Some years back, before I went through the temple, I had a discussion with a non-LDS friend of mine about garments. She, of course, thought they were extremely weird and a sign of oppression and why would anyone wear them, etc. My main thoughts were that a) all things considered, yes they do limit some fashion choices, but at least it's not throat-to-wrist-to-feet coverings 24/7 like some faiths, and there are exceptions for circumstances and activities, and b)it's someone's underwear and how on earth is that ever anyone else's business? Lay off!
Only later after wearing the garment myself did I realize that the same question must then be posed to members of the Church. How is it anyone else's business whether an individual is wearing their garments on a given day or not? Or at all or not? It's not, but I'll tell you, it's impossible not to feel conspicuous about going out in public where other Mormons might see you and know/think you're not wearing them.
Example: I was recently at a friend's house for a get-together involving her mother on a day when I had run low on clean garments, so it was just me and regular heathen underwear. This mother can occasionally be a bit of a busy-body, and at one point when I was standing next to her, I'm fairly certain I felt the edge of my shirt lifted and then lowered. I was busy doing something so I can't absolutely confirm that this happened, and she made no comments, but I wouldn't put it past her from my experiences being around her. If this indeed happened, not only did she invade my personal space without permission--and I have very specific issues with people messing with my clothes, especially when I'm wearing them--but... what business is it of hers or anyone's? None. Absolutely none.
If I'm wearing my garments, it doesn't matter.
If I'm not wearing my garments, it doesn't matter.
My underwear is none of your business. Ever.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Saturday, August 11, 2012
The Self-Esteem Sandwich
Body image is on my mind, in case you couldn't tell.
I was on the phone with a man the other day--one that I greatly admire and think is more or less made of awesome and I-wish-I-were-more-like-you--and we've had some great phone conversations before, but that one just felt a little... flat. Maybe my fault, maybe his, maybe both, maybe neither, maybe I interrupted him doing something (in which case, I'm glad he took the amount of time he did out of what he was doing), maybe he was distracted... doesn't matter. It was shortish and inconclusive in the realm of "Hey, so when do you want to get together?" and I felt like a complete doofus who can't communicate with the Y-chromosome portion of the species to save my life after we hung up. Not my finest moment. (Then I got to whine about it to a friend afterwards to distract her from her own man-woes, so that worked out okay.) And, as so very often happens, it got me thinking. There might've been a nudge/shove from Dryad involved, too.
Anyway, I was finally able to verbalize something I've known about myself for a while but hadn't found the right visual for it. Usually, I think of self-esteem as one whole entity.
There's seeds of doubt or confidence at the core of it, and then the flesh is either good or bad, juicy or dry, healthy or rotten. That model never really satisfied me, though, and I finally figured out why. My personal self-esteem looks something more like this.
On top we find a fine, strong, lovely layer of good feelings about self and healthy attitudes. This is my smile, my laugh, my kindness to others, my encouragement, my Feminista, my "I am a good person to be around and know"ness.
On the bottom, we find a fine, strong, lovely layer of "I am a daughter of God and Goddess", divine nature, individual worth, core values, and a relative confidence that I have a right to be in the world, that I have a purpose, gifts, things to share and contribute to humanity: my "I am a good person to have exist."
And in the middle is a thick, brown, sticky layer of "What are you, why are you here, and why would anyone want you?" that leaves a bad taste in the mouth.
This is echoed in the conscious realization that the physical traits for which I do get complimented are all peripheral: hair, eyes, face, hands, feet... eyebrows. (Seriously, people love my eyebrows.) I have never, ever, ever been told by a reliable, male source that my body is beautiful. I've been called sexy by guys on dating sites, and at that point it doesn't feel like a compliment. I am unable to take it as a compliment; it feels objectifying because they don't know me. I can't or won't trust it, and I'm automatically suspicious of any man that says it.
Hell of a rock and a hard place situation, isn't it? I know I'm awesome, but I only know that on the top and bottom. The mush in the middle is hard to swallow, and there's precious little Mother's Milk with which to wash it down and tell me I'm good all the way through.
I was on the phone with a man the other day--one that I greatly admire and think is more or less made of awesome and I-wish-I-were-more-like-you--and we've had some great phone conversations before, but that one just felt a little... flat. Maybe my fault, maybe his, maybe both, maybe neither, maybe I interrupted him doing something (in which case, I'm glad he took the amount of time he did out of what he was doing), maybe he was distracted... doesn't matter. It was shortish and inconclusive in the realm of "Hey, so when do you want to get together?" and I felt like a complete doofus who can't communicate with the Y-chromosome portion of the species to save my life after we hung up. Not my finest moment. (Then I got to whine about it to a friend afterwards to distract her from her own man-woes, so that worked out okay.) And, as so very often happens, it got me thinking. There might've been a nudge/shove from Dryad involved, too.
Anyway, I was finally able to verbalize something I've known about myself for a while but hadn't found the right visual for it. Usually, I think of self-esteem as one whole entity.
 |
| Kinda like one of these. (Buy a tree here) |
There's seeds of doubt or confidence at the core of it, and then the flesh is either good or bad, juicy or dry, healthy or rotten. That model never really satisfied me, though, and I finally figured out why. My personal self-esteem looks something more like this.
On the bottom, we find a fine, strong, lovely layer of "I am a daughter of God and Goddess", divine nature, individual worth, core values, and a relative confidence that I have a right to be in the world, that I have a purpose, gifts, things to share and contribute to humanity: my "I am a good person to have exist."
And in the middle is a thick, brown, sticky layer of "What are you, why are you here, and why would anyone want you?" that leaves a bad taste in the mouth.
This is echoed in the conscious realization that the physical traits for which I do get complimented are all peripheral: hair, eyes, face, hands, feet... eyebrows. (Seriously, people love my eyebrows.) I have never, ever, ever been told by a reliable, male source that my body is beautiful. I've been called sexy by guys on dating sites, and at that point it doesn't feel like a compliment. I am unable to take it as a compliment; it feels objectifying because they don't know me. I can't or won't trust it, and I'm automatically suspicious of any man that says it.
Hell of a rock and a hard place situation, isn't it? I know I'm awesome, but I only know that on the top and bottom. The mush in the middle is hard to swallow, and there's precious little Mother's Milk with which to wash it down and tell me I'm good all the way through.
Friday, August 10, 2012
Busy Biz-y Buzz Buzz
I haven't forgotten you, darlings, I'm just trying to open a new business and pray my grandparents don't die. I am a bucket o' sunshine this year, aren't I? (There might be several episodes of Doctor Who involved, as well. Just sayin'.)
However, in lieu of recording my woes and insecurities about timing, staying, going, living, and dying, I'm just going to tell you all to go here and read some hilarious, often-profane, and insightful posts about what it's like to be a Mid-Single. I wanna make that woman my newest best friend.
Anyway, I'll be back again. I'm looking for something happy to talk about. There must be things of good report in this world, so I shall seek after them then return and report.
However, in lieu of recording my woes and insecurities about timing, staying, going, living, and dying, I'm just going to tell you all to go here and read some hilarious, often-profane, and insightful posts about what it's like to be a Mid-Single. I wanna make that woman my newest best friend.
Anyway, I'll be back again. I'm looking for something happy to talk about. There must be things of good report in this world, so I shall seek after them then return and report.
Black magic
I have seen black magic.
You have, too, if you know the signs,
The dark marks of a modern cursing
Born in loathsome mutters across the airwaves.
For you see, the black magic that poisons us is not transacted with
Chicken blood or
Eye of newt.
No, the incantations of black magic today
Tell us that we are ugly
That the shape of our bodies is wrong
That we eat, drink, sleep, dress, and play
Wrong.
It drains our pockets and our hearts
In the pursuit of an unattainable lie.
It promises glory with one more lipstick
A two-in-one mascara
A stream-lined car
And rock-hard abs.
The belly is meant to be soft,
Home to vitals and bowels,
Breath and blood and digestion,
A place of comfort and warmth,
The womb.
Black magic casts it with shame and demands that it and all other soft and warm and lovely things be sacrificed
upon an altar of stone and steel.
This is the black magic of our times,
The incantations that coax and coerce and cajole and convince
That we are not divine.
We are not already in the image of God or Goddess.
It isn't okay to be a little overgrown, a little lush, a little wild and untamed.
Black magic says that.
You have, too, if you know the signs,
The dark marks of a modern cursing
Born in loathsome mutters across the airwaves.
For you see, the black magic that poisons us is not transacted with
Chicken blood or
Eye of newt.
No, the incantations of black magic today
Tell us that we are ugly
That the shape of our bodies is wrong
That we eat, drink, sleep, dress, and play
Wrong.
It drains our pockets and our hearts
In the pursuit of an unattainable lie.
It promises glory with one more lipstick
A two-in-one mascara
A stream-lined car
And rock-hard abs.
The belly is meant to be soft,
Home to vitals and bowels,
Breath and blood and digestion,
A place of comfort and warmth,
The womb.
Black magic casts it with shame and demands that it and all other soft and warm and lovely things be sacrificed
upon an altar of stone and steel.
This is the black magic of our times,
The incantations that coax and coerce and cajole and convince
That we are not divine.
We are not already in the image of God or Goddess.
It isn't okay to be a little overgrown, a little lush, a little wild and untamed.
Black magic says that.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Celebrating my feminista
I got asked tonight if I'm a feminist.
Best question ever. :D
So just in case anyone missed the memo: Yes, I am a feminist.
Best question ever. :D
So just in case anyone missed the memo: Yes, I am a feminist.
- I believe absolutely in the equal rights of men and women.
- I believe the genitalia and/or DNA any person possesses should neither entitle nor disenfranchise.
- I believe in respecting those who are different and protecting and uplifting those who are downtrodden.
- I do not hate men nor do I want to be exactly like one; I glory in my personal female identity.
- I work toward the day when femaleness and maleness are regarded with identical amounts of respect because of humanness.
Additionally...
- I believe absolutely in the right of anyone to be different.
- I believe that biological sex and expressed gender are spectra; everyone is a mix of male and female traits, genes, and tissues.
- I believe that what diminishes one, diminishes all. What uplifts one, uplifts all.
And you should check out this link: Snopes--Red Hot Mamas (The truth about "bra-burning" feminists.)
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Believing "Inactivity"
I've gone briefly "inactive" twice in my life. Both periods lasted for about six to eight weeks. That's hardly anything to some people and it really didn't feel very long at all to me, but both times it was enough to get me on the radar. I guess that speaks to people caring about me. How many people drop off the radar and no one says a peep? I'm deeply gratified and glad that people care about and want me. I know not everyone feels so blessed when their attendance wanes or stops altogether.
The past three months have been difficult. I've been to my singles ward all of three times since Mom died, including today. I only stayed for Sacrament meeting today because I had an engagement party to attend for an old friend who asked me to be her bridesmaid. I went to my sister's Ward last week, halfway across the state, to surprise her and her husband when they gave talks. I've been sort of attending church all along, though my strictitude in doing so has diminished considerably.
That doesn't mean I don't believe, though. I do.
I believe very strongly, even when I'm railing against patriarchy. I believe very strongly, even when I see malls built on the interest from investments made in part with my tithing money.* I believe very strongly, even when I feel like I can't get up in testimony meeting and proclaim my love for my Heavenly Mother and talk about how someday I believe women will see their power and authority recognized once again. I believe very strongly, even when I contemplate whether the institutional Church has lost its way, if Correlation is a form of apostasy and spiritual dictatorship, and if I really want to give my silent stamp of approval on "all of that" by continuing to show up. I believe very strongly, even when I feel disinclined toward being married in the temple, and contemplate how that meshes with elements of my Patriarchal Blessing. (Sealed? Yes. Married? That's a whole other post.)
For any and all of my weird, fringe-y diversions from what's scripted as "the Mormon norm", I still believe. It's not just my religion, it's my personal cosmology to believe that there's more than just this life, that there's something beyond death, and that an afterlife without progression is... pointless. It's my personal ethics and morality to "believe in being honest, true, chaste, benevolent, and in doing good to all" people. I see what we generally call "Mormonism" as something bigger than and encompassing Mormonism, Islam, Christianity, Judaism, Buddhism, Paganism, preJudaism... -ism -ism -ism... preMosiac law... prePatriarchy, back to and beyond any literal or figurative Adam and Eve. Mormonism is just a title that got slapped on it in modern times, under modern circumstances by people that hate(d) those that believe in it. What's a better term for it? Saintism? Elohimity? What can one call this tapestry that stretches back through unknown generations of exalted mortals, and spreads forward through countless more where--upon the great glowing pattern--the thread of Divine Grace spells "Love One Another"?
I don't know. I don't know what it is, but it is what I believe. That's what I hope I'll always believe, whether I sit in nature or a pew.
----------
*At least that's the source of City Creek's finances that I've heard. I could be wrong, and I welcome correction if I am. I do want to have my facts straight.
The past three months have been difficult. I've been to my singles ward all of three times since Mom died, including today. I only stayed for Sacrament meeting today because I had an engagement party to attend for an old friend who asked me to be her bridesmaid. I went to my sister's Ward last week, halfway across the state, to surprise her and her husband when they gave talks. I've been sort of attending church all along, though my strictitude in doing so has diminished considerably.
That doesn't mean I don't believe, though. I do.
I believe very strongly, even when I'm railing against patriarchy. I believe very strongly, even when I see malls built on the interest from investments made in part with my tithing money.* I believe very strongly, even when I feel like I can't get up in testimony meeting and proclaim my love for my Heavenly Mother and talk about how someday I believe women will see their power and authority recognized once again. I believe very strongly, even when I contemplate whether the institutional Church has lost its way, if Correlation is a form of apostasy and spiritual dictatorship, and if I really want to give my silent stamp of approval on "all of that" by continuing to show up. I believe very strongly, even when I feel disinclined toward being married in the temple, and contemplate how that meshes with elements of my Patriarchal Blessing. (Sealed? Yes. Married? That's a whole other post.)
For any and all of my weird, fringe-y diversions from what's scripted as "the Mormon norm", I still believe. It's not just my religion, it's my personal cosmology to believe that there's more than just this life, that there's something beyond death, and that an afterlife without progression is... pointless. It's my personal ethics and morality to "believe in being honest, true, chaste, benevolent, and in doing good to all" people. I see what we generally call "Mormonism" as something bigger than and encompassing Mormonism, Islam, Christianity, Judaism, Buddhism, Paganism, preJudaism... -ism -ism -ism... preMosiac law... prePatriarchy, back to and beyond any literal or figurative Adam and Eve. Mormonism is just a title that got slapped on it in modern times, under modern circumstances by people that hate(d) those that believe in it. What's a better term for it? Saintism? Elohimity? What can one call this tapestry that stretches back through unknown generations of exalted mortals, and spreads forward through countless more where--upon the great glowing pattern--the thread of Divine Grace spells "Love One Another"?
I don't know. I don't know what it is, but it is what I believe. That's what I hope I'll always believe, whether I sit in nature or a pew.
----------
*At least that's the source of City Creek's finances that I've heard. I could be wrong, and I welcome correction if I am. I do want to have my facts straight.
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