Girl Talk (Part 1)

INTRODUCTION

This is the first in a series of posts in which I work through my issues with other women. I have lots of them. I really don't like women, in general, and while I like some women, in particular, and have many very dear female friends and confidants, I don't like what womanhood or femininity represent. And I really don't like women who embrace these norms. I realize that this is a problem. I also realize that anyone who reads this may be offended or downright disgusted by some of what I'm going to say, but I am a firm believer that problems never get solved through dishonesty or denial. Bear with me as I work through this.

I've been trying to remember when I started feeling this way about women. Growing up my mother was quite severe toward men, having experienced her own measure of discrimination. But I think this also ingrained in me a dislike for women who refused to take the opportunities presented to them, or pursue the occupations and activities that had previously been unavailable to them. Nonetheless, I longed to be feminine. As a girl I only wore pink, purple, and white, arguing that other colors were "boy colors." I begged for gymnastics and dance lessons. I loved reading books with female characters. One of my favorite book series growing up was the "Mandy" series. It was a series of books about a girl, Mandy, living in North Carolina at the turn of the century who solved mysteries with the help of an old Cherokee man who had been able to avoid the Trail of Tears. Anyway, I loved these books. Not just because they were mystery stories, but because Mandy refused to abide by restrictive social norms of the day, but still managed to maintain a semblance of feminity in necessary circumstances.


I think in high school I became more aware of my dislike for what I perceive to be the weakness of feminity. No particular event comes to mind, but I remember hating Jane Austen books. Not because I had read and disliked her, but more because those were the types of books that girly-girls read and liked. Those romantic stories were for silly women with mushy hearts. I was determined not to be one of them. Now, I admit my ignorance, and after reading my share of Jane Austin, I have renounced my aversion toward her. Although the recent release of several movies, The Jane Austen Book Club, and Finding Jane are re-awakening my distaste for the way women distort her writing to become a method for finding a man, as if that's the end-all-be-all of female existence.

ISSUE #1: The Problem with Motherhood as a Life Goal

The first issue I want to tackle is my problem with women who "just want to get married and have babies." Over the last couple years I have changed my opinion drastically about children. Perhaps not that drastically, I think I've only been willing to say outright what I've thought for most of my adult life. Most of my acquaintances can attest to the fact that I don't want anything to do with children. I'm not mean to them, in fact, children really seem to like me. There was a moment a few months ago when I was sitting in purgatory aka the DMV, and there was a little girl about 3 years old who was just wandering around crying. BAWLING. Open-mouth, tear soaked face, wailing. I made a disgusted face and looked around to identify what irresponsible and inconsiderate adult would dare bring a child into a public place, let alone let that child behave in such a manner. Within a few seconds my eyes connected with the girl's eyes and suddenly she stopped crying. She snapped her mouth shut, rubbed her fist across her cheek and walked over to me, finger in her mouth. As she approached she waved at me with her free hand (flinging tear drops from her fingers). I was stunned, but I felt my face soften into a smile. Before she actually put her slimey little hands on me, her mom walked by snatched the girl's hand out of her mouth and yanked her out the door. The little kept looking back at me as her mom dragged her out to the car. All this to say that I am not an evil child eating witch. I just don't particularly like children. I don't want them in my place of business, or in the restaurants I eat at, in the grocery store, or anywhere in close proximity.

There are days, about once a month, when I actually like children, I smile at them on the bus, I think they're cute and imagine having one of my own. Then I wake up and smell the baby puke on my sweater and realize it's just the heightened level of hormones rushing to my ovaries and my "biological clock" ticking away. I've often sneered in disgust at the desperation many women feel to have children. There's a Friends episode where Joey and Chandler take Ross's baby Ben out with the hope of picking up women. One of the first women they encounter comments on how cute the baby is, following it up with "I think my uterus just skipped." UGH. Even one of my favorite authors, Isabelle Allende, noted that she starts her books with the first sentence "from the womb, not the mind." As if thinking with the heart isn't ridiculous enough, now women are thinking with their wombs?

After weeks of sorting through this particular issue, (I started this post February 18, it is now March 12), I had a realization. In a completely unrelated incident, I was struck by the fact that those things we hate are most often the things we fear. This isn't an original idea, but it became very real to me when I had a negative reaction toward two guys dressed in very "urban" clothing. I realized that I don't dislike those guys in particular, but the way that they dressed, their defiant limp, represented something that created a fearful reaction. So, what is it about women with children that scares me? It's not children or marriage within itself that is so terrifying, but it's the loss of freedom they represent.

If you know me very well, you know that few things cause me more anxiety than missing opportunities. The number one source of anxiety in my life is my intense realization that often choosing one option or taking one path eliminates all other possibilities. It follows that I am essentially paralyzed in the face of major life decisions. I love possibilities. I love to talk about options, plans, hopes, things I want to do. Again if you know me, I've probably driven you crazy with multiple conversations about something new that I want to do, a new career plan, a new adventure, a new opportunity to learn or go or do. So marriage and motherhood sparks in me this intense fear and anxiety that I will be STUCK with children for 18 years of my life. I never want to be so responsible for another human being that I lose my individuality and independence. I have worked too hard to define my identity and I am working on making my mark in history, to lose that, and to lose the freedom of choosing between millions of opportunities feels like losing the whole world.

If you are one of those women who "just wants to get married and have babies," understand that it is not you nor your child that I hate, but rather I hate the loss of freedom that you represent. I guess it's possible that some women find freedom and fulfillment in raising children,; good for you. Next time I see you toting your toddler and pushing your infant in a stroller, I'll try to understand that this is the life you chose for yourself, and I am making my own choices. If I look a bit smug, it's only because I know I will never regret eliminating the possibility that I will be in your shoes.