Posts Tagged ‘Womanhood’

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Unplugged connection

Monday, May 24th, 2010

Yesterday I feel like a traveled back in time. I caught the train into the city to meet a friend. No blackberry. On the train I read a book. A real paper book. Not a blog or an E book on a smartphone or tablet. We sat on her couch and on her bed like we used to when we were 15 (yes I have known her that long) and we talked. We didn’t communally watch TV, play a game, sms, or update our  Facebook pages. We even let our phones go to voicemail. Oh the horror. We went to lunch at a local cafe and had pies, not some elegantly put together tossed salad, and enjoyed tea and soft drink. No diet or artificial sweetener to be seen. We even shared the best chocolate éclair ever! Yumm.

I read some more on the trip home on the train and when I had the carriage to myself I called a long distance friend to catch up with her. On the walk home I picked up some ingredients for dinner and actually visited a ‘video store’! Two DVDs later (two of my faves) I went home to cook dinner and watch DVDs curled up on the couch with my husband, under a hand-made patchwork quilt no less!

It felt fantastic to just connect. Not connect in the über modern sense of knowing what your friends had for lunch thanks to twitter, or where there are thanks to foursquare, what they did during the week thanks to their Facebook pics. But real connection, to hear the wobble in their voice when they talk about something difficult, to see the smile crinkle the corners of their eyes in a way that an emoticon simply can’t convey. To laugh with someone. To feel that genuine connection, where so much is conveyed between the words.

I don’t know about you, but pretty much every young woman [20 to 35] I care about has been on an emotional roller coaster recently. And we seem to be stuck in the big dipper part swinging from low to lower, with an occasional sharp upswing. The thing that is keeping me (and I know a lot of them) sane, is female connection. Its power simply cannot be underestimated. It is like alchemy for the soul!

Have you thanked your ‘girls’ recently? Mine know who they are… love you guys! xxx

Image credit

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Dinosaurs beware! The feminists are coming.

Monday, May 17th, 2010

Men, heroes, archetypally go out in the world and take on dragons, armies, pirates, rescue damsels, explore foreign lands, build empires, and launch crusades. It is the way of the hero, the masculine, to learn and grow through external challenges.

Women, heroines, archetypically heal the sick, create life, nurture, love, celebrate and teach. It is the way of the heroine to learn and grow through personal challenges, issues of relationship and of the heart.

Masculine energy finds its greatness by breaking free of the everyday while feminine energy manifests its greatness by fully connecting to the everyday and the divinity to be found there.

I am not to say that a woman’s place is gathered around the hearth and the man’s is to be out hunting and exploring the wider world. Such a simplistic conclusion assumes that a woman is totally feminine and a man solely masculine. Each of is has an intricate mix of both energies. We are each masculine and feminine, ying and yang. Which is why it insults all of us when the feminine attributes of humanity are disrespected.

Feminism should never have been about giving women the opportunity to prove that they could be heroes and do what men do best, just as well as men. Unfortunately, however we had to combat the erroneous assumption that women were both different to and lesser than our male counterparts. Now that it is [mostly] recognised that women and men are equal it is time to move on to the real role of feminism; equal recognition, respect and reverence for feminine attributes, roles, decisions, contributions, stories and perspectives.

So to those people who still believe raising children is less important than spending 8 hours a day in an office cubical – you are a dinosaur. The face of feminism is changing. No longer are women who rally and burn their bras the iconic feminists. Today feminists are just as likely men as women and they effect change on a personal level, one person, company or situation at a time. Dinosaurs beware! The feminists are coming.

*Photo credit

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When did we disown our tears?

Friday, May 14th, 2010

“The energy that moves life is the force of the Feminine.

She is unstoppable . . .” David Deida

There is something very feminine about tears. We rarely admit it, but there is something very feminine about tantrums. It is equally feminine to stand chin out, defiant, protecting ourself or someone we love. It is feminine to want to sparkle and feminine to fold into ourselves and shy away from the world for a time.

The feminine wants to connect and she pines and yearns for that connection. When the connection is lacking she naturally goes within. She withdraws, ponders, searches. Or she lashes out; resentment, anger, fury, rage, payback. We disown all these reactions, constructive and destructive alike. We play nice, we eat, shop, drink, run… we do whatever we have to. (Another blog for another day the need to ‘do’ when ‘being’ would suffice.)

How much of ourselves do we lose, do you think, every time we resist our nature? How much energy do we waste trying to make the ebb and flow of our selves fit into a PC box?

At what point did we disown our tears? What is it that we have prioritised higher than honouring ourselves? What do we fear our tears, our vulnerability, our wildness will threaten? This is such a revealing question for me. I don’t risk losing love by surrendering to my nature – my friends borderline expect it from me and my husband rises to meet it, as opposed to shying away from it. Rationally I know this. Breathing it in and letting it permeate my cells… such a transformation is, well, fucking scary.

I think for me, my tears and wildness risk losing me the labels ‘nice’ and ‘together’. That my inner chicken shit prefers me to play at half throttle and remain in the box that says ‘strong women don’t cry’, ‘you are responsible for how others feel about you’ and ‘emotions are to be controlled or leveraged in the form of EI‘. I think I am afraid of constantly justifying my desires and explaining my moods. Terrified that my intuition is fearless. Anxious because I am sure my feminine nature is a hard task master that will lead me down unconventional paths. She has in the past.

At some point the fear of vilification mutes the bright colours that streak our world. I want to be living in full colour. Hell fire-engine red is my colour! My inner feminine is ready to be juicy, open, sassy, fearless, exuberant, vivacious, unapologetic, radiant, magnetic, wild and free.

I am claiming my tears, my funk, my tantrums, my seething rage, my desire, my lust, my vulnerability. Lets see what happens when I abandon myself to the flux of the feminine force – I’ll keep you posted ;)

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Lets talk about … My fine line

Tuesday, April 13th, 2010

There is a fine line, at least in my pretty little head, between submitting to someone else’s will and choosing to find happiness in someone else’s happiness.

You might need to read that one again. It is a really, really, fine line.

This is a really complicated issue. At least for me. The concept of submitting to the will of another is abhorrent to me. It makes my blood run cold and every single cell in my body rebels against it. As a woman especially, I harks back to millennia of women without an avenue to exercise their own will. Similarly though the concept of finding happiness in someone else’s happiness reeks of the feminine mystique, of 1850′s housewives socially trapped into living only for their husband’s and children.

The key here, I guess, is choice. Choice is what we have been fighting for, isn’t it? Somehow some choices still seem to betray myself, my gender. The difference between an enlightened, empowered choice and a choice that flies in the face of my freedoms and rights? Awareness.

Conscious choice makes all the difference. Conscious choice is the only thing that makes the life of a modern wife and stay at home mother different to that of her 1950′s counterpart. I am choosing fulfillment in my role as domestic goddess. They had no other option.

I chose to marry because it was important to my husband. Not out of fear. I chose to remain at home raising my son, because it is honestly the hardest, toughest, most fulfilling thing I have ever undertaken. And I don’t back away from a challenge. What makes my choices, in my mind, revolutionary and rebellious and empowered is that I am aware of every choice I make. I put my life under the microscope and analyse who I am in the face of my freedoms and choices.

I walk a fine line. My priorities and daily tasks are essentially for my family. My self inquiry, my honesty with (and about) what goes on for me in my heart and head in response to this, that is my saving grace. Conscious choice is the difference between oppressed and living breathing empowerment.

I bet I am not the only woman steadily walking this line. What lines do you walk?

(excuse the late post, I am trying a new parenting style today and it is labor intensive.)

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Posted in Balance, Femininity, Grace, Life, Marriage, Motherhood, The unspoken, Womanhood | 2 Comments »

Lets talk about…sexiness

Friday, April 9th, 2010

A few weeks back, on my hens’ night I witnessed a phenomenon I am only just beginning to grasp. Walking ahead of me (up the enormous hill that is William Street, Sydney) were 3 mid-20something happily coupled women. They were laughing, confident, natural and oozing sex appeal. While they passed scantily clad teenagers, it hit me. I think for a moment I saw what men see.

I remember watching an interview with Naomi Watts where she mentioned that she felt unattractive as a young woman. In her late 20′s her cheekbones ‘arrived’ and she came into her beauty. I think Naomi’s experience about coming into her attractiveness in her late 20′s is more typical than we like to admit. Until we, as women, accept our bodies and own our sexuality we are merely teenagers playing dress up. And it wasn’t until  saw the two extremes juxtaposed on William St that night that this truth really became evident to me.

This is a post I would not have been able to write a few years ago for fear of earning the immature label ‘Lezo’. But the things that make a woman sexy have absolutely nothing to do with the shape or size of her body. Her hair colour or style makes no difference. Her clothes have far less importance than we like to think as well. These things merely catch the eye. What makes a man stare, smile, fantasise about a woman is… ineffable.


What makes a woman sexy cannot be bought. No cream, wonder bra, shaping underwear, surgery, stiletto, hair style or dress has the capacity to make a woman sexy. Sexy is certainly paid for. Sexy is the result of living with gusto. Of putting yourself out  there. Of trying new things. Of a life well lived and a self actualised. Experience is sexy. Experience comes at a price – tears, pain, failure, change, growth.

What makes a woman sexy is behind her eyes. It is the promise of a woman who can stand toe to toe with a man and make him moan without lifting a finger. You must know pain to understand that kind of pleasure. You must know longing to conjure that depth of desire. You must be capable of ugliness to be that beautiful. You must have lost yourself somewhere along the way to own your self that completely.

That night, a few weeks back we were goddesses in motion. Men were magnetised to our sides. Flocked to our table. Fought for a glance. We were playful and open and owned our selves. We bought and paid for our own drinks. Oh and handed out little red heart lollipops. (The tackiness of this gesture offset by the dept of character of the women dolling out the sweets, perfectly aware of the irony.)

I found it life affirming to see that men evidentially agreed with my mantra for the year (maybe longer):

Healthy is Beautiful ~ Happiness is Sexy ~ Soulful is Irresistable

*photo credit

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I used to love like a man

Saturday, April 3rd, 2010

About 10 years ago I was falling asleep to Bryan Adams ‘All for love’ and ‘Everything I do I do it for you’. On the other side of my double bed (fully clothed) was my mate and at the foot of my bed on a futon was my now husband and our other best mate. We had had a night of dressing up, drinking and dancing for my mother in law’s 50th. I think.

The songs playing was so very poignant to me at the time. You remember what it is like being a teenager who has just discovered her family of choice. It’s special. It’s adult. Thank heavens I chose well. All of those men are still in my life. All are as good, genuine and strong as they were then. I was as strong as they were then. Not physically, of course (two of them are over 6 feet) but I was as uncompromising, as full-on, and stuck to my guns just as well as they did. If not better. I was seen, excluding the tits, as one of the guys.

Things change. We change. I changed. Where I fit in changed. I am no longer one of the guys. I haven’t been for 5 years. Not since I became a girlfriend.

In retrospect more changed when I became a girlfriend than just the status of my relationship with some close male friends. It was the beginning of the taming of the shrew. I began keeping house, learned to bake, channeled my inner Stepford wife, began to compromise. The way I made decisions changed. The way I loved changed.

As one of the guys my love was direct, action orientated and on my terms. It was almost as though it could be turned on and off. But when it was on intense was the only way to describe it. As Bryan Adams puts it “I’d fight for you, I’d lie for you, walk the wire for you, yeah I’d die for you.”

These days I love like a woman. Feminine love is different. Yes we may take actions out of love and offer umpteen gifts of service, but it is in the spirit of constant love, acceptance and support. It is a borderline compulsion. Where the hell is the off switch? I am yet to find one. Feminine love packs lunches and changes nappies. A woman’s love can be wild and fierce, but in my experience feminine love sounds less like a power ballad and more like a lullaby. Sung quietly in the dead of the night.

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Lets talk about…. my imperfection

Wednesday, March 17th, 2010

This blog should have been written 24 hours ago. Maybe more. No excuses here, mind you. I am open to criticism and may she who embodies perfection throw the first stone. Any takers? No? Really? That’s no surprise to me. But it does bring up an important question – Why do we try so hard to appear perfect?

I am no super woman. Yet so often I catch myself trying to be. So when I sat in the hair stylist’s chair this morning, after only 2 hours sleep, with the world’s greasiest hair, a piping hot coffee and grapes from the fruit market across the street, I apologised. Not once, but about a million times. I apologised for not getting my stylist a coffee because I couldn’t remember how he takes it. I apologised for my hair being greasy because the hot water system had been down for nearly two days and I can only bare an ice-cold shower for long enough to wash my body. I apologised for eating despite the fact that I hadn’t had time for breakfast (I spent my breakfast time sleeping and having a cold shower). I apologised in advance for rudely leaving my phone on incase the plumber called. I apologised for not taking better care of my hair. And then apologised for having such fabulous hair that despite rarely conditioning or brushing (yes bad rae!) that it still looked good to him. I apologised for not being my bubbly because despite two highly caffeinated drinks I was not alert. At all.

Honestly, this was my morning. And that only demonstrates the need I felt to be perfect for my hair dresser! On the way home I was to pick up a prescription for my baby and ingredients for dinner. Dinner is covered but the prescription was still on the fridge! Damn. Getting home, feeling that I was doing pretty well, only stuffing one thing up, functioning on caffeine alone (the grapes didn’t go down well) I realised that I had promised my son a kinder surprise. Epic. Fail. Mum. The darling child was happy with my discarded grapes none the less.

I am calling myself out. I am so far from perfect it is laughable. Don’t expect me to be, the closest I will come is apologising for my shortcomings.

PS Oh and I will apologise to you if you find spelling or grammatical issues. My editing eyes only kick in after 4 or more hours sleep :)

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Posted in Balance, Grace, Life, Motherhood, The unspoken, Womanhood | 1 Comment »

Lets talk about… body modification

Monday, March 15th, 2010

This is such a wide and diverse topic. Controversial. Like boiling a frog we are comfortable with the gentle cooler manifestations of the practice, but are we in danger of boiling alive as the accepted mutilations become more extreme?

Body modification is defined as the deliberate altering of the human body for non-medical reasons, such as sexual enhancement, a rite of passage, aesthetic reasons or self-expression.

Most of us think of female genital mutilation or facial piercing when we think of body modification. But these are only the more extreme manifestations of a sliding scale. Cutting our hair and piercing our ears don’t really register as body modification, but indeed they are. The list of body modifications the ‘regular’ western woman may willfully undergo, many on a regular basis, is huge:

  1. Hair cut
  2. Hair perm
  3. Hair straightening
  4. Hair colouring
  5. Eyebrow shape
  6. Underarm hair removal
  7. Leg hair removal
  8. Pubic hair removal
  9. Arm/face hair removal
  10. Manicure
  11. Pedicure
  12. Tanning/ Melanin pills
  13. Ear piercing
  14. Belly piercing
  15. Tattooing
  16. Breast implants/Breast lift
  17. Tummy tuck
  18. Liposuction
  19. Botox
  20. Tattooed makeup

I know I am ‘guilty’ of a number of the above. I don’t know a woman who isn’t. Even my grandma vainly perms her hair and during the second world war stained her legs to mimic the appearance of her absent stockings. We do these things of our own volition - willingly following the conventions of our culture. Endlessly making ourselves more attractive to our desired mates. Continually pandering to, for the most part, the male gaze.

We do it to feel beautiful, often without thought as to why these arbitrary characteristics are deemed beautiful. Why is it that perky breasts, shaven armpits and pubic mounds are beautiful when they effectively rob a woman of her womanhood and visually return her to the realm of a child. Are women more attractive when they appear less fertile, less powerful?

We do it because it is what women do, unaware of the point when we made the decision that these standards are sufficiently important they are worth painfully or permanently altering our bodies to achieve them. How is this forgotten decision any different from mothers in Cameroon who Iron their pubescent daughters’ breasts with hot stones? Or the 2 million mothers world-wide who help hold down their daughters as their clitoris is removed, by way of an initiation into womanhood and to curb their sexual desires (often with no anesthetic).

Yes these are extreme, but the recent internal bra (soon to become a part of a breast lift) is equally as painful and unnecessary. It is only more palatable to our delicate sensibilities because it is performed by doctors in hospitals on consenting adults.

My question is this: If clitorises were removed, in the pristine theater of a renown plastic surgeon, would we find it any less offensive?

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Lets talk about…Hair

Friday, March 12th, 2010

Hair is such a trivial issue in some people eyes. Yet ask any woman the easiest way to make her feel sexy and I guarantee a fabulous new haircut is high on her list. In fact I know a couple who consistently have ‘haircut sex’ when she comes home with a new do. I have spoken to women undergoing treatment for cancer, they cope with the fact that they lose their hair as it is preferable to losing their lives. But they find it much more difficult to get in touch with their inner sex goddess.

Indeed hair is so integral to the visual concept of femininity that the icon for woman is distinguished from a man by one of two things – a dress, or long hair. Unconsciously we make assumption about women, especially, by their hair. On a side note we do the same about men, salt and pepper is distinguished, bald is less virile, long and curly like my partner is seen as less conventional. And there is a reason why so many male fantasies about women involve healthy, shiny flowing hair. It is iconically feminine. (Not to say women with shaved heads or pixie cuts are somehow less of a sexy woman.)

What isn’t factored into our identities is that our hair is linked to our hormones. As our hormones change so does our hair. You remember how greasy your hair got during puberty don’t you? And the exciting or terrifying advent of pubic hair that puberty bought with it. The same is true as you get older. Your skin, hair and nails look amazing when pregnant due, in part, to the different hormones your body is producing. And also because you don’t lose much hair when pregnant, so your mane becomes thicker and glossier.

Then during menopause everything goes to hell in a handbag. Not only are you more likely to cut your hair, if not from the social pressure not to appear mutton dressed up as lamb, out of necessity as hot flushes and night sweats make your locks a giant sweat trap. Worse than this your hair may thin or grey or both – seen as the ultimate sin for women. The hair from your head may reappear in blemishes or moles or on your chin, as the archetype of crone becomes manifest in your body. A process that should be revered for its significance, is instead demonised as we unfairly expect crones to appear maidens. Because we are uncomfortable with female wisdom perhaps??

I discovered today that even your eyebrow hairs grow at strange and wonderful angles as you age. I would like to be able to look forward to my gracefully aging body as opposed to lamenting the direction my eyebrow hair grows. How about you?

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Lets talk about masturbation

Wednesday, March 10th, 2010

The formative teenage years for an average girl involves slumber parties. Lots of slumber parties. Slumber parties consist of junk food, secret-girls-business and truth and dare.

I never performed a dare in truth and dare. Ever. There was no need and no point. My face is incapable of hiding strong emotion, and I always considered myself an open book. I chose ‘truth’ every time, and I told to truth too. I answered every question faithfully bar one, which was invariably delivered with an embarrassed blush and giggle; “Have you ever masturbated?”

‘No. Unequivocally, absolutely not!’ Would be my response, except in teenage language, which would probably sound more like ‘Yeah sure! Like I would do that – it’s gross!’ Because it was acceptable to steal alcohol from your parents, spread rumours at school, have sex, smoke pot or have a crush on your friends brother, but definitely not ok to touch yourself.

We had all suffered through ‘the talk’ with our mothers and sex education at school. ‘Sex education’ would probably best be re-named harm-minimisation for sexual trauma and dysfunction for all of the warnings and fear-mongering that goes on. We learned exclusively of the risks and negative outcomes/aspects of sex; teenage pregnancy, STIs, rape, regret. Dolly doctor clearly explained things like discomfort during first time sex and feelings of inadequacy during intercourse. So all in all sex in our minds was devoid of pleasure though we were convinced that it would get better.

Pleasure or no, sex was still high on the ‘to-do’ list. It was a mark or maturity, status, fearlessness. We wanted to ‘get it over with’ since we all agreed it was ‘backwards’ to wait until we were married to lose our virginities.

In the end our initial sexual experiences were everything Dolly doctor and out sex-ed teachers had attempted to prevent. A number of studies have shown why; We were never taught about pleasure, sexual curiosity, foreplay, erotica. No body encouraged us to masturbate it was seen as dirty and slutty, where as male masturbation was seen as normal. The tiny proportion of girls who were initiated into the positive aspects of their sexuality are more likely to have safe sex and enjoy the experience, as opposed to the other 75% who felt pressured or rushed into physical intimacy.

As we matured into adult women with healthy sex lives masturbation is more acceptable, as is erotica. Yet is it still more widely acceptable for men to masturbate than women. And certainly it is still taboo for young women to touch themselves.

With further studies showing that for the most part teenagers use contraception as faithfully as adults and have sex most often in loving relationships, why are we still teaching our young women about the dangers to the exclusion of the pleasures. Wouldn’t we as women (mothers, mentors, aunties, big sisters, friends) do well to teach our teenage sisters the power of their bodies, its capacity for pleasure and that their desire is healthy? It certainly would have changed my life.

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