The Feminist Evolution

Marina Abramovic, Cleaning the House

The Feminist Revolution.

This title and image is on the cover of Art News this month. It clicked with me - and these are my messy reflections.

Thanks to the work of women who came before me, I have a job. I have the benefit of a great education. I can run a company. I have my own bank accounts. I can work and raise children. I can choose not to have children. I can hold titles in my name. I can vote. I can go without a bra. I can travel alone. I can use my own name.

The Feminist Evolution.

I'm still supposed to be thin, and pretty. At least thinner and prettier than I am now. But now that I've gained weight, started wearing glasses and dyed my hair brown, people treat me (on first impression) as if I am intelligent. After decades of every conversation winding up focused on the size of my breasts, I don't mind the physical changes as much as you would think.  But I'm supposed to want to look like I did at 25. At least part of me wishes I still did.  So, given that it is impossible to reverse the passage of time, I'm left with a demand that can never be met. A constant pull-push to change; never allowed to be satisfied with any version of my physical self, at any age or stage of womanhood.

My ovaries failed me at age 36. That is the word used to describe what happened. "Failed." They didn't "malfunction," "misfire," or have a "problem". According to the medical community, they failed. And the medical community reinforces my reproductive failures over and over again. You fill out a form that says, "Zero pregnancies" and then next thing you know, you're in the doctor's office and he's asking you how many kids you have. It's a great way to find out if they are actually reading your files (they're not.) I think its actually worse when they don't believe you, and ask you over and over again just in case there was a pregnancy you've kept a secret all these years that you'd like to share. Nope.

When I was in the hospital for my hysterectomy, the Devil sent me a nurse pregnant with her first child. She talked excitedly about her baby, virtually nonstop, never paying attention to how I responded. Or what was in my chart. This woman put me in the wheelchair to roll me out the door asked me how many kids I had waiting at home. On meeting one another, women make decisions based on whether or not you have children. How many you have. How you might fit within their scheme of things. At certain times of your life, you're just not going to fit in with the women your age because you don't have kids. The point of this long story is, in 2009, if you're a woman, you're a womb.

I have a job. In fact I run a consulting business. It's been a good year for me, in spite of the recession (knock on wood). I'm not getting rich, by any means, but I am afloat and busy which is plenty in this economy. By the nature of my business, I have up and down years so I'm working as hard as I can because I know that, eventually, there will be quiet times. Since I've moved away from a major city, all my work is somewhere else and that means lots of travel. Part of me is really happy that things are going well, that I'm able to do interesting work when many people around me are losing jobs.

There is a steady chorus of disappointment accompanying me - all the things that are neglected or slipping through the cracks in my personal life because I have to be somewhere else, doing something else. And when I'm home, I'm still at my desk most of the day. I'm tired. I've been tired since May. A pat on the back and a "thanks for trying" would be great. From anyone. Even the mailman. Really great. But you're not supposed to toot your own horn. You're not supposed to want recognition for taking care of ordinary things. Modest is hottest. And anyway, so many things are left undone that I hardly deserve it.

And, of course, the housework that never goes away.  My high capacity washing machine was the best $2000 we've ever spent and I love to show it to people when they come over. Betty Friedan is rolling in her grave as I say that, but it's true. You and I both know that my house is supposed to look perfect. I'm meant to change the sheets once a week, keep it vacuumed every day, and have a great, healthy meal on the table every night. Call my mother. Get a pedicure. My husband does help out, but the fact of the matter is, there is more than either one of us can do, and we're supposed to make it look effortless.

Somewhere in there, you're supposed to squeeze in all the things that make you interesting at dinner parties. The high brow novel. The arts and crafts. Attention to your spiritual center. Even if no one ever asks.

In a conversation about this post from last week, BFF D. T-W remarked that it was "depressing...like the Christmas gift-giving post from last year. You're trying to move this boulder that won't be moved."  Or something like that. I didn't think of it as depressing, just honest. But you're not supposed to talk about how hard it is, right? You're supposed to make it look easy. Make the conflicts disappear.

I shouldn't publish this, and for exactly that reason, I'm going to publish it anyway. Ladies, your thoughts would help alot. Use a pseudonym, if necessary. Your email address won't show up on the comments page.

Comments

[Missy]

Oh hell, Heidi (and yes, I'm late to commenting. that's because NOBODY can do it all, and that's whether or not you have kids.)

People are insensitive as hell, and for that, I'm sorry.

Oh, and I'd kill for a high capacity washer and TWO great dryers. And a troll or something to fold the clothing and put it away in the end...

[stephanie]

i can relate to this on so many levels. and, if we're being honest, i've often judged other women on their parenting choices. not something i'm proud of right now. sometimes it's all just overwhelming.

[Heidi]

It's interesting, I was perfectly o.k. with not having children until that steady chorus, from all these other people (who, I know, shouldn't matter) began.

[Cynthia Treen]

Thank you... I am tired too.... It is just too much sometimes. I do what I love and love what I do but I am also lost, struggle with the future and have no savings. I keep thinking if I keep at my work it will pay me back financially and fulfill me simultaneously. It is a carrot on a string that keeps me from spending the quality time I need and want with family and friends (and keeps my laundry unfinished)... I am quick to well up and not know why. I blame it all month long on hormones but honestly that can not be it. I am embarrassed to feel this way, I have so much more than so many but as my mother always said " No one ever said it would be easy"
Thank you Heidi... It is refreshingly honest to be honest. I am so sorry for your "failure" What a useless bedside manner some doctors have... unbelievable!
Myself, I decided not to have children... I have always had a suspicion that I would not be able to (although I never tested it) What I have is the inner feeling that I would not be a good mother... I imagine that I am too selfish... hard to admit but true. All my life I have been told I would be such a good mother... I did not have to admit that I would not until I had someone pleading for me to be one. Life is such a strange journey. What we choose and what is chosen for us... sometimes I think they blur together.

[Linda Patterson]

What happened to the big, strong, man I married? After the ceremony, he turned into a child to take care of. Someone who needs to be fed, clothed, picked up after. I thought I was getting more.

[Lashondra]

My feelings can better be summed-up by a conjured reenactment from my favorite not-made-for-TV hit movie, "American Beauty", starring Annette Notbaxter-Bening and Kevin Spacey..
"I will sell this house today. I will sell this house today. I will sell this house today." And maybe the dinner scene too.

[Lashondra]

My feelings can better be summed-up by a conjured reenactment from my favorite not-made-for-TV hit movie, "American Beauty", starring Annette Notbaxter-Bening and Kevin Spacey...
"I will sell this house today. I will sell this house today. I will sell this house today." And maybe the dinner scene too.

[Lashondra]

Honest. If I were truly honest, I'd have no job, no husband, family wouldn't take my calls, and friends wouldn't claim me. So, I have to filter my disappointments.

I can't figure out how to have it all and be it all. I just do what I can every day. And I cherish the weekends, because I get them. I don't have to work a second job or a third job or tend to some other dreadful commitment during that time.

I'm totally uninteresting at dinner parties.