of a different colour.
There's a rather large dent on my so called shield from a recent bout of NRE (which I'm still entangled in). And I'm slowly trying to convince myself to toss that shield aside. Maybe I don't need it. Not right now. Maybe it might be fun to leave the weight of it behind for a while, it's really kind of heavy.
Saturday, 15 December 2012
Good Grief
If you live on this continent, and probably even if you don't, you heard about the truly horrific things that happened yesterday. Forty two children, gone. For no reason. Just like that. Gone in a spree of horror. I can't begin to grok the real grief that those 42 families are feeling right now. And I'm not going to try.
The nature of my job means I'm rather good at keeping vicarious trauma at bay. It's all compartmentalized in a seriously locked down little cubby hole in my brain. I have to do this so I can continue to function, to do my job, to still enjoy my friends and family and the life I work very hard to maintain. But once in a while, some of it oozes out. A moment or two after my head hit the pillow last night one little sad memory (my late and still beloved puppy) was the catalyst for a cathartic, full-bodied sob. I took advantage of it (in for a penny, in for a pound) and let myself be really upset for a little while. At the loss of my dog, at the loss of 42 children, at the loss of countless children and adults in wars and uprisings and pointless crime, at the state of the world.
And then I reeled it all back in. Life goes on.
I think many of us are better at doing this very same thing than we realize or would like to admit. If we couldn't then not one of us would have been able to function after hearing about the horrors that happened on December 14. Or any of the other atrocities that happen daily, weekly, monthly in parts of the world we may never visit and to people we don't know.
I wonder if it's our collective ability to compartmentalize all of this and keep trudging on that might be part of the problem. There is this inherently human trait to feel empathy (that admittedly some humans have more of than others, some none at all) when something bad happens, to want to reach out, to mourn together, because it's socially acceptable to cry when others cry and show the appropriate level of grief. But life goes on.
I don't doubt the therapeutic benefits of sharing a moment of grief and empathy, but we simply cannot maintain it in the long run. Eventually regular life seeps back in from the edges. Eventually you have to deal with rush hour traffic. Eventually you have to do your laundry. Eventually you have to eat healthy food, shower and dress yourself and sleep. You go to work, you get busy living or get busy dying.
A favourite comedian of mine once said, "Sometimes horrible things happen to good people. And the only way of celebrating the fact that it didn't happen to you, is by having a fuckin' laugh." Granted there's a scale of horrible and the appropriateness of laughter in relation to time passed and geographical distance. So with all the shit that happened yesterday, I went out last night to a talent show/coffee house with my family of choice and had a heck of a good laugh. I felt a certain willingness to laugh, a need to laugh from the whole crowd. We're an easy bunch to get into a fit of giggles, but last night ... I don't know if I was the only one who felt it was therapeutic to laugh and be among our friends and good people.
Life goes on, you can't stop it. Feel grief in any way you need to, just don't forget to let it go. It's okay to feel joy again in your own time.
The nature of my job means I'm rather good at keeping vicarious trauma at bay. It's all compartmentalized in a seriously locked down little cubby hole in my brain. I have to do this so I can continue to function, to do my job, to still enjoy my friends and family and the life I work very hard to maintain. But once in a while, some of it oozes out. A moment or two after my head hit the pillow last night one little sad memory (my late and still beloved puppy) was the catalyst for a cathartic, full-bodied sob. I took advantage of it (in for a penny, in for a pound) and let myself be really upset for a little while. At the loss of my dog, at the loss of 42 children, at the loss of countless children and adults in wars and uprisings and pointless crime, at the state of the world.
And then I reeled it all back in. Life goes on.
I think many of us are better at doing this very same thing than we realize or would like to admit. If we couldn't then not one of us would have been able to function after hearing about the horrors that happened on December 14. Or any of the other atrocities that happen daily, weekly, monthly in parts of the world we may never visit and to people we don't know.
I wonder if it's our collective ability to compartmentalize all of this and keep trudging on that might be part of the problem. There is this inherently human trait to feel empathy (that admittedly some humans have more of than others, some none at all) when something bad happens, to want to reach out, to mourn together, because it's socially acceptable to cry when others cry and show the appropriate level of grief. But life goes on.
I don't doubt the therapeutic benefits of sharing a moment of grief and empathy, but we simply cannot maintain it in the long run. Eventually regular life seeps back in from the edges. Eventually you have to deal with rush hour traffic. Eventually you have to do your laundry. Eventually you have to eat healthy food, shower and dress yourself and sleep. You go to work, you get busy living or get busy dying.
A favourite comedian of mine once said, "Sometimes horrible things happen to good people. And the only way of celebrating the fact that it didn't happen to you, is by having a fuckin' laugh." Granted there's a scale of horrible and the appropriateness of laughter in relation to time passed and geographical distance. So with all the shit that happened yesterday, I went out last night to a talent show/coffee house with my family of choice and had a heck of a good laugh. I felt a certain willingness to laugh, a need to laugh from the whole crowd. We're an easy bunch to get into a fit of giggles, but last night ... I don't know if I was the only one who felt it was therapeutic to laugh and be among our friends and good people.
Life goes on, you can't stop it. Feel grief in any way you need to, just don't forget to let it go. It's okay to feel joy again in your own time.
Wednesday, 5 December 2012
Only some chicks dig scars
I will preface this entry by explaining that part of my day job involves reading about often horrific child abuse, the details of which I will not go into for the sake of confidentiality and to avoid triggering any one in my reading audience.
I will also preface this with the revelation that I have some pretty ugly and "interesting" scars myself. This entry, in part, is about my own trigger. This was not an easy one to write, no matter how "cool" I am with my scars.
For 30 years I have had a large scar on my forehead. When I was younger and it was fresh, it ran from my right eyebrow to my hair line. I had bangs, the classic "bowl hair cut" that was so popular in the early 80s. It was equal parts fashion statement and camouflage. My mother did not want the kids in the school yard to tease me. I have this scar for that same reason (well maybe not entirely for that reason). It's the result of the removal of a very large strawberry birthmark that I was born with. It was sort of egg shaped and stuck out of my head about a half an inch or more, so I'm told. I have no memory of this thing ever being on my head but there are a few pictures of it. Very few. My parents didn't want me to get teased because of this giant red thing on my forehead.
In my work I often read stories about scars that people still have. I completely understand how it feels to have a physical, non-removable reminder on your flesh, especially on your face, of something you wish would never have happened. I understand what it's like to be embarrassed about it. I understand what it's like to feel ashamed and ugly. The jagged scar on my forehead that now partially hides beyond my hair line, is not the only noticeable scar on my person.
And my heart goes out to each and every individual whose story I read that touches me this way. My scars are not tied to the same kind of trauma. While one or two were scary and all of them were painful in some way, I have learned to live with them. They are a part of who I am. Don't get me wrong, I can still be self-conscious about them. My back is an interesting tapestry of scars and birth marks of different varieties, it's not 'pretty'. Thankfully it is literally behind me so... out of sight out of mind, until someone else sees it. I can deal with that, it's when they ask about it. And the most recent person, whose opinion sort of matters to me wasn't horrified by it. You have no idea what a relief this is, even for someone 'at peace' with their scars.
This is where I most acutely relate to those stories I read all day. People are naturally curious creatures. Some of us ask more questions than others, some of us know how to ask difficult questions with tact. A lot of us don't. As much as I feel for other people in the same boat, I'm happy in the sense that I'm not alone and a thought occurs. It's not the scars that cause the problem sometimes, it's people without tact.
No word of a lie, a person has actually come up to me, someone who I wasn't even that close to, and had the absolute gaul to poke me in the forehead on my scar with their finger and say, "where'd you get that scar from?" As if I didn't know which one they were referring to (though to be honest, on more than one occasion I have forgotten it's there, it's been so long). I wish this was hyperbole folks, but this is a thing that actually happened. When I was an adult so it wasn't some backwards thing that a stupid kid did when I was in school. An actual adult who, in retrospect is lucky to still have that finger, did this.
When I was 12 I did the brave thing and decided that I wasn't going to have bangs anymore. I had had it with hiding the scar and at the time it wasn't that big of a deal to me anymore. It had been there for 8 years and was hidden almost all the time. Most of the kids I went to school with had no idea. There were questions. Some as tactful as you get from 12-year olds, some less so. I honestly don't remember being anxious about pinning my bangs back for the first time at school. Some how I assumed it would't be a big deal. After the first few questions, some of them rather rude I came up with a come back that was all to clever for a 12-year old (y'know instead of the truth, because that was boring and didn't make them feel bad enough for asking about it in the first place). I told them it was my lobotomy scar. Most of the kids who asked had no idea what that was, and well didn't they feel stupid. Questions dissipated after that, but in the last 30 years they haven't gone away. Just like the scar hasn't.
And I suspect that like the granulation of my flesh, the questions will never go away either. I'm fortunate in the sense that I surround myself only with respectful and awesome friends and acquaintances who already know about my scar stories (and do now if they didn't) and they asked politely after getting to know me well first.
On the other side of this coin is that when it comes to "compare your scar story" competitions I have something to compete with. That said I still feel for everyone who will never feel comfortable in their own skin because it bears the mark of previous pain whether it be physical, emotional or both. Only rarely have I found myself uncomfortable in my own skin because of my scars, those I feel for will never know that I've taken on some of their discomfort because I'm in a position to bare the burden, as it were.
The moral of this story? A person's scar is their own very personal story and journey. Be extremely cautious about how and when you ever ask someone about a scar. Not every mark has a cool story.
I will also preface this with the revelation that I have some pretty ugly and "interesting" scars myself. This entry, in part, is about my own trigger. This was not an easy one to write, no matter how "cool" I am with my scars.
For 30 years I have had a large scar on my forehead. When I was younger and it was fresh, it ran from my right eyebrow to my hair line. I had bangs, the classic "bowl hair cut" that was so popular in the early 80s. It was equal parts fashion statement and camouflage. My mother did not want the kids in the school yard to tease me. I have this scar for that same reason (well maybe not entirely for that reason). It's the result of the removal of a very large strawberry birthmark that I was born with. It was sort of egg shaped and stuck out of my head about a half an inch or more, so I'm told. I have no memory of this thing ever being on my head but there are a few pictures of it. Very few. My parents didn't want me to get teased because of this giant red thing on my forehead.
In my work I often read stories about scars that people still have. I completely understand how it feels to have a physical, non-removable reminder on your flesh, especially on your face, of something you wish would never have happened. I understand what it's like to be embarrassed about it. I understand what it's like to feel ashamed and ugly. The jagged scar on my forehead that now partially hides beyond my hair line, is not the only noticeable scar on my person.
And my heart goes out to each and every individual whose story I read that touches me this way. My scars are not tied to the same kind of trauma. While one or two were scary and all of them were painful in some way, I have learned to live with them. They are a part of who I am. Don't get me wrong, I can still be self-conscious about them. My back is an interesting tapestry of scars and birth marks of different varieties, it's not 'pretty'. Thankfully it is literally behind me so... out of sight out of mind, until someone else sees it. I can deal with that, it's when they ask about it. And the most recent person, whose opinion sort of matters to me wasn't horrified by it. You have no idea what a relief this is, even for someone 'at peace' with their scars.
This is where I most acutely relate to those stories I read all day. People are naturally curious creatures. Some of us ask more questions than others, some of us know how to ask difficult questions with tact. A lot of us don't. As much as I feel for other people in the same boat, I'm happy in the sense that I'm not alone and a thought occurs. It's not the scars that cause the problem sometimes, it's people without tact.
No word of a lie, a person has actually come up to me, someone who I wasn't even that close to, and had the absolute gaul to poke me in the forehead on my scar with their finger and say, "where'd you get that scar from?" As if I didn't know which one they were referring to (though to be honest, on more than one occasion I have forgotten it's there, it's been so long). I wish this was hyperbole folks, but this is a thing that actually happened. When I was an adult so it wasn't some backwards thing that a stupid kid did when I was in school. An actual adult who, in retrospect is lucky to still have that finger, did this.
When I was 12 I did the brave thing and decided that I wasn't going to have bangs anymore. I had had it with hiding the scar and at the time it wasn't that big of a deal to me anymore. It had been there for 8 years and was hidden almost all the time. Most of the kids I went to school with had no idea. There were questions. Some as tactful as you get from 12-year olds, some less so. I honestly don't remember being anxious about pinning my bangs back for the first time at school. Some how I assumed it would't be a big deal. After the first few questions, some of them rather rude I came up with a come back that was all to clever for a 12-year old (y'know instead of the truth, because that was boring and didn't make them feel bad enough for asking about it in the first place). I told them it was my lobotomy scar. Most of the kids who asked had no idea what that was, and well didn't they feel stupid. Questions dissipated after that, but in the last 30 years they haven't gone away. Just like the scar hasn't.
And I suspect that like the granulation of my flesh, the questions will never go away either. I'm fortunate in the sense that I surround myself only with respectful and awesome friends and acquaintances who already know about my scar stories (and do now if they didn't) and they asked politely after getting to know me well first.
On the other side of this coin is that when it comes to "compare your scar story" competitions I have something to compete with. That said I still feel for everyone who will never feel comfortable in their own skin because it bears the mark of previous pain whether it be physical, emotional or both. Only rarely have I found myself uncomfortable in my own skin because of my scars, those I feel for will never know that I've taken on some of their discomfort because I'm in a position to bare the burden, as it were.
The moral of this story? A person's scar is their own very personal story and journey. Be extremely cautious about how and when you ever ask someone about a scar. Not every mark has a cool story.
Sunday, 2 December 2012
Sorry for the absense
I had perhaps too many blog ideas in my head at the same time, floating around and refusing to meld into solid ideas in the shape of words. Those entries are still coming, I promise. Sometimes a good opinionated blog entry comes from a place of frustration, anger or indignation. I can comfortably say that I haven't really been in that kind of state lately. I've been more content than I sometimes think I deserve to be (which is a whole post by itself).
I just spent a good half hour relaxing on my couch and admiring my xmas tree, it just makes me so inexplicably happy and relaxed. I don't celebrate the coming holiday in any religious fashion. I'm well acquainted with the Western religion most closely (and commercially) associated with this time of year. And I do believe that Jesus was a real person, who had some pretty neat ideas about being nice to one another. I also think that people were easily impressed and very imaginative back then. Also as any one who's ever played the old telephone game knows, stories change on retelling. And seriously, how many times has his story been retold?
I'm a steadfast atheist. I have been for 20 years now. I remember being told at the age of 14 when I came out with this to my mother that I was not allowed to celebrate Christmas. I don't know if she thought it would change my mind (no presents for you unless you believe in god) or if she just blurted it out from some sense that she failed me in the religion department. But I have never in those 20 years or the 14 that preceded them, failed to celebrate Christmas, regardless of what people call it or how you spell it.
I celebrate the coming of winter (my favourite season — even if last year the snow was incredibly late and this year it seems to only be visiting once a week), I celebrate with my family of origin and my family of choice, I celebrate with food and with fun/cheesy holiday music. I celebrate by gift giving, it brings smiles to the faces of those I love and that makes me happy, which as far as I'm concerned, is the best reason to give someone a gift.
You see the actual Thanksgiving holiday means virtually nothing to me. The time of year I feel most thankful and truly happy for what I have is at Christmas. Because I can share the joy and the little wealth I have. This holiday has always been about family for me, both kinds. It's about being a little extra nice to everyone (because you should be nice to people all year, but it's this time that it's most appreciated).
So this month, be nice to people. Everyone. Even the haggard sales associates in the store, they need to make a living too. When they greet you with a scripted 'hi, how are you?" Answer in kind, ask them how they are. Hold the door open for people, not just half-assedly on your way out, but with intent. Be patient. Smile warmly at strangers, even if they aren't cute or if they are.
Whatever you celebrate, whatever your reasons may be. I hope you find a way to be content and warm and with the people you love.
I just spent a good half hour relaxing on my couch and admiring my xmas tree, it just makes me so inexplicably happy and relaxed. I don't celebrate the coming holiday in any religious fashion. I'm well acquainted with the Western religion most closely (and commercially) associated with this time of year. And I do believe that Jesus was a real person, who had some pretty neat ideas about being nice to one another. I also think that people were easily impressed and very imaginative back then. Also as any one who's ever played the old telephone game knows, stories change on retelling. And seriously, how many times has his story been retold?
I'm a steadfast atheist. I have been for 20 years now. I remember being told at the age of 14 when I came out with this to my mother that I was not allowed to celebrate Christmas. I don't know if she thought it would change my mind (no presents for you unless you believe in god) or if she just blurted it out from some sense that she failed me in the religion department. But I have never in those 20 years or the 14 that preceded them, failed to celebrate Christmas, regardless of what people call it or how you spell it.
I celebrate the coming of winter (my favourite season — even if last year the snow was incredibly late and this year it seems to only be visiting once a week), I celebrate with my family of origin and my family of choice, I celebrate with food and with fun/cheesy holiday music. I celebrate by gift giving, it brings smiles to the faces of those I love and that makes me happy, which as far as I'm concerned, is the best reason to give someone a gift.
You see the actual Thanksgiving holiday means virtually nothing to me. The time of year I feel most thankful and truly happy for what I have is at Christmas. Because I can share the joy and the little wealth I have. This holiday has always been about family for me, both kinds. It's about being a little extra nice to everyone (because you should be nice to people all year, but it's this time that it's most appreciated).
So this month, be nice to people. Everyone. Even the haggard sales associates in the store, they need to make a living too. When they greet you with a scripted 'hi, how are you?" Answer in kind, ask them how they are. Hold the door open for people, not just half-assedly on your way out, but with intent. Be patient. Smile warmly at strangers, even if they aren't cute or if they are.
Whatever you celebrate, whatever your reasons may be. I hope you find a way to be content and warm and with the people you love.
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