Herstory: Give Her A Choice

I keep coming across trending article bashing women for choosing to get married and start a family. I’m sure you’ve come across these rants urging women to bake cakes instead of getting engaged and attacking women for having children instead of a career. I do not wish to give these articles any more publicity than they’ve already accumulated. However, they have succeeded in getting a rise and reaction out of me. More than angry at their close-minded views, I am sad by their inability to see beyond their current frame of reference. While they believe they are breaking the cookie cutter mold of what a woman “should be”, they are instead, confining women to a new, equally constricting mold. 

In one article, Amy Glass, after calling motherhood easy, states that getting married and having kids is the “the most common thing, ever, in the history of the world.They are by definition, average.” She then asks the profound question “... why on earth are we settling for average?” How dare women have children now that feminism has taken root?! There should be no baby making!! Then the world will end with women on top- I’m not sure that’s allowed in an anti-procreation society. But at least we’d finally succeed in Going Green: no people=no environmental issues. 

Now, I must be very clear. I think it’s badass if a woman is passionate about her career and wants to be THE WOman. I do not tolerate anyone unjustly prohibiting women from their dreams. Anyone determined to grow and develop themselves, as well as others, is nothing short of amazing. That being said, a woman that makes raising children her career is both elevating and developing people, like any CEO of corporate America. She simply does it within her own home. And, guess what? She doesn’t get to shut down her computer and leave her office at the end of the day. It’s a 24/7 gig. AKA, she’s pretty badass herself. Then there’s the woman that balances a career and children... don’t even get me started on that hero. 

Unfortunately, the women writing these article don’t realize how they negatively affect the cause they so desperately fight for. During my undergrad, I took a Black History course and read an article (that I cannot locate for the life of me) by an insightful black woman on racism. Years ahead of her time, she recognized that it was not only the white man’s view of the black man that held him back from equality, but also the black man’s desire to embody white culture that enabled the division. Basically, she witnessed a black culture that was desperate to conform to white culture, instead of recognizing that their own culture could breed success. Subconsciously, the black man believed himself inferior and ruined his chances of gaining equality. The same is true for sexism.

If we continue to believe that the success defined by male culture is considered superior to the hardworking culture of housewives- we are fueling sexism. This does not mean women shouldn’t have careers outside of the home. Rather, business women and housewives deserve equal respect (all people deserve equal respect, but we’re trying to keep this to one manageable blog post people). An office on the top floor of the tallest building should not be the only quantification of success. Instead of solely praising enormous wealth and reputation (two thing that plague Leo in Wolf of Wall Street), we should find another measuring stick. Success should be defined by the right questions: 

Does your job make you happy? Are you growing? Are you developing others? Is there a source of balance and fulfillment in your life? 

These questions are much more important than the number of zeros on a paycheck or the title engraved on a gold plaque. It doesn’t matter whether a woman spends her days directing the air traffic control for the entire nation or helping her kindergartner with his/her first homework assignment, a real women can be successful in any circumstance she chooses. 

Give her that choice. Make herstory.

Strides for Change: Run, Read, React

I’ve been a runner for the majority of my life. Some twisted soul decided cross-country and track should be the only sports available to students at my elementary school. So while most children participated in modified soccer, basketball, or softball- I was running hills (for fun?). I still don’t understand how my coaches coaxed a bunch of 4th-8th graders to run repeats and long distances. But I am eternally grateful to Mr. Robinson and Mrs. Rogers for introducing me to my favorite pastime. I only wish I had realized my love earlier and thanked them properly.

Unfortunately, I was under appreciative and decided not to run my 8th grade year (my coaches were not very happy). But like the young brokenhearted always say, “If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it’s your forever.” Well, I can’t exactly say I let running “go”. I suppose in the scenario, running let me go. And I came back years later, on my own, and the rest is history.

Running and I have been living happily ever after for a while now. In college I started tackling races again. At first it was satisfying, but eventually I started to feel a void. Running offered me so much- an outlet for my stress, a decent pair a legs, and a healthy appetite. In a loving relationship (if you can call it that) there reaches a point when the two participants fill each other so much that they overflow and offer something to the rest of the world. I realized running and I were reaching that point and I didn’t know where to channel the overflow. That’s when I encountered Team in Training.

Team in Training is a team (no really?) that trains (what?) to run some amazing races across the nation. What makes this team so unique? They don’t just run, they are responsible for fundraising over $1.4 billion. The money they raise goes to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society (LLS)- a group dedicated to ending blood cancers today. They are responsible for radical research that saves lives. Just last weekend, I heard Darren, a survivor of stage IV Hodgkin Lymphoma, tell his story. Darren was diagnosed during his engagement and he and his then fiance postponed their wedding for treatment. When chemo was unsuccessful, the two lovebirds got married and enjoyed their honeymoon before turning to LLS. The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society offered him a stem cell transplant that provide him and his now wife 10 years... and their story isn’t over.

I joined the team without a personal connection to blood cancer. At first, I felt like I didn’t have the right to ask people for money, because I didn’t have a moving story. I also felt I didn’t need to go to practices, because I was already in half marathon shape. Oh the things I have learned. I went to my second practice this weekend and was overwhelmed by the support and stories of others. Everyone was so invested in helping each other reach their goal- their support overflowed and poured into one another. One second I was a stranger, the next a teammate. Everyone was amazing- they are the kind of people I want to be surrounded by daily. Needless to say, I will be attending a lot more practices from now on. I was inspired and left the practice feeling like a vital asset to the mission. 

My quest to run for more than myself has proven more transformative than I thought. I  am not only challenged to raise more money than ever before, but I am recognizing a need for companionship during this time in my life- I am a new resident of Seattle missing her deployed running partner. Most importantly, I  am learning to care deeply about the mission and its ability to bring hope. I carry every story I hear with me and it encourages me to keep pounding the pavement- through ran, wind, and hail. Someone’s story can change for the better.

Please click HERE and donate on my website. Cancer ends with us!

Thank you for reading and reacting.

Go Team!!

Don't Judge A Person By Their Polaroid

I moved out to Seattle in May and, despite my constant exposure to change, I am not immune to the transition associated with it. We all adapt differently to change and I am beginning to recognize my own challenges in making a new place feel like home.

Recently, Richard, the head pastor at Bethany Community Church, stated that “intimacy is not microwaveable.” We cannot expedite our way into deep meaningful relationships by popping it in the microwave for two and a half minutes. It takes time, patience, and a lot of effort to create genuine lasting friendships. That was very hard for me to accept, as a woman who craves constant change. But as I let the idea marinate, I recognized the truth behind his words and found, in my own life, where I struggle to form intimate bonds.

When I first meet people, I see them as 2 dimensional. The facts I associate with them- their name (if I can remember it), occupation, home state, hobbies etc., become the only truths about them. Unfortunately, more times than not, these surface details leave a flat and relatively uninteresting impression. I forget to leave room for their character to reveal itself. As a writer and a people person, this revelation is nothing short of horrifying. Also, it confirms the origin of my least favorite habit.

I have an irrational need to spill my own soul to strangers and mere acquaintances. I want them to see my depth immediately for fear of dismissal or disinterest. I don’t want them to do to me, what I often do to others. In the process, I share too much, leaving myself vulnerable and exposed to those who didn’t earn my trust. Basically, I try very hard to microwave my own intimacy... always unsuccessfully. 

Fortunately, my 2D view is never permanent and always develops into something positive. Slowly (the way intimacy is meant to happen) I start to peel away the surface and delve into good stuff. My initial paper-thin perception starts to expand and gain width. This newfound girth creates understanding and compassion- revealed complexities leave little room for annoyance or judgement and make space for unconditional love. The 2D often captures an unflattering snapshot of a person, while the 3D allows us to dismiss the initial negative and reveal the infinite intricacies of human beings. Despite my awareness of this, I still find myself extremely surprised every time I encounter contradictions to my first impression. It’s like getting exactly what I wanted on Christmas morning without even asking. I love it. However, I do not approve of the instantaneous judgement that precedes it. So this week, I have turned my critical eye on myself in hopes of breaking my habit. Instead, I found I already harbored a superficial version of myself.  

To the inceptive eye, I am a talkative, friendly, confident army brat that feeds into the military stereotype of getting married young and hurriedly. I’m that girl that moved across country for the man she loved, who makes feminist cringe because she hasn’t figured out her career yet.  

All along, I’ve carried this 2D perception of myself in my sub conscience. Although a part of me knows I am more than that, I have given weight to the potential (not actual) misperceptions others might make of me. This need to be liked and understood breeds a damaging insecurity that can be paralyzing. Not to mention, it hinders intimacy. Despite the truth that I am a strong, independent woman (I moved out to Seattle to start a life knowing that my fiance would be deployed), my story is overshadowed by my insecurity that people will overlook my character and see this untrue shadow of myself as the whole package. 

To overcome this detrimental habit, I must let go of my 2D image of myself. I need to have grace for myself, so I can regain confidence and abolish insecurity. That way, I can look at other people with the same grace and stop the unflattering proofs from ever becoming photographs. Intimacy is not microwavable, but it is achievable if we are wiling to put in the time and overlook that initial snapshot. 

The Pearl Necklace: The Tale Behind The Title

I had the rare pleasure of growing up at West Point in upstate New York. While most military families rarely stay in one place for more than a few years, my father had the privilege of serving as a permanent professor at the United States Military Academy. I spent my sundays at the Cadet Chapel, surrounded by the nation’s future officers as they prepared for a life in the army. I found it interesting that one particular Chaplain would reach these uniformed individuals through heartfelt narratives. Once a year he would read the story “The Pearl Necklace”. 

It’s the narrative of a 5-year-old girl, Jenny, who desperately wants a plastic pearl necklace she sees at the grocery store. Her mother tells her that she can earn the $2.50 costume jewelry by doing chores. Jenny works hard for the necklace until it is finally hers. She wears the plastic pearls with pride and refuses to take them off for any reason- to her they are priceless.

One night, Jenny’s father asks her if she loves him. “Of course, daddy.” Jenny replies. “Then give me your pearls.” Her father says. Jenny refuses. She offers her father other respectable toys from her collection, but he simply kisses his daughter goodnight. 

The next night, the same conversation ensues with the same results. This continues for several night to come.

Then one evening, Jenny’s father comes to kiss his daughter goodnight and finds her waiting for him. Lips quivering, Jenny opens her hand to reveal her beloved pearls. “Here daddy.” She chokes and places them into her father’s hands. Jenny’s father then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a blue velvet case. Inside is a pair of real pearls he has been waiting to give to her.

Although it’s a little sappy, this story has always stuck with me. I remember not only its ability to convict me, but the effect it had on a congregation made up of America’s strongest and most intelligent individuals. At an age when we felt empowered, we learned from a 5-year-old that that we did not understand our best interests. 

I continually struggle to give up my illusion of control over my life. I use the word illusion, because I’ve never actually been in control. Again and again, I’ve worked hard to earn my plastic pearls and God patiently stands by asking me to give them up so that he can bless me with the real thing.  

Here is my story as it continues to write itself, the journey from plastic to pearls.