On Being More Than An Incubator

I'm getting on a bit.

I'm 43 and my kids are of an age to have children of their own. None of them have expressed an interest in doing so, but they are, well, old enough.

I got asked the other day about my kids, their ages, genders, plans to procreate. I replied that I have 3 kids of varying ages and genders and that none of them seem interested in children.

Apparently, this is a 'shame'. Not for the boys, but for my daughter person. The head tip, the pitying look, the reassurance that she'll change her mind in time. The insistence that being a grandparent is the most rewarding thing you can do.

Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. My. Face.

Firstly, why is it not a 'shame' that my boys aren't bothered? Ah yes, because boys. Because women are merely producers of children. It is abnormal if a woman doesn't want children isn't it? Dangerous thinking.

Women making their own choices about what they want with their lives? What are we to do? Where will it all end?

WHO WILL THINK OF THE CHILDREN?!?

You know what? Maybe the daughter person will change their mind. Maybe they won't.

But why is no one saying this about my boys? Why is it that they can only think that women must want children otherwise what is she for? Why 'she might change her mind' and not 'they might change their minds'? Men can not want children and nobody bats an eyelid. A woman? There must be something wrong with her if she doesn't want to reproduce.

UGH.

But here is the thing. It will be their choice. If I have grandchildren, great. If I don't, then also great. I value my kids as more than baby producers. I value them for the people they are now, not for the progeny they may produce.

I love them for the human beings they are, for their intellect, for their huge capacity for love. In their own right.

Women, you are more than an incubator. If you decide to have children I support you. If you choose to be child free (not child less) then I support you.

Men. You get off easy on this. Again.

Patriarchy innit.

SLAM! Celebrating 25k.

To celebrate getting my 25 thousandth page view (OMG GUISE THANK YOU!) I thought I would do something a little bit different.

This blog was always supposed to be about things I love as well as a place to talk/rant about feminism and one of the things I love is poetry.

Slam poetry in particular.

It is so angry and raw and pure. It makes me cry. Happy, righteous, FURIOUS tears! And it makes me laugh. Bitter, recognition laughs.

So to celebrate I thought I would share my current favourites with you. Feel free to add more you think I might like.

This is the one I found recently. It deals with education about rape and made me sob with how powerful it is.

It is called 'One Color'.




And then we have Katie Makkai with 'Pretty'. This one makes me want to punch the air as she totally dissects beauty standards,



Then there is this. Two angry, young black women calling out appropriation of their culture. Not comfortable for some but truth bombs are hitting their mark left right and centre.



Last but at no means least is the poem that started me on the journey.

This was my first exposure to slam poetry and I thank @midweshtener for it from the bottom of my heart.

Sonya Renee. What Women Deserve.



So, what does my choice of poetry say about me. That I will always believe in education, choice, intellect being more important than 'beauty' and that voices should and will always be raised to fight for those things.

Thanks again everyone who puts up with my ranting... See you at 50k xxx

Deeva by Gaslight

Here we go again. Another post. third in two days. You can tell that I am happy that my wrist is healed enough for me to write again and that I have had a lot on my mind.

This one is gonna be a whole heap of personal again. People who actually know me in real life will probably know who I am talking about, but fuck it. Silent no more.

Deep breath Deeva.

I read this today on gaslighting. It proper made me lose my breath. The author of the piece talked about the intentional gaslighting to highlight the unintentional. Powerful stuff. If you haven't yet, you should really read it.

It brought up all sorts of feelings in me. Memories became clearer and I recognised the full extent of what had happened to me. Was a real shock and I have been mulling this post since then.

Oh for fuck's sake Deeva, get on with it!

I have been gaslighted. By people who were supposed to love me. All my life it would seem, though to varying degrees. In what would seem an attempt to control me and keep me down. It bloody worked an all. For years and years. It clouded my image of myself. It clouded my judgement of who I was and it left me easier prey for others to do it too.

So, how to get it all out?

One bit at at time I suppose.

Mum. I know what you did and why. I know that you couldn't bear me to be me as I was, in your eyes, wild and uncontrollable. I know that this is why you would ignore me most of the time and talk about me like I wasn't there even when I was.

I know that you told everyone that they should feel sorry for me and watch out for me as I had no personality of my own and would leech theirs from them. I know you did this to keep me isolated and lonely because you were so scared I would speak up about the abusive shit I was going through.

I know that you hid money and when I found it and returned it that you managed to convince me that I had stolen it in the first place because you knew that I was bad at handling guilt and that I would be frozen and pliable.

When I had a baby to escape, I know that you told me that my son's grandparents had told you that they hated having me living with them because I was so lazy and useless so that you could make sure that I couldn't be comfortable anywhere and you could keep that control. I know you lied about that one because years later I actually asked them and their faces were more believable than your gaslighting.

For years after the first dissociative episode I had (remember that? Two weeks of rocking in the foetal position where you wouldn't call a doctor and you let my sister spit on me and kick me) I truly believed I had shingles. For me to convince the school that's why I was off, I had to be convinced myself.

No more. The 12 years in which we haven't spoken have been better because you weren't in them. And you never will be again.

First husband. What a dick you were. Sleeping with other men literally the whole time we were together and making me think it was all in my head. Just so I could continue being your beard. The thing you hid behind. How many rational explanations did you have for the gay porn? How many times did the phone ring and cut off when I answered?

And yet you made me think it was all in my head.

How many years did you allow your brother to bully me and spy on me before I finally got a moment of clarity?

And the fixing of the bathroom scales so that I would feel fatter than I was and not go looking elsewhere? Yeah, I know you did that too. You made it so that I had no identity outside of you. You were my only mirror and the image I saw of myself reflected in you made me feel worthless.

And you told the children that you weren't controlling it was that I had gone wild. Off the rails.

Well fuck you.

What I had done is broken out of your control. How I found the strength I don't know, but I'm glad I did. Even though you took everything from me, I survived and got stronger. Fuck you.

Big Ex. I escaped you too and am finally happy.

For years I thought I was, but your gaslighting was stealthy. It crept up on me and nearly destroyed me.

I know now that you were petrified of losing me, that you were terrified that with my ever increasing responsibilities with the union that I would outgrow you. But you know what? If you had just told me that instead of making me feel like shit, we might have got through it. There are moments now that I know were just designed to hold me back.

Like when I used a long word in front of our friends and was asked what it meant. 'That she is getting ideas above her station.' was your reply.

Like when you had me convinced that you were acting in my best interests when you told me that our friends only tolerated me because I was with you. That they thought I was boring and all I talked about was PCS. That they thought I was talking down to them.

None of this was true. But you had me convinced it was.

We weren't having sex because I had something to prove. We were having sex because I had something to prove.

I was going mental and I didn't know what I was talking about. Of course you told me about going to your mum's. Of course you did. I must have just forgotten. Or, and here is the ultimate one, I was trying to drive YOU mad by pretending that you hadn't.

Oh what a head fuck you were.

And when I finally got some help. Finally got someone who made me realise that I was intelligent and capable and NICE and convinced me to go and see a doctor as they recognised the symptoms of depression, when I FINALLY did that and got on the anti depressants that I dreaded having to take because YOU said they would change me.

Then. Up it ramped. You tried to convince me that I was a different person. That I was capable of horrible things. That the bullying I was getting at work was my fault. That the panic attacks were because of the dreadful person I was and how I couldn't face her.

You would scream at me for hours then deny doing so. Straight faced. I had no idea what was going on apart from the fact that I had some clarity for the first time in years.

Enough clarity that I could see you for what you were. A controlling, gaslighting piece of shit.

Fuck you.

So, what was the point of writing this post? Why do this now?

It's so I can impart this message.

It isn't you. It's them.

Never again.

Run. Be safe. Be happy.

Dear Sisters, Catcalling Is Not A Compliment

Dear sisters,

I recently wrote a post on how catcalling is based on male privilege. It was pretty well received apart from one man who told me that I was wrong, and he wished he had time to tell me where I was going wrong. 

Bless him for thinking I gave a fuck about what he thought. 

But I digress.

The other type of response I got was from women telling me how sad they were that other women they knew saw this type of attention as a compliment. Sad indeed.

So I thought, in the spirit of sisterhood that I would write directly to you and explain why it isn't something you should be embracing or celebrating.

Are you a thing? No, me neither. However, that is what you are being seen as when someone shouts, whistles or clicks their tongue at you. They do not see you as the wonderful complex human being that you are. They don't care about your personality, your foibles, your hopes and dreams. They just see you as a piece of meat. One that they feel entitled to treat as they wish. An object. A thing. 

Is it a compliment when you get leered at? Is this what you really think is happening? That they are so struck by your beauty that they cannot help themselves?

Think again. That kind of thinking plays right into victim blaming rape culture. It is the same kind of thinking that leads to the idea that it is the fault of women when they get raped because the poor little men cannot help themselves. If only women would cover up/wear flat shoes/not ever go out/stop being so damn sexy all the time then men would be able to go about their merry way and not harass them in the street.

Just no.

Also, when you seek your validation in the voice of men you are playing straight into the hands of unattainable beauty standards perpetuated by the patriarchy. To illustrate, if they shout you are sexy then you will continue to have pressure put on you to stay sexy. If they say you are ugly then you will always be trying to 'better' yourself so that they think you are worthy of being called sexy.

Really? To please the kind of man who thinks it's ok to shout out of a window at someone? Really? 

If you get shouted at when pregnant (as I did, I didn't look pregnant from the back) this is not a compliment but a sad indictment of a society that thinks a woman is a breeding machine and cannot be seen as anything but 'mother' when she decides to carry a pregnancy. Don't believe me? Quickest way to get rid of these assholes is to turn round and show your bump. Watch them flee in a flash of disgust and horror that they might have encroached on someone who has already been claimed by another man. Other Man has planted his seed in you. Other Man owns you. Must not try and take what belongs to Other Man.

Here is a newsflash, you are still you when pregnant. You are more than an incubator and the idea that you would be grateful that someone can see this then that truly makes me sad.

Sisters, the same women who are being shouted at as they walk down the street are the same women who are being raped, tortured and killed by their partners. Two of them a week. Partly because they are used to being seen as a thing. A possession. Chattel.

If a man comes up to you and asks if it is ok to talk to you and takes no for an answer without calling you a bitch, a cunt, uptight, frigid, a slut, a whore then he probably isn't the kind who catcalls.

If he is, then he really shouldn't be the type of man you seek validation from.

Stay safe and stay strong.

Your sister,

Deeva xx

 

On Cat Calling And Male Entitlement

Got whistled at and cat called out of a van today. Happens quite a lot. Usually I just flip them the bird and yell fuck off as they go past, but today was different.

Today the van was keeping a walking pace with me because of slow traffic.

And that made me feel more vulnerable.

I hated that feeling of vulnerability. Hated the idea that these two asshole men would get more of a chance to try to engage me. That short of stopping or going a different way, I had no escape.

I wasn't going to do either of these things as fuck it, I shout the fuck back, so I girded my loins and kept going.

So here's how it went down.

First, the wolf whistle. Which I ignored. I'm not a fucking dog. I do not come when called.

Then the 'oi! Darling! Come here!'. Oh yes, you fuckwad, that is going to work. I'm a veritable puddle of vaginal moisture at being shouted at like a thing. Move over in your van so I can get in and run away with you and have all of teh sexeh timez.

That got a disdainful look and a calm fuck off from me.

Then, inevitably, the abuse started. Apparently my reluctance to engage in dialogue with this epitome of genteel good manners means I am a bitch. From darling to bitch in five seconds and all because I don't respond well to being ordered about by strangers.

Then, in a moment of lucidity, the driver says 'look mate, she's wearing a ring. Off limits.'

I was fucking furious on so many levels. Most of them to do with male entitlement.

Firstly, how dare they think it ok to whistle at me like I'm a THING? But that's ok, I'm just a woman. The fact that I ignored it so was obviously not comfortable in being directly in the male gaze with no route of escape mattered not to them. They were entitled to my attention. They demanded it. And wouldn't take no for an answer.

How dare they then order me to talk to them? To act as if I had no independent agency. And to expect me to comply, and when I didn't, to call me a bitch. A bitch for not playing into their entitled fucking hands.

And to then let me go because I wear a ring? How fucking entitled do you have to FEEL to goad me and insult me even when I am making it more than clear that I am not interested then stop because of your perception that I BELONG TO ANOTHER MAN?!?

How dehumanised are women to you?

So, men in the van, be very pleased that the lights changed at that point and you could drive off. It meant that your van didn't get a Deeva shaped foot print in the side while I screamed at you. I hope you at least heard that, though I doubt that you did over your laughter.

And fuck you. Fuck you very much. It is NOT a compliment. It does NOT just happen to the 'pretty' ones. It is unwelcome, unwanted, unwarranted and leaves me unwavering in my fight against male entitlement.