The feminist chronicles - part 1

I think I was born a feminist. I remember having thoughts and feelings, at a very young age, that were absolutely foreign to the world into which I was born. I certainly didn’t know the word “feminist” in my youth, but I remembered often noticing and questioning the gender-based inequities that were abundant in my extended family and in the religion that was the foundation and guidance for my immediate family.

I never fit quite right with my family, and often had “secret, unholy thoughts and questions” that upset those around me and involved some answer about humans not understanding god’s way and the importance of faith. This didn’t satisfy me ever, but I was astute enough to notice that pushing any questions once I got the god’s way answer would really piss people off around me. I spent the majority of my childhood worrying intensely and fearing greatly that I was demon possessed, which was a common occurrence according to the nutbag who spewed bullshit from the pulpit.

My lack of understanding and acceptance as to the 'rightful role' of women in the world was just one more rift between me and the people in my life—except one person. She was the only person in my universe who kept me from thinking I was completely evil and damaged. She was a feminist, but I don’t believe she would ever have used that term. My Grandma B (dad’s mom) was more like the person I knew inside that I really was than anyone else. She thought that person, 'the infidel', was okay.

Much like my Grandma’s version of feminism, my early forays were very anger based. As a child, I was absolutely infuriated that men and all of the other women in my world believed that women were “less than” men; that we were less deserving of life options, choices, independence, holding positions of authority, contributing as equal partners in relationships with men. Beyond that, I was more angry with all of the women in my life who accepted that shit, who spouted it, who tried to convince me of it. Why wouldn’t they stand up for themselves?!?

Grandma was angry too. She had a right to be. She was honest with me and rarely, if ever, sugar-coated anything. She made it clear that she had spent the first (nearly) 50 years of her life enslaved by males, she hated it, she would never do it again, and she would not accept that for me. I couldn’t understand why all women didn’t feel the way she did. Her mom died in childbirth when she was young. She had to quit school to care for her 8 (-ish?) siblings and run the household. She didn’t receive gratitude or accolades for sacrificing her life—that’s what females were expected to do. She married a few years later and had two boys and many years later adopted a daughter.

Unfortunately, her life didn’t really improve with adulthood or marriage. Her husband became a cruel, controlling, violent drunk, keeping her on an extremely tight “allowance” with which she was expected to run the household. She was not a happily married woman. She was, however, like so many other women of that era, uneducated (but smart!) with no money, few rights, and no way to escape or make a better life for herself and her children.

My grandpa was a loving grandpa to me, but not a good husband or father. He died when I was two, but I most definitely have very specific memories of enjoying time with him. Right around L’s age, my Grandma said something that implied she didn’t really miss my grandpa the way I assumed a widow would, so I asked her about it. She was more honest with me than probably any other adult in my life had ever been. She said, “The day that man died was the happiest day of my life. It was the day my life began.” I still remember her exact words, her face, where we were—it was a pivotal moment for me. She explained why and reiterated how happy she was to now be able to come and go as she pleased and to spend money as she pleased.

Grandma spent most of my life, up until she was unable to speak, telling me two things: that it was just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor man and (I love this one!) marry the first time for money, the second time for love. It was very important to her that I have the ability to be an independent woman, and in that time, money was the key to independence from men. It seemed very logical and sensible to me at the time, but neither of us could have guessed that I would be a person for whom that seemingly logical statement would not and could not be true. It is not just as easy for me to fall in love with a rich man as a poor man, because I could never respect a man who was rich. If someone’s rich while any other living being is in need, I look at them as greedy hoarders—I don’t think love would be possible, and I can guarantee respect would be impossible!

Meanwhile (back to the early years), I’m stuck in church three times a week, and in a church-based private school being pounded with messages of subservience to the man, lovely biblical teachings about women (it’s biblically impossible for a husband to rape his wife as he owns her and for this reason was completely legal up until fairly recently), and watching the women in my extended family put up with abusive, cheating, alcoholic shitty husbands, while happily serving his food to him so he doesn’t have to interrupt his tv show to eat. The first introduction to the notion of feminism was from batshit-crazy-bastard pastor spewing hateful untruths about the bra-burning women who were trying to destroy the country with their “ERA crap”. This was one of his favorite topics. It was the 70's, so ERA was a big topic. How dare those sinful witch woman try to get equal rights! ERA was ALWAYS spoken with a sneer. It might have been a requirement for membership or something--"Okay, men. Let's hear you say THOSE letters again, only this time with more of a sneer"..."Good! Now add a touch of derision to it."
"Perfect. Now you can be good evangelicals and go to heaven." How any woman involved with an evangelical church feels anything other than low self-esteem and self-loathing, I will never understand (partly because I’m sure they all do feel that way but would never admit it)!



Rage was no stranger to me from an early age on. It's always been the old faithful "friend" that I could never completely manage to shake. Maybe someday... Maybe not. I don't know who I would be without it! Every slight. Every implication that women, any women, were less than men just fueled the rage further. By the time I reached my teens, I was in an almost continuous state of rage. It was not pretty.

In my early unguided zeal my first iteration of feminism was basically to ‘out man’ any man. I was going to be a woman who could do whatever men did only bigger and better. That was manifested in lovely ways like fighting, avoiding the color pink, being disgusted by womanly things like menstrual cycles, pregnancies/motherhood, being emotional or sensitive, etc. I tried to identify with the enemy as a way of being accepted as an equal. I felt that in order to do this, I had to basically get rid of femininity. I took most of what I hated about men and became that, which makes me cry today. It was so damaging to myself, and nothing good came of it. It was, at the time though, the only way I felt I could avoid being “less than”. I spent my teen years and first couple of years in college that way, not seeing the irony of the whole situation and not understanding how that behavior would guarantee my unhappiness. I was angry; I was equal--no, I was fucking superior; and I was ready to kick anyone’s ass who tried to tell me otherwise (or look at me wrong)! As unhappy as I was through those years, I have no doubt that even in that misery, I was much happier than I would have been trying to play the meek female “helpmeet” that I was led to believe I should be.

I do have to add that my parents, though they happily bought into the anti-female sentiment of the church/bible, they were not nearly as bad and oppressive as many. They were both raised me to KNOW that I would go to college and have a career. They did not groom me to be a breeding machine. Considering the time and the circle in which they traveled, that was pretty damn progressive of them! None of the above is a condemnation of my parents. I thoroughly disagree with them on many social/political and especially religious topics, but that has no bearing on the fact that they loved my brother and I unselfishly and were devoted parents who did the best they could for us in every way. I was not a good match for them, but we made it work in the end and couldn't be closer, and they are fabulous grandparents! I consider myself very lucky to have to have my parents in my and my family's lives.

College brought out my second iteration of feminism. I found a community. I found happiness.



Christ on a cracker! I was planning to split this into a few postings, as I knew the whole story would be long. This post, however, is longer than I envisioned the entire story being. Wow. To be continued...