Wednesday, March 27, 2019

How giving birth made me a feminist

"I need feminism because I love." Laura Forest/Flickr/CC BY-NC 2.0

Fourteen hours in, and my contractions finally turned from intermediate pain to near-constant pressure. Every sinew in my body screamed "Push!" while my breathing grew more jagged. It wasn't as easy now to huff my way through the intervals, not as easy to concentrate on the paradigm-shifting end game of meeting my child. Sweaty, sore, worn out from watching the too-large hospital wall clock plod along in 20-minute increments, I turned to my mother and said through gritted teeth, "If this experience doesn't turn someone into a feminist, I don't know what will."

After I spent four years at an all-girls' Catholic high school, I would have sworn up and down the Bible that I was a feminist. After I absorbed, aghast, the blatant misogyny laid bare in the 2016 election, I would have sworn up and down my ballot that I was a feminist. After I watched the #MeToo movement unfold with uneven and often dispiriting results, I would have sworn up and down the newspaper that I was a feminist.

Then I gave birth, one of the rawest, most intense experiences a woman can have. It was then that I finally understood on a visceral and corporeal level the power of having chosen this course for myself, and it was then that I questioned if I had ever understood feminism in the first place.

Feminism, as a reminder, is broadly defined as a belief in the social, political, and economic equality of the sexes. I stand by an even broader definition: that feminism -- and indeed, a commitment to equality everywhere, on all bases -- is about empowering individuals to make the life choices that are right for them.

For me, giving birth sat at the intersection of my personal privilege, individual choice, and access to systems such as decent healthcare, paid parental leave, job security, and flexible work policies. My privileges -- being a white, educated, upper-middle-class employed person -- statistically pointed me toward a safer healthcare experience and greater financial security. As for individual choice, I do not want or need everyone to choose what I chose. What I want, and what I believe society needs to aim for, is the third item I listed -- to develop and promote systems that allow anyone and everyone to make the healthiest, wisest choices for their given situation, without impediment, prejudice, or judgement.

In providing such systems, we acknowledge each person as a human being with inherent worth, and we grant them the dignity of autonomy. This to me is the fundamental promise of feminism -- the desire to stand with and for all people, to see them as fellow cells within the Body of Christ, and to lavish love on them accordingly.

I saw this promise personally fulfilled in my safe and joyful birth experience, and I experience it again every time I adapt a workday to spend time with my little one. I want everybody to feel this empowered, rich with such abundant and varied options that they are always able to pursue the courses of action that lie closest to their hearts. In this way we will help people realize God's vision for them and for our world as a whole.


Prayer #333: Midwife to the World

Mother God,

Make me just. Make me angry. Make me humble. Make me bold. Make me prophetic. Make me warm. Make me clear-eyed. Make me creative. Make me loving. Make me steadfast ... all so I may midwife Your idyllic vision and help deliver the world You long to see.

Amen.

Wednesday, February 27, 2019

The light under the door

fotorita/Flickr/CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

When I was growing up and facing a new transition, my mother always said to me, "Just remember: In one month, you'll know where the bathroom is."

I carried that idea forward through college, my first (and second and third) job, grad school, marriage ... the "bathroom" becoming a stand-in for all the unknowns, all the nameless fears, all the "what ifs" that scurried around my brain before I embarked on a new stage. And time consistently proved my mother correct; within a few weeks, I could reliably identify the bathroom's location alongside many other useful lessons and insights.

Now I'm staring down the next logical transition after pregnancy and motherhood: ending maternity leave and returning to work. I already know where the bathroom is at my office. Yet I fear I will need to relearn everything else as I forge my new identity as manager, employee, peer, and parent.

At this point you're probably saying, "Julia, go back and reread your own opening paragraphs." The transition I warily eye will pass. I will be made anew. Until then, however, all I'm seeing is the light under the door -- the sole sign that something else awaits.

What is on this side I know? Un-vacuumed rugs. Scuffed walls. Discarded toys. Crumbs and paperwork spread across the kitchen table. My baby's sleepy head resting on his father's shoulder. That little face pulling back from nursing to regard me. My dwindling personal space. My sacred free time. The life I have created and know so well. Who I used to be.

What is on the side I don't know? The only thing I'm sure of is the light itself. An occasional shadow breaks it, but I don't know yet to what or whom those shadows belong. How big is the new room? What does it hold? Where do its other doorways lead? As a fellow new parent put it, each stage presents different strengths and challenges, and I'm certain the room will hold those. Along with new priorities. New vocabulary. Discoveries about myself and others. A life I will re-create and come to know. Who I will become.

Ultimately, the only answer I need today, right now, in this moment, is to know the light is on. It flickers in mystery. I will learn soon enough what it illuminates.


Prayer #332: Right to Passage

All ye who enter here, take note: The choice to cross this threshold is yours. Your feet on the creaking timber, your fingers on the sticky doorknob, your cheek on the peeling paint -- the movements alone will beget revelation. Thus, proceed with optimism. Simply opening the door is challenge and gift enough.


Amen.

Wednesday, January 30, 2019

Let the darlings die

jev55/Flickr/CC BY-NC 2.0

Commitments
Habits
Activities
Tasks 
Time
Relationships
Opinions
Convictions
Biases
Beliefs
Grudges
Goals
Expectations

No need to outright kill these darlings, but if their number does come up, don't stay the execution. Let them wither and fade into a cloudy past that grows murkier each minute, obscuring why you held the darlings so dear to begin with.

At their wake, honor the value they once held while confessing their ill fit for the present. Where the darlings hold lessons, heed them. Where they brought pain, release it. If needed, mourn their loss. Above all, embrace the fallow field that follows.

But do not think you owe the darlings more. Pat the headstone, leave the flowers, be on your way. A fresh horizon beckons.


Prayer #331: Death Grip

Our panic is understandable. No one likes to forego familiarity, even when the familiar is out to get us. Yet seasons flow, priorities shift, and the landscapes we considered immutable reveal their subtle differences in photos taken then and now, illustrating how both beheld and beholder are bound to change.

God of slippery sands, nudge us toward getting a new grip, one that relaxes our entrenchment and instead fortifies our present lives. Help our most darling selves die natural deaths so that we, renewed, might dance on their graves.

Amen.