Archives for posts with tag: female issues

IMG_3409_Fotor

Motherhood is transformative. This is no mystery. Talk to any mom out there and she will have a story or twenty on how motherhood has altered the very core of her being. These changes happen on grand and micro scales.

You change our bodies physically, even if we lose all the baby weight, things are just, well, different. Doesn’t matter how many planks I do, I still pee a bit when I jump up and down. No, I don’t want to go on the trampoline. I am fun! I swear! I will just pee my pants a bit, thanks, kid.

You change how we see the outside world, we want safety for you when you leave our grasp. Don’t zoom down that hill on your scoot…..see, see that is why, you fell, it is too fast, you’re not ready! This is why you wear a helmet!

You change how we manage our time. I can work all day, take you to an after school activity, and arrive with one minute to spare. We aren’t late, we have a minute to spare! I am very aware of how to plan down to the minute. Minutes are very important.

You change our multi-tasking functions. I can cook a dinner while listening to stories about the world’s biggest shark and carrying one kid on my hip. It’s a whale shark. We are having pasta for dinner.

As I began reflecting on who I am as a short story author, I found my themes revolve around modern motherhood and womanhood. They are intertwined, much like my actual life. I am a woman navigating this fast-paced world while being a mom. This is a delicate balance, but one many women are familiar with.

I am one draft away from being ready to submit my first short story to Lit Mags. I have been working on it for months, yes short stories take months to create. Don’t be fooled by the short part. I’ve been published before, but not in this genre. I am brimming with anticipation and hopefulness that someone will find my satire smart enough to publish, and maybe even pay me for it. A writer can dream!

My children pop up in my stories. As main, supporting, and background characters. They are there in some capacity. I began to wonder what will they think of this as they grow? How will they feel about the stories, and hopefully one day novels, that so often are rooted in my real life.

Writers have to battle with how that comes across, the lines between fiction and real life. How those in our lives will feel about bits and pieces of real life being pulled into fiction pieces. We either embrace it or hide from it.

To my sweet boys, I cannot unravel my writing from you, ever. You are so engrained in my bones that it would be impossible for me to consciously uncouple you from my writing. You gentlemen, are my muses.

Arguably, you have made me a better writer. You have uncovered parts of my creative brain that simply didn’t exist before I took the time to get to know you. I  grew you from the cells in my body and brought you into this world, sharing every waking moment with you in those early years. Science has discovered that quite literally, your cells traveled through my placenta and implanted themselves in my tissue for years to come. They call it Microchimera.

You are me.

I find joy in your voices. I hope I do your voices justice in my stories. I find inspiration in your thoughts. I hope I turn those thoughts into something worthwhile in my stories. I find creativity in your tough moments. I hope I write about those moments with humor. I find my voice through your awe of life. I hope I truly convey the awe you have with this world.

As I head toward this new chapter in my writing career, I just wanted to thank you for being the inspiration. You have and will continue to inspire characters, plots, dialogue, messaging, and stories. So many stories. Thank you for unlocking a voice that would have remained dormant without you.

And now that I have procrastinated with this piece for you, I must actually finish the edits of this last draft. I have a deadline. It’s tomorrow. Yeah, mom procrastinates too.

Male following female into blue night shadows

Yesterday I was walking home from an appointment. The boys were at camp and preschool, I was enjoying a leisurely walk home alone. Headphones in, phone out, reading through my email. I normally do not do this when the boys are with me, but hey, momma was alone. I happened to have a great email giving me an assignment for our local newspaper. I was about to send a text to my husband and then mom, when a young man, ran up beside me, out of breath. Initially I thought something had happened. He immediately started talking to me, I removed one of my headphones. He said something along the lines, “I thought you were really cute and I just had to talk to you. What’s your name?” At this point, my body language must have changed from elated, over my personal good news, to utterly terrified. I said, “I am married.” He said, “You’re married? You look really scared right now!” I ignored the comment and said, “Yes I am married and I have two kids.” He mumbled something else, sorry perhaps, I am not sure. I was rather uncomfortable. Then he turned around and walked away. I kept walking forward. Changing the purpose of my text to my husband from job to street interaction.

Rewind to the week before. It was around noon, I was walking home from our local coffee shop. Pushing my two year old in the stroller. I was using our small stroller, so I did not have my cup holder tray. I had on a tank top and shorts. They kept riding up as I walked. I kept cursing them in my mind, because it felt annoying. Pulling them down was tricky with two full hands. It was blazingly hot outside. We were enjoying our walk home. I was balancing my coffee in one hand while pushing the stroller, uphill, with the other hand. My little guy and I were just kind of chatting. I noticed a man approaching, walking in the opposite direction. He was swaying back and forth. As we began to get closer, I noticed an open can of beer in his hand. Again, it was noon. We were walking through a very family friendly park. There is a playground with a splash pad. Lots of trees and beautiful landscaping. There is a small dog park. There is an open field area for fitness programs, sports, playing, or laying around with friends and family. It was noon! As he got to us he looked me up and down, very slowly. I began to feel incredibly uncomfortable. No one else was around us. Just him, my baby, and me. I felt a twinge of alarm. He spoke. With slurred speech he said, “Damn! You got a lot of muscles on you girl.” I did not respond at all. I quickened my pace, my heart frantic to get my child away from the situation. In my head I thought “I do! If you touch me, I will use every single one of them to beat you.” I was ready to fight him off, to protect my baby, if it came to that. I did not feel safe. We arrived home safely a few minutes later. My son, oblivious to the situation.

Rewind even further. I took my oldest son to see Neil DeGrasse Tyson on a Tuesday. We walked home that night. It was not overly late, maybe around nine. As we left the theater another drunk man sexually harassed another woman. It was not me in that moment, but I did walk up to her and ask her if she was ok. My son asked me why, and I explained it to him, in as gentle of a way as I could. We moved on and continued to walk home. As we got closer to our building a group of men approached. College aged boys, all shirtless, for some unknown reason. One of them got very close to me and my face and drunkenly said “You are really good looking.” I pulled my son to the side and said nothing back. Again, that fight or flight took over. When my children are with me, flight wins, so I can avoid a fight. I had to have a chat this time, about why that was wrong and what had happened.

As I replayed the interaction yesterday, and how the young man seemed truly bothered that I seemed afraid of him, I recalled these two specific moments. There have been many others in my life, but I could write a memoire if I included every incident. My instinct yesterday was to be afraid, even if his interaction came from a genuine desire to connect with another human, society has made it so that women are instinctually afraid. We must be on the defense because of men like the ones who harassed me. I am not looking for a connection with a stranger, I am married. I have a family. I am not writing this from the view point of a single woman navigating the dynamics of meeting people. I am writing this from the view point of a woman who has been a victim of sexual harassment too many times to count. While street harassment is not studied enough, a 2014 study did find that 65% of women had experienced street harassment. I can recall moments even as a preteen, men hollering at me out of their car windows. I have been dealing with this for most of my life. It is no surprise that when this man did approach me and I realized what he was saying, that my mental and physical reaction immediately braced for another round of street harassment.

In today’s overly digitally connected world we are often lacking the face to face human connection. This is something that is discussed at length, if you Google that, you will find 25 million results. However, how can we, as a society, learn to embrace that innocent human connection, when so many rotten apples have ruined it? When these offenders have made us feel defensive and unsafe just walking down the street, with or without our children. In the moment, it can be difficult to ascertain the difference between someone who just feels drawn to you and someone who is sexually harassing you. Putting up your defense is usually the safest and most comforting reaction. Perhaps for some, at the risk of losing out on positive moment.

I do not have a simple solution. I do feel drawn to talk about it, though. I want to hear your stories. How do you navigate this often tricky balance? How do you determine when a stranger is just being genuine or if they are a threat? Are you like me, always having defenses up, because too many times you have been a victim of harassment? You are not alone in this battle, there is strength and safety in numbers. I do not feel bad that I came across as afraid, it is not my fault, I do however wish that our society was different. I wish that a woman could walk down the street without feeling the need to constantly be aware of her surroundings. I wish a woman could walk home at night, with her son, and not be harassed. I wish a woman could walk home from grabbing coffee in the middle of the day, without being harassed.