When I wake up in the mornings I am, sometimes, already mad at my husband. By the time I wake up the day is well on its way and I find myself already playing catch-up. My youngest cries to be held by me. My oldest pulls on my nightgown to ask to make him pancakes. I catch sight of the overwhelmingly full calendar displayed in our kitchen. I wonder when I’m going to make time to write. I cannot go online without seeing another traumatizing decision towards women's bodies. I look in the mirror and can’t take my eyes off of my newly sprouted grays.
This household abides by the gender system; my husband is in charge of something we need called money. I am knee deep in my reproduction capacity that everything else has scaled back: my career, my economic status, and my presence in the public sphere have all regressed. He forages while I gather. Sometimes this is upsetting, all this gendered stuff. And since my husband just so happens to be a man and I just so happen to be a woman, all bets are off.
What’s your inner monologue like in the mornings? What do you preoccupy yourself with? How do you parley with your own person? Where does your mind go?
I’m a woman. I’m hyper feminine: I have long highlighted hair and love to draw attention to my mouth. I’m frivolous. I love my nail sets. I visit Sephora every other week because I am bound to find something that revolutionizes the way I look. My stomach always hurts. I am most comfortable in a kitchen: mine, yours, a complete strangers’. I please my husband with my food and my body. I’m basic, a hot coffee and a warm croissant enriches my soul. I'm so overwhelmingly complex, I can preoccupy my mind with several things at once, everyday I try to submit myself to the push pulls of our mortality. I’m obnoxiously passionate. My existence is to fuel the word of God by catering to my man with my fertility. I pour my whole self into my family and it’s not always reciprocated. I subdue my maternal rage by putting on a push-up bra and taking mirror selfies.
My husband has a fantastic wardrobe. He kisses me goodbye every morning in a well pressed suit, color coordinated accessories down to the socks, and smells of my favorite Comme Des Garcons cologne that sends my body a sudden wave of horniness and rage. If I’m in the mood, I’ll strike when the iron is hot and express one of those two things. Most of the time though, I will repress it. As he kisses me goodbye I become aware I’ve yet to brush my teeth. He leaves the house every morning and suddenly becomes someone whom all the riches of the world are waiting: he listens to a podcast on his commute to work, he places a mobile order at the Starbucks across the street from his office, he sits in silence for most of the day to focus on his productivity. He goes to meetings and sits amongst men that are dressed not even half as good as he is, he drinks more hot coffee as the room suddenly fills itself with terrible jokes.
When he leaves my mind goes and goes and goes:
Will I ever find the language to express my experiences as a cis woman?
No.
Should I still try?
Yes.
A woman’s life means so much to other people: her children, her family, her friends. What does a woman’s life mean to herself?
A woman can find meaning in her life by fighting for her right to her own individuality.
How can I, at 35, put into language what it feels like to let my gray hair grow out and my crows feet lengthen?
My whole existence revolves around the concept of “beauty” and how we’ve learned that aging goes against it. It is, at the very least, the most liberating experience to allow my body to age. It is a privilege to be alive, to get older, to watch my body live and witness it do what it’s supposed to do.
Do men have to worry about their gray hair and crows feet?
Yes, but male rage is perfectly acceptable whereas mine isn't.
Why is male rage accepted when female rage isn't?
One time an old boss threw a book at me because I could not find a reference he was asking for. It was 11pm and he was drunk. Male rage is impulsive. There is no time for logic, just drama. Female rage is threatening: we subdue it and materialize it and legitimize it and intellectualize it. Women preoccupy themselves with their rage and it levitates us into impenetrable individuals.
Do men have to worry about striking the fountain of youth, the way women do?
No, society has exempted men from this burden.
On the topic of age, is it a privilege to watch your children grow? Or a curse?
There will be a day where my body and my love will no longer be their sanctuary. That is a double edged sword. This also feels impossible to put into language.
Does my body belong to me?
No, my body is a contributor to society's will for it. I have married and reproduced. I am loyal to what other people’s will for my body is.
Does my body belong to society?
Yes. But since my body has been marked by childbirth, society has returned my body back to me.
How can my body maintain itself as something I own?
By allowing it to age. By allowing my mind and body to connect. By radical self-honesty.
Perhaps my husband is mad at me too: I am the foundation to his entire existence. I fuel the well-being of our household. I steer his emotional decisions. We have built a life together where its survival now depends on our connection. I am the primary caretaker to his children. Perhaps he loves me so much that it weighs him down. It’s a big big deal to love something so much you marry it and devote your whole self to its stability. There is so much pressure when one abides by our physiology.
Are we handling our relationship wrong?
No.
Can we embody the gender system and be mad at it at the same time?
Yes.
Is it fair for both of us to be mad at eachother?
Yes.
Is there an imbalance in our physiology?
Absolutely.
Is this written in the Bible?
Yes.
So if it’s written in the Bible, is it bigger than any of us, than society, than our culture?
Yes.
Is my existence part of the problem?
Yes.
Is there anything I can do about it?
No.
I started reading the Bible at 7 years old. A lot of my teachers throughout grade school were nuns. One time my 6th grade teacher announced to her class that if we were to ever use the word HELL in our vocabulary we would be going straight there when we die. Like, we won't even get the chance for a jury trial in purgatory. There will be no exceptions! she said. Honestly I think she was even waving a ruler at us. Straight into the red abyss, I thought, all because we said H-E-DOUBLE-HOCKEY-STICKS in a sentence. For context, this was 1998, a big year for explicit rap music. The year of Mase, Puff Daddy, Lil Kim’, Busta Rhymes, Sisqo. I mean, what a year to be entering puberty with music like this! I remember the sweeping silence that enveloped the classroom, it’s as if we suddenly became face to face with our fate. We were f*cked.
But that's not my problem with religion, all the harsh rules. I don’t mind that the foundation of Catholicism is based on guilt. My issue with my religion is the way it oozes and bleeds and preaches and perpetuates sexism. My own God went and wrote about dismissing women and told Moses to spread the word. Not even God knows what it’s like, even God missed the mark on a woman's experience.
Does God care that I doubt him so much?
No.
Is it because you have to challenge something first before you can really believe in it?
Yes.
Does God still speak to me through doubt?
Yes.
Is he the reason for my imagination? My curiosity?
Yes.
So the nuns were counterproductive towards you?
Yes.
You didn’t learn anything from them?
No.
Not even to stop cursing?
No.
Not even to stop watching porn?
I’m on the computer to write, if that’s what you mean.
Does God care that I am basically calling him the founder of misogyny?
I mean, yes, he probably does care about that. That’s a big deal, Stephanie.
“I will surely multiply your pain in childbearing; in pain you shall bring forth children. Your desire shall be contrary to your husband, but he shall rule over you.” Genesis 3:16
“A woman should learn in quietness and in full submission.” 1 Timothy 2:11
“The Lord God said, ‘It is not good for a man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him.’” Genesis 2:18
Ok God, BFFR. Let’s review the optics. Your follower count is dropping like flies, the Pope even muted you on social media. Who did you hire to write this book (The Bible)? There was clearly a lack of inclusion when The Bible made its final rounds of edits. It’s obvious there wasn’t a single woman in that editing room. It’s 2023 and I’m a mom now. Where’s your perspective? How can I teach this to my children? What has happened to your credibility? People are still waiting around for your second coming, but we’re grown now. We know better. Now, we pray to the power of Eat, Pray, Love and Big Magic. We’ve been hurt too much by the likes of your toxically gendered scripture, and now the power of self-care advocates are on the rise!
Melissa Febos, Ada Limón, Carmen Maria Machado, Toni Morrison. My real saviors. The women who've shown me that only other women can save me. The only people who can put into language the experience of women are women themselves. There is no reason to embody holiness when you can just embody yourself.
Women are the only creatures who have minds connected to their bodies. We can slurp and swallow and spit and fuck and dominate. It’s very easy to love something or not love something at all. We manifest our rage into incredible things. Our bodies are passageways to another life or to a life of another kind: books and poems and essays and music on our brilliance. We find our joy and can hold onto it. We lactate to sustain life. We sustain our power gracefully and with humility. Do you know that we (women) are the most powerful creatures on earth?
When I think about the word respect I actually have no idea what that means. The nuns used to use that word a lot. Rather, what comes to mind is imbalance. A lack of respect could mean a lack of balance. Maybe the nuns in grade school were so tightly wound because they forfeited so much: They couldn’t connect H-E to DOUBLE-HOCKEY-STICKS to make it into a word. They couldn’t catch a vibe the way us twelve year olds were. They subdued themselves to a life of service to another man. They devoted themselves to a Holy Ghost, and won’t ever have a man or some kids or a blueprint to claim as theirs. Does that make them powerful or powerless? Does that make them selfless or selfish? Are they more (or less) of a woman to have forfeited those things for something different?
When you shift so deeply into something that’s not yours you’ll find yourself stuck. You’ll find yourself short-circuiting. It’s too late to turn back and you’re demanding respect as a way to still feel something. A woman’s life is worth claiming. Reach for it. Take it. Be wholly unapologetic for the way you find balance. Write this out, put it into language, set it free. Stay on this road. Stop trying to be God.
This is beautiful, Stephanie. As a nonbinary person who is still called ma'am every day, I have complex feelings about gender (obvs). As someone who has never felt at home in my body as a woman, I envy your hyper femininity— and I think my reasons for rejecting my classification as a woman are deeply complex and will never be fully explored because, just like you cannot fully express what it is to be a woman, or what that means, I think gender itself is so deeply complex. Where do we end and where does our gender construction begin? How much of who we are is a rejection or acceptance of the status-quo, and how is rejection and acceptance compatible? Is it? Because it must be. We all hold both inside of us. As a nonbinary person I'll easily admit that it's women who I gravitate towards and feel the most kinship with. It's not because of our shared anatomy but because we both share the experience of marginalization. I have felt what it is to be a woman (and still feel it as I move through the world), yet I find myself, in my nonbinary identity, feeling less attached to being anybody for anyone. Or, who knows, maybe it's just me, and not my liminal identity.
I know this: for as busy as your schedule is and how much your life as a mother and wife pulls you away, every single time you write a newsletter, it's so powerful and so YOU. I love that you stand strong in your femininity, in your role as woman, while still feeling conflict about gender and gender roles. Because loving being a woman and hating the rigidity of assigned gender roles are not mutually exclusive. I love that you embrace women and have become a woman that inspires other women. And I loved reading this, just as I love reading all of your writing.
Damn. I love this. The tension of the named gender rage. You got this beautiful mama. All of you! xx, K