Burdens and the women who bear them

Zora Neale Hurston famously called black women the "mules of the world" in her book Their Eyes Were Watching God. I find this image, resonant within the book, resonant without too. In brief, I've been thinking about burdens, and the women who bear them.

I am also inspired by the article "A Message to Women from a Man: You Are Not Crazy," particularly this quote:

"It’s a whole lot easier to emotionally manipulate someone who has been conditioned by our society to accept it. We continue to burden women because they don’t refuse our burdens as easily. It’s the ultimate cowardice." 

Here are some of the burdens I think women are expected to bear: 

The Burden of Intention

This is a burden that I take on a lot--way more than I should. Perhaps I have mostly myself to thank for that, or perhaps evangelical "purity" culture should get some of the blame. But folks, today we're talking about intention. So let me just put this out there: I worry about the intentions of other people. All the time. 

Yes, I'm talking about romantic intentions. If I'm nice to this guy, will he think that I like him? What if I'm leading him on? What if he thinks I'm leading him on? Is this guy asking me on a date or just asking me to hang out? What if he likes me? Crap. MUST AVERT SITUATION. 

Now, I over-think a lot of things (as if you didn't know that already). But why is the burden on me and not on the man to clearly define his intentions. I don't want to monitor my every word and action so I'm not sending out the wrong signals. I don't want to manage the situation. I don't want to have to straight up ask, "Are you pursuing me romantically?" I don't want to have to make my (non) intentions clear when he hasn't even asked me out.

Why would I think this is my responsibility in the first place? Maybe it has something to do with needing to be "nice." Or maybe it's the mantra to "guard the other person's heart."

This is a burden that I do not want to bear, a price I am unwilling to pay. And yet I pay it.

The Burden of Desire

This one is tricky, but I've been thinking about the different ways that women and men desire in our culture, or more specifically, how our culture thinks about the desire of men versus the desire of women.

Yes, I'm talking about sexual desire. One thing that's always struck me is that a woman's desire is so easily itself made an object of desire (fetishized). Sexualized advertising aimed at men often seems to hinge on [a simulacrum] of female desire--this woman, this beautiful woman, desires ME. 

For whatever reason, I could say something seemingly innocuous, like, "Brad Pitt is hot!" And that could easily turn into: "You think Brad Pitt is hot. Nudge nudge, wink wink." It's as if any acknowledgement on my part that I am a living, breathing and desiring human being makes me something of a tease. Means I'm doing it for the attention. Makes me into a sexual object when really, I was asserting my subjectivity (KEANU REEVES IS HOTTER THAN BRAD PITT). I don't see this happening when a guy calls someone hot.

Let's take this deeper. There's a common rationalization out there that has to do with female desire. I'm sure you've seen this snl video titled "Sexual Harassment and You." No? Go watch it and come back. 

Basically, women are shallow (and kind of dumb). It's only sexual harassment if the guy is ugly. If the guy is Tom Brady, well, I just met you, and this is crazy--

I'm really struggling here, because this rationalization appears to be taken as the God-given--so obvious it hurts--TRUTH. What exactly is this truth saying? 

Women prefer attractive men. Yeah, that makes sense. Is that shallow? Sure. 

Women will tolerate (even welcome) harassment, abuse, etc. from a guy, just because he's hot. Okay, now you're making me queasy. Apparently a woman's desire, her preference for attractive men, makes her sick in the head. What?

Along the same line of reasoning, a woman will only call a guy "creepy" if he is unattractive. If he is attractive and exhibits the same courtship behavior he is not creepy. Women obviously don't really know what they want. That guy wasn't really sexually harassing you. You were just comparing him to Ryan Gosling.

A man's desire, on the other hand, is almost always valid (and validated). It doesn't matter if she desires him (she's irrational, capricious, shallow, and probably likes jerks), it only matters that he desires her. She is not a person. She is a projection of a man's desire.

This explains the fixation on the sartorial choices of rape victims. She may not have desired sex, but what was she wearing? What kind of male desire was being projected? 

A man's desire is pure and unequivocal. The heart wants what it wants.

So how do women bear the burden of desire? Women are required to be open and accepting of the desire of any and all while also accepting that any desire they express could be ridiculed and sneered at (especially if they are considered unattractive).

Tune in next time for...

The Burden of Secrecy

The Burden of Shame
The Burden of Fear

The Burden of the Body

The Burden of Character

Facebook and Telling Our Own Stories

"Is that your girlfriend?"
"What?"
"In your facebook profile picture. The one you're dancing with. Are you a lesbian?"
"No. That's MY TWIN SISTER."
-Not a real life conversation. Oh wait, this actually happened. *facepalm*

I've been thinking recently (and not so recently) about the relationship between my real life and my social media life. I've been thinking about how we "write" our lives--both online and off.

When it comes to social media, it seems that not only do we need to lead a happy, fulfilling, sparkly life, we have to prove that we are living a happy, fulfilling, sparkly life. Having lemonade on the porch with a good friend and a weighty philosophical tome? Instagram it. Convinced you have the best boyfriend everrrr? Tag him in a post on facebook. Losing weight on an awesome new diet/exercise plan? Tweet daily updates of your progress.

Of course these things aren't wrong or bad. It just sometimes feels like the equivalent of grabbing the world by the shoulders and screaming, "Look at me. I'M HAVING FUN AND LIVING LIFE!! DO YOU BELIEVE I'M HAVING FUN YET??!!"

There's something about expectations and being in your 20s. Or expectations and being in your 30s. Or expectations and being in college. Or expectations period. These are the best years of your life, after all. Shouldn't you be out there enjoying them?

And so we post pictures. And we tell a story. A story about our lives and how much fun we're having. Whether we mean to or not, we tell a story of one kind or another.

Facebook, of all things, understands this. I remember joking about the ads I would get when my relationship status was listed as "single."

"__ years old and still single?" (obviously, you're a freak). "Lose weight with this awesome new diet!" (and then you will feel lovely and desirable). "Revolutionary treatment for herpes!" (no wonder I'm single: I weigh 250 pounds and my body is ridden with STDs).

And what could concern me about these ads is their emphasis on controlling women's bodies. My body. My other body. (You're female. Clearly you're unhappy with your body and you want to lose weight.)

But facebook is not the only one telling me stories about myself, repeating back to me the stories I have consciously or unconsciously told.

And it's not all negative, either. I enjoy the stories that my friends tell. I realize that they're not the whole picture, however--not even close.

Have you ever tried talking to someone whose entire picture of your life is based on social media? It's very confusing.

Recently, a (former) facebook friend summed up my life in one damning question: "Still having trouble finding a man?" (Yes. Haven't you been paying attention? Lesbian. 250 pounds. Herpes. 'Nuff said.)

I found this confusing for several reasons. For example, if I'm looking for "a man," will any man do? Why am I trying to find him? Is he lost? I did not remember having a face-to-face, heart-to-heart with this person about my attempts at finding this poor man. And yet, to him, this was my story.

I can't find a man. Done. Finished. Written in bold.

Nevermind that the phrasing is insulting. Nevermind the "still," implying a lengthy search over an extended period of time (It's all I ever do, actually. Really. I'm exhausted.) Nevermind the implication that not having found a man, I am incomplete. Nevermind that this narrative has little to do with what I want and everything to do with being wanted. Nevermind how much it pisses me off that a woman can be belittled so easily with so little.

Most of all, that this was the story I'm telling, via facebook, via blogging. We tell stories. Other people tell them back to us, adding their own spin. I write about dating. I must be beyond desperate to find a man (any man) who will date me.

Bullsh**.

This is my story. I get to write it. Better yet, I get to live it. Granted, I can't completely control the hermeneutic by which other people choose to interpret my story, and that's frustrating. I can't even, on my own, eradicate the harmful stories that advertisers continue to tell women about their bodies, their lives, their worth.

But I will continue to write. And, reader, what you choose to believe is up to you.

Sincerely,
A 250 Pound Lesbian with Herpes

Life. And stuff.

I want to write about how much I like my new job, but I'm not sure if I can. So instead, a story:

When I was 16, I went to visit my dad in Beijing. A visit meant to last one month somehow stretched into six. For reasons I don't fully remember, comprehend, or wish to think about, I didn't want to go back to North Carolina.

I applied for an internship with a humanitarian organization in Beijing. As part of my application, I sent in an essay I had written for school entitled "Sexism in Paradise Lost" (It started early, folks). Somehow, I got the internship and started translating articles from English to Chinese.

This humanitarian organization also happened to have a media department. Cue life-changing event: I learned how to edit video using Final Cut Pro.

I started editing a camp video. I had dreams about cuts. I couldn't stop thinking about it. I was hooked. For the first time in my life, I was truly passionate about something.

I remember editing late, late at night in the empty office. I remember how I felt going in after a weekend away, the mixture of trepidation and elation as I pushed in the door--would they be happy to see me? Would I still feel at home? Did they think I was a nuisance? I remember the huge crush I had on a guy who worked there. He was at least 14 years older than me, and I tried really hard not to have a crush on him, so of course I did anyway. But most especially, I remember Ivy, the director of the media department, and how her enthusiasm, kindness, and dedication to teaching made me feel.

Interning there changed my life. And ever since then, I've wanted to be that same kind of person for someone else.

Because I know that if it weren't for the people who have mentored me and encouraged me, I wouldn't be pursuing filmmaking. I would have given up before even starting.

Maybe this helps explain how strongly I feel about church, production, and mentorship.

I feel very, very grateful, because I know the real world so very rarely bears any resemblance to the experience I had when I was 16.

I've mentioned this to some of my friends, but there have been times and places and people that have made me feel like some of my strongest character traits are a liability. I'm independent to a fault. I'm passionate and a bit obsessive when I really care about something. I'm extremely focused and driven. And sometimes that hasn't gone over well, and I've paid the price for falling outside of the gender norm or otherwise stepping on people's toes (egos).

None of this is true in my current job. I can be independent, driven, and a little bit obsessive, and it's not only okay, it's encouraged (not that I have nothing to learn about being more interdependent and sensitive to other people).

I can breathe. And for that, I am extremely grateful.

How to Make Me Happy

In Anna Karenina, Tolstoy famously wrote that "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."

My happiness depends more than I would like to admit on external factors that I usually have very little control over. Which is to say, all the environments I've been happy in tend to share certain characteristics.

The title actually doesn't make sense, of course, as no one can actually make me happy. But, you know what I mean. If someone needed a user's guide to me, it might include some of the following points. 99% of the time, I am super easy to please. Really. And now for a few items:

1. Food.

This one should go without saying. Food is important. I like it. I may not be particularly great at feeding myself, but I am really great at exploiting--I mean, finding--events with free food. I am all over that.

My sister is really good at feeding people. Seriously. She owns her own dumpling truck, and you should check it out. I always eat well when she's around.

2. Junk food.

Junk food goes into its own special category. I like it. Particularly if it's free. I'm the only one in my family who still thinks junk food is cool. The rest of the lot have all embraced something scary called "healthy eating"--and yet my brother still steals my skittles. Who's the hypocrite here, hmm?

3. Freedom to work independently.

I'm crazy independent. I like figuring things out on my own, but I also want to be able to ask questions. Sometimes, I just do stuff. I can't help it! It's the way I am.

4. People.

People make me happy. I like being around them and bugging them. You know how you just like people sometimes for no reason? You see them and you just want to smile.

5. Writing (and the freedom to write whatever I want to write).

If I'm not writing, something is wrong. Or I'm just being lazy. Or I'm afraid that people are actually reading what I write. It's complicated--but the freedom to write the truth the best that I know how feels a bit like God's intention for my life.

6. Talking through ideas.

If I couldn't do this, I think I would die.

7. People making fun of me (teasing me?).

I'm not sure why I love this, but I do. I myself can't pull it off without sounding like a jerk.

8. Learning new things.

9. Good writing.

10. Sleep deprivation. Stress. Challenging circumstances. Being on set. Filmmaking.

11. Teaching/training

I used to work as a master control operator at a small TV station and I was so excited to get to train new employees (three people, singly, to be exact) to do the job. My favorite part had been the training, and so I was looking forward to training other people. There's something about seeing someone put into practice something you've taught them. There's definitely a sense of pride.

So what you're saying is...

So I read this great article about boundaries the other day by Bob Hamp, entitled "Understanding What People Are REALLY Trying to Say."

The best part of the article (in my opinion), was the section on "Boundary Setting Communication." Hamp states:

"Boundaries are almost always violated at the level of covert communication. An overt statement is made, but it is accompanied by a covert boundary 'bomb.' One example of this occurs when someone makes a crude joke or a sexual innuendo, in a relationship where such talk would normally be off-limits."

People do this in order to test your limits--will you laugh it off as a joke? Go silent? Avoid eye contact?

The way that you deal with such boundary violations is to "[m]ake the covert message overt, and pose it in the form of a question."

Now, I have to say--I think this is awesome, and kinda sorta hilarious when you really think about it. Can you imagine ACTUALLY doing this and seeing the looks on people's faces? 

Well, I'm the kind of person who thinks of the perfect comeback after the fact. I'm also the kind of person who doesn't even realize she is angry or bothered by something until a couple of hours after it happens. I have my own built-in time buffer for strong emotions.

So just for fun (and because I think it's hilarious), I'm going to make the covert overt, and ask a few questions of my own: 

"So, you just jokingly asked which of our other co-workers I contracted a sexually transmitted disease from--it seems to me that you are trying to determine whether or not I am promiscuous. Is that the case?"

"I just told you about an academic honor I received, and you responded by pointing out that I attend an inferior institution of high education. It seems like you're saying that I have not, in fact, measured up to your standards. Is that true? If I were attending Harvard, would you be proud of me then?" 

"You just pointed out that I would be so pretty if I...[fill in the blank]. So what you're saying is I'm not pretty now, but I would be if only I followed your advice and changed my appearance?"

"You just told me about your yearly vacations to Thailand, half-seriously indicated I sit in your lap, and are now playfully cornering me in the aisle of a bus. I could be wrong, but you seem to be saying that you are attracted to Asian women, and I could totally have sex with you if so inclined. True?"

Girls, Guns, and Beer

When I was a kid, I was in Girl Scouts and my brother was in Boy Scouts. I remember being jealous about the cool things my brother's troop got to do. Why were their activities so much more fun than ours?

Now that I've graduated into adulthood, life is rarely divided into gender specific activities--with the exception of the women's ministry at church.

If you hadn't noticed, churches approach men and women's ministries differently. Take this hypothetical announcement:

"Men, it's time for the [monthly men's ministry event]! This month we will [do something stereotypically female by sharing our feelings and having a good cry] ... Not! We will actually be [doing something extremely manly like shooting guns or lassoing cattle.]"

Wait a minute. Just because I'm female doesn't mean I don't want to shoot guns or lasso cattle. Why are their activities so much more fun than ours?

Well, from the previous non-quotation, I can make the following gross generalizations about men:

Men don't actually want to hang out with each other. They need an incentive (beer, poker, guns). Men do not like to share their emotions. In fact, they are terrified by the thought. Men are afraid of being perceived as overly feminine, thus they define themselves in opposition to the feminine qualities of vulnerability, sensitivity, and empathy.

Women, on the other hand, love to talk about their feelings. Put a bunch of women in a room together, and they will bond [paraphrased from a friend].

I took the opportunity to brainstorm words/things I associate with men's/women's ministry. The results are below.

MEN	WOMEN
Fun	Food
Bros	Bonding
Play	Crafts
Football	Tears
Accountability	Affirmation

These items are pretty funny in juxtaposition. Which would you prefer, football...or tears?

[As an aside, women's ministry events have the BEST FOOD EVER and/or I have cried into some pretty quality mini quiche bites while making hand-painted ornaments that say "Jesus is the BOMB!"]

I also brainstormed words about assumptions men's and women's ministries tend to make about men and women:

The church assumes men are…	The church assumes women are…
Bored	Tired
Concerned with work	Concerned with family
Lazy	Insecure
Disengaged	Overwhelmed
Distracted	Stressed
Lustful	Wounded
Desire entertainment	Desire comfort
Need encouragement to “man up”	Need validation

The assumptions [I'm assuming] the church makes about men seem blatantly insulting. As for the assumptions the church makes about women--

A lot of books, talks, and events seem to revolve around the issue of worth. And that's great. But there's more to women than their need to feel loved.

For a purely hypothetical example, I might be insecure, but also kind of arrogant. I might need validation, but also a kick in the pants. Yes, it's great knowing that God loves me just the way I am, but I also want to do something about it.

In my experience, issues related to worth and self-esteem tend to manifest cyclically throughout the seasons of life. And what brings me out of myself is usually acting as if I am loved, not the feeling itself. 

As for whether guys bond better by doing things together rather than by having deep, heart-to-heart talks--

My brother is two years younger than me. When we were kids, he was always trying to get me to play with him (maybe other older siblings can relate). On one family roadtrip, my mom taught us how to play poker with toothpicks. My brother was so enamored with the game, that he kept the game going long into a night of sleeping in our Jeep Cherokee (it was an interesting trip). 

So yeah. Maybe there's something to it.

Sex, Text and My Other Body

I'm sure there's a literary/sociological/psychological theory* that addresses this, but I've been thinking about something I can best describe as "my other body."

This is not my actual, physical body, but my symbolic one--not how I experience the world as flesh and blood, but how the world chooses to experience me. Perhaps I can explain.

I might see someone I don't know and based on his appearance alone conclude that he is smart, dumb, nerdy, a douchebag, etc.

Another person might see me and based on appearance alone conclude that I am not American and must be from a different country.

Or a person might view my body as a sexual object, no matter that I am not (an object).

I'll put aside for the moment the question of whether our bodies do have any inherent value, worth, or beauty. Let it suffice for this blog that there are in fact two very different bodies in play. [I imagine someone who saw the two bodies as one and the same would have some kind of body dysmorphia.]

I find this concept extremely helpful as a writer. From the earliest days of literature, writers have identified their works with their own bodies--often as mother or father to an errant child. Anne Bradstreet famously wrote a poem titled "The Author to Her Book" in which she chides the "ill-formed offspring of my feeble brain." In this conception, the work is both intimately associated with the writer's body (as child) and dissociated and excused for its flaws and imperfections (the text as orphan).

Another Renaissance writer wrote of having undergone "pressing" to produce his book (don't you just love a good suggestive pun?). Both of these metaphors indicate the vulnerability (to criticism, etc.) of not only the author, but the author's body.

I'm sure every writer can relate to this in one way or another. You write something. You put a little (or a lot) of yourself into it, then the editor/publisher changes a word here, a phrase there and completely changes what you wished to say.

[I used to metaphorically hit the ceiling every time the school paper came out and the editors had once again marred my flawless copy with one or more grammatical, typographical, or idiomatic errors. Did I mention I was a joy to work with?]

Or someone reads something you've written and takes it completely out of context, interpreting it to mean something it doesn't mean or imputing to you a belief you hate.

And for whatever reason, women's symbolic bodies have always been more vulnerable then the symbolic bodies of men: witness online (or in print) attacks on a woman's looks or sexual history or anatomy, all because she wrote about, I dunno, anything. I can understand why authors like Charlotte Bronte wrote under a male pseudonym. Protection. Safety. No one drawing attention to the vulnerability of your body as female.

I feel this vulnerability--as much as I have tried to protect this other body so intimately associated with my own. I've tried to protect it in the way that I dress (that doesn't really work, by the way). I've stopped writing because a man read my words and thought that he knew me, thought that he could read me, thought that he could take liberties because hadn't I put myself (my body) out there for everyone to read?

I've despaired to think that in the career path I wish to pursue, my male coworkers will see me primarily as the cute girl (with "deep, dark, and soulful eyes," direct quote from one confessional email) and not as competent, smart, or talented.

I know I've been stressing the disconnect between my actual, physical body and this other body, but truthfully, they're not always so disconnected. It's this other body, I think, that causes men to casually touch my leg, my waist, my butt (without, as one friend so memorably put it, even bothering to buy me a happy meal first). It can't be me, right?

I don't know what it's like to be white, male, and heterosexual (a girl can dream), but I imagine there's less of a gap between the way other people perceive you and the way you perceive yourself. I imagine there are fewer moments of disconnect. I could try to primarily see myself as a sexual object, but I think that would get in the way of my writing.


[Based on this, one of the major feats that women in our culture are expected to achieve to become adults is internalizing the male gaze, or viewing themselves as primarily sexually attractive or not. Thus, being sexy is a culturally conditioned behavior that requires seeing a reverse image of yourself (as sexy) and then projecting it back to the world.]


*This might be Lacan and the mirror stage. Or Marx and alienation (alienated from work, from your body, from other people's bodies which then become instruments of production?). Or feminism and the male gaze.