Sorry [not sorry] but I’m just going to go with the series thing for a bit. This week is going to be music themed, sort of. As I continue to spend a good deal of time feeling contemplative about the state of the world and my life (more so than usual), music has become something of a focal point for me again. BUT I’m going to do something a little different, or a lot different and also, a little scary, or a lot.
Let me start over, kind of. I wrote a book. Yup. That’s right. A whole book.
Some of you might know this already. Some of you might be thinking I’m bat shit crazy. Some of you might be rolling your eyes (another aspiring author—bitch, please). There might even be a small circle of you that wants to know more.
I don’t know what is pushing me to be brave and share. Maybe it is witnessing all the ‘women supporting women’ posts floating around social media in the last day or so. I love seeing shit like that. Of course, every time I see it, I pray that it’s more than just a hashtag or a passing trend. I want it to be more lasting. Permanent. Impactful. I want to see a women’s movement that stands the test of time.
Do you know I looked up what feminism meant the other day? I know. Don’t laugh at me. In the world we live in, particularly with what is going on RIGHT now, I’m very accustomed to normal adjectives or nouns morphing into something negative and slanderous. I know I’ve touched on that idea before. Suddenly the idea of belonging to or affiliating with any particular group comes with its own slew of insults, derogatory slurs, or undesirable associations. It’s the worst form of stereotyping and discrimination I’ve ever seen. For example, the words liberal or conservative are uttered with a sneer, rather than with the neutrality, they should be afforded.
Anyway, I don’t want to go too far down that rabbit hole today. I just wanted to provide a little context so when I tell you that I had ‘lost the forest through the trees’ when it comes to feminism. I actually began to think that maybe I wasn’t a feminist. I mean, sure, I’m a woman. I’m a purportedly strong woman who stands up for other women. But that’s not “enough”, right? Like being a feminist means belonging to a club or organizing a march or constantly posting empowering messages geared towards women on social media, right? Um, yes. But also, no.
Merriam-Webster defines feminism as follows: “the advocacy of women’s rights on the basis of the equality of the sexes.” Of course, in true anal-retentive fashion, I looked up advocacy and the same solid source defined that particular concept as follows: “public support for or recommendation of a particular cause or policy.” So, using these reliable definitions, I would then state that feminism is public support for women’s rights on the basis that women are fundamentally equal to men. Well, DUH. Of course I do that. Hell, I’ve even participated in a march or two and posted something rah rah, go women, on social media.
And yet, feminism has such an ugly connotation today. Or does it? It does when it’s wielded like a weapon by the uninformed, ill-informed, and well, sexist. If you take it outside of the disparaging memes and bitter shouts, feminism is pretty fucking awesome. Also, pretty fucking basic.
So what does that have to do with anyone?
Well, there have been times in my life, namely in my last relationship, where I have been the opposite of a powerful woman. I’ve allowed myself to shrink teeny tiny, to act as the less important half of a completely fucked whole. I’ve been willingly subjugated and even my grossest and most profound embarrassment and unhappiness didn’t push me to change a goddamn thing. I wasn’t just passively a non-feminist. In some ways, I was an anti-feminist. I was acting in a way that reinforced very antiquated (and absolutely bullshitty shit) gender roles.
We know this already though, right? You’ve read bits and pieces of my story, or at least the healing part. So how does this all tie together?
Well, I thought that I wasn’t a feminist because of what it really means to be a feminist. Then I didn’t think I was a feminist because my past behavior made me unworthy of such a label. Then I was afraid to own such a powerful categorization. What are the implications? Does that mean if I fuck up again and find myself in the situation I just described, I’d lose my status? No. Does that mean I have to be at the front and center of everything related to feminism? Nope. It does mean I have to do the work as long and as hard as is required to own the role of a feminist. It means I can’t be scared to share and use a part of my life as an example for what not to do. It means that this is MY platform and anything that fits, works. Thus, it means this is the perfect time to share bits and pieces with you.
Not as a test. Not as a teaser. But, to remind that where I am, I wasn’t. Where I want to be, I didn’t. What I need, I went without. To reinforce the notion that one must move past her trauma, but not before it teaches. Profoundly. I don’t revisit to harp and self-condemn. I revisit to recall and grow.
I have to look back periodically to remind myself of where I never want to be again. It’s not a long stop. It’s a moment. A breath. A pause. I do it so as to not gloss over, forget, and justify. It’s a commitment to worthy. A commitment to feminism. A commitment to self-love. A commitment to healthy relationships. A commitment to happiness. A commitment to endless growth. A commitment to the world I inhabit. A commitment those who are worthy, whom I love. A commitment to me.
So, in the spirit of being brave af and making such a stolid commitment, I’m going to share an excerpt every day for the next few days. Just the reflective introductory paragraphs. Each opening paragraph in a chapter is prefaced by a song, hence the musical component. So, you will get it all. A bit of music. A bit of me. A bit of a bit. Buckle up.
Talk to you tomorrow.
L.
thepathtoworthy.com 