Fighting Back Hard

Major confession.  Are you ready?

In third grade I flipped my bike handlebars and landed squarely on my chin. Stiches, and eventually a scar followed.  After hitting puberty, the scar started sprouting hair.

Sometimes I wonder if I didn't keep on top of tweezing if I would have a soul patch (or worse).My sisters have strict orders to pluck the hairs should I ever land in a coma or other state where I am unable to do so myself.  Otherwise, I will relentlessly haunt them when I'm dead. (I'm the oldest).

Nair doesn't work so well, so I decided to try waxing it myself, because I am very cheap.  You should see the 4 inch roots showing in my hair right now.  The last time I did it I seemed to have the same unremarkable results as the Nair.  I tried again.

I got remarkable results alright.

It looks like I split my chin open all over again.  What I was trying to draw attention away from, I highlighted instead.  It hurts too.  Just when I thought I was over vanity....

So when Tash posted this on her facebook page this morning, I found it a relevant message. 

It's a constant battle, isn't it?

Fight on.

Utterly Girlish

My internet was down almost all day yesterday....

And this weekend? 

My girls have shared a room since my youngest was a baby.  When we moved, they insisted they wanted to stay together, even though we had space to split them. 

And then the oldest changed her mind.

This weekend, the split begins.  My six-year-old's room will be completed first, since she is moving into the currently non-bedroom.  The girls are getting to pick their decor. 

Little Miss has chosen pink, brown, and white.  Ruffles and poodles. Berets and the Eiffle tower. Girly sophistication. The paint names are "Chocolate Truffle,", "Utterly Pink" (WOW - I was hoping for something more muted but she was insistent) and "Du Jour."  The sheets - nothing could replicate Pottery Barn's "Paris Toile" that she fell in love with months ago.  I was NOT shelling out what PB was asking for the bedspread, however, and found a pink ruffled bedspread and tulle skirt at Target instead.  And a frilly pink lamp.  I'm re-painting (again) Molly's old dresser and toybox. I get to indulge my inner six year old too. 

Ahh, the joys of being a girl. 

My daughter said in line at the store last night, "I know this stuff is all really girly, but when it comes to adventure, I'm still all tomboy."

Pink ruffles and tulle at night, sweaty and dirty and running around by day. 

Sometimes, it's sooo good to be a girl.

Friend of Refugees

This month, if you remember, is kind of a hodge-podge of highlighting needs in one's own community.  Also, if you remember, I have this side gig....

I have mentioned Pam before in passing, but you have no idea how much I owe her for what I am able to do.  Years ago, our church decided to sponsor a refugee family after my  "boss" came to speak about sponsorship (this all predates our days at CCUMC).  Pam took the reins on that, and fell in love.  She started seeing the needs of New Americans in the community, and just made this what she does. It's not a side gig for her.  It is her.

There are probably refugees, or at least people who are new to America, in your community.  They would love an American friend, I would venture to say.  It is difficult to communicate cross-culturally, but in my opinion, beyond rewarding.This kind of thing may not be up your alley, but I think you might find yourself inspired in some way by Pam.

My Sincerest Apologies to Paul

Some of you have heard me make the very Un-Christian remark that I do not think I would have liked the Apostle Paul.

Wow, that looks almost blasphemous in type.  Really, though.  He seems kind of arrogant and grating. He is harsh on certain subjects that Jesus gave no recorded time to. I have wondered if he had something personal against women.  If I were given an opportunity to meet someone in the Bible, Paul would be far down on my list. 

It seems like kind of a big thing to not like the guy who wrote half of the New Testament. In an effort to attempt to get over this, I decided I would start re-reading Paul's writings. I started with the happy ones like Philippians that I like.  Recently, I took a deep breath and started in on 1 Corinthians.

I generally stay away from Corinthians because it feels like that irritating Paul is standing over my shoulder reading me a list of rules.  While I might need this just as much as the Corinthians did, it is not the kind of thing that inspires one to read at 6:00 a.m. 

In an effort to avoid laundry and ironing, I picked up 1 Corinthians 7 to see the heading "Instructions on Marriage." Oh, fabulous.  But laundry is really unappealing, so I read, conjuring as many feminist articles from the recesses of my mind as I did, expecting a "wives obey" message.

Nope.  It is a really a balanced message to both husbands and wives, with Paul first of all admitting that most of what he is saying is not a direct word from God.  That's kind of stand-out, in my reading of the Bible.  Secondly, he urges agreement and mutual giving. Obligations are equal.  Standing for both parties, equal.  

Not surprisingly, there was the rhetoric about it being better not to marry (though he explicitly said it was fine to marry).  On closer examination of this, I was surprised to see it as revolutionary in the way I didn't think Paul could be where women were concerned.


A lot of the first wave feminists' complaints were that women were expected to marry.  A woman in many ancient (and even in some of today's) cultures, a woman was supposed to be either socially defined by her husband or father. First wave feminists spend a lot of time writing that a woman is capable of things beyond housekeeping and child-rearing.  Paul specifically tells women, just as he specifically told men, that if they can morally restrain themselves, they can do a lot more work for God.  I'm not a Bible scholar by any stretch of any imagination, but I think he was being pretty straightforward.


I'm not clearing all my beefs with Paul, but I feel as if I do owe him a public apology for not seeing this before. Apostle Paul, maybe you were not a misogynist after all.  I am sorry. 


I am, however, still not ready to re-read Romans yet. 

Got Chalk?

An article called "Why OWL (Older Women's Liberation)?" has stuck with me and came to mind after a conversation I had this weekend in which I was basically chided for wanting my husband to share more equally in the schlepping around of his children to their activities. I would like to think I do not qualify as an "older woman." This article defines this term as someone over 30.  *Sigh*.  The article talks about how "older women" have real life problems that need to be addressed that the feminist movement was ignoring.  Here are some of them as raised by the Older Women's League:

"How to pursue a job, career, or anything while one is raising a family"
"How to change from 20 to 40 years of behavioral response"
"How does a mother relate to adolescent sons who are attempting to reach male maturity by emulating male stereotyped role models"
"How does one live equitably with a husband when the relationship is not egalitarian"
"How to cope with aging and dependent parents"
"How does one raise a daughter"

Theorizing is easier than living out one's beliefs, as we all know. It's also much more appealing to write on a fresh slate.  The Older Women's League was encouraging women to help each other figure these problems out.  They were specifically asking the feminist movement to be broad enough to incorporate all kinds of women's needs.

bell hooks cautions against saying "I am a feminist."  She believes this reinforces stereotypes and causes division.  It sets up a kind of absolutism that does not make room for other types of thought.  When I read hooks' thoughts on this, I am not inclined to want to take on feminism as an identity.  An "I am" statement cuts off other possibilities and viewpoints that could inform the problems we wrestle with.  I think we have to be careful in identifying under labels of any kind, because we draw boundaries around ourselves that could cut us off from potential valuable lifelines.

I guess I just needed to say that in going forward with this blog. I am interested in women forming supportive networks and exploring options, not in advancing an agenda.  Like the Older Women's League, I have all these questions about how to do life in a way that upholds certain values that are important to me.  I am not a fresh slate.  I've been written on and erased a few times.  But it doesn't mean I've stopped seeking fresh words to be written on my life.

Discovering a Fearless Eye

Inspiration comes in many different forms. I am inspired by courage and perseverance. I am inspired by humble and steadfast love.  I am also inspired by artists who use their talent to shine a light.

My side gig is with Interfaith Works Refugee Resettlement.  On their facebook page today they announced a show that would be held by photographer Sarah Averill at a New American owned laundromat in the neighborhood.  She has been taking pictures of New American residents for over a year and is exhibiting the final product this evening.  I wish I could go.

Her blog Under a Fearless Sky moved me.  Deeply. Like a great song or meaningful experience.  Or the work of art that it is.  She not only documents daily life in Northside Syracuse, she travels around the country noting the humanity of humble people. As I explored her site I found myself mesmerized by her stories and images of people who might normally go unnoticed.

She notices.  She photographs them.  She introduces them to us with dignity and honesty.

If I were given the opportunity to choose a talent, I would choose photography or painting or drawing or something that records life in such a quiet, consuming, lasting way.  Instead, I content myself by discovering the work of people like Sarah Averill. And sharing it with others who will appreciate it too.

Giving When It’s Hard

Today's post is written by a friend who is more like a sister to me - Courtney.

She deserves her own inspiring woman post. I asked her to write about her work with women with addictions, to give us a glimpse of what that is like.  She provided me with this very honest and beautiful essay about volunteering as a group leader:

I want to sit here and say that giving of my time, money and talents is natural, easy and fulfilling.  Of course it can be, on that right day, in that right light, and given unspoiled circumstances.  But often, most often in fact, it’s not.  Mostly it’s hard, dirty, boring, frustrating.  All those emotions you don’t think of when you call up your local agency and ask if you can be an answer to their prayer.  What did they pray for exactly?  A warm body?  A punching bag?  Sometimes either of those titles would fit.  So why do I go back?  Why do I continue to rearrange my schedule, make my kids wait, ask my husband to give?  Because that’s what we’re made to do.

God has created us with eyes to look beyond ourselves, with ears to listen to the struggles of others and with shoulders to bear the burden of one beaten by life’s circumstances.

If we deny this purpose and mission for our time on earth, we cease to grow properly.  We become the ingrown toenail of ourselves, growing deformed under our skin.  Red, swollen, hurting, irritated, bothering. 

I currently work part of my week at a homeless shelter for women and their children.  The Charis House located in downtown Fort Wayne, Indiana, is a refuge for women who have nowhere else to turn.  On a day to day basis, the atmosphere is of gratitude and filled with God’s glory and love.  But some days, there is resentment, anger, aggravation and depression.  Some days the women I work with sleep through my class, tell me I’m not worth their time, and curse me under their breath.  The information I bring, though possibly useful, is seen as another burden in their already troubled lives.   No thanks are given, or even considered.  

So why?  Why do I love these women like they were my own family?  Why do I continue to reach out when my proverbial hand is slapped raw?  

Because that’s what Jesus did for me, and will continue to do for me.  How many times did I refuse His Grace, His Glory, His Truth?  This is the immature nature of our sinful selves that will only be cured upon His command.  Until then, I’ll give what’s been given to me – even when it’s hard.

(3 word phrase Nike would sue me for using)

In the Reaching Out a Hand feature, we usually turn the spotlight on one particular organization/cause for a month.  This month has not really worked that way, and instead I hope to bring you ideas about ways to spy organizations in your own community you might want to support or become involved with.  Jessie, whose lovely sermon was posted here last week, saw needs in her community and built her own organization from the ground up.  Not of all of us have that kind of time, energy, creativity and sheer force of will. But we have this idea that unless we're doing something huge like that, we should just not get involved at all.

This past Sunday, our church did our "Rock the Routine." Instead of our regular services, we signed up for projects around our community and went out and served.  People went and planted onions (in the mud and rain) at the Matthew 25 farm .  People cleaned up a local park.  People visited residents and sang at the VA hospital service.  People organized and sorted at Rescue Mission stores.  A group painted a local fire house.  One group planted a garden with residents at Enable .  People put together lunches at the Samaritan Center .  My family's group went to the Salvation Army where half of us painted the daycare, and the other prepared and served brunch and played with some of the kids at the emergency shelter.

One of the things these Sundays do is open our eyes to opportunities to be involved in organizations in our community that are lifelines for our neighbors.  My 7th grader has never thought about the fact that some families sleep in a shelter in a borrowed bed until she saw it with her own eyes, for instance.  I was reminded of how quickly a daunting job can get done if a few people roll up their sleeves and work together. It's good to get out of our routine, expose ourselves to a new corner of the world, stretch some muscles we haven't used.

We often think what we have to offer is insignificant.  We aren't giving enough time.  Enough money. Enough passion. I could start harping on things like the "pay it forward" concept, the loaves and fishes story, the Its a Wonderful Life example, but I will sign off with a new favorite quote:

"If you can't do great things, Mother Teresa used to say, do little things with great love. If you can't do them with great love, do them with a little love.  If you can't do them with love, do them anyway.  Love grows when people serve." - John Ortberg

Final Product

If you are not interested in this - I completely understand.  I wondered if some of you might want to see the final fashion and feminism product?  A few of you engaged in some of the discussions of relevant articles and I never really marked my position. This is it, in its entirety. I'm totally a chicken and waited to see if my prof deemed it ok before I posted it.  I didn't feel as if I had the time or mental energy to develop it as well as I wanted to.  It is what it is. No plagiarism, please, random Women's Studies students trolling for random papers.

“Fashionable Feminists: Can It Be?!”

by Tiffany Rozelle

Washington State University, Spring 2011

It is rare to find the words “feminist” and “fashionable” residing comfortably together.  The image of a feminist is often conceived to be an angry woman with unshaven legs and armpits, clothing and shoes that are sensible and not frilly or revealing, and perhaps the absence of a bra. “Fashion” conjures visions of eye-catching and maybe outlandish clothing and accessories worn for the purpose of being attractive and stylish.  Second wave feminists have historically been linked with hostility to fashion because they denounce it as oppressive.  Their third wave counterparts, at least many of them, have taken a more relaxed stance towards fashion, claiming that a “girl” can be a feminist and look good.  A skirmish has erupted between the two sides that begs the question: should feminists condemn fashion as oppressive or embrace it as an expression of self? This paper will argue that fashion can be both oppressive and expressive, because it can be defined as both a system and a choice.  

The Second Wave: You Support What You Wear

An understanding of each side must be cultivated before fully engaging in the debate.  At the heart of feminism is the question of power.  Who has it, who does not, and what are the consequences?  Feminists’ goal is not to change the power balance from favoring men to favoring women, but to change it from being “power to rather than power over” (Kolmar & Bartowski, 2011, p. 45). 

Second wave feminists saw fashion as something that exerts power over women.  Fawcett (2006) describes the genesis of second wave fashion views as rooted in the rigid fashion constraints of the 1950’s and early 1960’s.  Fashion at this time was a taskmaster that required women to spend never-ending amounts of money and time. A number of women who came of age during this era “found the strictures of fashion and the investment of time and self in its endless requirements increasingly difficult to sustain” (Fawcett, 2006, p. 104).  Feminist activism offered a relief from the pressure to be thin, in style, and appealing to men (Fawcett, 2006).  

Feminists who took a negative view of fashion also did so because they found it to be an arm of patriarchy.  Fashion exerts power to define what and who is attractive, and reinforces distinctions between women of different classes and statuses (Groeneveld, 2010). Only women in certain classes can attain the ideal. Indulging in fashion, then, reinforces the message that women’s goal should be attractiveness to men, and that attractiveness is defined by the men in power.  Fashion serves as a distraction from who is making money and defining acceptable identities in society.  It lulls its subscribers into thinking that “whatever happens, young women must not take themselves seriously,”  (Fawcett, 2006, p. 110).  

  The Third Wave: Girls Just Wanna Look Good

The backlash of a contingent of the next generation of feminists asserted that the early feminist approaches were puritanical and did not acknowledge that fashion is a vehicle for creativity or pleasure (Groeneveld, 2010).  These feminists reclaimed feminism’s stance toward fashion and said that women can be stylish and sexy and politically active.  The feminist magazine BUST became the poster child for this view, and defined feminism as a lifestyle choice (Groeneveld, 2010). 

The forerunner of this view was Helen Gurley Brown, long time editor of Cosmopolitan. More third wave feminists identified with her assertion that she did not wear clothes for others; she wore them for herself (Scanlon, 2009).  The idea of dressing for yourself became an indication of power. Feminists did not have to be either fashionable or feminist anymore, because fashion bestows the power to decide for oneself.  

Fashion, The Industry

At this point in the discussion, it becomes apparent that “fashion” is taking on different meanings, depending on how it is being discussed.  Fashion is both an industry which carries out the meanings of those at its helm, and it is also a choice which takes on meaning from the one who chooses.  There are different kinds of power in both of fashion’s identities, with different implications for feminists.

Fashion, as it is most typically thought of, is an industry.  Styles are imagined, put to paper, made out of cloth in factories, sold in stores, and marketed in magazine ads and television commercials.  According to Hale & Willis (2005), the fashion garment industry is worth 350 billion U.S. dollars.  This industry exerts power over an estimated 42 million workers in poor countries in the global south, 90% of them being women (Hale & Willis, 2005).  Multinational corporations bid contracts to the lowest bidders on the supply chain, and in order to be able to bid low, the supply chains pay workers very low wages (Hale & Willis, 2005).  Prevented from unionizing, often these workers labor in unsafe and unhealthy conditions, subject to harassment and made to work long hours (Hale & Willis, 2005).  The elite marketers and buyers make the profits.  They are the powerful, and the workers are the powerless. 

Besides the power of shaping the employment of the many individuals working in the industry in some capacity, the fashion industry also has power to shape consumption patterns. Fashion is an industry that intentionally outdates itself every season in order to create demand (Parkins, 2008). Consumers are conditioned to buy new clothing every season, regardless of any change in their bodies or the functionality of the garments.  Advertisers in the industry create a middle class consumer base that wants to emulate the upper class and distinguish itself from the lower class (di Casanova, 2003).  Western fashion advertises in other parts of the world creating a demand in global markets (di Casanova, 2003).  

Fashion has the power to shape identity as well.  This aspect of the industry seems similar to the idea that fashion is an expression of identity: however, the industry’s power is a power over women, not empowerment of women.  Fawcett (2006) describes that “for young women without professional aspirations who live in poorer areas, the identity gained through consumption can be read as more significant” (p. 110).  di Casanova (2003) explains that fashion advertising in Ecuador highlights the legacy of colonialism which extols the European identity and positions the Indian identity as “other.”  Fashion as an industry, in its constant cycling of clothing lines, defines what identity should be, making the identity of the wearer dependent on the garment (Parkins, 2008).  

Fashion as an industry has the power to shape ideas about women’s bodies.  Women’s bodies are defined as a certain “normal” standard by advertisements and even garments.  The way garments are designed to fit create a certain realm of accessibility.  Able-bodied women of certain build are the models of the fashion industry.  “Fashion imagery is the visual distillation of the normative, gilded with the chic and the luxurious to render it desirable” (Garland-Thomson, 2010, p. 538).  It would seem that Fashion, the Industry, is an unstoppably powerful behemoth.  It has a master that is the bottom line, however, over which women have a measure of control. 

Fashion, The Choice

Fashion, the Choice, theoretically, has the power to tame Fashion, the Industry.  People use fashion as a medium of identity expression.  Clothing can be used to make the self intelligible to others (Parkins, 2008). “It is only by investigating subjective interpretive negotiations of fashion, whether of wearing it or looking at it, that we can understand the implications of the possibility that dress opens up” (Parkins, 2008, p. 509).  A wearer’s choices imbue the fashions they select with their own meaning.  When a woman wears a dress, for instance, she writes a bit of herself into that dress and changes its meaning forever.  A dress on a hanger means different to things to different women as they view it and try to imagine what they will look like in it, if they can afford it, and how they would accessorize it.  In this way, women have power in fashion.  

The contingent of third wave feminists that embrace fashion do so for the way it allows them to express creativity and explore possibilities (Groeneveld, 2010).  What is chosen to be worn is art, it is performance, and it is a source of pleasure.  Through fashion a woman can convey a limitless number of messages about herself. She uses the power of her imagination and her pocketbook to shape the impression she sends to the world. Without this power, she is at the mercy of other forces, and a part of her is stifled and limited. Fashion, the Choice, is the power of self-expression.  

Is Choice Free and For All?

Several questions arise about choice.  Is choice something available all women? Are people responsible for the outcomes of their choices? In a corresponded discussion between Katha Pollit and Jennifer Baumgardner (2003), second and third wave feminists, respectively, Baumgardner expresses the spirit of the third wave embrace of fashion when she writes, “the feminism that younger women are afraid of, it seems to me, is the feminism that assumes there is one pure way to be and it is anti-capitalist, super-serious, and hostile to bikini waxes and Madonna” (p. 310).  She captures the sentiment that if feminism is to continue to be relevant, it must relax some of its puritanical ideas around fashion. Younger feminists, Baumgardner (2003) argues, live in a different world and have different agendas.  She chafes at the idea that there is only one way to be a feminist. “I believe in a feminism that strengthens my connections to my own desires” (Baumgartner, 2003, p. 316).

Pollitt (2003) acknowledges that raising difficult questions can be alienating and admits “God knows there is a mile-wide streak of puritanism in second wave feminism” (p. 319).  She makes the important point, though, that “a feminism that doesn’t raise issues isn’t worth much” (Pollitt, 2003). p. 317).  Feminists cannot ignore the consequences of individual choices.  In making feminism appealing to a broad group of women, there must still be room for analysis of injustice and discrimination (Groeneveld, 2010). A feminism that only sees fashion as being about personal style is dangerous because it ignores some broader issues that are at stake.  

Those broader issues have to do with who has choices, and who does not.  Not all women have the economic power to decide how to express themselves.  A woman who is not able-bodied or who has a body type that does not fit certain proportions may find themselves with far less choices.  Women who do not find themselves represented by the thin, able-bodied, white models have less access to power. 

bell hooks (2000) asserts that feminism must address the intersection of class, gender, and race.  Feminism must speak to all kinds of women, or it will die. All kinds of women means the women that fall outside the ideals of the fashion industry as well.  If women of color, poor women, and women whose bodies are not sanctioned “normal” are not given the same choices and therefore the same power, then certain aspects of fashion must be examined.  hooks (2000) suggests that women can use the power of fashion choices, especially in terms of purchasing, to make statements about women’s status and bring about change. 

The consequences of choice may not be pleasant to consider.  What kind of responsibility falls upon a woman who purchases a garment for the inhumane conditions and paltry pay the woman who made the garment was subjected to?  Is a woman contributing to unbridled capitalism by constantly updating her wardrobe to reflect the latest fashions?  What about her fashion choices are upholding a patriarchal system? Koyama (2003) talks about the importance of “fostering an environment in which women’s individual choices are honored, and in scrutinizing and challenging institutions that limit the range of choices available to them” (p. 247).  Fashion as a choice is powerful, and the freedom of expression and the exciting possibilities of playing with identity are important, but must not be pursued to the neglect of questioning the oppressive effects of the fashion industry.  Pollit (2003) believes the balance lies in distinction. “Some choices may be sexist in origin, but basically harmless - but others have serious implications for the course of one’s life and the lives of others” (Pollit, 2003. p. 319).  

Fashion’s different characteristics make it both oppressive in some ways, and liberating in others.  The second wave feminists insistence upon calling out injustices can be paired with third wave ideas about expression and pleasure.  Some fashion choices are fun and harmless, and others carry serious implications.  A feminist can engage in fashion, but she should also engage in discussions and investigations of the tough issues.

References

Baumgardner, J. & Pollit, K. (2003). Afterword: A correspondence between Katha Pollitt and Jennifer Baumgardener. In R. Dicker & A.  Piepmeier’s Catching a wave: Reclaiming Feminism for the 21st century. (pp. 309-319). Boston: Northeastern University Press. 

di Casanova, E. (2003). Women’s magazines in Ecuador: Re-reading “la Chica Cosmo.”  Studies in Latin American Popular Culture, 22, 89-102.

Fawcett, H. (2006). Fashioning the second wave: Issues across generations. Studies in the Literary Imagination, 39, 95-113.

Garland-Thomson, R. (2010).Integrating disability, transforming feminist theory. In W. Kolmar & F. Bartowski’s Feminist theory: A reader. (3rd ed). (pp. 529-541). New York: Mc Graw-Hill.

Groeneveld, E. (2010). Be a feminist or just dress like one: BUST, fashion, and feminism as lifestyle. Journal of Gender Studies, 31, 179-190.

Hale, A. & Wills, J. (2005). Threads of labour: Garment industry supply chains from the workers’ perspective.  Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing. 

hooks, b. (2000). Feminist theory: From margin to center. (2nd ed). Brooklyn: South End Press.

Kolmar, W. & Bartowski, F. (2010). Feminist theory: A reader. (3rd ed). (pp. 529-541). New York: Mc Graw-Hill.

Koyama, E. (2003). The transfeminist manifesto. In R. Dicker & A. Piepmeier’s Catching a wave: Reclaiming feminism for the 21st century. (pp. 244-259). Boston: Northeastern University Press.

Parkins, I. (2008). Building a feminist theory of fashion: Karen Barad’s agential realism. Australian Feminist Studies, 23, 501-515.

Scanlon, J. (2009). Sexy from the start: Anticipatory elements of second wave feminism. Women’s Studies, 38, 127-150.  

To Blog or Not to Blog

Blogger was having serious technical difficulties the past couple of days.  It really bothered me not to have control over my blogs.  When things like that happen, I am reminded of how strange this whole internet thing is in the scope of human existence.  So temporary, so elusive.  If our technology fails, there is no trace of this cyberworld we've been immersing ourselves in.  Think of how much of ourselves we invest in our blogs, facebook, texting, etc.  If it all goes away ... how much have we lost?

I am not a texter.  Facebook kind of gets on my nerves.  But I like blogging.  I like reading other blogs. Being in the blogging world provides me some sort of outlet for writing and what I think are real connections to other women out there.  Some are dear friends whose blogs keep me up on the events of their sweet families or make me feel as if I've had a heart-to-heart conversation.  Some blogs are about amazing people doing amazing things to make a real difference in the world and I find myself inspired and awed by the chronicles of their work.  Some blogs help me creatively feed myself and my family in more healthy ways, or give me much-needed different perspective on mothering.  And this one --- I love the interesting discussions and exploration of ideas.  I love hearing from all sorts of smart, funny, real women.

So two things I have learned from this Blogger-down experience:

1. Blogs are good. What is your favorite other blog?  (Not one you are an author on). Why do you love it? A new one I like is Wholesome Bits  (I've already approached Jenna about guest blogging here - of course!) I love it because a) It's so nice. It just makes you feel healthy and wholesome and nice after visiting. b) I need little nudges to keep me on the straight and healthy path c) Jenna is a cherished friend of both of my wonderful sisters, but I don't personally know her well.  So now I can be cyber friends with her.  Sisters are for horning in, in case you didn't know.

2. Blogs can be not good too. What is something you are not doing that your texting-twittering-facebooking-blogging is taking the place of?  Picking up the phone and actually calling someone? Inviting someone to share a glass of wine or cup of coffee? Playing with your kids? Who cares if you aren't scrubbing your floors - I mean are we missing relationship opportunities right in front of us because our noses are glued to a screen?  I am an introvert by nature.  I'm fabulous at hiding.  New social situation? Oh - I have a post to write! Anything with "PTA" in the name causes me to break out into a cold sweat. Blogs fill the emotional need for connection, but don't make me get into the face-to-face situations that sometimes make me grow.  Though I firmly stick by the statement that nothing with "PTA" in the name has ever made me grow.

Now I will get off the computer and play with my kids.

Mother of All

This post covers yesterday, since it is essentially a sermon.  It fits today, since the author of the sermon, Jessie Keating, is a pretty inspiring woman.  She started her own nonprofit, Imagine Syracuse. One day it bothered her so much that kids living in poverty attending Syracuse Public Schools had basically no opportunities for after-school enrichment.  And she rolled up her sleeves and got to work making opportunities for kids in Syracuse. Please click the link. You'll be inspired.

Jessie delivered this sermon on Mother's Day, and it came to me by way of my friend Cathy.  Cathy and I had been talking about the impact the Ugandan girls who had been staying in our homes left on our hearts, and Cathy sent this to me later that day.  If you are not someone usually described by the word "mother," please stick with this, because the message is not only for women who biologically produced their own offspring.  It's for everyone.

From Jessie:

Motherhood is a hot topic these days, especially for this generation of moms. We aren’t just moms anymore, we are hockey moms, helicopter moms, soccer mom, room moms, working moms, stay at home moms, birth moms, adopted moms, surrogate moms, mommy bloggers..  We all want to put ourselves into some kind of category. I’m not THAT kind of mother, I’m THIS kind. My husband is convinced that that Harry Chapin song Cats in the cradle is responsible for an entire generation of overparenting…”I mean, just Listen to these lyrics:

 A child arrived just the other day,
He came to the world in the usual way.
But there were planes to catch, and bills to pay.
He learned to walk while I was away.
And he was talking 'fore I knew it, and as he grew,
He'd say, "I'm gonna be like you, dad.
You know I'm gonna be like you." 

The guilt from that song is tremendous – am I doing enough? Are we signed up for enough stuff? Did I miss a soccer game? Will my child grow up and write Cats in the Cradle II? 

Personally, I didn’t care what category I landed in, I just wanted to BE a mother. I lost my first at 5 months pregnant. And then I lost another. And another. By the time my Maggie arrived on this planet, I was pretty much on my knees and probably the most appreciative, uncomplaining first-time mother in history. The agony over NOT having motherhood made having motherhood all the more amazing and poignant for me.  Looking at my gaggle of St. Lucy’s teenagers and Imagine Syracuse children today, some might say I became an addict.  

Looking back, though, I realize that motherhood for me began years before I actually did give birth. Too many people in my life were motherless. My husband’s mom died when he was just 19 of breast cancer. My best friend’s mother collided with a drunk driver and went through the windshield. My own mother’s mother was emotionally cruel and distant. 

So how did I get so lucky to be born into such a loving family? I got a dad whose eyes shine at each one of us. I got a mom on the sidelines of every softball game, music lesson and broken heart. She gave all of us the proverbial roots and wings.  And as we grew up and flew, she stayed steady as rain calling on Sundays, keeping our rooms ready, reminding us about the house key in the coffee mug inside the garage.  When visiting friends asked what they were in for, we’d just say “you’re really going to like it there.” 

So here’s how we all turned out. My sister teaches seriously emotionally disturbed children, cooks for new moms, puts herself last behind her three children. My brother became a writer, editor, publisher and father of two babies. My father, in retirement, volunteers for hospice and helps people die. I am a youth minister and run a nonprofit teaching the arts to underprivileged children. And there my mother remains, steady as rain, marking our triumphs and tragedies with spaghetti and meatballs, brining turkeys at Thanksgiving, racing to hold our newborn babies while we nap.

And then one day this year, in a moment of doubt, she called me and said, “I’m surrounded by all of you magnanimous people! All you do-gooders. What am I doing?” 

I rushed to dismiss this nonsense but her words slashed me. A few days passed, and I called her back. 

I told her she held the secret to it all.  Without ever claiming or naming the magnanimous do-gooder work she was doing as our mother, she was doing it.  I said, You are in every hug I give Shelby, Zach, Anna, Jenna, Anissa, Janaya, Josh, Ashley, Angel and Ella. Your spirit is threaded all through Imagine Syracuse. You are in every early morning full family snuggle on mommy and daddy’s bed, dogs included. I still, at 40, need you. I still, at 40, turn to you when my day goes awry, when I need someone on my side whether I’m right or wrong, when I need someone to badmouth the haters and cry when I cry. Again, how did I get so lucky? 

Turns out my OB, Lenny Marotta – most amazing OB in the universe- knew the secret too but I wasn’t ready to believe him that early on in Motherhood.  

I stared at him as he signed me out of that sterile, safe hospital and asked, “What the hell do I do now?”

 And Lenny said, “Can you love her? Can you give her a million kisses every day?” “Yeah,” I said. “ I can do that.” 

“O K,” he said. “You’re ready to go.”

I guess it doesn’t have to be so complicated, categorized, and studied, this motherhood thing. Read all the books you want but it’s still a crapshoot. You just have to love people, and maybe give them a million kisses every day.

One last story - when my best friend grew up, she became an African missionary. While preparing for her first trip to Zimbabwe she called me in tears having been blindsided by a solid dose of Harry Chapin guilt for leaving her OWN babies behind for a month. She kept asking God for a sign that she was supposed to do this. Her PEACE came suddenly. And with it the words, “Cathy, you are a mother to all my children.”

We are ALL mothers to ALL God’s children. Charlotte Gray said of first time mothers: “From now on each wounded, abandoned, frightened child is yours. You live in the suffering mothers of every race and creed and weep with them. You long to comfort all who are desolate.”

Sound like someone else we might know? Jesus lives in our suffering, weeps and comforts all who are desolate, every race, every creed, every child. Every one of us. Maybe this is radical but we are at St. Lucy’s. Jesus is the Ultimate Mother. Jesus is a MOTHER. And whether we’ve had the greatest of moms or the worst of them, our true MOTHER and Father, OUR TRUE FAMILY, AWAITS US AT OUR HEAVENLY TABLE ANYWAY.  Singer Songwriter Gillian Welch writes, “Blessed savior, make me willing, walk beside me, til I’m with them. Be my mother, my father, my sister, my brother, I am an orphan girl.”  

Whether we’ve given birth to a child or not, we’ve all loved one, and we are all made in His image, therefore we all, men and women alike, have the potential to be the Ultimate Mother too. 

Jesus has prepared our Thanksgiving table in Heaven, our rooms are warm and our beds are pulled down, the house key is in the coffee mug in the garage. We can bring our friends home to Him by saying, with the confidence every well loved child has, simply, “You’re really going to like it there.”

In the immortal words of last year’s homilist Carole Horan, Happy MOTHERING Day.

If You're Beautiful and You Know It

At the moment, there are 6 lovely young women sleeping upstairs.  2 are my children, 4 are guests from Uganda.

The other day, I happened to walk by the living room to see our 13 year old guest smiling broadly into the mirror and dancing.  It struck me how purely joyful she was.  I am never so happy with my reflection.  I was hyper-critical of my reflection at age 13.  My 6 year old can be still seen dancing in front of mirrors, but I don't remember seeing my 12 year old doing so for quite awhile now.

An ethnography, Nisa: The Life and Words of a !Kung Woman by M. Shostak, that I read for a class a few years ago came back to my consciousness. (To say "!Kung" you cluck your tongue and then it's phonetic - my professor dropped the tongue cluck after the first 2 times for ease of lecturing). It documents one of the last hunter-gatherer societies on earth, in its last true hunter-gatherer times (they ended up adapting a more agrarian lifestyle).  It focuses on the title character, who is a woman very different from most women one would meet in our society.  First of all, she is proud and beautiful and acts like it.

We wouldn't know what to do with her. 

I remembered the book because of a scene when the anthropologist saw a 13 year old !Kung girl catch her reflection in a side mirror of a jeep and dance and smile delightedly in it. Shostak was used to Nisa's sef-confidence, but something about an adolescent's natural and gut reaction to seeing her reflection being one of happiness and pride struck Shostak as it did myself when I witnessed it.

Courtney brought up a great point in the book discussion of Their Eyes Were Watching God; beautiful women in our society are beat down.  Women are not encouraged to live like they are beautiful.

Ugandan girls, from what I can tell, are much more encouraged to do so.  At what age do we start tamping down our girls' satisfaction with the way they look? From what I can tell, Ugandans are not nearly as obsessed with looks as Americans either.

We spend billions of dollars on clothing, cosmetics, hair products, diets, gym memberships, surgeries, and therapy.  We are told to try to look beautiful.  And as Courtney pointed out, if you actually somehow are - look out.  You'll be treated like Janie.

What if we acted like we are all beautiful? What if we lived like we know there is beauty in all of us, and celebrated and supported that in one another?  Across all ages, races, socio-economic classes, abilities, etc.?

Our 13 year old girls would be able to look into the mirror and dance and smile.

I know it's Monday - but let's conduct an experiment:  Try to smile when you see your reflection, and when you see beauty in other women.

Their Eyes Were Watching God

"Ships at a distance have every man's wish on board. For some they come in with the tide. For others they sail forever on the horizon, never out of sight, never landing until the Watcher turns his eyes away in resignation, his dreams mocked to death by Time. That is the life of men.

Now, women forget all those things they don't want to remember, and remember everything they don't want to forget. The dream is the truth. Then they act and do things accordingly."

I must admit that the first time I ever heard the story of Janie Starks, it was through the lens created by Oprah in the movie.  I immediately identified with the dreamer, the survivor and eventually the rebirth of a woman.  

Can we also have a moment of silence for the steaminess of Tea Cake in the movie?

Okay.  Now that we have objectified a man on a blog exploring Christian Feminism, we can move on.

When I read the first paragraph, I immediately decided that this would be a book to be savored.  I read it slower than any book I have ever loved.  As a woman who has endured abuse from the men in her life, Their Eyes spoke to me on so many levels.  I can relate to a jar tumbling off of the shelf and shattering.  When Joe Starks first layed his hands on Janie, his image was forever changed.  Can you relate to that experience?

Maya Angelou has been quoted to say, "When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time."

The moment Joe Starks is revealed, is the moment that Janie burrows into herself and becomes a" rut in the road".  Reading those words caused a tremor in my chin.  The tears came so easily.  A woman abused quickly becomes less and less of herself.  Even in normal relationships, women have a tendency of forgetting to care for themselves.  Why do we forget our value?  Why do we forget that the knowledge of our worth will bolster what we are able to give to the world?

Can you relate to that feeling of hiding a part of yourself to survive?  I feel as women we are more likely to go inward to avoid confrontation and to enhance our chances of survival.  The only problem with that is the time it takes to dig our living selves out of the graveyard.

When Joe is laying in his death bed and cannot release his control over Janie, I was enraptured.  What causes a man to need to control a woman beyond the need to love her?  If love cannot be taken but only give, where does that idea come from? How can a man ever experience "true love" if he will not love a woman as she is living fully?

I love when Janie says that the grieving should last only as long as the grief does.  This leads me to think of how often we mold our reactions and our behavior around the cast set by our society.  We feel guilty if we don't cry at our child's kindergarten performance and bad if we do.

I love that it took Janie no time at all to release her hair, to lay in the grass, to laugh and to re-bloom. It seems like when Tea Cake entered her life, she was actively allowing herself to enjoy life.  She was choosing what felt right and good in her own eyes.

What did you think of all of the loose lipped gossipers in this story?  I found it interesting that even in a book written about a woman in the early 1900's, women were another woman's harshest critics.  There truly is nothing new under the sun.  What do you think motivates such judgement and harsh criticism in women towards other women?

My opinion is that those not living their fullest life will judge out of jealousy.  In an effort to make their life feel fuller. ....Kind of like a push up bra.  I know. I wear one.  I nursed. Three times. lol

What about Janie's relationship to Tea Cake and the fact that eventually, he smacked her too?  Why didn't his jar fall off the shelf?  Mine kind of did when I read this passage.  Their relationship was not perfect and neither was Tea Cake or Janie, but they loved each other wildly and they lived completely.  I love that part of the story.  Why did Zora (we are on a first name basis now) decide to throw in that slap?

After Janie kills Tea Cake to save herself from his rabid rage she goes back to Eatonville.  She is subject to the disdain and judgement of her community.  I find this to be so courageous.  She is still choosing to be who she is, where she is.

I think that these words are defining of the story and a call to all women.

"you got tuh go there tuh know there...Two things everybody got tuh do fuh theyselves. They got tuh go tuh God, and they got tuh find out about livin' fuh theyselves."

And finally,

"So much of life in its meshes! She called in her soul to come and see."

Feel free to chime in on the loads of questions above or give an insight about what touched your heart the most reading this book.   I only chose portions of the book that spoke to me.  Their Eyes Were Watching God will remain one of my favorites.  I read it ever so slowly because the lessons are clear and potent for a woman like me.

Peace and Grace,

Tashmica :)

End of an Era

No, this is not inspiring women Thursday. Instead, this is the post officially marking the end of my enrollment in Women's Studies classes.  So unless I fail the paper I just turned in: this is it.

Of course I am excited.  I also wonder what direction this blog will take.  While it is exhausting, there is something to be said for being made to read and analyze material one would not normally gravitate towards.  That's the point of education, isn't it? To expand the mind?  Education is really supposed to be a lifelong process, so hopefully we will continue to explore life with a feminist lens.

It might get fluffy here for a little while, though;) At least after the discussion of Their Eyes Were Watching God.  Which is tomorrow!

Shining on You

Do you ever wake up, feel the loveliness of a clean slate of a day, and then slowly all the things you have to do start pressing in on you, squeezing all of the loveliness out of your day?  At this point, I comfort myself with the thought that I programmed the coffee maker the night before and at least there is a fresh pot waiting.  (The mornings this has not happened are the equivalent of getting up on the wrong side of the bed).

This morning I calculated that my to do list exceeded the amount of time I had in the day.  I reached for my Book of Awakenings, a gift from a friend that helps me grab a few minutes of reflection and peace before I get going.  Amazed, I read about how new days start out fresh and empty and then we start filling them up with stuff and stress ourselves out.  The meditation invited me to let those things sink in, then exhale and let them go. Then I read from the book by John Ortberg that my Monday night group is reading and again, the message was startlingly relevant.

At the end of the chapter, the author talked about how we make important connections with toddlers through our facial expressions. When they are stressed by something, they look to our faces for comfort.  It is a natural part of their growth and development. We smile down on them, and they find peace.  It brought completely new meaning to this :

"May the Lord bless you and keep you: May the Lord make His face shine upon you, and be gracious unto you: May the Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace." Numbers 6: 24-26.


I know how full my heart feels when I smile at an adorable toddler; it almost bursts.  That's how God looks at us? It made me smile, and feel peace.  So I had to share it with you.  Today I just didn't have the capacity to bring anything thought-provoking to you.  This may seem weird, but often I pray about what I should write about in this space (especially on spiritual Wednesdays).  I am praying this blessing for you today.  Let it go, and bask in God smiling at you.  

The One

Thanks so much for letting me guest-post during these last few weeks about IJM. I know they have just been just a glimpse of IJM’s work, but I hope they’ve provided you with really tough issues to think about (because I believe that facing reality is the first step to improving the world in which we live) as well as the belief that amongst all the horrors of the world, there is hope and life.

As I wrap up my series of guest posts about IJM, I want to share a couple of final thoughts. Working here day after day for months and years presents some challenges that I didn’t necessarily anticipate. It gets really easy and normal to get caught up in the day-to-day and forget about the people for whom the organization exists. Just like it’s easy for so many people involved in various causes to get caught up in politics, theoretical arguments and power struggles and forget the actual people for whom we are fighting.

Don’t get me wrong: IJM absolutely is focused on big-picture structural transformation, and that’s vital to keep the work we do sustainable. But, what I love about the organization is that it so often brings me back to the truth and rawness of the story about the one person. It has been amazing to me how one person’s humanity can cut through all the theoretical arguments and big idea discussion by people in power. Picture a room full of powerful people in suits arguing over the finer points of human trafficking – when should there be intervention, whose job is it, where is the money coming from, and are people even asking for help? When you bring the little girl who is raped ten times a day in a brothel into that room, suddenly the arguments seem foolish.

I’ve often heard Gary, our President and CEO, talk about how we would respond if we were present amongst all the suffering. Of course there is still a great deal of thought and preparation as to how we go about our casework, as there should be, and a good deal of waiting that goes along with that. If you look closely at IJM’s methods and work, this is obvious. But what wouldn’t we – you and I - give to restore the one person if we knew – I mean REALLY knew and really saw what they experienced. And if they were OUR family members experiencing these horrors?! I think we would stop at nothing to bring rescue and restoration.

Well, Jesus sees all of it. It makes a little more sense to me that His love was so sacrificial when you realize that He sees all the pain in the world, and is intimately close to it. He doesn’t just hear stories and know statistics. He is there and deeply loves the people who are suffering, more than we love even those closest to us.

Suddenly, my own “sacrifices” seem so small and inconsequential. What am I actually doing to alleviate suffering in the world? And is what I’m doing an afterthought once I work through all my “big” problems of the day? You know, lack of sleep, work presentations, cooking dinner, balancing the family budget. When compared to slavery, sexual violence, human exploitation and abuse of power, such problems seem just the tangential arguments that can keep us from actually doing anything useful – foolish.

Thanks again for letting me post. It has been a great blessing for me to be taken back to the heart of the stories and to the reason I love IJM so much – the people whom we serve.

Smothering Humbert: Because Being a Mother of a Junior Higher is Still Hell

I shopped with my oldest daughter yesterday.  I did not have to call any cabs, but I did not end up with many clothes for her either.

We struck out in several stores.  She chose to visit these stores.  They were P.S. Aero or whatever that Aeropostale for even littler and younger people is called, Justice for Girls ( I SO wish this meant the clothes were fair trade or promoted justice or something - then I might actually be willing to pay those prices), GAPkids, Old Navy. We bought one pair of capris and one shirt in 77 AE or whatever that American Eagle for even littler and younger people is called.  And one dress at Target.

Part of the problem: she doesn't know what she really wants.  She told me "I like what other people are wearing, but I can't find it." Where do children take stabbing-knife-into-mom's-heart lessons?  My dear girl, can we talk about finding your own style? No, we can't.  Because she would equate that with dressing like mom.  *gasp*

The other part of the problem: the clothes are too skimpy. We are shopping for school, which, thank God, has dress codes.  No shorty shorts or spaghetti straps.  Of which there are an abundance, or even almost the ONLY thing being sold in my daughter's size for summer.

I have been thinking about having a full-blown conversation about modesty, but have shied away from it because I have not been sure to strike the right tone.  I am going to address only a bit of our societal hypocrisy about modesty that was highlighted by shopping with my junior higher.  I bring you a discussion of an article called "Reviving Lolita: or, Because Junior High is Still Hell" by Alyssa Harad.

There is a lot of pressure on junior high girls.  Not just the kind they get from mom and dad about honor roll and first chair and captain and all that.  Harad discusses the vague understanding these on-the-brink-of-womenhood girls possess about labels around sexuality.  They know they are unlocking a sexual power in the next few years that will be the strongest it will be in their entire lifetime, yet they fear being a "slut." Teenage girls don't want to have zero sex appeal and be ridiculed by other girls and rejected by boys, yet they don't want too much sexuality either, especially if it draws the scary desire of men.

Harad brings attention to Lolita, title character of Nabokov's famous work.  Lolita is not even the real name of this child-woman who becomes the desired object of Humbert's affection.  It is Humbert's name for her.  The entire novel is about a young female character who never gets to voice her opinion or give a clue about her real self.  Her identity is completely given to us by a perverted middle aged creep.  Lolita, in our culture, has become a brand-name, so to speak, for an oversexed and attractive young woman who snares men.  Nabokov's Lolita is not beautiful; her charm lies in the fact that she is about to bloom.  She is a not-yet-picked blossom that will quickly fade once she is.  Humbert describes how he is "tormented" by her.  The reader is supposed to question Lolita's innocence.

You might be thinking - what does some fictional pedophile have to do with anything?  Harad takes us across the bridge by describing a new class she was offering at the college she teaches at called "The Rhetoric of Sexy Girls."  The point of this class was to discuss Lolita and other writings to explore how a girl gets labelled sexy, who decides, and what are the consequences?   She also was tongue-in-cheek  curious to find out if it would get any men to take a women's studies course.

It turned out that 22 men and 3 women had signed up for her 25 spot class.  She received winks and jokes from male colleagues.  "The message became clear: sexy girls were a private joke between heterosexual men.  The absoluteness of this conclusion had overriden everything else about the course, including its status as a college class, its content.... On the second day of class I explained to the roomful of over 50 students who showed up to try to get in that they would spend most of the class looking through the eyes of young girls, and that we would be talking about sex, yes, but that would include talking about things like rape, sexual abuse, shame and guilt as well as pleasure ... By the next class meeting, there were 11 men and 12 women in the class."

Harad also points out how many ads have young girls posing as sexy women, or women erotically posed as innocent girls.  As my good friend said when I asked her the wisdom of posting a hot-button topic like modesty "who designs and markets stuff to girls?"  Humbert Humbert, I guess.

Harad's article concludes (it kind of fizzles towards the end) by saying that women (and junior high girls) will fare far better if we learn to trust one another instead of learning to be mean and estranged from one another. I thought this was kind of a weak note to end on and dismissed the article as not as good as I thought it was going to be.  Until I thought about it more today.

Honesty is just what we need. I'm going to be honest about a few things.

#1  In a recent video gone viral a man chides that if we didn't buy it, it wouldn't sell.  There is always truth in this, provided there are other things to buy. For instance, it is almost impossible to buy, say, fair trade underwear for kids.  Good luck with that.  You could try to make it yourself.  Good luck with that too. There is not a whole lot of selection for skinny little size 14 in the legs but 10 in the waist girls. If you doubt me, critics of parents, you take that daughter shopping.  The rule is that she has to actually wear the stuff to school that you buy on that excursion.  More than once.  It has to pass a day at school with no tears or ridicule.  Have you ever spent 80 bucks on a winter coat for your daughter only to watch her come home crying that she can never wear that coat again (though she begged you for it the day before) because she was made fun of?

#2 We as a culture DO worship a frozen time in a girl/woman's life as the ultimate in beauty and desirability. Christians included. We diet and exercise and buy make-up and dye our hair.  Then, we hiss and attack the woman who walks in looking just the way we all said we wanted to look. We tell her she's dressed immodestly.  Even if she's wearing the same dress we're trying to pull off - she just happens to look hot in it. (And the men bemoan how they are being made to stumble.  Even though they were the same ones praising that book about how wives should make themselves attractive to husbands). How do junior high girls figure out how to be women?  They watch grown-ups.  They pick up on all those subtleties we are not conscious of. They can see the invisible ink of our double standards.

#3 Mothers need more guilt like they need a hole in their heads, but I feel I must say: If Lolita's mama hadn't been trying to catch Humbert's attention herself, she would have been able to see his threat to her daughter. As a mother, this is a reminder to be an impenetrable security system for my children. 

No one had better call my daughters Lolita.  They have their own names.  Their own stories and identities.   Humbert should not get to tell the story and therefore minimize women and use our daughters.  Humbert would perish in a united mob of angry she-bears, especially those protecting their cubs. Once again, the idea of women in a supportive community being powerful rises to the top.