Slut Shaming: What Happens When Women Judge Each Other

   I get it. I understand the distinction you are trying to make. But what you don't get, when you sit there slamming another womans choices, is that it doesn't help us on the whole. It doesn't make the world respect us any more to hear you talk about her lack of respect for herself. Your slut shaming hate speak may feel morally informed and dignified and it may garner you the accolades and temporary praise from the men in your life. But what you don't understand, is she isn't harming the image of women. You are. You have no way of knowing by looking at her whether her mode of dress feels degrading or empowering inside that precious head of hers. You may get a vibe, and as a woman with instincts about such things it could often times prove to be right... but how do you know if that gut reaction isn't resonating from a different place in your mind? From programmed beliefs about the way a woman is supposed to behave... or maybe from latent desires or fears. From memories of times when the world lashed out at you for the very same offense. On whatever scale.

   The most important point you're missing though is that you're inadvertently making yourself a point of reference. The men who overhear your comments, many times without even realizing it or intending to do it, file that information away and pull it out as precedence... license to judge the intentions of women by the way they look and dress. Do you see the difference? When we women judge other women by the length of their skirts we do so with an intrinsic knowledge most men don't come equipped with. We are judging their decisions. You are judging someone who had the same or similar options laid out before her along with the same or similar consequences and she chose differently than you. That's what you are judging. But men don't get the privilege of hearing that subconscious internal dialogue. And they aren't generally presented with those same options... even if they were, the consequences are so greatly different that it's impossible to infer our female experience from a single set of similar circumstances from time to time.

   Men see the external result of your internal experience that lead you to verbalize something negative about another woman's appearance, and they think that makes it okay for them to judge women on this level too. Both are bad. It's wrong to think this way of someone else regardless of your gender... but the judgement you're helping to perpetuate in men through your hateful talk isn't the same brand as your own. Men are (generally speaking) judging intentions not decisions. They can only assume what went into that decision, unlike us women who know, at least in part the different factors at play. And we all know assuming is dangerous.

   When we say "that's so attention seeking" guys interpret that through the male lens. It must be a certain type of attention she's seeking... You can see where I'm going with this...

    So by all means teach modesty to your daughters. Carefully so as not to imply undue guilt, or disproportionate levels of responsibility on her if she doesn't follow your teaching to the letter... as most children growing into adults are prone to do...  or heaven forbid she chooses a different path altogether. But please make sure you're not inadvertently teaching misogyny to your sons and brothers and husbands.

   Women may not have power in many areas, inequality is everywhere... but don't for a second underestimate the power of our words. We move mountains with our tongues. Let's do our best to stop shooting ourselves in the foot under the guise that it's about her and not about us.

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Brief Life Update

   I haven't been posting much lately... and really, my posting frequency has gone down steadily over this past year despite every intention for it to be the opposite of that (although at least from my own self-assessment I do believe the quality of the content has improved). I've given a few reasons here and there. They were honest, but they weren't the whole story. The whole story is that I have a predisposition toward a commonly misunderstood mental illness called depression. You've all heard of it, and I'm sure some of my readers have experienced it. It is different for each person in the way that it manifests. For me, this decade since my first major depressive episode have been spent being constantly on guard against the natural slant of my own mind.

   Recently, it would seem that I let my guard down a tad too much... It's back. And I am seeking treatment. No need to worry. But, I am still finding it incredibly difficult to engage in the activities that normally bring me joy and fulfillment. This includes my writing. For that I am sorry.

  I will push through. And I will write when and where I can. This topic in particular is near and dear to my heart and I long to share this experience I'm going through with the world around me, because it's important. Not because it's me, but because it's so, so many other people too. People who on top of their internal suffering, fear an unnecessary negative stigma that may increase their already existing paralysis enough to prevent them from getting help. Or from admitting, even to themselves, that they need, it.

   So I'll do my best to be painfully honest through this ordeal. I'll do my best to resist the overwhelming urge to sit in silence. Because depression is a disease that feeds itself with it's self-created desire to stay sick. And I'm not going to give it that fuel.

Much love to you all,

Cat

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Schizophrenic Style: Midwest Irreverence

   It is finally spring here in the Midwest! ...or maybe it'll snow three days from now. Who knows? But either way these last few days have been beautiful and yesterday I felt recovered enough after having the head cold from hell, that I actually spent a good amount of time outdoors. I figured though, that since nothing is really green yet and there are still a few crumpled leaves lying around here and there that managed to not decompose entirely underneath all that snow... I could wear some of my best fall weather gear with even less guilt than I normally feel (which is pretty much none).

   Recently I became the proud owner of this gorgeous pair of Jefferey Campbell Damsels by way of a lucky Ebay win and one missing spike. I've been drooling over the Lita and Damsel collections for months and months but just couldn't justify the price tag, so when I saw a listing for a barely damaged floor model pair I had to snatch them up. This is the first time I've had a chance to get some photos of them with my real camera... it feels a little ridiculous gushing over them this way in type, but sometimes there are just things, material possessions... silly stuff like in this case shoes, that just make you feel giddy without some deep meaningful explanation. These are very much that way for me. I've got no reasons, just very happy feet.

   We went for a little walk around my in-laws neighborhood and let Bastian try out some of his new toy cars he got in his Easter basket from them earlier that morning. We had him in his coat for good measure since we've all been pretty under the weather, but it wasn't really necessary. After our walk and mini outfit shoot I sat on their front porch working on my Bible study homework for our evening group and I honestly got a bit overheated in the direct sunlight and had to shift to a shadier position on the swing/bench. A nice change of pace.

   Speaking of the intentional taking of outfit photos... I've slowly over time become more comfortable with this concept. The last time we did this on a visit to my in-laws I was actually embarrassed to admit out loud exactly why we were going for a walk. Bastian was younger and harder to bring along for these sorts of endeavors but it was really nice out and I felt that while we needed to provide an explanation for why we weren't bringing him along for a few fun moments in the sun, I still couldn't bring myself to say "we're really only going out to photograph my outfit". It felt silly... frivolous and honestly a bit vain. I never think that of other women crafting together their own editorial like content for their blogs or what-have you... but I've always been afraid that someone would think that of me. "What is this crazy woman doing walking with her family down the sidewalk wearing 6.5 inch boots covered in spikes, striking poses instead of playing with her kid? How selfish!"

   I've come to terms with this a bit more over time, and while I still feel a little self conscious when someone passes us on foot on the same side of the street I am better able to shrug it off. The truth is, I spend the majority of my time being a pretty serious and intense person. I put a lot of thought into my parenting, my writing, my marriage, just about every aspect of my life. Fashion is an outlet that I can feel expressive and somewhat artistic without having to over think things. If someone happens by and sees only the snapshot of my life in which my husband is taking snapshots of me like some crazies on the street, and they make a snap judgement? Well then that's not really my problem is it? Refusing be seen enjoying fashion in an attempt to be taken more seriously as a human being, as a woman, doesn't really do anything to dispel the myth that all women with a love for clothes and makeup are inherently shallow, now does it? Hiding isn't helping anyone.

   Besides... moments like these on our walks happen just as frequently as the mock glamor shot pose moments. In the midst of the "selfishness" of asking the husband to aim that camera at me, we laugh together as a family. And we get more precious family "outtakes" than serious outfit post fodder anyways. And on the bonus.... the husband is getting pretty amazing at this photo taking thing isn't he?

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How Rape Culture Affects My Writing

    I've been making notes to myself on the different directions I want to delve into on the topic of my last post. That topic of course being rape culture. There are so many tangents and components and underlying issues, some that even seem entirely unrelated, that all need tackling. And it seems as though I've overwhelmed myself by starting/promising a series without first drafting an outline of any kind. So, while I do plan to continue on in writing up well thought out posts on the subject that go a little deeper into many of the individual yet not easily untangled aspects, right now I am simply going to write a bit off the cuff... about why I haven't written anything since that post.

   There are of course the seemingly important daily life reasons. Distractions. Laundry piled Every. Where. Seriously everywhere. Boxes that still need unpacking. Meals that need to be made. The kid and I getting sick. My parents having to put their cat, whom I lived with for many years, to sleep. Easter and the production I was a part of for our church service (that I got to learn and perform a bit of sign language for). And of course the crazy day before any holiday craziness in which I decide last minute that it is absolutely necessary to learn a brand new (and always time consuming) baking skill. This time it was decorating cookies using homemade royal icing. Unfortunately I didn't get any good pictures before they were devoured.

   Then there are the more sincere reasons. The fact that my last post was fueled by a level of anger the likes of which cannot be safely maintained for any length of time without some kind of major fallout. There's my general lack of motivation I've been battling for several months... and then there's my fear. The fear of the potential backlash a woman speaking out on these topics can and does all too often receive. A big part of the fury that resulted in my last post was as a direct result of the horrible things people were saying to and about women on the internet in response to the Steubenville case and others like it. The lengths to which some people will go to intimidate and belittle women for any number of "offenses".

   It's a scary world to live in as a woman. And I can't even imagine what it must be like for the millions of women who have it so much worse than me... Women who live in parts of the world where the threat against them is much more urgent and pressing. Being a moment to moment issue rather than a day to day thing in which my biggest concerns are being hyper aware of my surroundings when walking to my car that I own through a mostly deserted parking garage, some extremely uncomfortable leering and the occasional worry that if I hit that publish button on that blog I wrote on my laptop in the comfort of my home, it just might be the day that something I wrote goes viral... only instead of accolades and a widened reader base I will have an inbox filled with death and rape threats from men hiding behind the anonymity of the internet. As so many female bloggers have had happen to them. This is one of those things that I believe escapes the understanding or acknowledgement of even some of the best men out there... the fact that while they may fear criticism when sharing an opinion they almost never have to worry about someone dismissing everything they say as invalid solely on how they dress or the mere existence of whatever gender specific body parts they happen to have.

   So, there you have it. I'm overwhelmed and afraid. But I also feel deeply called to this task... and however long it may take, I will write about this. But I will also write about other things as well, as the desire or inspirations hit me... 

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On Rape Culture; A Message to the Good Guys

I

Am

Furious

I have been trying to find the words to meld together and organize into comprehensible sentences. Thoughts. A message. But I am mostly just overwhelmed by the one thing I feel so compelled to write about. I avoid it in general, when and where I can because I don't want to feel like I'm contributing to a culture of victim thinking... which is a whole problem all it's own that desperately needs to be dealt with. A pervasive issue that is affecting everything from interpersonal relationships to big scale government corruption. I also know the crippling nature of anger in our lives and how focusing too much on the injustices around us causes us to internalize a severe amount of hurt and fear and rage. How that is a poison that if we allow it, can ruin everything good we experience. It undermines our ability to process humor and connection and joy. But...

But.

I need to write about rape culture. I can't avoid it anymore. Because it's own brand of poison has already taken root in my life and refusing the antidote because if its negative side effects is no longer an option. I need to talk about it because simply acknowledging the good guys out there and focusing on them isn't enough to balance out the prevailing attitudes that are so dangerous to women. It's the good guys that I need to speak to about this. Because while I am furious at CNN (and other media outlets) for sympathizing with the Steubenville rapists, it is true that the were good students with promising futures and talent in the athletic arena. And that info, while delivered with the entirely wrong slant, is important to know. Because most rapists have good qualities in addition to the bad. They are people. Not creatures waiting in an alleyway at night only existing in the moment of their crime.

The reason I want to talk to the good guys is because while they know what consent means, they are interacting daily with other males who do not, and it's easy to assume that they do. It's easy to write off things that their friends and co-workers and family members say as being a joke rather than something indicative of a thinking problem. It's easy as human beings to live our lives under the assumption that the people we are surrounded with, for the most part, know what we know. At a base level believe what we believe.

It's also easy to assume of ourselves that because we would never intentionally disregard someone else's physical boundaries and act on our urges against their will, that our attitudes and our talk to and about other human beings are innocent and respectful. It's too easy to fall back on "normal" and not question ourselves.Or where that brand of thinking came from. But my point that I am trying to get to, is that by the time we are in a court room debating what  does and does not constitute consent we have already long since failed. The fact that someone who was otherwise a "good person" (whatever that means... we're all capable of evil) was able to act in a way that is so ridiculously far off of the correct path is proof that somewhere along the way we as a society, whether that be a small HS football town, a family or the whole country, began taking little steps in the wrong direction.

Please. Do not confuse what I've said to mean that I actually think there was ever a point in time where things were 100% on the right track in this regard. I don't. But I do Think that there are many men who've got it as close to right as a human can get when it comes to their attitude toward women. Now and throughout our history. But... it's not being taught for the most part. The closest I feel we're getting outside of a few communities that go out of their way to focus on it, is trial, error, backlash and a lot of people left feeling like they're mangled and/or walking on eggshells.


To be honest I feel both of those things. Right now.

And while there is so much more to say I have to leave you with a cliffhanger. Because from here there are multiple different components of the problem that each deserve their own post... and they will get them....

To be Continued...

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Writers Block in the Real World

     Words have the power to build up and to destroy. Spoken or thought. Everything about our world... or at least mine, boils down to words. And I have hundreds of thousands of them, but so often I'm left feeling like I have none at all. Because part of my obsession with words materializes itself in my compulsion to judge words. The deem them worthy or unworthy. Sincere or shallow. Intelligent or immature. The problem however is not so much in the judgement of the individual words themselves, or even in their structure and sound when combined with others... but in the snap assessments of the meaning intended by the one who wields them. Including myself. Oh Lord how I judge myself.

   That is precisely why I struggle to use words in the real world. At least articulate, deep and meaningful ones. Because I fumble when I don't have the space to judge each one as it comes out. I find myself analyzing the beginning of my sentences as the rest left to be said falls out without what I would deem to be the proper amount of thought. I backtrack in the same moment as I'm attempting to conversationally move forward and as a result I wind up getting overwhelmed and lost. So I hide behind my keyboard and my pen... fearing that if someday enough people were to read and enjoy my written words that they may want to hear my spoken ones. Particularly the kind that don't have the opportunity to be rehearsed in advance. And that scares the crap out of me.

   It's true that sometimes... many, many times actually, success scares us far more than failure. Success scares us because we don't believe we have the capacity to maintain it. Or don't believe we deserve it. Or that if we achieve and then lose it we will never recover from the wound it leaves behind. Success leaves scars we tell ourselves. Subconsciously or otherwise... and that notion holds us captive whether we realize it or not. And captivity breeds hostility. At least in me it does.

   It's a good thing then, that every once in a while I am reminded that I hold the key.

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My Not-So-Terrible Two Year Old

   I haven't been blogging lately. At least not much. I haven't been working on my book lately either. At all. But I have been writing lately. More than in a long, long time. I lost it for a couple of months there, and in the process I kind of lost myself as well. But I've recently reacquainted myself with the lost (to me) art of journaling. And in that journal I've begun documenting the parts of my life I usually forgot to write about. Moments. The fleeting kind. I am far more accustomed to writing about ideas and opinions. Stories are somewhat new territory to me. But it is the area in which I feel most compelled to improve. Because it scares me and thrills me the most. It has less concrete parameters. In stories I feel as though my safety vest has been removed and I must rely solely on myself to keep the narrative afloat. Myself and that finicky little thing called memory... a trait, if you will, that I have, but not not the most trustworthy among them.

   So I have been here and there writing down seemingly minor observances of and interactions with my son. The type of things that I always tell myself I will remember, for their sweetness or humor, but never do. For above all I am forgetful. I am that mother who always answers the "How's your kid?" questions with "awesome! He's growing so fast and he's hilarious..." followed quickly by an awkward pause and a blank stare as I try to think up recent examples. Because I can't, and I feel so awful about it. These moments are worth remembering... and so I'm taking it into my hands, literally, with pen and paper, to lock them into permanence of the only kind I know:

 Photo C/O Josh Rogerson | Photography

Tuesday February 28th 2013:

   I knew I shouldn't have let him play with that darned thing! What kind of mother let's her kid run around with an uninflated balloon between his teeth? A teeny tiny water balloon no less? The nurse at the doctors office said she'd call back after consulting him... Oh that must be her right now! "Yes? Ok... yes, I understand. I just wanted to be on the safe side. Yes, he's eating, drinking and breathing just fine. The coughing stopped. Honestly I don't even know if he swallowed it, I just know I turned around for a second and he was gagging. He said he swallowed something but wouldn't tell me what and I can't find the balloon anywhere! ....Oh MY GOODNESS, I feel like such an idiot for even calling! He just walked up to me now... balloon in hand. He must have gagged on something else. I'm so sorry!"

Friday March 1st 2013:

   Bastian is across from me at the kitchen table as I write this. Sitting in a bar-height chair without restraints, eating his turkey and Muenster grilled sandwich (and sweet potato fries) in strips... because Daddy discovered the other day that he prefers it over the smaller squares.
   He picks up a particularly long fry in his hand that is shaped, at least the way he is holding it, like an upside down "U". He gives me a sly smile and says "it's eensy weensy spider; mom." ...he already says Mom in the way of a teenager. The way that elicits a silent "Duh" on the end... only from him it bears a bit more excitement and wonder. Thank God. I don't think I could bear the sound without it.

Tuesday March 5th 2013:

   My heart soared and burst into a billion tiny pieces just now. Bastian, on the couch next to me, trying his best to keep his balance as he half jumps, half stands tip toed, each leg doing it's own thing... "I can Fly Mommy! .... Bastian not flying" the facial expression synonymous to a motherhood punch to the gut forming on his adorable little face. It's only the beginning I think to myself as I try to figure out whether to smile or cry... and I hug him to hide the bewilderment on my own face.

Wenesday March 6th 2013:

   The first thing Bastian said to me this morning was "Spatula!" As I walked down the stairs he held it up and repeated the word Daddy had just said as if it was some great treasure. Just now, maybe, I don't know, a half hour later, this interchange took place:
Bastian (holding spatula pinched between shoulder and ear): "I'm making a phone call!"
"Bastian making phone call!"
Me: Smile and what I believe to be a look of encouragement.
Bastian: "I making a phone call"
"Bastian making a phone call Mom!"
Me: "Cool"

The above was repeated in similar variations a few more times until I realized that "Cool" wasn't cutting it for him

Bastian: "I'm making a phone call!"
Me: "Who are you calling Bastian?"
Bastian: "It's not a phone Mom!!"

Duh...

photo C/O Josh Rogerson | Photography

   So... I am definitely a little late to the game when it comes to recording milestones, but I've got to say that for all the mental resistance I gave the idea, it feels pretty incredible to be mother/record-keeper now that I am doing it.  

Doing it my own way.

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