I hate being a woman. My last, big, terrible secret. I have always hated it. Even way back in elementary school, I knew the female gender was getting the raw end of the deal. Every time. I did not grow up with any strong female role models- or any role models at all for that matter- and so had nothing to contradict my instincts.
When puberty arrived, it only seemed to confirm what I already knew. Inconvenient, embarrassing and expensive. Those 3 words pretty much summed up my experience of "becoming a woman." In my late teens, I remember finding myself in a convenience store in the wee morning hours with a friend. She was picking up some supplies for her friend and we both remarked about the unfairness of it all. Guys didn't have this monthly expense to worry about. We thought maybe the government should even be responsible for picking up the tab. After all, it wasn't our fault we were women.
While that argument seems a little, well, juvenile now, turns out that accessing and affording sanitary pads is a very real crisis for many women in the world. This amazing man made it his own personal quest to find a sanitary solution for his wife and women all over his country, allowing them to continue to provide for their families, gather the daily water from rivers and community wells and miss less days of school. (The Indian government has announced it would hand out pads for the poorest women and girls- guess our idea wasn't so far from reality after all, 25 years later and an ocean away.)
Being a woman- and hating it- has, of course, led to many conflicting emotions throughout my life. I've often admired groups of women friends- how supportive, nurturing and understanding they seem. So strong together. But I have never been a part of a strong circle of women and so I can only watch from a distance and imagine how it is they are together. I have often wondered if I am the only one to hate being trapped in this form. They seem so confident and comfortable, downright smug at times.
Over the years, I've tried to get behind women causes and believe in the power of women. I've tried to tell myself that while being a man appears easier, it doesn't necessarily mean it would be more satisfying. Sometimes the hard thing is the worthwhile thing. Maybe this struggle through womanhood would turn out not to be so bad after all?
It actually appeared there might be some truth to that logic when I became pregnant with my first child. Oh the wonders. The glow. The joy of harboring life within and feeling it grow. I was completely transformed with the birth of my first son. I understood the power of womanhood and the grace of motherhood. Every indignity I had suffered definitely seemed worthwhile for the experience of this prize at the end.
Except it's not really the end. Motherhood is only the beginning. And while there are a billion blogs out there toting the newness and niceness of pregnancy and birth, there are just as many who get down to the real truth about toddlerhood and adolescence. Far too often, the initial glow of new mommies turns into the haggard despair of the infamous juggler- maid, chef, CEO, teacher, nurse, psychologist, chauffeur- and that's just in the "off" hours. So, back to feeling like being a woman isn't all it's cracked up to be.
Well, that might be part of the problem. It is all it's cracked up to be- it just isn't "cracked up" very much. Facts are, women have a bad wrap all over the world. It might be slowly changing in some parts, certain domains, but overall, we women still have to fight to be considered in the realm of men. We have to fight to have our stories told. (I'm trying hard not go off on a tangent here and explode with furious rebellion about all the ways women are put down, let down and kept down. Sticking to this one story....)
With age, I have learned to embrace my gender more and more. I still have occasional (ok, perhaps frequent is a more accurate description) days of bitterness over feeling that men have an unfairly and infinitely easier path to travel, but I spend more time learning to accept myself and my gender with all of its strengths and weaknesses. At 40 and pregnant with a much desired child, I thought perhaps I had conquered that nasty little secret once and for all. I can handle being a woman. And I might even admit to liking it at times.
There are not many other conditions in which people feel so free to invite themselves into your life as pregnancy. Strangers and acquaintances suddenly feel inclined to make comments, offer advice, good wishes or evil eyes, make judgements, reach out to rub baby bumps, and ask any sort of personal questions. It becomes something of a battle field trying to navigate your way through each day (and of course, with raging hormones completely unbalanced and out of control, the battle is usually lost long before it's even begun.)
With 4 months to go, I'm now in the middle of my 3rd major battle. Our upcoming move will hopefully deter any future conflicts. I have every intention of heading into labor and delivery conflict free. My first major battle involved the job hunting.Trying to impress a future employer while simultaneously letting them know you'll need a bit of time off right at the beginning of the contract is a risky move. Virtually impossible. The whole story about timing - well, that's the story of my entire life- but in this case it's long and personal and depressing. Let's just say, sometimes timing isn't the most important aspect to consider. (And I am beginning to realize the universe has it's own ideas about timing, which are often in direct contradiction to human ideals.)
Quite honestly, I began my job search thinking it wouldn't be such a major deal. I have had 4 healthy pregnancies in the past and adapted to suit need. I was able to bring my first child to work with me on occasion and often attended university with my second child. I was able to stay home for about 5 months with my third child and my fourth- well, I was back at work within a few weeks, startling my substitute who hadn't been told to expect me. In each case, I tried to meet the needs of myself, my newborn and whatever work obligations I had. I expect to do no less this time as well.
Turns out employers aren't nearly as flexible or forgiving and they don't want anything to do with a pregnant lady. I spent a lot time trying to figure out if this was prejudiced or not. Unjust or not. I could understand the prospective employers' thought that if the job started on day Y and the applicant wasn't available on day Y then perhaps that wasn't a good fit. Except in one case I was told by the employer that I was a good fit, had several desirable qualities and would bring skills much needed by the school. Until I revealed that I was pregnant. Suddenly, the big picture wasn't so big anymore. Those precious 2 weeks at the beginning of the year eclipsed all other value I might have had over the next two years. And if I were a man expecting a child? I wouldn't even have to bring it up.
My current battle has to do with my fitness routine. I've been kicked out. It's a horribly dejecting feeling. I'm trying not to take it personally or feel too bad about it- but I just end up feeling bitter. And it is personal. Why does someone else get to decide what is good for my body? And since when are adults no longer competent to judge what is or is not in their own best interests? Apparently, it's when they're pregnant. You are no longer your master. From a professional perspective, I suppose my fitness instructor has a right to do what makes her feel comfortable- it is her class. But I am stuck back at that question again. Prejudiced or not? Unjust or not? In this, my 5th pregnancy, I feel I have had some practice listening to my body and heeding it's signals. There have been times when I felt the workout wasn't working....and I've either made adjustments or left class early. But staying in shape is so incredibly important to my mental and physical health I would never consider giving it up altogether. With each of my other children, I danced with abandon. And no one ever asked me to stop.
So, on the eve of the end of one of the hardest years here in Kinshasa, one of the longest, loneliest, battle-fightingest years, I have been kicked out of my exercise group. Another blow to my already fragile ego. Surely I will emerge from this year as Superwoman, stronger and mightier than ever before (unless death grabs me first. Isn't that how the saying goes?) I tell myself I am ready to create my own plan (and stick to it!) but I know I hate exercise for exercise's sake. I hate solitary work outs. I have no inner strength and discipline (this is why I pay good money to listen to bad music and follow someone else's steps that I could do in the privacy of my own home. I need to be cajoled, forced, encouraged, and hand held.) While my exercise group wasn't necessarily a source of support or strength, it was a place filled with people. And movement.
I still have dance. There are at least 3 of those classes a week and I have been working more on the instructing side of dance- which I completely enjoy. But just about now I am feeling in need of that other kind of exercise, the kind I really love to hate. Toning. Lifting. Losing. All the things I never really focused on before because I was too busy feeling the thrill of the dance, the speed of the bike, the sensuality of the step. And I still do that. But I've also begun to worry a bit about the extras that weren't there before. (And can you ever really get thin ankles again anyway?)
Aside from realizing I now need to toughen up my inner discipline and find some way to stick to a routine, mostly I just feel left out. Unwanted. Shut down. Decided over. Once again a woman powerless. Because I am a woman. And someone else has decided it's ok for them to decide what's best for me. Does that ever happen to a man? Because if it does, I really need to hear that story. Maybe 3 of those stories. Right now. Before I go work on my thighs.
