Wednesday Bubble: Good Girls & Inner Hags – A Woman’s Journey to the Self by Amy Palko
I first discovered the gorgeous Amy Palko on Twitter. And it was not too long before we began to exchange quips. Then, I had the privilege of meeting Amy at a small pub last year on her home turf and I knew that Amy was an inspiration to women, an artistic, creative lovely soul with a purpose, a connector, supporter and a goddess in her own right. Thank you Amy, for sharing ways that women can love their entire selves and discover their inner goddess.
At the start of this year, I took a risk. I did something that perhaps only a few short months before, I wouldn’t have dreamed of doing. I bought a ticket for the overnight train to London, and booked myself a place on Vena Ramphal’s workshop Tearing Up the Good Girl Script.
Because, you see, I have always tried to be that good girl. It was always my endeavour to find a way of being myself in such a way that I would stay acceptable, attractive even, to those that I met. I have always tried to ensure that my femininity was primped, polished & painted.
I was attempting to tame the untameable – and I was exhausted with trying.
It was the realization that I was engaged in a futile attempt that led me to London. When I arrived at the venue, my feet frozen were numb from the cold, and my eyes were heavy from lack of sleep on the crowded carriage. My body felt slow and sleepy, my mind was dulled, my senses sluggish. I had shut down. My soul had closed itself up tight like one of those frosted rosebuds I’d just seen in Regent’s Park.
Because we atrophy when we try to craft ourselves into some cultural ideal of femininity. Like the Classical Greek and Roman sculptures of the female form with their smooth limbs, their passive smiles, we render ourselves impermeable, fixed, numb. A beautiful, cold surface with none of the wonder of womanhood. None of the earthy, creative, sumptuous feminine spirit that makes us feel whole, grounded, conscious, and alive.
During the workshop, Vena asked us the question, “Where in your life are you trying to be good instead of being happy?” And I was struck with the realization that it was in every area of my life. Every single aspect of my life had become a carefully choreographed gender performance of what I knew others found acceptable, manageable, approachable, feminine.
As my northbound train left the station Vena’s question still echoed through my consciousness. And I no longer felt slow or sleepy, dull or sluggish. Instead I felt a bit raw, a bit tender, and maybe even just a bit vulnerable. Just a little bit. A chink in my carefully constructed veneer now scored the patina of pleasantness and passivity… and it felt good. I felt alive.
Now it is the end of the year. A year when I learned to say no. When I learned to reveal those parts of me that aren’t nice but are authentic and true. When I learned that revealing those parts, that side of me which I had always assumed was not acceptable, actually made me more, not less. More of a woman, more of myself. Me in the raw.
So, it is perhaps unsurprising that 11 months on I find myself reading Emma Restall Orr’s book Kissing the Hag: The Dark Goddess and the Unacceptable Nature of Women. It seems fitting – almost a way of bracketing my experience of 2010.
As I turn the pages I am reminded of my awakening, my tearing up of my good girl script, and I know my journey is just beginning. I still have lessons to learn in embracing my inner hag – that dark goddess that resides in us all and who refuses to be plastered in cosmetics, refuses to be aestheticized.
As Emma Restall Orr says so evocatively, “womankind is not often sunlight upon soft ripples, spring dew upon petals, the smiling and gentle ease of mothering comfort; grace, silence and obedience are not qualities that the average woman can sustain for any length of time. Sugar and spice and all things nice isn’t the whole recipe: we too have snips of string and apple cores, bugs and slugs, tails, snouts, conkers, splinters and mud in the mix. Gloriously, it is not our failings but our very nature that is constituted of black clouds, cacophony, sudden storms and wild, treacherous mire. Here, in the muddy, bloody, raw essence of woman, we glimpse the face of the hag, the pith and fibre of woman that is just not nice.”
My good girl script is torn to shreds and my inner hag dares to show her face, her heart and her soul.
Is yours?
About the author…Amy Palko is a writer, photographer, academic, teacher, spiritual seeker, home-educating mother of 3. She plays many roles in life, but the thread that runs through each is the sacred feminine.
Read MoreWednesday Bubble: Taking on self-doubt. One recipe at a time. Guest post by Wendy Scherer
It never ceases to amaze me. We are capable, empowered, smart, successful women. We’ve achieved things that our mothers could have only dreamed of achieving, have had kids, families, husbands, businesses, relationships….the list goes on. However, when self-doubt starts to creep in, it cripples, it blocks our pathways, it wreaks havoc on every cell of our being. However, sometimes, all it takes it a moment to step back, reassess and move on, hopefully, strengthened with the knowledge that we can take on the world. Yes. We. Can. Here’s Wendy Scherer’s story.
It’s not that I didn’t start out believing I could cook…I grew up in a home where I was taught that I could do anything. I was encouraged to take on every new challenge. And, in many cases, I was successful. Thinking back, I wonder if this track record is what led to my eventual downfall.
I’m a terrible cook.
I know you’re thinking that I’m being dramatic. But really? I’m not. Allow me to back up a bit… (wooo eee wooo eeee…. you know like in the movies….)
My mom made dinner every night. Nothing fancy, but I liked it. I loved her brisket and stews. I dreamed of egg and noodle casserole (who eats like that anymore?), and her sweet and sour chicken was really tasty. But I never helped her cook. I don’t even remember why. Maybe I had homework. Maybe she cooked while I was in school. Maybe I thought I was too much a feminist to ‘have to’ cook. I have no idea. But I did bake with her. I loved making desserts. And I loved baking challah. It was all so scientific and logical. And relaxing. We would talk and bake. I remember it well. Baking is so low-key. So calming. There’s a different kind of pressure in cooking a meal. The meal is the core. If dessert isn’t so great, whatever. If the meal goes uneaten, that’s it.
Moving right along. I grew up.
My first year of college, I lived in a dorm. I ate most meals in the dining hall since I had a meal plan. (I also ate at the greasy spoon where I worked that year since I got a free meal with every shift I worked.) The following 2 years, I lived in a group house with 9 other students. We had 2 kitchens. I still had a restaurant job, so some meals were eaten out, but mostly, I ate canned vegetables, mac & cheese (blue box), tuna, and Ramen noodles. It’s a wonder I lived to tell the tale. My senior year, I got an apartment. Still, I barely did more than assemble a meal. But then….I met a guy. After a while, I invited him over for dinner. Truthfully, I never doubted I could whip up a great meal and impress the heck out of him.
Not the case.
I served him lasagna that was so liquid-y that I couldn’t even serve it with a spoon. And the garlic bread that I made? I smelled it burning as we finished our lasagna soup. (That guy is still a friend and he still reminds me of that meal now and again. Oy.) Still, I had the confidence of youth. This was a one-time disaster. Right? Not really. And I don’t know if I never bothered to read the recipes through or didn’t understand the directions or simply did not have enough interest, but after a while, I resigned myself to very simple assembled meals. But boy did I bake. I made pies and cookies. I made bread. I loved the therapy of it all – the kneading. The beautiful results. The smiles when I gave it away. I baked and I baked and I baked.And then I got married. I had big plans. Big plans, I say. I got cookbooks for my shower and I was going to become a good cook. I was going to make something besides desserts and reservations.But he had ‘rules.’ He didn’t like cheese or sauces. He didn’t mix this with that or whatever – basically, this did not become a learning experience. We ate like crap. Even I didn’t like what I threw together. Top that off with (and you are not going to believe this), he expected me to cook every night. Hey wait! I had a full-time job, too!
Fast forward.
Single again. Lots of dating. And that means lots of meals out. Finally, I was eating good food. I was trying new things and really expanding my food horizons. But I worked long hours at an advertising agency and ended up grabbing dinner on the nights I wasn’t going out. Then, I met my current hub.
The first time he cooked for me, I was amazed. It was like a restaurant meal with accompaniments, garnishes and it tasted great. One meal led to another and then we got married. We tried cooking together. Sounds fun, right? Nah. Not fun.I cooked sometimes. I tried. Really. Really. Hard. And knowing that I wanted to become a better cook, he’d provide constructive criticism. You know, so I could learn. I’m a sensitive girl. It wasn’t working for me. And since he made fabulous meals every night, why should I bother?
Some nights, he’s not here (the horror!). Early on, I’d make the kids some hotdogs or spaghetti or throw something in the crockpot. I mean, even I can make basic soups. Every time I tried something harder, it seemed no one was very hungry that night. It didn’t make it easier to try again, trust me. But. I am a capable person. I really can’t believe how awful this made me feel. So like Lucy and the football, I’ve decided to try again with a different tact. I’ve started subscribing to the Six O’Clock Scramble and I cautiously say that sometimes, I’ve been successful. The Mulligatawny Stew I made last week was delish!
The truth is, if I’d felt more support and had less self-doubt, I could have done this years ago. But I didn’t. Why now? Or should I ask, what have I been waiting for? Or maybe I should ask, why bother? Here’s the thing. It sucks to feel insecure. I’m confident in my work, in my ability to be a good friend, good wife, good mother, good daughter. I’m informed, interested, always learning. I feel good about myself. But this thing is hanging out there. I’m a bad cook. It feels like a hole that I can’t climb out of. And my reaction to ruining a dish by burning the onions or not cooking it through or even the kids not liking it are simply out of proportion to the severity of the problem. And I don’t seem to be able to lessen my reaction, my sadness, my anxiety.
I’m done. I am not going to allow myself to beat myself up over this any more. It’s cooking, people. It’s not brain surgery. There are no lives at stake here. And the kids – well the kids will live if they miss a meal.
There, I said it.
I’m going to be 50 years old next year, and I’ll be damned if I can’t make myself (or anyone else) a decent meal. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I was afraid of failing here. I am. But I have a plan. (I always do better with a plan.)
- Read Cooks Illustrated every month. I realize the recipes are challenging, but I’ll be reading for the explanations of food preparation.
- Stop blogging while Andrew and the boys watch The Food Network. I’m certain I can learn something about flavors and technique if I’d just pay attention.
- Take responsibility for one meal a week. One. That’s not much, right? I can plan ahead and not feel the pressure of ‘what’s for dinner?’
- YouTube. I’m going to watch and learn the basics. Knife skills. Sweating onions. Dice, mince… you get the point.
- Start small. Easy stuff.
- Lighten up. Try to laugh at the burned rice.
And more than anything, I’m going to cut myself some slack. I can learn how to cook. I can do this, right? I don’t want my kids to see me fail. But even more, I want them to see that it’s okay if I’m not the perfect cook but I am trying to learn and improve. That would be a better life lesson for them. And a better life lesson for me, too.
So, I’m bucking up. It’s time. And while I’m at it, there are a few other things I’ve been putting off. That blank canvas, for one thing….
So this is my public, official kick in the butt. If not now, when?
About the author...Wendy blogs at Finding Blanche http://findingblanche and photoblogs at http://wendyscherer.com and is on Twitter @wendyscherer.
Read MoreDo women lie when they act perfect? A guest post by Kathy Korman Frey
Ain’t no Wednesday Bubble but some inspiration. And I’m certainly inspired! Every now and then, you run into a person who is creating a new paradigm, one woman at a time. That woman is Kathy Korman Frey, aka @chiefhotmomma on Twitter, entrepreneur, educator and founder of the Hot Mommas Project and #sisU: Sisterhood University project. Kathy’s focus is to raise the self-efficacy of women and girls through exposure to role models. This approach echos the approach to our healthcare that I’ve been trying to impart since starting Flashfree: by talking to one another, sharing experiences, creating lasting support networks and crowdsourcing, women are better able to care for themselves (and those around them) and make decisions about their health that are not only sensible but also, make the most sense for them.
Hence, when I read the following post written by Kathy, I knew that it needed to be reposted on here We are always trying to be superwomen, aren’t we? Whether it’s our career or health, Isn’t it time to create a posse of empowerment?
A post by Athena Vongalis-Macrow and Andrea Gallant on the blog of Harvard Business School Publishing is entitled: Stop Stereotyping Female Leaders. The myth of the “superwoman” is discussed, and how this myth continues to be perpetuated by women themselves. This is sad not only because women feel pressure to appear or be perfect, but also because this is what we are teaching the next generation. Expectations are killing women across this great nation of ours…both expectations of ourselves, and those from others whether actual or perceived.
Many articles and books have been written on this topic, such as Michele Woodward’s “I am Not Superwoman” and Tal Ben-Shahar’s “The Pursuit of Perfect.” But are we listening? And, furthermore, how can we turn that listening into action?
A little story: Between the ages of one and one-half and six, my son had a “posse.” An occupational therapist, a behavior consultant, and various and sundry experts that would come into and out of our lives in between “special” parent-teacher conferences. My son would do everything he could to hold it together at school, and then have outbursts at home which included banging his head on the floor or wall. It’s shocking, isn’t it? Just imagining a child doing this. There isn’t even a word to describe how it felt to me as a parent. It turned out that his brain was ahead of his ability to express his feelings. So, well, he freaked out. Today, we have a happy boy on our hands. But I’ll never forget those days.
So, how does this relate to women being authentic leaders? Two things:
Get a Posse
During that time of crisis with our son, we had a “posse.” This was our group of experts to whom we could turn for advice and counsel. The posse helped. And my point for women is: Get a posse. More women are working, more dual income households, more masters degrees than men, more PhDs then men…I mean, hey, we’ve got it going on. But, some things don’t change…like our caregiving responsibilities or fundamental female neurology as brilliantly described in Louann Brizendine’s “The Female Brain.” Are you not worthy of a posse of experts? We’d do it for our kids. We’d do if we were diagnosed with an illness. So, why not now? As mentioned at the recent Sisterhood University (#sisUdc), we all need a personal board of advisors. The problems will come and go. The questions. The challenges. Even the celebrations. But the personal board of advisors – the “posse” – remains.
Develop a Vocabulary of Honesty
This is not for everyone…but the strong ones of us must continue to develop a “vocabulary” of honesty around our challenges. Back to the example of my son’s time of crisis: One particularly gifted behavior consultant had a knack for tapping into smart and sensitive children. She encouraged us to increase our “feelings” vocabulary around the house. For instance, when I would say, “Mommy feels frustrated,” my son now had a word to place on his own feelings. It was calming. It was re-affirming. What started off sounding kind of corny to me actually healed us as a family. In addition to running our house in an incredibly structured manner, this single piece of advice worked. Thus, women need to increase and model the right vocabulary in this strange new world which feels like a kind of “life moon bounce.” But how?
I recommend the following:
- 1/3 challenge – Talk about the challenge. Make it real. Validate your concerns, or those of your “posse” members.
- 2/3 solution – Then, talk about how you solved it, or how you think about it, or – perhaps you’re still struggling with it and you’ve just decided to be in transition. The latter two thirds of the conversation should be about actions, and perspectives that help.
Women: This is your chance to act as teachers and mentors
Women, please take the time to do the hard work and the thinking on this. Be willing to communicate your experiences to other women and the next generation. Why do you think I’m putting all this stuff out there about my son…a deeply personal topic? To help, that’s why. And women, if someone asks you “Why do you seem so perfect?” Stop. Think. Remember: This is a time to perpetuate a myth, or join a member of someone’s “posse” as an expert who models the right behavior.
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About the author…Kathy Korman Frey is an entrepreneur, educator and founder of the Hot Mommas Project and #sisU: Sisterhood University. Frey teaches Women’s Entrepreneurial Leadership at the George Washington University School of Business, and is also one of the nation’s top business bloggers. She currently lives in Washington, DC where she struggles daily to cling to reality while raising her entrepreneur husband, Josh, their children Maxwell and Delilah, and dog Foxy Frey.
Read MoreNational Domestic Violence Month – You are not alone
I don’t generally get too overexcited about National [fill in the blank] months, days or years. In fact, these days, we are so innundated that it’s a wonder that any initiative that deserves attention actually gets it. However, I believe that National Domestic Violence Month is one of those ideas that deserves attention. A lot of attention.
I am not going to bombard you with statistics about sexual abuse or violence against women; they are readily available though organizations like National Coalition Against Domestic Violence and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. However, I do want to focus on something that women need to be aware of, especially if they are newly-divorced or newly-single and back on the dating scene again.
When you think domestic or intimate partner violence, what do you think of?
More often than not, the first thing that comes to mind is sexual and physical abuse, right? And no wonder, because it is truly a national if not an international problem, and increasingly prevalent among teens as well. It can cross genders, ages and race. However, domestic or intimate violence can also be emotional, either in conjunction with physicality or by itself. In fact, like physical abuse, emotional abuse is similarly based on power and control. Emotional abuse is verbal or non-verbal, it is constant criticism and repeated disapproval, it is blame, insults, accusations and insinuations. And, although it is intangible, it systematically destroys self-confidence and creates deep scars that can take years and a lot of work to heal. A key reason that women often don’t report being emotionally abused is that it’s hard to prove. And its wounds can be so deep that the cycle becomes too powerful to break.
I know strong, self-empowered women who wound up in a cycle of emotional abuse, hardly realizing what it was other than it made them feel terrible on a daily basis.
I am one of those women.
I am not going to name names or provide details. But I will share that over time, self-blame starts to set in and it’s easy to believe that there’s something wrong with you, not your partner. And instead of walking away, you stay long after you should stay.
My story is a common story. I partnered with someone who presented himself as one way to the world and another to me. A seemingly charming man who wooed me and then turned into Mr. Hyde.
Bad day? My fault. High rent? My fault. His unhappiness? All my fault. Another viewpoint? Nope, not allowed. The ‘boss’ of [fill in the blank]? Him, not me. Compromise? Not real good at it. Invalidation? All the time. Highlighting my flaws? Yes. Explosive anger? You bet. I walked around on eggshells for most of the relationship, always trying to please, to try to make him like me, to make things better…”if I, then” set in fairly quickly.
He really didn’t like me. And you know what? I didn’t really like him. But I stayed with it because damn it, I was going to prove to him that I was worth it.
By the time the relationship was over and I made the decision that it was time to cut my losses, I had lost a lot of weight and a lot of me. At the end, 12 pounds lighter and in for a long haul of therapy, I realized that I was angry, damn angry. But mostly at myself for allowing the abuse.
The weight eventually came back on. I did (and continue to do) a lot of therapy. I had another relationship and learned to trust — not only him — but also myself. But I’m still wary. And some of the trauma and self-doubt remains with me to this day.
Emotional abuse is ABUSE. Don’t let it happen to you. Talk to someone. Let them in. If you need help, please, please get it. Contact the National Domestic Violence Hotline (1-800-799.SAFE).
Truly, you are worth it. And you know what? I am too.
Read MoreOn epatients, women and poetry
A week ago, I wrote a post on crowdsourcing menopause with the intent of leveraging the collective force and spirit of women for the better good, or more specifically for our health and wellbeing as we age. I wrote the post just prior to attending the Epatient Connections 2010 Conference in Philadelphia, two of the most inspiring and provocative days that I’ve spent in some time.
You may not be familiar with the term “epatient” but it’s become a buzzword in the health world. And yet, the epatient is a concept that continues to evolve and is not entirely understood by practitioners or researchers or even by many patients themselves. However, like crowdsourcing, the epatient movement has sparked an interest in consumer engagement, participation, collaboration, sharing and connection, all in hopes, as my friend Jane Sarasohn-Kahn implies on her fine synopsis of last week’s conference, of building a foundation of trust upon which health and wellbeing can thrive.
So where do women fit into the epatient movement?
As women, we have long stood on the sidelines as researchers apply study findings in men to our health concerns, as insurers characterize natural life events such as pregnancy as “pre-existing conditions” and on a more personal note, as battle lines jave been drawn between those who insist that menopause is a disease that needs to be treated and those who want to address symptoms in a kinder, more gentler, holistic fashion. Yet, regardless of age or mandate, women need to fully engage in decisions that being made about their healthcare.
A key component of engagement is access: access to health records and notes, access to plans of action and strategies, access to our healthcare practitioners when we need them, access to the right people, to the right information and to the right line of thinking. And at times, access means going round and round and around before we are able to cross imaginary lines that heed our progress and find the path to health. My friend Regina Holliday, a Washington, DC-based patients rights arts advocate, has been leading the fight for access since the death of her husband in June, 2009.
While Regina’s fight is not gender- but people-based, she has demonstrated that women can be powerful advocates for themselves and those they care about, and that advocacy is often borne out of resolve, love and self-respect. Moreover, Regina has shown time and again that sometimes, the smallest gesture can resonate the loudest, a flick of the paintbrush, a line in a poem.
James Russell Lowell once said that “the eye is the notebook of the poet.” For Regina, the eye is her art and her mission, and the window to what has become her soul’s work. At the epatient conference, Regina stood onstage and invited a glimpse through that window. And what resonated most was her resolve self respect — as a woman, a mother, an advocate and an artist. Her path is unique and yet universal because it is about support, participation, engagement and love. And I suspect that Regina will continue to go round and round until her path is fully illuminated and she reaches her goal.
Below are Regina’s wheels. I believe that as women, as patients and as mothers, friends, wives and lovers, we can use our resolve to crowdsource and advocate for our health and well-being. What are your wheels? What is your path? And what are you willing to fight for?
Death of the Paper Transfer© All Rights Reserved. R. Holliday.
The Wheals on the Bus By Regina Holliday 3-17-10
The wheels, the wheels: they are a turning,
And past abuses do impress upon this fight.
And thoughts of riots, rights and rulings,
Spin in circles in the shadows of my mind.
I go to sleep at night and think of coding.
Is our savior high within the data cloud?
Is access to our care, as great as knowledge?
Where shall peacefulness be found?
Does freedom lie within a soup of letters?
Do PHR’s and IEP’s and EKG’s and HIT
Open doors to our gaining knowledge?
Is ARRA an acronym, or is it a primal roar?
Arghaa! Arise! An EPI pin, to stimulate
The growth of understanding,
That we are all Patients in the End.
Here, I take my stand. I can do no other;
For past abuses do inform this time,
And, two by two my Luther’s tell me
To demand my data rights ,
To be resolute, that separate is not equal,
And that no man,
Should stand
Between me and the Word.
Is 1135 a page in the Annals of Oncology about Kidney Cancer?
Or is it Volume 113 of Pediatrics no. 5 in 2004: “The Genetics of Autism.?”
Or is 1135… simply, “JESUS WEPT.”
I will see you in Galilee, Galilee, Galilee
I will see you
In the ring, the circle, the circuit,
And the wheals they are returning….
The wheels on the bus go round and round,
Round and round, And Rosa parked.
She refused to give up her seat at the table.
ICD-10, Do you intend, to save me from my coding?
Do you entreat, that we retreat?
And expect the patients, now informed and comprehending,
To sit idly by awaiting your instructions?
Physician Heal thyself,
And let empowered patients speak,
And draw attention to those that seek
A better and healthier tomorrow.
About the poem… in the poet’s words
I wrote this poem in the weeks leading up to the final healthcare reform vote in March 2009. At that point, I had done many interviews with reporters who wanted to focus on insurance reform and did not want to discuss data access, nor did most people really want to talk about viewing the patient as a whole person. So, I wrote a poem that would mention HIT, Health Reform, Autism, Child Abuse and Jesus. It is quite a heady mix. It can be hard to listen to. But patients are complex and if we truly listen to them we can change everything.
Regina Holliday
Read MoreLife’s a beach…
Sometimes, you need to take a break.
Afterall, life’s a beach.
See you on Wednesday! Flashfree and sweatless dreams to you all!
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