Ashamed of being a girl
Yesterday, as the day progressed, I felt more and more sad. Late last night, I finally realized that when my 13-year-old son leaves for camp today, I'm going to miss him. I sat there crying and feeling (something I'm still learning to do and be comfortable with) and looking back over how I have been as a mom (16 years now). I went all the way back to childhood and realized that I am ashamed of being a girl. I still flinch a little when I think of myself as a "woman". Where did this come from? I don't know exactly, but I have many memories of feeling this embarrassment when something about me being a girl is called out.
For example, one of the first memories of this is from when I was about 10 or so. Usually I remember when things happened by where we were living at the time (we moved quite a bit), but all I know about the location of this memory is a softball field at night. I'm on the bleachers relatively alone (like I'd gone to the car or the bathroom by myself and was on my way back to the group). There was a man I knew from church (we were there because Dad played on the church softball league) who gently touched my ankle where it showed under pants that I'd begun to outgrow and said "ooh, sexy." It freaked me out (obviously, since I still have such clear memory of it), but I didn't know what to do. That's all I remember.
Another example is from Christmas when I was about junior high school age. My aunt gave me a boxed perfume gift set. I was so embarrassed that I wouldn't hold it up for everyone to see (like is the custom in my family).
I don't remember ever playing dress up as a kid. Except for trying on my grandmother's wedding dress with my little sister.
I ended up becoming the teenage girl who didn't wear makeup, didn't wear high heels, didn't buy low-cut blouses or push-up bras. The one exception to this is the barely-covered-my-ass mini-skirt I wore maybe two times. I thought that flaunting my curves would just invite catastrophe.
As I entered adult life, I felt acutely aware of stereotypes and jokes and things that people make a big deal out of. Like brides and moms. I planned our wedding according to the books, because if I didn't, that would be wrong. But at the same time, I thought I was a joke. Think about all the jokes that you see about "bride-zilla" (I don't think I was one) and the bride who falls apart because the flowers aren't the right shade of pink or whatever wedding-themed stereotype, brunt of joke you can think of. I didn't want that to be me.
When I became pregnant, I totally tried to downplay it. My boss congratulated me, and I replied something along the lines of being married and doing married things and it was bound to happen. I shrugged it off. I tried to carry on as if nothing were out of the ordinary. My mother-in-law offered to come stay with us; I told her I didn't think I'd need any help. I wasn't the new mom who doted her new-born and cried when she had to go back to work. I was the new mom who cried when she had to go home again. I didn't call the sitter 15 times the first day, because I didn't want to be that mom.
I enjoyed things that were typical "guy" things - camping, hunting, shooting, working on my car, being in the army. Anything that meant I wasn't a girly-girl. No pink for me! No lace, ruffles, frills of any sort. Jeans and a t-shirt work just fine, thank you very much.
Even when my husband returned from deployment, I kept seeing those pictures they always show on the news about the wife and mother who stayed behind. I didn't want to be some PR move. Of course, if I had been thinking about my husband and not about "appearances", I would have been jumping his bones in the airport.
I lived my life trying to be a stoic, independent wallflower who faded into the scenery. I didn't want the old women laughing at me because I missed my kids. I didn't want men checking me out because I'm shaped like a woman. I didn't even want daughters because I didn't like being a girl, why would I wish that on anyone else? Hell, I didn't even want children until my first son was about 18 months old. Moms have flabby butts, saggy boobs, they're tired all the time, they look a mess, they can't finish a sentence, let alone a meal, they're broke, they're busy... Why would anyone do that to herself?
I've envied the relative simplicity with which men live their lives. I'm sure it isn't true, but that's what I've projected onto them. Even getting dressed is easier for them. Their short hair is easier to care for, and if they don't like it, they can just shave it. They don't have to worry about staying home with the kids or trying to have a career. They get the career.
This has been a bit of a ramble, but that's what journals are for, right?
There is so much more beneath the surface of all this (like attachment disorder when my firstborn came along). But today, this is kinda where my brain is.
For example, one of the first memories of this is from when I was about 10 or so. Usually I remember when things happened by where we were living at the time (we moved quite a bit), but all I know about the location of this memory is a softball field at night. I'm on the bleachers relatively alone (like I'd gone to the car or the bathroom by myself and was on my way back to the group). There was a man I knew from church (we were there because Dad played on the church softball league) who gently touched my ankle where it showed under pants that I'd begun to outgrow and said "ooh, sexy." It freaked me out (obviously, since I still have such clear memory of it), but I didn't know what to do. That's all I remember.
Another example is from Christmas when I was about junior high school age. My aunt gave me a boxed perfume gift set. I was so embarrassed that I wouldn't hold it up for everyone to see (like is the custom in my family).
I don't remember ever playing dress up as a kid. Except for trying on my grandmother's wedding dress with my little sister.
I ended up becoming the teenage girl who didn't wear makeup, didn't wear high heels, didn't buy low-cut blouses or push-up bras. The one exception to this is the barely-covered-my-ass mini-skirt I wore maybe two times. I thought that flaunting my curves would just invite catastrophe.
As I entered adult life, I felt acutely aware of stereotypes and jokes and things that people make a big deal out of. Like brides and moms. I planned our wedding according to the books, because if I didn't, that would be wrong. But at the same time, I thought I was a joke. Think about all the jokes that you see about "bride-zilla" (I don't think I was one) and the bride who falls apart because the flowers aren't the right shade of pink or whatever wedding-themed stereotype, brunt of joke you can think of. I didn't want that to be me.
When I became pregnant, I totally tried to downplay it. My boss congratulated me, and I replied something along the lines of being married and doing married things and it was bound to happen. I shrugged it off. I tried to carry on as if nothing were out of the ordinary. My mother-in-law offered to come stay with us; I told her I didn't think I'd need any help. I wasn't the new mom who doted her new-born and cried when she had to go back to work. I was the new mom who cried when she had to go home again. I didn't call the sitter 15 times the first day, because I didn't want to be that mom.
I enjoyed things that were typical "guy" things - camping, hunting, shooting, working on my car, being in the army. Anything that meant I wasn't a girly-girl. No pink for me! No lace, ruffles, frills of any sort. Jeans and a t-shirt work just fine, thank you very much.
Even when my husband returned from deployment, I kept seeing those pictures they always show on the news about the wife and mother who stayed behind. I didn't want to be some PR move. Of course, if I had been thinking about my husband and not about "appearances", I would have been jumping his bones in the airport.
I lived my life trying to be a stoic, independent wallflower who faded into the scenery. I didn't want the old women laughing at me because I missed my kids. I didn't want men checking me out because I'm shaped like a woman. I didn't even want daughters because I didn't like being a girl, why would I wish that on anyone else? Hell, I didn't even want children until my first son was about 18 months old. Moms have flabby butts, saggy boobs, they're tired all the time, they look a mess, they can't finish a sentence, let alone a meal, they're broke, they're busy... Why would anyone do that to herself?
I've envied the relative simplicity with which men live their lives. I'm sure it isn't true, but that's what I've projected onto them. Even getting dressed is easier for them. Their short hair is easier to care for, and if they don't like it, they can just shave it. They don't have to worry about staying home with the kids or trying to have a career. They get the career.
This has been a bit of a ramble, but that's what journals are for, right?
There is so much more beneath the surface of all this (like attachment disorder when my firstborn came along). But today, this is kinda where my brain is.
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