I got woman-shamed
You know what’s apparently not natural?
A woman who doesn’t cook all the damn time.
At least, that’s the complaint that was made about me (not to me, obviously - because, isn’t it so much more fun to stab someone else in the back?). To be honest, I was relieved that I wasn’t directly confronted with this uncomfortable truth, because
a) I hate confrontations, and
b) It’s the truth.
I tend to handle conflict like a toddler: There are many tears and much screaming involved, and in the end everybody feels beaten up and raw. Nobody wins.
Anyway, what happened was this: My mother-in-law complained to my husband that I didn’t cook enough while she visited us. Which is a true story, unfortunately. Not one I’m proud of, but true nonetheless.
However, in my defense, I did have a back-up plan for all the dinners I didn’t cook myself, which involved either Rich cooking or pizza.
None of these alternatives were satisfactory to her.
You see, I’m the woman, it’s my kitchen, so it’s my job.
It doesn’t matter that I work and my husband is retired.
It doesn’t matter that we were busier than usual with haying, impromptu parties, and extra guests.
All that matters is that it’s my job as a woman, and I failed at it.
I’ve been brooding about it ever since that phone call more than a week ago. My MIL has a knack of making me feel like a failure, like I’m not good enough as a woman.
I know that it’s an old-fashioned way of looking at the world, and that I shouldn’t let it bug me. She is 83, after all, and not exactly what you would call a modern woman.
Rich and I have no problems whatsoever when it comes to meals and food, and that should be enough.
Yet, her comment bugged me.
Is it unnatural when a woman isn’t nurturing?
Or, to change the question slightly:
Can a woman still be nurturing and loving when she doesn’t feel the urge to feed her loved ones all the damn time?
It’s just that there are so many things I’d rather be doing than cooking. And it’s not like I never cook – it’s just that I don’t do it every single day. That’s what sandwiches and pizza are for, amiright?!
I hate it when people criticize me. Or when I think they’re looking down on me. I know a woman who slightly criticizes something about our animals every single time she comes by.
“Why is your dog so skinny?”
“Look at the piece of wood lying there, your horse could get injured.”
“Why does Richard have so many birds? He should cut down.”
I know that they have a different approach to keeping their animals, but I would never dream of pointing out what I think is strange or different. Because it’s none of my business.
And because there are many different ways of living life.
That woman always makes me feel like I should “control” my husband better, insinuating that I’m not doing my job as wife right.
Or am I too paranoid?
I think what bugs me the most is not the flaws I have.
It’s other women gleefully pointing them out to me, making me feel like a loser.
The thing is: No other person can make me feel inadequate, unless I let them.
And I still do. Not all the time, thankfully, but still too often.
It’s when they touch on my insecurities; or when there are a few too many put-downs in too short a time; or when my inner mean girl whispers into my ear that everything I see on social media is real, instead of staged.
Or sometimes, it’s just when I don’t feel strong at all, but vulnerable and a bit defective.
I have never been much of a feminist. I like hanging with guys, because I find them much more easy-going than some women I know. None of my guy-friends has ever complained about an untidy house or made fun of my unmade-up face.
I thought that to be a feminist, you had to be strongly against men. Or at least, be highly suspicious of them.
But I got it all wrong.
I want to be the kind of person who builds other people, particularly women, up, instead of tearing them down.
I want to be the kind of person who cheers her fellow sisters on when they succeed, instead of feeling threatened by them.
And I definitely will never put anyone down for not “controlling” their partner; for not having a perfect house; or for not cooking all the damn time.
Is that feminism? Or just being a decent human?
Is it really that important?
It doesn’t matter what label we put on kindness.
The only important thing is to practice it.
Practice it daily, and with as many people as we can.
No more shaming other people for being less than, and no more shaming women for not being a good enough woman!
xoxo Miriam
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Vol. 30