Bad Feminist!

Since college, a voice in my head has often said "You're A Bad Feminist." It is an authoritarian voice that pops up whenever I'm living as less than the ideal, or, more accurately, as vulnerable or needy. It is a warden that can’t see nuance, only that I’m not living up to a ‘perfect-feminist-ideal’ archetype that is more machine than human.

Now, my definition of 'needy' isn't a very kind one. To me, 'needy' is whenever there is ANYTHING I can't do by myself. The only exception is construction work that is physically impossible for any human being to do alone. Putting up a 6' long piece of crown molding would be acceptable to ask help for; driving across the country in a U-Haul would be unacceptable to ask. After all, I know how to drive! And so the U-Haul broke down along the highway, in Wyoming at night. That’s why you have roaming on your cellphone, and surely, I should have been able to handle that by myself. There was a little traffic on the interstate. No need to feel scared or overwhelmed. If I can’t do it by myself, I can at least pretend.

I've also forced myself to be emotionally strong. Crying in public, or even in front of my ex-boyfriend, was verboten. Somehow, that weeping woman was a stereotype I couldn't stand.

The 'strong' veneer had clearly developed by high school. I had been bullied a lot in elementary school, had an arm broken in a bad tussle, and all the adults said "don't let them see it is bothering you." Somehow, my vulnerability was supposedly a provocation to the bullies. The world is too harsh a place to be trusted with. So, piece by piece, I learned to hide my pain, my exposure, weakness or openness. Anything that admitted vulnerability meant defenselessness. And piece by piece, I learned to hide any remnants of vulnerability behind an iron mask of strength. I've been incredibly strong and independent, and somewhat successful. And so lonely. And so tired of the energy it takes to be 'strong.' The 'strength' is an act that is poisoning me from the inside.

Learning to be soft, to open, to trust, has been quite difficult for me. I'm terrified to admit I want a man in my life, that I feel incomplete without one. But I have to make a choice--either I can start to open, to create places to welcome him in and pray to a God I don’t know if I believe in that he will arrive for that place, or I can continue to harden my heart, making it more bearable to be alone, but also more likely I will be.

One on level I'm complete. I love my job, which is really a calling for me. I love my house, and have good friends. But I ache to curl up next to another soul and feel his breathing, to be woken up with a gentle caress or a harsh kiss , to be needed and to have it OK to need help. To develop roots together, allowing up both to soar into the world. I find tears welling up at the most inappropriate moments, because it reminds me of a moment I thought I had a partner. I yearn for someone to watch over me.

Even writing this, I rush to add, 'that doesn't mean I don't want equal pay for equal work!' I shouldn't have to say that, but given the political environment, I can just see some Republican saying "see, even the feminist liberal bloggers want to just be told what to do, to be told their place. Yes, on an intimate level, that might be true, but I certainly don’t want Washington regulating my private life, and it is only when I get to soar in the world that I’m comfortable yearning for that vulnerability at home.