Feminism is a word that has been tossed around most of my life. I can remember the feminists of the 70s with their Enjoli perfume anthem "I can bring home the bacon. Fry it up in a pan. And never, never let you forget you're a man, 'cause I'm a woman. W-O-M-A-N." Yes, I sang this loudly and proudly even though I didn't need a song to define feminism for me--I had examples all around me.
Recently, John and I have been watching M*A*S*H* reruns, and sexual freedom and choice seem to be the defining heart of feminism during that decade. My mother defined feminism by having a career when most other women her age were staying at home, raising children. My grandmother defined feminism by never backing down from anything. And my other grandmother defined feminism by being an athlete when others weren't. I've discussed all of this before, mostly trying to find my own definition of the term and trying to figure out exactly where I sit on the feminism spectrum.
It's always been difficult for me to think of myself as a strong woman, because I see what I couldn't do in my life as defining moments. I couldn't have a career, because I couldn't leave my children to someone else to raise, especially since that person most likely didn't have much more than a high-school degree and different morals. I couldn't finish school for the same reasons. I have no bank account to show what I've done, and I have no degree hanging on the wall.
When Glo was growing up and I would ask her what she wanted to be when she grew up, she would always respond with the same answer: I want to be a mom like you. While that filled me with a bit of pride, thinking that I seemed to have an enviable job, it also filled me with a bit of sadness, knowing that if she did follow in my footsteps, she too wouldn't have the satisfaction of being pleasing to the eyes of the world. She might appear inferior or weak.
However, I had an experience this week that just might have changed all of that thinking, at least for the moment. It's fairly intimate, and I hope that Rebecca won't mind that I share it.
I have heard some women say that the ultimate sign of feminism is being able to birth a baby. After all, no man can do it, and according to people around the world, it's one of the most painful experiences. I, however, have never agreed with this (just try running 26 miles--I guarantee it's more painful than having a baby--and no woman has run a 4-minute mile, but several men have). Like I frequently say, having a baby is like going into the dentist; you have a problem, you go into the hospital to get it taken care of, you do, and you walk out. I have never seen a strength in surviving childbirth. Watching Rebecca this past week though made me rethink my thinking.
It wasn't the childbirth that changed my mind, but it was watching what Rebecca went through in order to get to childbirth. Specifically, getting an epidural. And here's where my mental warning lights start flashing because I hate sharing birth stories, but take a deep breath and we'll get through this together.
An epidural, to put it simply, is a tube that is placed between a space in your spinal column that delivers numbing medication. It basically numbs everything from the waist down which obviously makes labor less painful. I'm sure there are several things wrong with that explanation (just ask John), but it will do for our purposes. The crazy thing is that in order to place the epidural, the anesthesiologist must first inject the site with a needle that is, no joke, about 10 inches long. And that horrific thing goes way in. And to put it honestly, it hurts like hell. In fact, it is probably one of the most painful things I can remember feeling. And the whole time, the woman has to stay curled up in a ball, but sitting up. The whole process probably takes ten minutes, but it feels like an eternity. And it's hospital policy that the support person take a seat during the procedure because the risk of the support person fainting or getting sick is high.
I so wish Rebecca hadn't needed an epidural, because I envisioned what she would again need to go through, but Rebecca feared the pain of labor, and I can't blame her for that. As the anesthesiologist came in, I almost wanted to vomit, but since I couldn't do that, I watched Rebecca through my own tears as her tears started. The pain is so horrific, and there's nothing to do but just sit there letting it happen. And in the same way that I cried when I received my own epidurals so many years ago, she had snot dripping from her nose along with the tears. And sitting on that table, she looked so small.
And yet she looked so strong.
A whole new respect for motherhood came to me then. Yes, we stay at home with our kids and endure the monotony of day-to-day living. Yes, we try and teach them the right, and we sometimes watch them choose the wrong. But there is a very physical strength in what we go through to get a child just to take its first breath. We choose to do it, and I don't think there's any greater strength than that. Think about it--what other time do you choose to undergo the most terrific pain you've ever experienced for someone else with no glory from the world or even anyone seeing it? As Jeffrey R. Holland said in his talk "Behold Thy Mother": "No love in mortality comes closer to approximating the pure love of Jesus Christ than the selfless love a devoted mother has for her child."
And her strength only shined through even more as I thought of what would be waiting for her at home.
You would think after all that women endure in childbirth that we would be given a two-week holiday or vacation to recover, or at least some sick leave, but no. We are expected to return home to not only continue with the chores of taking care of a family, but to foster another new, little, demanding person, as well as attempting to heal ourselves. It's practically herculean what we're asked to do.
I can think of no athletic feat, no educational pursuit, and no career that demands so much of a woman. People downplay what it means to be a mother, seeing it as something less than something else we can do or be, but if we're looking at the strength of a woman, there is nothing that asks more of us or puts more strain on our minds or bodies than that of being a mother.
So the next time someone asks me what I do, I hope I will not look down with embarrassment and say, "Oh, I'm just a mom," or make some flippant joke about being a "domestic engineer" or a "kept woman", but instead will look them firmly but warmly in the eyes and proudly say, "I'm a mother." And it will mean something.
Recently, John and I have been watching M*A*S*H* reruns, and sexual freedom and choice seem to be the defining heart of feminism during that decade. My mother defined feminism by having a career when most other women her age were staying at home, raising children. My grandmother defined feminism by never backing down from anything. And my other grandmother defined feminism by being an athlete when others weren't. I've discussed all of this before, mostly trying to find my own definition of the term and trying to figure out exactly where I sit on the feminism spectrum.
It's always been difficult for me to think of myself as a strong woman, because I see what I couldn't do in my life as defining moments. I couldn't have a career, because I couldn't leave my children to someone else to raise, especially since that person most likely didn't have much more than a high-school degree and different morals. I couldn't finish school for the same reasons. I have no bank account to show what I've done, and I have no degree hanging on the wall.
When Glo was growing up and I would ask her what she wanted to be when she grew up, she would always respond with the same answer: I want to be a mom like you. While that filled me with a bit of pride, thinking that I seemed to have an enviable job, it also filled me with a bit of sadness, knowing that if she did follow in my footsteps, she too wouldn't have the satisfaction of being pleasing to the eyes of the world. She might appear inferior or weak.
However, I had an experience this week that just might have changed all of that thinking, at least for the moment. It's fairly intimate, and I hope that Rebecca won't mind that I share it.
I have heard some women say that the ultimate sign of feminism is being able to birth a baby. After all, no man can do it, and according to people around the world, it's one of the most painful experiences. I, however, have never agreed with this (just try running 26 miles--I guarantee it's more painful than having a baby--and no woman has run a 4-minute mile, but several men have). Like I frequently say, having a baby is like going into the dentist; you have a problem, you go into the hospital to get it taken care of, you do, and you walk out. I have never seen a strength in surviving childbirth. Watching Rebecca this past week though made me rethink my thinking.
It wasn't the childbirth that changed my mind, but it was watching what Rebecca went through in order to get to childbirth. Specifically, getting an epidural. And here's where my mental warning lights start flashing because I hate sharing birth stories, but take a deep breath and we'll get through this together.
An epidural, to put it simply, is a tube that is placed between a space in your spinal column that delivers numbing medication. It basically numbs everything from the waist down which obviously makes labor less painful. I'm sure there are several things wrong with that explanation (just ask John), but it will do for our purposes. The crazy thing is that in order to place the epidural, the anesthesiologist must first inject the site with a needle that is, no joke, about 10 inches long. And that horrific thing goes way in. And to put it honestly, it hurts like hell. In fact, it is probably one of the most painful things I can remember feeling. And the whole time, the woman has to stay curled up in a ball, but sitting up. The whole process probably takes ten minutes, but it feels like an eternity. And it's hospital policy that the support person take a seat during the procedure because the risk of the support person fainting or getting sick is high.
I so wish Rebecca hadn't needed an epidural, because I envisioned what she would again need to go through, but Rebecca feared the pain of labor, and I can't blame her for that. As the anesthesiologist came in, I almost wanted to vomit, but since I couldn't do that, I watched Rebecca through my own tears as her tears started. The pain is so horrific, and there's nothing to do but just sit there letting it happen. And in the same way that I cried when I received my own epidurals so many years ago, she had snot dripping from her nose along with the tears. And sitting on that table, she looked so small.
And yet she looked so strong.
And her strength only shined through even more as I thought of what would be waiting for her at home.
You would think after all that women endure in childbirth that we would be given a two-week holiday or vacation to recover, or at least some sick leave, but no. We are expected to return home to not only continue with the chores of taking care of a family, but to foster another new, little, demanding person, as well as attempting to heal ourselves. It's practically herculean what we're asked to do.I can think of no athletic feat, no educational pursuit, and no career that demands so much of a woman. People downplay what it means to be a mother, seeing it as something less than something else we can do or be, but if we're looking at the strength of a woman, there is nothing that asks more of us or puts more strain on our minds or bodies than that of being a mother.
So the next time someone asks me what I do, I hope I will not look down with embarrassment and say, "Oh, I'm just a mom," or make some flippant joke about being a "domestic engineer" or a "kept woman", but instead will look them firmly but warmly in the eyes and proudly say, "I'm a mother." And it will mean something.
Im very thankful that your sharp mind, your excellence at time management and organizational ability and your desire to succeed and help your organization succeed was brought to bear in our home!
ReplyDeleteI so agree with this point of view on feminism, and appreciate this perspective right now! It is so easy to feel weighed down by the monotony of my everyday life, but I know it's important and I'm blessed Heavenly Father trusts us to raise these special spirits.
ReplyDelete