mental health

Roar

This past weekend, my husband and I watched a documentary on Hulu: Hysterical. (No, I’m not a huge documentary fan, but our favorite comic, Iliza Schlesinger recommended it) The focus centered around female comedians, but the underlying message was more than that – or maybe I just took more away from it. The things the women discussed were things that impact EVERY woman. And the longer I sat there, the more I found myself reflecting on my life. I heard words people have muttered under their breath (or blatantly said to my face). I saw magazine articles I’d come across while sitting in waiting rooms when I idiotically forgot to bring a book with me (never do that, by the way). And I remembered relationships with old boyfriends.

Even today – NOW – women STRUGGLE with social standards.

(For the men out there – I get it. You have problems and standards you battle, too. However, I’m not guy. So while I can stand up and preach about what you’re going through, it’s going to fall flat. You can mutter under your breath that I’m not being “equal,” but there’s nothing I can do about it. You can either wander off somewhere else or sit quietly and maybe gain a new perspective.)

The ANCIENT (and yes, I’m going to call it that) image of women keeping house STILL persists to this day. We’re expected to present ourselves a certain way – in public AND at home – speak with specific words and tone, maintain a household to meet society’s standards, and have aspirations of keeping our husbands and children happy and satisfied. And it’s utter BULLSHIT. This is why women suffer from depression and anxiety! That crazy image doesn’t work, and it has no place in modern society.

Women are EQUAL to men!

We have the right to do what we want. That includes NOT getting married, NOT having children, NOT cleaning the house all day, and NOT waiting on a man hand-and-foot! We can get whatever jobs we want. If that means we net a bigger paycheck than our spouse, so what? Maybe the house doesn’t look like a magazine picture. So what? Is it comfortable for the people living there? (For the record, no one lives in those damn houses. They’re staged by professionals for the photo shoot) Maybe you don’t have dinner piping hot and on the table when your husband gets home every night. (The horror!) Who the fuck cares? In our house, my husband does the cooking, NOT me. He loves cooking, he’s a thousand times better at it (my idea of dinner before we got married was a bowl of cereal or cheese and crackers), and it’s a healthier option. And he doesn’t mind in the slightest – which is more than I can say of my past relationships.

We’re sitting in the 21st century, and women are still fighting to get their voices heard. If you dare to stand up, you’re hit with criticism for being a bitch. Speak up about something, and you’re told you’re too mouthy. (And, of course, no man will have you) And women use these same insults against each other! That programming is so deeply set in our brains that we hesitate to tear it out! So we tell one another not to say anything, not to make waves, not to DO anything. And then we sit in the corner of our perfectly-kept houses, wishing we were dead.

It HAS to stop.

I spent SO much of my life following that pattern. Because getting slapped down HURTS. When I tried to stand up and say something was wrong, I received insults and sneers. (If I had a penny for every time I’ve been called a bitch, I could retire to a private tropical island) And females are VICIOUS with each other. I stopped standing up. I crawled back into the corners. I let myself get pummeled into silence. I put up with getting pinched and fondled. I watched men get congratulated while I was insulted – for the same behavior. They were model workers; I had shortcomings. When I attempted to say something, I was labeled a troublemaker. At one job, I received a TEN-MINUTE lecture for walking in the door in tennis shoes. (My heels were in my desk, and the office was down a cobblestone street.) Meanwhile, a recent hire wore Converse every day because he jogged on his lunch break. I got another lecture for wearing jeans to climb around oil pipelines. (Never mind that I ended up falling on the rocks the next day and tore straight through my khakis) The men at the job had jeans and no one said a word. An old boyfriend whined when I got home late and dinner wasn’t ready. He was laid off at the time and home – chatting with other girls online. My work schedule also inconvenienced him after he totaled his car and needed to borrow mine.

And I said NOTHING.

Because I’d already learned that NO ONE wanted to hear me. I accepted the blame. I watched other promotions and knew there was no point putting in for them. I had ZERO chance. I ACCEPTED my place. Through school and friends, I’d learned what I was supposed to be. The words, “I’m sorry” became dominant in my vocabulary. It took me forever to dig into my brain and find that damned mind control chip. To realize how screwed up everything was. And when I finally tore out the programming and look backward, I was horrified. Why did I let all of those people – men AND women – shove me into that tiny box labeled, “Women’s Place?” How did I become so afraid and small?

I stopped flinching at the insults. And I refused to back down or sit down when they loomed over me. Which is extremely difficult and scared the shit out of me, in the beginning. And I won’t lie – people HATE me for it. I’ve heard everything in the book. (Though, since I’m married, all of those warnings that no man would have me didn’t come to pass) I refuse to be afraid to stand up for myself and those around me. And you know what? There are other women out there doing the same thing. When you fight your way out of the box, you look around and see others who’ve done the same. It’s a relief (knowing you’re not alone always is), but it’s also empowering. Because you realize that it’s POSSIBLE to break down the walls.

Women HAVE voices. And we deserve to use them. We deserve the places we’ve carved out for ourselves in this world. And NO ONE – man OR woman – has the right to tell us differently. That first roar of defiance? It’s shaky and quiet – I won’t deny that. But as you find your strength and root out that programming, it gets louder. And when it joins with everyone else’s? It has the power to create change. Never let ANYONE extinguish your fire.

mental health

Dream Out Loud

Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay

Our dreams are one of the few things we don’t mind sharing with people. I’m not talking about our nightly dreams (though we often share those, as well – especially the weird ones); I’m referencing our dreams for our lives. I mean the dreams that follow the fateful words, “What I really want to do is…” The words are said in wistful tones, as if we feel they’re completely impossible.

NOTHING is impossible.

We conceived of those dreams – those GOALS – for a reason, and it wasn’t so we could stare longingly at them for eternity. You might have put that dream up on a pedestal, but somewhere, in the deep recesses of your mind, it was a finish line – ACHIEVABLE. No, it wasn’t necessarily achievable tomorrow or even next week, but marathons aren’t sprints (and I don’t run, anyway). Sure, people laughed or scoffed, but those hypocrites have their own dreams – they just didn’t tell you between their derision.

To quote Tangled: “Everyone has a dream.”

And you have two choices on what to do with that precious little star: you can continue to stare at it on the pedestal for the rest of your life (it’s a popular choice – plenty of people opt to do so), or you can pull up your britches and actually DO SOMETHING that carries you towards that finish line. Not many people choose that second option. Why would they? It involves work, it involves risk, and it’s scary as hell. Sitting on your butt and admiring the image of the dream from afar is much simpler, and there’s no chance involved. There’s also no gain, no achievement, and no satisfaction.

See where I’m going?

I sat in the former group for a long time. I was terrified of taking the step off the edge of the cliff, and I believed all of the detractors who scorned me. I’m an intelligent person, and I knew the odds of success – it wasn’t hard to accept my failure. Except that you ARE a failure when you don’t even try (fun little caveat). And I don’t accept failure – I’m not that kind of person. So I summoned every drop of courage, crept up to the very edge of the cliff, and got some encouragement to slide my foot off the edge (read that as one of friends THREW me off the cliff – and she didn’t check to ensure I had a parachute first, either).

Guess what happened?

I fell to the bottom of the chasm, mangled and bleeding.

Just kidding – I’m now working my dream job. My stress level has bottomed out (I’m not going to discuss the current quarantine stress – that’s separate), my health has improved, and my happiness has skyrocketed. I feel like MYSELF for the first time in eons, and my confidence has returned. All because I took the risk of standing up and deciding I wanted to follow that dream. I defied the naysayers, the odds, and my nagging doubts and took the chance on that glittering finish line.

Would I say I’ve achieved everything I dreamed of? Of course not, but that’s the beautiful thing about dreams – you get to keep dreaming. You get to keep moving that finish line further out and running towards it (okay, walking towards it – I’m still not going to run). The only person standing in your way is you.

So are you going to continue to stand there, or are you going to MOVE?