Woman-ness

 And we have a new president. And a new vice president.

In all honesty, until I saw posts on Facebook about friends gathering their daughters to watch the “historical moment” happening during the Inaugural, I completely forgot about the historical moment. A woman Vice President. Yay.

I mean, I realize this IS historical, and it’s probably a big deal. But I’m afraid it didn’t feel like a big deal to me. Neither did Hillary’s nomination five years ago (and a lot of people gave me flak for that). I was genuinely moved about our first black President. But I don’t know why watching a woman climb that political ladder doesn’t excite me more than it does. Maybe something is wrong with me?

Maybe it’s because I have never really felt suppressed as a woman. I don’t remember ever thinking there was anything I couldn’t do because of my gender. (Well . . . I can’t play on the Chiefs’ defensive line -- by the way, GO CHIEFS -- but other than that . . .)

Of course, I have generally only pursued activities that were female-friendly. I do have friends who have spoken of the discrimination they experienced trying to work in male-dominated professions. And I believe them. Mostly. No, really – I do. It’s just that . . . I have personally heard women friends complain about a man in the workplace disrespecting them for their gender, and having witnessed the moment they’re speaking of, I found myself thinking, “No, honey, I don’t think that’s because you’re a woman. I think it’s because you’re being a jerk. . . or because you’re coming across as an airhead . . . or because you’re not listening to them so why should they listen to you.” Sometimes it’s easier to cry misogyny than it is to examine yourself for weaknesses.

Nevertheless, I find myself wondering if I’m really that out-of-touch with the American female experience. When I see obstacles standing in the way of my pursuits, I find they are usually of my own making, not imposed from without.

There was one time, however.

My first year of teaching was my second year of marriage, and I was struggling mightily with all my new roles. I wanted to be the Perfect Wife – perfect, of course, as my mother has modeled it for me. Spotless, beautiful home . . . delicious, home-cooked meals . . . creative, hand-made gifts for the holidays . . . bless her, she was a phenomenal woman, but she was the 1950s ideal housewife, one step short of vacuuming in her pearls. And then I also wanted to be the Perfect Teacher – fun, innovative lessons . . . academically excellent students who loved me . . . present at all the extracurricular events to cheer my school on . . . you know.

And I was killing myself.

Then one morning, I woke up to the sudden revelation that I just might be pregnant. And everything came crashing down. Because I could NOT add Perfect Mother to this circus . . . and of course, being anything less than a perfect mother would be unacceptable.

It hit me at that moment that I had been told that I COULD do all of these things. Perfect wife. Perfect mom. Perfect career. I had been lied to. And folks, I was pissed. Because now I had made life choices based on that vision for my future, and I was stuck.

Ultimately, I quit teaching and had kids . . . and eventually figured out that the perfectionism was the problem. There’s a post for another day.

But congratulations to our new President and MADAM Vice President. Here’s to a new tone in Washington. A calmer, kinder, more conciliatory tone. Dare I say, a more female tone?

Nah. Better not go there.