Sexism #5: Entitlement

I haven't added to my series on sexism in several months. It's not that I haven't been thinking about it, but there have been other things going on – summer, markets, festival, moving, house-sitting.


In some ways, I lead a life that is relatively sheltered from sexism: I don't consume a lot of advertising, many of my friends and neighbours are not sexist. But I still have encounters with sexist behaviour that are too frequent for my liking. This behaviour takes the form of jokes (about feminists or fat girls or sexy girls), discussions of who's hot and who's not, obsessions with weight loss, weight gain and relationships and occasional, casual, conversational references to women as floozies or sluts. (Yes, I live in rural Nova Scotia, and yes, it does still feel like 1956 here some of the time).

Some of this behaviour is engaged in by men I know, and some by women I know. And some of it is engaged in by me. I have my own internalized sexism, my own set of beliefs that I am trying to work with all the time, to revise and rethink and transform.

I try very hard to remember that sexism is bad behaviour and that people who indulge in it are not bad people. We are all products of our culture.

That doesn't mean it's not still frustrating and hurtful to encounter unexamined and unapologetic sexist behaviour. As I discussed in my post about sexism and protagonism back in April, there are some people who do not not seem to understand that people can be protagonists in their own lives even if those people are not men (or not white, or are living with a disability, mental illness, etc., etc.)

It's pretty easy to spot those people. When I'm having a conversation with another person, it's  clear to me when I'm being treated as an equal human being and when I'm being treated as an objectified "woman", an entity that is being assessed for its potential usefulness to the other person, a person who assumes they are the only protagonist in the conversation.

And that assumption about who counts and who does not, is closely related with today's topic: entitlement.

We're entitled to tell you who you are and what you want

Here's a recent example from my own life of being subjected to someone else's sense of entitlement.

Some friends who have headed out west for the winter hosted a farewell-for-now music show a couple of weeks ago at our local community hall. They invited a number of people, including me, to join them on stage to sing or play a song or two.

I was introduced along the lines of "Our friend, the lovely and talented Alex Hickey" or something like that. And as I got up on stage, I heard a male voice heckle from the audience, "and she's available."

"That's debatable," was the response that popped out of my mouth.

But what I wish I had had the presence of mind to say, was, "Why do you feel entitled to decide what my relationship status is – or should be – let alone shouting it at me in a room full of people?"

I'm pretty sure I recognized the voice of that heckler and I don't think he has any specific, hostile feelings toward me as a person. I don't think he was trying to be mean. Maybe he was even trying to be helpful, thinking he could help me to hook up with someone.

The problem is that his heckling didn't take me into account. I wasn't a protagonist in that moment; I was an object. A thing. An available thing.

That comment was based on that man's beliefs and ideas, projected onto me. I'm a single woman and a single woman is obviously "available", à la carte, for men to peruse and either accept or reject.

I have to admit that I have felt that way during a large portion of my life. And at various times, I have traded away some important parts of myself in return for feeling loved and/or sanctioned by the hetero-normative, pair-bonded system that dominates our culture.

I don't feel that way right now. I've learned the hard way that the cost of being in a relationship with someone can be much higher than the cost of not being in a relationship with someone. And that the rewards of loving someone else can be much slimmer than the rewards of loving and valuing oneself.

Who's Entitled?

I admit that I was furious for a couple of days after being heckled like that. My inner monologue ran along the lines of How dare he?, railing against his assumptions, sense of entitlement and down-right rudeness, hurling his assumptions at me while I was trying to do my job, for Pete's sake! Oh, I had my outrage worked up into a fine, self-righteous frenzy, I can tell you.

It took me a while to calm down about it.

It took me a while to calm down about it because I felt hurt and vulnerable. I felt humiliated by that comment. It took me right back to high school, back to the smart, geeky, emotionally-wounded girl I was in my teens, who didn't have a boyfriend, who felt rejected – and rejecting – and pretended not to care.

I felt entitled to judge and be angry at people back in those days. It was my survival. And being thrown back into those feelings threw me back into my judgment and outrage.

A humble and gentle heart is an antidote for entitlement

I went to a concert in Halifax last Friday, a benefit for Syrian Refugees that was put on by a number of my friends in the folk music community. There was some awesome, hard-core, traditional folk music, the kind of music I love: Vince Morash, Ann Fearon and James Crouse, Clary Croft and Dan McKinnon. And there was also a theatrical/musical piece about rights and responsibilities, performed by the youth theatre group, Project ARC. It was excellent: moving and fun and sincere and wholehearted.

Their piece held a big message for me – and for everyone – that none of us are entitled to anything, that our varied assignments in terms of class, gender, sexuality, ability, etc. don't make us more or less human than anyone else. The only things we're entitled to are our inalienable human rights – rights that are extended to every human equally, are ours from birth and cannot be taken away. Coupled with those rights, we each have responsibilities; we all make choices and take actions to either hurt and belittle other people or to respect them and treat them as equals. Or to do nothing.

Sometimes the world feels to me like a wilderness of assumptions and needs and compulsions and demands and expectations. I am trying to build a life that is centred in authenticity and peace, but I  often have experiences that pull me from the path – experiences that stir up anger and outrage, frustration and the risk of being totally overwhelmed by the hugeness of the task before me.

And in that place of feeling overwhelmed and vulnerable, it is far too easy for me to resort to feeling entitled to judge others and to hold them in contempt.  

I was very grateful to receive a reminder last Friday night that I am no more entitled to my judgments than anyone else is to theirs. And that the task of living an authentic life is not overwhelmingly large, but simply the same size as I am. No bigger and no smaller.

It is my responsibility to keep a firm grip on my own sense of myself. No matter what forces push me in what directions, it is always my choice: whom I decide to spend time with and how I want to talk and think and behave toward myself and toward other people.

I believe the best road through the wilderness is not broad, straight and paved with outrage and hurt feelings, but is narrow, winding and organic, delicately picked out between trees, using empathy and compassion – toward others and toward ourselves.

Body Wisdom Part 5: Artificially Sweetened

I've been feeling pretty depressed over the past couple of days.

My first thought is: Uh-oh.

I don't want to go back to where I was last winter. I was just congratulating myself last week on how great it feels to not be depressed like I was last year.

So what happened?

Well, partly it's state of the world: refugee crises, mass shootings, the Canadian election. With my return to unlimited high-speed internet, I've been spending too much time focusing my thoughts on things I'm not happy about and feel mostly helpless to change.

But there's another factor: this week, I cut way back on the amount of sugar I eat.

My personality would probably be described by many people (not everyone, mind you) as bright and sunny, energetic and giving.

I like being that way. But I think I've been achieving that result artificially.

Yes, that's right, I believe my personality is artificially sweetened — and has been for most of my life.

On a typical day, I consume somewhere between 20 and 80 grams of sugar.

That's FIVE to TWENTY TEASPOONS of sugar.

Imagine eating 20 teaspoonfuls of sugar.

Even 5 teaspoonfuls.

It's kind of sickening, isn't it?

But when I'm tired or cranky or even not feeling adequately joyful and gregarious, sugar, neatly packaged in a chocolate bar or a can of pop, cheers me up and keeps me going.

"There, there," says sugar, "you are not really tired (or sad or frightened or lonely or frustrated or angry). You just need a little pick-me-up. You can use me to simulate energy (or comfort or safety or love or satisfaction or peace) and you will feel ALL BETTER."

Which maybe wouldn't be a problem except that my standards for my mood are high and it takes a lot of sugar to get me to feel how I want to feel. And that much sugar is simply not good for me. Every year, the amount of sugar I eat packs on a few more pounds and it's getting out of hand. I don't want to develop diabetes, or wear out my hips, knees and ankles (at least not before the rest of me is ready to head off into the sunset anyway).

So, with my move to my winter accommodations, I decided to cut out the daily pop and chocolate bar habit. I started concentrating more on mindful eating (which naturally reduces my overall food intake, because being mindful means I actually notice when I'm full). I picked my yoga back up where I left off a few months ago.

Returning to yoga feels great.

The mindful eating feels challenging, but good.

Cutting back on the sugar feels horrible.

I know what I have to do if I want to be able to change my sugar habit. I have to FEEL my feelings and find more genuine ways to feel energetic, comforted, safe, loved, satisfied and peaceful.

And/or I need to lower the bar and accept that I am going to be way more cranky and tired, and feel way more sadness, fear, loneliness, frustration and anger, without my sugar crutch than I am going to feel with it.

I want to change.

I want to create better health for myself.

So, I'm cutting back on shortcuts. Cutting back on pretending. Cutting back on simulations.

And that scares me. Because I predict that it could mean a very bumpy winter for me indeed.

Damn.

Winter Accomodation: Resolutions and Perspective (and Sondheim?)

I'm just about to move into my winter accommodations. Salinger and I should be relocated by Sunday.

We had a beautiful September – warm and sunny with very few chilly mornings. Really, it was everything I could have asked for when living in a converted trailer with the R-value of a sieve. And I've had so many good times with friends, at the West Dublin Market, at the beach.

And yet, I feel more excited than loathe to leave. I'm renting space from a friend in Lunenburg and I'm looking forward to being in town for the winter.

I'm looking forward to being able to leave my car at home when I go to the Farmer's market or – gasp – a restaurant or the pub. I'm looking forward to having real high-speed internet access again and running hot water.

Resolutions

I am starting to make winter resolutions. I have decided:

• I am going to become a member at the Lunenburg Makery and finish off as many of my half-completed quilting projects as I am able to complete over the next 6 months
• I am going to knit in the evenings, make some socks and maybe even complete an unfinished sweater or two
• I am going to get back into a regular yoga practice with YogaGlo
• I am going to read all of the books I have gathered about organic gardening and solar/sustainable housing
• I am going to practice my new DIRA habit
• Salinger and I are going to do more jigsaw puzzles (I currently have 20 puzzles that I have won and not yet assembled)
• I am going to keep up the good work budgeting with YNAB; I think I'm finally getting the hang of it!

 

Perspective

I have to say how deeply grateful I am to be feeling well this autumn. 

A year ago, when I was moving into winter accommodation, I was a mess. Heartbroken and depressed and not even sure I wanted to make it through the winter. Grim times.

I got a lot of support from my friends and family and I've had many epiphanies over the past year+. Some of them I've written about in this blog (Here's one. Here's another.)

But I haven't yet written about my most recent epiphany. It happened a couple of months ago when I read this article – that, yes, I saw on Facebook. The article has kind of a stupid title, in my opinion, but the body of the article is not stupid. It basically says that the crappy times are where the growth happens and are therefore are some the most important and most fertile times we have.

The article is focused on intimate relationships. But I think it applies equally to our relationships with ourselves. Relationships are not just about the good times. When we go through something really challenging with someone else, it either strengthens the relationship – or breaks it, depending on how much people are able to show up for one another and and how well they are able to bear the situation. The same goes for our relationships with ourselves. I can see now that I really showed up for myself this year. I didn't do it perfectly or anything. I spent a lot of time feeling mad at and disappointed by myself. But when I read that article I could see that, on the whole, I stuck by myself in The Pits. I didn't abandon myself into another harmful relationship or booze or drugs. And even my relationships with eating and work – two of my favourite, safest hiding spots – didn't take over too much.

I kept going with my goals at the pace I could manage. I kept trying to be kind to myself and others. I struggled to let other people's kindness in and accept help. I let myself cry – a lot. I figured a lot of things out. I hung out in The Pits and I feel like I gained a lot in understanding, in tolerance, in forbearing.

I grew.

And Sondheim? 

I'm reminded of some lyrics from Sondheim's Into The Woods:
And I know things now,
Many valuable things,
That I hadn't known before:
Do not put your faith
In a cape and a hood,
They will not protect you
The way that they should.
And take extra care with strangers,
Even flowers have their dangers.
And though scary is exciting,
Nice is different than good.
Now I know:
Don't be scared.
Granny is right,
Just be prepared.
Isn't it nice to know a lot!
And a little bit not...

(Read more: Into The Woods - I Know Things Now Lyrics | MetroLyrics)

Actually, Sondheim obviously knows this stuff inside out and backwards.
How about these lyrics from Merrily We Roll Along:

All right, now you know:
Life is crummy.
Well, now you know.

I mean, big surprise:
People love you and tell you lies.
Bricks can fall out of clear blue skies.
Put your dimple down,
Now you know.

Okay, there you go —
Learn to live with it,
Now you know.

It's called flowers wilt,
It's called apples rot,
It's called theives get rich and saints get shot,
It's called God don't answer prayers a lot,
Okay, now you know.

Okay, now you know,
Now forget it.
Don't fall apart at the seams.
It's called letting go your illusions,
And don't confuse them with dreams.

Yes sir, quite a blow —
Don't regret it,
And don't let's go to extremes.
It's called what's your choice?
It's called count to ten.
It's called burn your bridges, start again.
You should burn them every now and then
Or you'll never grow!

Because now you grow.
That's the killer, is
Now you grow.
 
(For all the rest of the words, go here.)

How did I end up writing about Sondheim? I don't know. It's raining. I'm procrastinating packing for my move.

I think it's time I put a little Sondheim on the speakers and started making breakfast and getting this rainy day underway.

The moral of this story: difficult things happen and they are difficult. If you can get through them with a mostly open heart, you will grow. If you get through them with a mostly open heart inside a relationship with a partner who can also keep their heart open, the relationship will grow.

Easier said than done, I know.


I wish you and me and all of us lots of luck.

D.I.R.A. (Do It Right Away)

Like many people, I'm a chronic procrastinator.

I keep meaning to change my ways, but well, maybe later, eh?

The trouble with that is that I keep making problems for myself.

Here are a couple of recent examples:

1. Back in the spring, I had a money order made up to include with my application to put a driveway in on my land. I postponed submitting the application and I have since misplaced (i.e. lost) the money order. It's for $300. Enough to make a typical south shore person conform to the laws around driveways. Enough to hurt. (Except the bank was able to reissue it, phew).
2. A week or so ago, I received a new credit card to replace one that is about to expire. I thought, I'll activate that later – and now I can't find it. 

Apart from these acute examples, there is also the chronic condition of my home, my car and my finances to contend with. Drifts of things tend to mount up and deteriorate into chaotic messes.

I'm getting better with my finances. It's taken me a while and there have been some bumps along the way, but I am sticking with YNAB and it is now rare for me to go for more than 2 or 3 weeks without taking stock of all of my income and expenses. When I'm having a really good week, I track almost everything on the spot, using my phone. This hasn't really helped me make better decisions about my spending yet, but I'm hopeful that as I continue to get the hang of it, I'll start being happier with the ways I choose to spend my money.

And losing that credit card has motivated me to reconsider the number of credit cards I have. They are just making work for me to track and reconcile them. It's not worth it for a few lousy points toward whatever.

I'm going to try to adopt the acronym, D.I.R.A. (Do It Right Away) as a simple way to remind myself to take care of things (especially little things) immediately, instead of letting them mold and fester. Another possible acronym is R.A.P. (Right Away, Please). I would use A.S.A.P., but As Soon As Possible is too open to interpretation. Except when my clients use it, ASAP just means "when you want to", which in terms of me taking care of little things is basically never – or only when I'm forced to.

I've also thought up an expanded version of the DIRA acronym:

D – Documented: there is no point putting thing in a safe place if one doesn't know where that safe place is. So from now on whenever I put something "somewhere safe", I'm going to send myself an email with an easily searchable subject line, like "Where is my Passport?"
I – Intentional: think about the right place for something and put it there. (In other words, stop dropping things carelessly on the passenger seat of my car and later tipping them carelessly onto the floor of the back seat because I want to give someone a lift. Upon arriving home from my mailbox, each piece of paper needs to be dealt with – sorted into recycling, acted upon and/or filed.
R – Resolute: be consistent. Do It Right Away. Every Time.
A – Accepting: I know that this is going to be challenging for me. If it came naturally, I'd have been doing it all along. I will need to jolly myself along, with lots of humour and affection. And get gently back on the wagon each time I fall off.

With present moment consciousness, anytime I see a piece of paper (or anything else) that I haven't dealt with promptly, I always have the option to DIRA. Even if it has been kicking around for months or years, right away can be right now.

Permissions #1: The Driveway Application

(No doubt the first in a long series of posts about seeking permission to do things on my land...)

I submitted my driveway application today.

I had been going to submit it way back in March when I was going through the process of buying my land.

The application needs to be accompanied by a $300 refundable fee. You submit the application, they tell you what you need to do in terms of culvert size and (re)location (if the placement you desire is not okay with them), and after you put the driveway in, they come to see if you have complied and if you have, they give you your $300 back.

(Something in me finds it very funny to think that $300 is the price of compliance around here. Well, now we know.)

Anyway, I got the money order made up in March - and then, I couldn't decide where I wanted the driveway to be. I hemmed and hawed, waiting for all that snow to melt. In the end, I accepted that I had no idea what I was doing and needed more time. I postponed doing the application, waiting until I had a better sense of what I wanted to do.

At some point between then and now, I lost the money order. 

Damn, I do stuff like that all the time. 

I live in chaos - usually busy, often tired, often rushing, and chronically resistant about putting things away (or indeed putting things anywhere other than where they land when they arrive in my life, which is why my car is always such a mess).

So many pieces of (necessary administrative) paper end up buried, misplaced and/or completely lost. 

The last time I saw that first money order, it was in my wallet. I thought I cleaned it out onto my desk in early May, but it seems more likely that I would have taken it out before I went away on a trip in April. Who knows? I have conducted a fairly extensive search, but it has never been seen again.

It definitely didn't help that I lived in three different places in April, in addition to traveling for 10-days. Plus, I burned a number of boxes of papers earlier this summer, clearing out a lot of useless things – but perhaps accidentally, a few very useful things?

Fortunately, the bank is able to put a caution on the money order and retrieve the funds. And all my carelessness cost me was an extra $7.50 to have another money order issued.

Once I got the replacement money order today, I went (almost) straight to the Department of Transportation and Infrastructure Renewal with my application and submitted it.

This is me trying to turn over a new leaf – the Do It Right Away leaf.

But more about that later, I think.

For now, I'm just happy to report that I am one step further ahead with my project.

My friends and I cut down more trees on
my land last week. Here is a photo of the
clearing where I think I'm going to put
my Tiny Home.

Driving In Stakes

There's a frequently used expression that was on my mind the other day: Pulling up stakes. 

It's what people do when they give up on a place where they've been for a good while, for one or for many reasons, tear up their roots and start over somewhere else.

I've pulled up stakes more than a few times in my life.

But it occurs to me that I'm doing the opposite now.

This week, I staked my property so that when I submit my application at the Department of Transportation, and they come to inspect the site, they will know where I want my driveway to meet the road.

The first-driven stake, photographed along
with my beloved 6-pound hammer, the first of several hand tools
purchased so I can do work on my land.

After driving the stakes, it was time to give the areas
around them a little haircut, to make them easier to see.

This is a funny feeling. It is a feeling I haven't had for a very long time, the feeling of belonging to a place.

I felt it when I was a kid, essentially because I didn't know any better; I didn't know the upheavals that were to come. I thought the shag carpeting and bean bag chairs were mine and would be there for me always.

(An Aside about Bean Bag Chairs)

It's a funny thing about bean bag chairs. They are very lovable. When my sister and I were little we had one each – a red one and a beige one (to go with the orange, brown and beige shag area rugs with the large geometric shapes on them). As an adult, I bought an acid green bean bag chair for my studio. When I told my nieces that I was moving away from Toronto and wouldn't be able to see them as often anymore, my younger niece, who was about five-years-old at the time, immediately asked, "Can we have your bean bag chair?" I believe she requested it because it was something cozy and cuddly that she associated with me. So of course I gave it to them. 

I'm thinking it might be soon time to buy another bean bag chair. Or two. 

Back to belonging

So, yes, I feel like this land is now something to which I belong. Messy and chaotic after years of being left to its own devices, it is very beautiful to me.

When I first bought my land, I hesitated to alter it. I didn't want to cut any trees. I knew I was going to have to cut trees if I wanted to put my tiny home on the land and live there, but I didn't want to. I actually considered hiring a crane and getting my tiny home lowered into a tiny clearing. Now that my friends and I have cut off most of the trees necessary to put in the driveway and my tiny home, I feel differently about it. I can see how selective cutting is enhancing the beauty of the land for me. How letting in more light will give opportunities to trees that have spent their entire lives in shadow. How the brush piles will rot and give themselves back to the land, nourish their brothers and sisters.

And I see how this piece of land is something I can boss and cuddle and manage and love.

I didn't want to do this with a child. (I have many, many reasons for deciding not to have children. Someday, when I'm feeling brave enough, I'll write a blog post about that.) And while my cat is very available to love and cuddle, he is not available to boss or manage. He is a cat, after all, and they don't much like being told what to do. Being in charge of a child didn't appeal to me, but being in charge of this piece of land really does.

If I'm totally honest, I'm experiencing a bit of possessive, control-freak euphoria. It's all mine. I get to do whatever I want there. My decisions. My consequences. My life. My roots. My home.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

I feel very, very lucky. And maybe just a wee bit drunk on power.

See the purple asters like a smoke upon the hills.
In the spring I saw mayflowers on my land;
this fall there are asters. Both flowers are
potent reminders of my Nana,
who was a passionate devotee of
Nova Scotian landscapes, plants and birds.

Menopause and Misery

Back in February, I wrote a blog post about Menopause and Euphoria. 

Today, it is time to write about the other side of the peri-menopausal coin.

The Dark Side.

Yes, this is the part of the menopausal experience that gets all of the bad press. And I understand why.

I once worked in an office in which about 75% of the employees were women going through menopause. I have never been exposed to so much random screaming and crying. Seriously, there were so many damn feelings around the place that it was often difficult to get any work done. Responses to every little thing were over-the-top, melodramatic. And as for the BIG problems – well, there was more than one all-out, cataclysmic meltdown during my time there. At the time, in my late twenties and early thirties, I rolled my eyes and sighed a lot.

Now I have a much deeper understanding.

Wow, but the feelings that come with these hormonal ebbs and flows are big. They are inarguable, irrational and often very, very unpleasant.

The voices in one's head say terrible things like "Why do I even bother to keep on living?" "Nobody loves me." "Everyone is taking me for granted/trying to screw me over."

The voices are loud and insistent. And they make me want to do terrible things: send out vicious emails, fire clients, tell people exactly what I think of them, weep all everybody, complain, wail, bemoan, etc., etc., etc.

I cannot imagine having to hold down a 9–5 job while this is going on.  I also can't imagine trying to have an intimate relationship. I am grateful that I don't have children. I can only imagine the damage I might do.

A few days a month, the best thing I can do is keep myself to myself. Try not to post on social media (unless it's something innocuous like a picture of the beach), try not to hit the Send button on any email that is not strictly routine (As requested, please see attached file. Best regards, Alex), decline invitations to social events and hang out alone repeating to myself:

"This is not real. This is a mental state caused by fluctuating hormones. It will pass. Ride it out."

An innocuous photo of the beach.
Posted on social media with the inoffensive comment: "Low tide:"
When in doubt, try to stay rooted in reality. If reality seems entirely
awful, go back to bed for a couple of days, or until you seem to
have regained your sense of perspective.

As hard as I've tried to avoid taking action when I am in a state of emotional distress, I have definitely slipped a few times and done some dumb things this summer, damaged some relationships, hurt myself and others.

I'm hoping that I'll keep learning and that I will get better at surfing these waves of feelings.

I'm prescribing myself another winter of jigsaw puzzles and rest.

And reminding myself of a few basic tenets:

If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.

There is a time and a place for everything.

Count to ten before responding to something upsetting (which translates to waiting AT LEAST 24-hours before sending any email with emotional content – or even with emotional undertones)

To abstain from action is well – except to acquire merit. (Rudyard Kipling, Kim)