A lot is changing in our home right now. In the past few months there have been a lot of events that slowed us down and made us think about where we were headed. My job has become increasingly unstable. I have started looking into grad school and Riley is nearly finished with his Masters. Last month the man turned 30 and I am not all that far behind.
I have been increasingly discontent with life. I have been beating my head against a wall trying to find full time work. Each day without full time work (and a full time paycheck) I have been growing more impatient and more miserable. Envy has taken root in my life. It is difficult not to look around and want not only what everyone else has now, but what my family had when my parents were my age. By the time my parents were our age they had a new, large home sitting on three acres in the country, a full house of children, and took regular, lavish vacations.
The ball started rolling this past week when we decided that becoming vegetarians was not only a health choice we needed to make, but a moral choice we feel we must make. I usually dislike using "we." However, the changes that are starting to happen in my life are tied to the collective adventure we are taking together. During the conversations we have been having I realize how lucky I am to be with someone who not only will humor my "experiments," but has the same passions and values that I have. I am even more lucky to have found someone who patiently waited for me to grow into who I am. He never pushed me so far that I closed my mind to the presented ideas, only far enough to force me to look at my beliefs and examine my discomfort.
I am a documentary nut. I will watch just about anything in that genre. I have watched two hour long documentaries on things like pencils, apple juice, and jelly beans. Netflix recently added Tiny. It is a documentary on a guy who builds a home the size of a parking space. I sat down to watch it partially fearful that my husband would jump on the idea and partially with a morbid, freak show mentality. I wanted to view it in anthropological kind of way I suppose. I merely wanted to learn something I did not know before. There is this scene where he goes to a family dinner and his family is giving him excuses as to why they could never live like that. Hearing the materialistic lies we are all socialized to believe spoken aloud in plain terms I realized how vapid and worthless the arguments against simple living is.
Everything seemed to fall into place this weekend. I am frustrated with my life because I am making plans to work jobs I do not want, to buy things I don't need, to impress people I don't know. More has not been enough. I kept comparing my life to the life my parents had at my age. I saw all of the things I did not have and did not realize the value of the life I have. What I want out of life is not what they wanted. That was the first epiphany. When I got married I bought into the "life script" I was supposed to have. In my mind we were supposed to be working on home ownership, 2.5 children, and a 401k. We were supposed to have nice cars in the driveway and dress professionally. None of those things brings my heart any passion. I want to travel and see the world. I don't want that dream to be abstract or for retirement either. I want to travel now and grow as a person because of it. I want to leave very little impact ecologically on this earth. Lastly, and most importantly, I want to experience life with other people who share my values and be intertwined in their lives.
I looked at my parents lives again. Not just them specifically, but the everyman that they are of that generation. Yes, at my age they had a new home, three children, nice cars in the driveway, and a healthy income. However, education was not valued in their lives beyond job training. My world is larger because I have an education. It opened my life to new ideas and new ways of thinking about the world. Their vacations were tourist attractions that were hardly stimulating and enriching. Growing up, I hardly remember any family friends being around more than four or five years. Lastly, they will eventually be two people living in a 4,000 sq. ft. home. I am not judging that- if that is the life that brings them and that generation fulfillment then more power to them (with the exception of how destructive that generation has been on the earth). I do not want that life though.
We are going into this fairly clueless as to how it will play out exactly. There is a trajectory though. Our actions are going to start matching our passions instead of matching everyone else's expectations. Speaking for myself, I am tired of a materialistic, eco-destructive, isolated existence. There are things that I believe are morally right that are going to be tough. Even the first few tangible steps we have decided on are going to be uncomfortable at first. There will still be some worry about what others think. The first step is going to be a massive overhaul of what belongings we actually need. Once we have figured that out we will find a space that better suits a simpler life. I am excited for what life holds for us and how our lives will change with new priorities.
Monday, July 14, 2014
Thursday, June 5, 2014
Not so "Newly"wed: The Next Tuggle Adventure
I have not talked too much about it, out of fear it will never happen, but we are trying for a little Tuggle. It has already been a struggle, but I know there are many out there who are facing the same struggle- we just don't talk about it!
With all the "Mommy Blogs" out there is it is difficult to keep heart while going through this. Somehow, it is just not a topic that proper ladies talk about. For anyone who is squeamish, stop reading now! Seriously. I am not going to write in euphemisms. Sure, after it has been accomplished everyone talks about those nine months. So for all of you out there who are fighting the fight, here is our journey....
When I was nineteen I was diagnosed with PCOS. At that time a baby was the furthest thing from my mind- I was not even at the "preventing" stage of life and took it in stride. My mother had something similar and had three (fairly) healthy babies. However, about six months ago we stopped all forms of protection and had not been overly cautious for about a year- and nothing was happening.
When it was time to seriously start trying I had not had a cycle in almost a year and I knew it was time to find out why. As expected, my PCOS was out of control. I had also added a few new problems over the years. So, we went the least invasive rout first. Three rounds of Clomid were prescribed and I hoped this would be it.
First round went ok for the first 20 days. I responded to the lowest dose and expected to either conceive or finish the cycle and start a new one. As always, I am high maintenance and it did not work that way. About 30 days in my hormones and emotions were so wonky I hardly crawled out of bed. There was a mild steady pain from that point on. Yesterday I went in to see if my Fallopian tubes were blocked. But, you say, those are way up inside! Yes, yes they are. By the time this is all over I am sure I will be comfortable enough with dropping my pants to be a porn star. I have already dropped them for at least 8 people, and I am certain that number will keep growing.
I expected life to keep going on as it always had through all of this, but there is something about planning for new life that shakes your entire world up. Not being able to initially felt like a failure. Growing up in a staunchly Christian atmosphere many of my friends and roommates are on their 2nd or 3rd babies. There are passages of scripture about the redemption of woman coming through childbirth, and even with leaving the fold I felt like half of a woman. I have a wonderful husband who has been supportive, but in the past, I dated men who would have packed up and left if I was infertile. I had been left before when I told my boyfriends that children might not be part of the deal. I began to fear that the same might happen now and tried to deal with everything on my own and shoulder all of the emotions by myself. This is why I think it is important to talk about it.
Thus far, the journey hasn't been pretty. It isn't like pregnancy where you can dress it up in pink and blue and have the lofty title of mommy. You get to have the label of "infertile" and have gigantic catheters shoved into your vagina. So this brings me to yesterday.
I finished my procedure and uncomfortably sat up on the table. The doctor was astonished that I went through the whole thing silently. Apparently some women are not even able to finish the procedure and ask to quit. I have always seen myself as incredibly weak, so hearing the doctors astonishment over my silent endurance of the whole thing was affirming. A sliver of my bravado shield melted away. Even if I have a long way to go, I accomplished something. I braved the unknown and terrifying and did it with grace. My husband was waiting for me. I came home to be waited on hand and foot. After all the slimeball boyfriends who ran when things got tough, the difficult few years I have have recently faced, and the changes I have gone through since being married, I am married to one of the good ones, and no matter what we face to get there, I am certain our children are going to have parents who love them and each other. I usually hate a nice happy ending that ties everything up, but here you have it. Anastasia Tuggle is admitting to a happy ending. I can't find a single negative thing to say for the first time in my life. This is the first step to cultivating joy. It felt so final to walk out of that hospital. The day in itself was really quite trivial, but it meant so much to me. Here is to the rest of the journey....
With all the "Mommy Blogs" out there is it is difficult to keep heart while going through this. Somehow, it is just not a topic that proper ladies talk about. For anyone who is squeamish, stop reading now! Seriously. I am not going to write in euphemisms. Sure, after it has been accomplished everyone talks about those nine months. So for all of you out there who are fighting the fight, here is our journey....
When I was nineteen I was diagnosed with PCOS. At that time a baby was the furthest thing from my mind- I was not even at the "preventing" stage of life and took it in stride. My mother had something similar and had three (fairly) healthy babies. However, about six months ago we stopped all forms of protection and had not been overly cautious for about a year- and nothing was happening.
When it was time to seriously start trying I had not had a cycle in almost a year and I knew it was time to find out why. As expected, my PCOS was out of control. I had also added a few new problems over the years. So, we went the least invasive rout first. Three rounds of Clomid were prescribed and I hoped this would be it.
First round went ok for the first 20 days. I responded to the lowest dose and expected to either conceive or finish the cycle and start a new one. As always, I am high maintenance and it did not work that way. About 30 days in my hormones and emotions were so wonky I hardly crawled out of bed. There was a mild steady pain from that point on. Yesterday I went in to see if my Fallopian tubes were blocked. But, you say, those are way up inside! Yes, yes they are. By the time this is all over I am sure I will be comfortable enough with dropping my pants to be a porn star. I have already dropped them for at least 8 people, and I am certain that number will keep growing.
I expected life to keep going on as it always had through all of this, but there is something about planning for new life that shakes your entire world up. Not being able to initially felt like a failure. Growing up in a staunchly Christian atmosphere many of my friends and roommates are on their 2nd or 3rd babies. There are passages of scripture about the redemption of woman coming through childbirth, and even with leaving the fold I felt like half of a woman. I have a wonderful husband who has been supportive, but in the past, I dated men who would have packed up and left if I was infertile. I had been left before when I told my boyfriends that children might not be part of the deal. I began to fear that the same might happen now and tried to deal with everything on my own and shoulder all of the emotions by myself. This is why I think it is important to talk about it.
Thus far, the journey hasn't been pretty. It isn't like pregnancy where you can dress it up in pink and blue and have the lofty title of mommy. You get to have the label of "infertile" and have gigantic catheters shoved into your vagina. So this brings me to yesterday.
I finished my procedure and uncomfortably sat up on the table. The doctor was astonished that I went through the whole thing silently. Apparently some women are not even able to finish the procedure and ask to quit. I have always seen myself as incredibly weak, so hearing the doctors astonishment over my silent endurance of the whole thing was affirming. A sliver of my bravado shield melted away. Even if I have a long way to go, I accomplished something. I braved the unknown and terrifying and did it with grace. My husband was waiting for me. I came home to be waited on hand and foot. After all the slimeball boyfriends who ran when things got tough, the difficult few years I have have recently faced, and the changes I have gone through since being married, I am married to one of the good ones, and no matter what we face to get there, I am certain our children are going to have parents who love them and each other. I usually hate a nice happy ending that ties everything up, but here you have it. Anastasia Tuggle is admitting to a happy ending. I can't find a single negative thing to say for the first time in my life. This is the first step to cultivating joy. It felt so final to walk out of that hospital. The day in itself was really quite trivial, but it meant so much to me. Here is to the rest of the journey....
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Get a hair cut and get a real job....
This past summer has taught me a lot about myself. It all came into sync this past week while on vacation to Disney World though. It is funny how and when things click in our small, limited minds. I had not been to Disney since the fall of my senior year. From that point on my life was about to face many challenges and changes.
While on vacation I received a call that I would be moving backward in my career development. I am receiving a pay cut and demotion. While it is not the job I intended to remain in forever, I was planning on staying in it long enough to finish grad school. I planned on developing classes I began teaching last year and furthering the relationships with my students.
It was a small thing in the grand scheme of things. It was like a punch in the gut though on so many levels. It called into question my abilities. Working with children is what I want to do with my life. I began questioning my abilities in every other aspect of my life as well. Am I a sub par life partner? Will I be a bad mother? Why am I still not the person I want to see in the mirror? Why am I still languishing in undergrad?
Being in a place I had not been in for many years caused me to look back on where I have been for nearly a decade. My first reaction was honestly one of despair. I felt as if I have wasted my adult life up to this point. I only saw my dead end job, my perceived failures, and I felt trapped in my life. I saw all of my mistakes in glaring clarity.
I am not going to say that those thoughts are not still sitting squarely in the middle of my chest. I still feel random fits of panic and the overpowering desire to pack up and disappear. It is easing up though. Being in a place I loved as a child many years later I was also able to look back and see everything I have overcome.
In eight years I have become a drastically different person. Even being there with someone I love dearly and have known for years made me remember where I have been and what I have done that was right for me even more.
I have solidified my religious beliefs (or lack of) in these past years. It would have been easier to continue mouthing my allegiance somewhere it did not lie. I also broke ties that were contingent upon similar beliefs. I had the guts to walk away from unhealthy relationships and refuse to be walked on and used.
I have weathered far worse than a job change. Abuse has not broken me. Being victimized has not sullied me. I can stand up in spite of these things.
This is what I needed to push me into some changes. It is time to start making long term decisions. It is time to grow up and stop being pushed wherever life takes me. Other than marriage, I have become very against commitment. One of my first reactions to my insecurities and fears was to escape. While I certainly do not plan on having life all mapped out, I plan on buckling down and taking control back in my life in all areas. Am I going to mess up? Sure I am. Am I going to want to give up and take the easy rout where everyone pushes me around? Of course. In the coming weeks and months though I need to discover for myself how I want to be treated and how that will affect my life. Even now, having an idea of when things have crossed a line and are no longer ok is a freeing thing.
I also had to look at why I was in my past position in the first place which led me to realize why it shook me so hard. I felt that I had to take that position and do it well to prove something to myself. I also changed to the field of education for the same reason. I felt like my insecurities would be satisfied if I could pull off this job as well as someone else. There is no satisfaction in living someone else's life. I will never be them.
My insecurities are still strangling me, but I feel like I can fend them off and win the battle against them. I recognize that much of the powerlessness I have been fighting against is my own fault. I never allowed myself to establish a boundary for how much I would take. I automatically have accepted that if someone does something to me I deserve it and have no right to stand up against it.
That is where I am. I wanted to write on so many other things, but they just wouldn't develop into anything with everything that is on my mind, I guess it is just time to grow up and get a real job.
While on vacation I received a call that I would be moving backward in my career development. I am receiving a pay cut and demotion. While it is not the job I intended to remain in forever, I was planning on staying in it long enough to finish grad school. I planned on developing classes I began teaching last year and furthering the relationships with my students.
It was a small thing in the grand scheme of things. It was like a punch in the gut though on so many levels. It called into question my abilities. Working with children is what I want to do with my life. I began questioning my abilities in every other aspect of my life as well. Am I a sub par life partner? Will I be a bad mother? Why am I still not the person I want to see in the mirror? Why am I still languishing in undergrad?
Being in a place I had not been in for many years caused me to look back on where I have been for nearly a decade. My first reaction was honestly one of despair. I felt as if I have wasted my adult life up to this point. I only saw my dead end job, my perceived failures, and I felt trapped in my life. I saw all of my mistakes in glaring clarity.
I am not going to say that those thoughts are not still sitting squarely in the middle of my chest. I still feel random fits of panic and the overpowering desire to pack up and disappear. It is easing up though. Being in a place I loved as a child many years later I was also able to look back and see everything I have overcome.
In eight years I have become a drastically different person. Even being there with someone I love dearly and have known for years made me remember where I have been and what I have done that was right for me even more.
I have solidified my religious beliefs (or lack of) in these past years. It would have been easier to continue mouthing my allegiance somewhere it did not lie. I also broke ties that were contingent upon similar beliefs. I had the guts to walk away from unhealthy relationships and refuse to be walked on and used.
I have weathered far worse than a job change. Abuse has not broken me. Being victimized has not sullied me. I can stand up in spite of these things.
This is what I needed to push me into some changes. It is time to start making long term decisions. It is time to grow up and stop being pushed wherever life takes me. Other than marriage, I have become very against commitment. One of my first reactions to my insecurities and fears was to escape. While I certainly do not plan on having life all mapped out, I plan on buckling down and taking control back in my life in all areas. Am I going to mess up? Sure I am. Am I going to want to give up and take the easy rout where everyone pushes me around? Of course. In the coming weeks and months though I need to discover for myself how I want to be treated and how that will affect my life. Even now, having an idea of when things have crossed a line and are no longer ok is a freeing thing.
I also had to look at why I was in my past position in the first place which led me to realize why it shook me so hard. I felt that I had to take that position and do it well to prove something to myself. I also changed to the field of education for the same reason. I felt like my insecurities would be satisfied if I could pull off this job as well as someone else. There is no satisfaction in living someone else's life. I will never be them.
My insecurities are still strangling me, but I feel like I can fend them off and win the battle against them. I recognize that much of the powerlessness I have been fighting against is my own fault. I never allowed myself to establish a boundary for how much I would take. I automatically have accepted that if someone does something to me I deserve it and have no right to stand up against it.
That is where I am. I wanted to write on so many other things, but they just wouldn't develop into anything with everything that is on my mind, I guess it is just time to grow up and get a real job.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Insulted for the Name of Christ
If you are insulted for the name of Christ, you are blessed, because the Spirit of glory and of God rests upon you. But let none of you suffer as a murderer or a thief or an evildoer or as a meddler. 1 Peter 4:14-16
I had been working on a blog about the churches lack of stewardship when it comes to finances and its membership. That is not quite where I was finishing each time I went back and edited the piece. I kept coming across Christians and Atheists alike posting, blogging, and talking about similar topics.
I continue to come across the idea of "persecution" that the church believes it is suffering under. Growing up I remember learning about the persecution of believers. Martyrdom is one thing. I am not going to argue against martyrs being a reality, at least not today. American persecution of believers is a completely different animal.
It all started when I read an article a month or so ago detailing the persecution of the church in America. At first it did not bother me. It stayed in my thoughts for weeks though. The main points were that the church was being persecuted through gay marriage and losing tax exempt status. The longer I thought on this the more defined the irritation became. It was a deep root in my disbelief. Reality inside the four ivory walls of the church is far different than reality everywhere else. It bothers me that children are raised in a subset of beliefs that teaches them that everyone on the outside is "bad" and persecuting those they love- sounds a bit like propaganda.
When I was a Christian (or at least still holding the title) I only experienced something I believe was persecution once. I went to a job interview and the administrator began grilling me on homeschooling and Bible college. I calmly stated that these questions had no place in an interview- and guess what- I got a call a week later for the position. I firmly believe it is because the law is still on the side of religious freedom.
I slowly began to identify as non-religious in the past year. I work in a field that most fundamentalist Christians believe to be the bastion of persecution- public education. When I began identifying as atheist- in a quiet, non-combative way- I began to notice snickers and comments. My morality and ethics were commented on despite a lack of indiscretion. Out of a staff of about thirty only one or two others are not regular church goers, and most of those who attend church are of low church fundamentalist denominations. I do not think I am persecuted in this setting, I am merely showing the solidarity of Christianity in many public arenas. Just from my own experience, we are looking at a ratio of 30:2 in one of the most "godless" places in America.
Peter is saying in the above scriptures not to bring the persecution onto yourselves. It is not godly persecution in that case. When you bring it onto yourself, it is called consequences not suffering for Christ. Some years back while spending my first year in Christian academia at a small Kentucky bible college, the president of the seminary made a very public comment about gay persons possibly being mutations. He had no scientific backing and even less philosophical backing. The comment did not need to be said at all. It especially did not need to be said publicly. He stood behind what he said even after protests broke out on campus. The safety of roughly 1,000 students was at stake, and still, he stood behind his words. Like wildfire, everyone started claiming persecution in the name of Christ. No, some moron called a group of people mutants. No one was protesting the anti-gay rhetoric that was common in the school. They were protesting one statement that was asinine.
It is not persecution when you spitefully harm others and they respond out of pain. I saw this time and again while I was growing up. If you have Jesus in the right way you hold the trump card. Anyone who gets in your way can be vilified as a persecutor of Christ. This brings me back to the original issue that put this on my mind- tax exempt status for churches. This is indicative of the sense of entitlement felt by many in the church. If you want to take up money (that primarily goes back into the church) and worship in your own way, that is fine. Why do you deserve a tax break? What part of "render unto Caesar" said "except for your cushy tax exempt status." Could it be that churches are experiencing shrinkage and the extra fees might mean fewer banquets and conventions? How is this persecution? I am sure the martyrs of the early church would roll in their graves to hear taxes being likened to the systematic torture of early believers.
Persecution is not a mere disagreement with someone either. Others being able to marry the person of their choosing is not persecution. Women being able to receive contraceptives is not persecution either.
I hope that one day the persecuted Christians have a right to worship freely, that they see the day when a Christian is elected president, that they can cruelly protest funerals if they choose, that they can have their own museum of science, that they can get tax breaks, that their religious preference is engraved on the national currency, and that they can define family and marriage and family for everyone for decades- maybe then they will know what it means to be free from persecution.
I had been working on a blog about the churches lack of stewardship when it comes to finances and its membership. That is not quite where I was finishing each time I went back and edited the piece. I kept coming across Christians and Atheists alike posting, blogging, and talking about similar topics.
I continue to come across the idea of "persecution" that the church believes it is suffering under. Growing up I remember learning about the persecution of believers. Martyrdom is one thing. I am not going to argue against martyrs being a reality, at least not today. American persecution of believers is a completely different animal.
It all started when I read an article a month or so ago detailing the persecution of the church in America. At first it did not bother me. It stayed in my thoughts for weeks though. The main points were that the church was being persecuted through gay marriage and losing tax exempt status. The longer I thought on this the more defined the irritation became. It was a deep root in my disbelief. Reality inside the four ivory walls of the church is far different than reality everywhere else. It bothers me that children are raised in a subset of beliefs that teaches them that everyone on the outside is "bad" and persecuting those they love- sounds a bit like propaganda.
When I was a Christian (or at least still holding the title) I only experienced something I believe was persecution once. I went to a job interview and the administrator began grilling me on homeschooling and Bible college. I calmly stated that these questions had no place in an interview- and guess what- I got a call a week later for the position. I firmly believe it is because the law is still on the side of religious freedom.
I slowly began to identify as non-religious in the past year. I work in a field that most fundamentalist Christians believe to be the bastion of persecution- public education. When I began identifying as atheist- in a quiet, non-combative way- I began to notice snickers and comments. My morality and ethics were commented on despite a lack of indiscretion. Out of a staff of about thirty only one or two others are not regular church goers, and most of those who attend church are of low church fundamentalist denominations. I do not think I am persecuted in this setting, I am merely showing the solidarity of Christianity in many public arenas. Just from my own experience, we are looking at a ratio of 30:2 in one of the most "godless" places in America.
Peter is saying in the above scriptures not to bring the persecution onto yourselves. It is not godly persecution in that case. When you bring it onto yourself, it is called consequences not suffering for Christ. Some years back while spending my first year in Christian academia at a small Kentucky bible college, the president of the seminary made a very public comment about gay persons possibly being mutations. He had no scientific backing and even less philosophical backing. The comment did not need to be said at all. It especially did not need to be said publicly. He stood behind what he said even after protests broke out on campus. The safety of roughly 1,000 students was at stake, and still, he stood behind his words. Like wildfire, everyone started claiming persecution in the name of Christ. No, some moron called a group of people mutants. No one was protesting the anti-gay rhetoric that was common in the school. They were protesting one statement that was asinine.
It is not persecution when you spitefully harm others and they respond out of pain. I saw this time and again while I was growing up. If you have Jesus in the right way you hold the trump card. Anyone who gets in your way can be vilified as a persecutor of Christ. This brings me back to the original issue that put this on my mind- tax exempt status for churches. This is indicative of the sense of entitlement felt by many in the church. If you want to take up money (that primarily goes back into the church) and worship in your own way, that is fine. Why do you deserve a tax break? What part of "render unto Caesar" said "except for your cushy tax exempt status." Could it be that churches are experiencing shrinkage and the extra fees might mean fewer banquets and conventions? How is this persecution? I am sure the martyrs of the early church would roll in their graves to hear taxes being likened to the systematic torture of early believers.
Persecution is not a mere disagreement with someone either. Others being able to marry the person of their choosing is not persecution. Women being able to receive contraceptives is not persecution either.
I hope that one day the persecuted Christians have a right to worship freely, that they see the day when a Christian is elected president, that they can cruelly protest funerals if they choose, that they can have their own museum of science, that they can get tax breaks, that their religious preference is engraved on the national currency, and that they can define family and marriage and family for everyone for decades- maybe then they will know what it means to be free from persecution.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
The First Goodbye
A lingering remnant of holding on to my past faith became apparent to me this morning. After arguing with my husband over dirty laundry, I realized I am still trying to be Suzy Homemaker meets Betty Crocker. It was only an argument because I felt guilty for one specific item being in the washing machine. His lunch was packed, the house is clean, but one pair of pants ruined my morning. How could I leave the one thing he needed out of the dryer?
I then went on to see countless blogs on my facebook wall about "the glories of motherhood," "secrets to a clean home," "the oh so perfect budget," and the list went on. If that is your cup of tea then great. You are a far better woman than I, lets move on. By noon today, sitting in my pajamas doing research for a writing project I felt like a grime spot one of my more womanly friends clean with their miracle cleaners.
For more than twenty three years my life consisted of church three times a week, multiple positions in the church, Christian rock concerts, and good ol' Bible. About four years ago I went off to my second of two bible colleges. Sitting in a class that was designed to counter arguments against Christianity under the cloak of "Intro to Philosophy" small doubts began to blossom. Then a student organization falsified a chapel meeting where they detailed events concerning a female Muslim who had supposedly been murdered by her family after abducting her from Dayton, OH. "We are at war with Eastasia and always have been" started becoming normal in this Christian circle. This was my second attempt at Christian academia and it was a failure.
After a traumatic event in my life I thought I might have never been "saved" and gave it a second try. I wanted to wash my soul of what happened since my body was forever ruined. The guilt did not subside. I was dirty. Maybe so dirty God refused to enter in. Maybe God had walked away a long time ago. If he inhabited those around me, surely he did hate me.
Slowly, my faith evaporated. The songs were comforting. I loved my Sunday school class dearly. Each time I discussed a lack of faith at home I was guilted right back in. My love for family equated love for God. If I did not love God I did not love them.
Long story very short, this past spring I was grasping for something to believe in. I studied Wicca and old religions. They were empty and hollow as well. Then I saw the ugliness that breeds in fundamental Christianity. Dirty, pagan, whores deserve to be treated one way, good girls another. It was the last straw. I had been fighting to keep a small hold on my faith. The things that were good and respectable showed themselves as fleeting mists. If you have not already guessed, I am an atheist. Not a spur of the moment hipster atheist either. It is not cool. It is not chic. I feel like Nietzsche's mad man looking for God. Growing up a Christian I always thought atheist were smug, rude, and self assured. It is not so. Maybe eventually it comes to that, but at first it is heart wrenching.
Religion was part of the white picket fence dream I had. Even when I scrapped that plan knowing I wanted a career, I held on to a superficial view of my body and my role inside the home. When push came to shove in the closest relationship I've ever had, I still thought I had to put on the "wife show."
When I am at home, I do "wife stuff." I rarely ask for help, I rarely want help. If he steps in I am upset that I did not act like "wife drone 1" well enough. So the first piece of my "deprogramming" needs to be the expectations I put on myself for so long. Yes, I will have clean clothes and so will my husband. I love him and like to do things for him. I will, however, stop allowing guilt to pull me away from my writing because there are dishes to do or dinners to cook. I will stop crying over unfinished chores and insinuations about my marriage based on my cooking and cleaning. My sole purpose in life is not the order of my home or even the happiness of my husband. If I fail at those things I am not a failure.
Dirty and clean are such polarities in Christianity. They ultimately mean, as do most polarities, bad and good. Christ makes a dirty heart clean like Ajax cleans the bathroom. The religion is based on cleanliness metaphor. As a woman, dirty is also tied to our sexuality, our homemaking skills, and our ambitions. I could always be more organized to be more productive in the things I enjoy- but that is the extent of my homemaking desire. I am an atheist, I am not a prude, and I am untidy, but I am not dirty and I will not buy into that title any longer. To my faith that once was, this is our first goodbye.
Sunday, June 2, 2013
Where Feminism and Family Meet
As a left wing feminist I have grown comfortable with the fact that I am not living out the vision my family matriarchs had for me when I was just a bundle of pink lace. I am twenty five and motherhood is still a distant dream I have deferred to get a Masters degree. For this stage in life, I have traded long nights with a crying baby for more long nights hunched over a text book. There are the times when I am certain that snuggling with an infant would be far more pleasant than pulling all nighters still in my mid twenties. However, and I do not say this to disparage mothers at all, I personally feel that I have dreams to accomplish still in order to give my future children a good life.
I am the first woman in my family to attend college and I am certainly the first radical feminist. My views have always made the women (and men for that matter) of my family a bit uncomfortable. I went through a vegetarian phase in high school, and like that phase, my family hoped the feminist phase would pass as well. Well, here I am, 10 years after trying to draft my first feminist manifesto (yeah at 15- I wonder why I never had a prom date!) and I am still intensely interested in gender equality. My views have grown up, but the passion remains the same.
Last year in a sociology class I looked at suicide rates among the elderly. Suicide in general is lower among people with a strong peer group. I looked at the Red Hat Society as a deterrent to suicide among elderly women who have lost their spouses. From the data I could find, it seems that any group that creates positive support and community has an impact on the mental health of its members.
Sociology is not my immediate field of study, and I left that project feeling dissatisfied with the final result. My minor however is in Gender Studies. An academic pursuit such as this is often interdisciplinary giving me exposure to different fields and broadening my viewpoints. A few months ago I attended a Gender Studies conference. The first thing that always strikes me at these conferences and women's rallies is the feeling of community. Women are programmed by society to compete with each other and tear each other apart. A common theme in the research sessions I attended this year focused on marginalized groups of women in society who lose their voice and visibility.
About a month after this conference I was talking to my grandmother about her recent Red Hat conference. I noticed this same feeling of community coming through her pictures and stories. I thought on that. She talked of women who lost spouses and turned to their local chapter of Red Hat's. She also talked about women who called on their "Red Hatters" first in times of need. I was blown away by the community these women have created. For one of the first times, I found a link between my values and my family.
As a society, we shun our crones. I sincerely say "crone" with the utmost respect and mean women of a certain age with valuable life experiences that have made them wise. The women who've born three generations should be venerated. These Red Hat women are often loud, ostentatious, and colorful. Good for them! I've heard countless people complain about Red Hat Society women. From "They look ridiculous!" to "Women of their age should act with more decorum," I've heard it all. Why? Why are they ridiculous and unworthy of a good time? It is certainly far more respectable than the socially accepted old man in his pajamas surrounded by silicone injected twenty year old's.
Men have the right to "play" their entire lives. The difference begins around the time everyone gets married. At least in my Midwest experience, the women stay in the house to make sure the food is ready, the children are cared for (or at least find the sitter), and the house stays clean and damage free. The men either slump down on the couch for endless football games or throw back a few beers and play outside. Middle age rolls around. Men are socially able (even expected) to cheat on their wives, go get a Harley, and act sixteen again. It is only their "midlife crisis." Their wives are no longer interesting because instead of marrying a whole person they married a body. This body they married belongs to them and their societies mores. There are good men out there. Do not think I hate men. I am married to one of the good ones! I am simply looking at patterns which are acceptable.
A society that views women as bodies subjected to their husbands and the society at large would, of course, take issue with women being visible and vocal in their latter years. Even the most glamorous pin-up eventually feels the weight of her years, and society would like to discard these women. The value of a woman needs to rest on her actions and experiences not her appearance. This is what I think the Red Hat Society is all about. For the first time in many of their lives, these women have been able to play again.
My hat is off to these women. I stand in awe of women who have thrown off the shackles of patriarchal society and proudly wear their purple and red. From the Red Hat Society's web page comes the statement I believe sums the entire movement up, "They have become their own women's movement – not strident, not angry – with a strong emphasis on the positive aspects of life, stressing the importance of friendship and sisterhood, the value of play, and a determination to find the good in life everywhere possible." They embrace their status as crones and refuse to fade into obscurity.
I am the first woman in my family to attend college and I am certainly the first radical feminist. My views have always made the women (and men for that matter) of my family a bit uncomfortable. I went through a vegetarian phase in high school, and like that phase, my family hoped the feminist phase would pass as well. Well, here I am, 10 years after trying to draft my first feminist manifesto (yeah at 15- I wonder why I never had a prom date!) and I am still intensely interested in gender equality. My views have grown up, but the passion remains the same.
Last year in a sociology class I looked at suicide rates among the elderly. Suicide in general is lower among people with a strong peer group. I looked at the Red Hat Society as a deterrent to suicide among elderly women who have lost their spouses. From the data I could find, it seems that any group that creates positive support and community has an impact on the mental health of its members.
Sociology is not my immediate field of study, and I left that project feeling dissatisfied with the final result. My minor however is in Gender Studies. An academic pursuit such as this is often interdisciplinary giving me exposure to different fields and broadening my viewpoints. A few months ago I attended a Gender Studies conference. The first thing that always strikes me at these conferences and women's rallies is the feeling of community. Women are programmed by society to compete with each other and tear each other apart. A common theme in the research sessions I attended this year focused on marginalized groups of women in society who lose their voice and visibility.
About a month after this conference I was talking to my grandmother about her recent Red Hat conference. I noticed this same feeling of community coming through her pictures and stories. I thought on that. She talked of women who lost spouses and turned to their local chapter of Red Hat's. She also talked about women who called on their "Red Hatters" first in times of need. I was blown away by the community these women have created. For one of the first times, I found a link between my values and my family.
As a society, we shun our crones. I sincerely say "crone" with the utmost respect and mean women of a certain age with valuable life experiences that have made them wise. The women who've born three generations should be venerated. These Red Hat women are often loud, ostentatious, and colorful. Good for them! I've heard countless people complain about Red Hat Society women. From "They look ridiculous!" to "Women of their age should act with more decorum," I've heard it all. Why? Why are they ridiculous and unworthy of a good time? It is certainly far more respectable than the socially accepted old man in his pajamas surrounded by silicone injected twenty year old's.
Men have the right to "play" their entire lives. The difference begins around the time everyone gets married. At least in my Midwest experience, the women stay in the house to make sure the food is ready, the children are cared for (or at least find the sitter), and the house stays clean and damage free. The men either slump down on the couch for endless football games or throw back a few beers and play outside. Middle age rolls around. Men are socially able (even expected) to cheat on their wives, go get a Harley, and act sixteen again. It is only their "midlife crisis." Their wives are no longer interesting because instead of marrying a whole person they married a body. This body they married belongs to them and their societies mores. There are good men out there. Do not think I hate men. I am married to one of the good ones! I am simply looking at patterns which are acceptable.
A society that views women as bodies subjected to their husbands and the society at large would, of course, take issue with women being visible and vocal in their latter years. Even the most glamorous pin-up eventually feels the weight of her years, and society would like to discard these women. The value of a woman needs to rest on her actions and experiences not her appearance. This is what I think the Red Hat Society is all about. For the first time in many of their lives, these women have been able to play again.
My hat is off to these women. I stand in awe of women who have thrown off the shackles of patriarchal society and proudly wear their purple and red. From the Red Hat Society's web page comes the statement I believe sums the entire movement up, "They have become their own women's movement – not strident, not angry – with a strong emphasis on the positive aspects of life, stressing the importance of friendship and sisterhood, the value of play, and a determination to find the good in life everywhere possible." They embrace their status as crones and refuse to fade into obscurity.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
We Don't Need No Education: Children and Our Views of Death and Life
Working with the issue of censorship is always messy. Throw in the daily temptation to censor materials for children and you have a monster in the room without realizing you let him in. I will be perfectly honest, I am against censorship as an idea. If your own belief system cannot stand against opposing viewpoints it is hardly worth your time. That said, I know many adamant opponents of censorship who shy away from the topic when children are involved.
A few weeks ago I took a book about the Holocaust away from a first grade student. It seemed to be too advanced for them. However, after going home, this bothered me. I had acted out of the assumption that children are innocents needing my guidance to preserve that. I was sheltering them from the harsh light of reality. This one action kept me awake for a few nights. If the child was old enough to show interest, then he was old enough to have the book.
This week a staff memo went out that made me think about all of this even more. An Indianapolis woman who helped found an organization that provides fresh produce to schools in poverty stricken areas passed away this past week. My place of employment has utilized this program the two years I've been there. Our kitchen department decided that the children should make thank you letters and cards for the family to express their gratitude for the snacks and show the family how much their mother accomplished through the program. The memo was passed on to my building with a note stating something along these lines of, "Great idea, BUT leave out the fact that she died." This was meant as a well thought out public relations kind of statement. I respect that. However, this once again placed our cultural views of death into a new context for me after the issues I had with my own action of censorship.
Like most of the important steps and experiences in life, we chose to shield children from death. We do this with romantic love, sexual attraction, ambiguous situations, and death. As soon as I read this week's memo I thought of the faceless children in Pink Floyd's, The Wall. Any life event which causes strong emotional responses is shunned in our children. This is not a public education issue, it is a cultural issue. It is carried out at school, but otherwise there would be a line of parents at the door to complain if things were handled differently.
Death pervades our world. Despite the fact that most of us adults want to spend our lives pretending it does not exist, death will take us all. Why do we feel the need to pretend with children that death does not exist. I find this idea at odds with the idea that we are a "Christian" nation. Death is central to the biblical message. Death brings retribution, propitiation, and in a metaphorical sense new life in the biblical worldview.
All of this made me wonder about the formation of my own views of death. Growing up a pastor's child I saw more than my fair share of death. I attended funeral after funeral as a child. I never became calloused to death as many might suppose a child raised around a lot of death would be. It was normal though. My parents did not replace pets before I noticed they were missing. They told me they were dead. It surprises me to hear grown adults shy away from death. In the last year, I saw an adult skip a family member's funeral because he "does not do funerals." Guess what, you'll do one. You'll be the guest of honor at one, to be quite macabre about it. Death is not "fun" for any of us, but ignoring one aspect of humanity does not take it away.
While it is always a possibility that I grew up seeing a bit too much death, I firmly believe it gave me a healthier view of death than most adults I encounter that are of a similar age. I have never had the belief that I am invincible. I saw infants in coffins as well as old men. When I finally have children of my own I will not shy away from death and its permanent ramifications with my children. Hiding death from children betrays their trust. They believe the world is being shown to them by the adults around them. We need to exhibit the world as it is to children rather than the world we wish could be.
I did not write this to be bleak and depressing. This weekend I think all of this came together for me. Without getting into details, I have had the worst few months of my entire life this spring. Last night, through no tangible catalyst, it hit me. Every moment is precious. Each day is a gift. We are so temporary. I knew these words before. The meaning was simply absent. Accepting death gives us life. Knowing that death will find us all makes life more urgent.
A few weeks ago I took a book about the Holocaust away from a first grade student. It seemed to be too advanced for them. However, after going home, this bothered me. I had acted out of the assumption that children are innocents needing my guidance to preserve that. I was sheltering them from the harsh light of reality. This one action kept me awake for a few nights. If the child was old enough to show interest, then he was old enough to have the book.
This week a staff memo went out that made me think about all of this even more. An Indianapolis woman who helped found an organization that provides fresh produce to schools in poverty stricken areas passed away this past week. My place of employment has utilized this program the two years I've been there. Our kitchen department decided that the children should make thank you letters and cards for the family to express their gratitude for the snacks and show the family how much their mother accomplished through the program. The memo was passed on to my building with a note stating something along these lines of, "Great idea, BUT leave out the fact that she died." This was meant as a well thought out public relations kind of statement. I respect that. However, this once again placed our cultural views of death into a new context for me after the issues I had with my own action of censorship.
Like most of the important steps and experiences in life, we chose to shield children from death. We do this with romantic love, sexual attraction, ambiguous situations, and death. As soon as I read this week's memo I thought of the faceless children in Pink Floyd's, The Wall. Any life event which causes strong emotional responses is shunned in our children. This is not a public education issue, it is a cultural issue. It is carried out at school, but otherwise there would be a line of parents at the door to complain if things were handled differently.
Death pervades our world. Despite the fact that most of us adults want to spend our lives pretending it does not exist, death will take us all. Why do we feel the need to pretend with children that death does not exist. I find this idea at odds with the idea that we are a "Christian" nation. Death is central to the biblical message. Death brings retribution, propitiation, and in a metaphorical sense new life in the biblical worldview.
All of this made me wonder about the formation of my own views of death. Growing up a pastor's child I saw more than my fair share of death. I attended funeral after funeral as a child. I never became calloused to death as many might suppose a child raised around a lot of death would be. It was normal though. My parents did not replace pets before I noticed they were missing. They told me they were dead. It surprises me to hear grown adults shy away from death. In the last year, I saw an adult skip a family member's funeral because he "does not do funerals." Guess what, you'll do one. You'll be the guest of honor at one, to be quite macabre about it. Death is not "fun" for any of us, but ignoring one aspect of humanity does not take it away.
While it is always a possibility that I grew up seeing a bit too much death, I firmly believe it gave me a healthier view of death than most adults I encounter that are of a similar age. I have never had the belief that I am invincible. I saw infants in coffins as well as old men. When I finally have children of my own I will not shy away from death and its permanent ramifications with my children. Hiding death from children betrays their trust. They believe the world is being shown to them by the adults around them. We need to exhibit the world as it is to children rather than the world we wish could be.
I did not write this to be bleak and depressing. This weekend I think all of this came together for me. Without getting into details, I have had the worst few months of my entire life this spring. Last night, through no tangible catalyst, it hit me. Every moment is precious. Each day is a gift. We are so temporary. I knew these words before. The meaning was simply absent. Accepting death gives us life. Knowing that death will find us all makes life more urgent.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)