Traditions and customs thread the fabric of our communities and family life making it tricky to suss out substance from stereotypes. Urban myths and stories told in schools, religious organizations, through corporate marketing and social media perpetuate yesterday into today. Escaping messages about who and what we “ought” to be is unlikely. And change is hard.
For an independent, rebellious sort of female, fitting into a society shaped by men, for men is awkward. Don’t like to cook? Ahem. Want a rewarding career? Follow the formula. May require I cut off bits of myself to fit that mold; if I want the good stuff anyway. How about a family? There’s a formula for that too. Danger, Will Robinson!
Women could vote when I was born – by about four decades. Alas, they weren’t legally entitled to have a credit card in their name until 1974. I was a teenager. The gender pay gap was between 60% and 75% all my working life. Considerable impact on my lifetime earning potential. Today it’s still not at parity.
Freedom of movement, health and education for women did improve for my generation. I was 14 when abortion was made legal – granting me the basic right to choose for myself. Hmm . . appears we’re regressing.
Despite the progress, the ERA stalled and died. Subtle methods of indoctrination linger that maintain the patriarchy.
Untangling ingrained habits and beliefs in my own psyche is a journey. A twisty, circuitous road, full of dead ends and loop backs. Changing behavior is uncomfortable and takes time. Takes willingness to let go. Willingness to be different. And an awareness that something is off.
Abraham Hicks tells me I can be ready to be ready to be ready for awakening. Martha Beck reminds me that change happens best in 1-degree turns.
Today I’ll open my eyes and take one step in the direction I want to go. I change, the world changes.
“That is, to be ourselves causes us to be exiled by many others, and yet to comply with what others want causes us to be exiled from ourselves.”
― Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Women Who Run With the Wolves
Loved this!! Thanks, Margie!!
Thanks Gretchen – knowing the garden my life was planted in somehow releases me from its hold. Go figure.