RABID COYOTES AND THE ART OF MAKING NEW FRIENDS.

I remember in vivid detail the first time I succumbed to peer pressure. At the tender age of seven, I was told by a new “friend” that I was to march across the playground to my existing BFF, Emily, and inform her she would no longer be holding the position of my numero uno.  I recall feeling queasy, completely aware of and saddened by what this would do to sweet Emily. I desperately wanted out of the predicament.

I walked sheepishly over to the balance beam she played on, my schoolmate bully following, prodding me like a baby calf on the way to the slaughterhouse.  She hovered over us with a twinkle in her eye as I proceeded to rip the precious heart from my kindred spirit and smite out any remaining chance of reconciliation.  

At that precise moment, I became (punch to every mother’s gut) a follower. This single event set the stage for the rest of my formative years. This bully, acting under the guise of friendship, remained in my life for far too long. As in any abusive relationship, my self-confidence was repeatedly shattered, convincing me that she was a necessity in my life, serving as the only link to the super cool clique every girl wanted to be a part of (or so I believed).  Her specialty was shaming me amongst our peers, as my parents had a relatively humble home and weren’t the owners of any luxury vehicles. My position on the bottom rung of that shiny ladder was solidified through high school.  I was 20 before I finally shook her like an old dirty coat.  

Flash forward to my mid-30s. I’m not known for a warm inviting smile. The fact that I keep a straight face most of the time has commonly led people to make negative assumptions about my personal character. My “resting bitch face” has proven to be very effective in the art of “how to not make new friends.”  I’ve sufficiently managed to keep prospective friends at arm’s length, maintaining the sentiment that I just don’t need them, they require more than I have to offer.

Well, my theory was just plain wrong. I became acutely aware of this a few years ago when my middle daughter started school. I would see other moms at pick up time (looking fabulous in their active wear) and feel instantly intimidated by the daily small talk they’d engage in. “They must all go way back,” I thought, “longtime friends with established play-groups.”  I instantly labeled myself an outsider and was resigned to waiting in the car until the moment before the bell rang.  I made assumptions, stereotyping these innocent, possibly kind-hearted women, all in the name of self-preservation. After all, what could we have in common? My kids eat frozen corn dogs and I don’t even have a Facebook account. I don’t remember connecting with anyone for most of that school year and, consequently, neither did my daughter.  I became aware that my social issues and standoff attitude were directly affecting her potential friendships. I knew I had to man up and force myself to dive headfirst into a cesspool brimming with every variety of female shark known to science, all sharp-toothed and anxious to rip me to shreds.

As it turns out, it wasn’t all bad, my daughter made a great friend and so did I, and that meeting has led me into contributing to this very website.

In hindsight, all these social struggles seem so unnecessary. I’ve done a lot of reflecting trying to figure out what about the seven-year-old me made a good candidate for being pushed around.  I had no obvious reason for having low self-worth. My mom had always modeled social  confidence and taught me, “it’s none of your business what anyone  thinks about you.”  Maybe it’s just a simple human tendency to desire to be part of a pack. But, some children simply lack the good judgement required to choose the right pack to run with. Unfortunately (as my father always reminded me), you are who you hang out with. And, I got myself into plenty of trouble throughout the years, along with my pack. Damnit, why didn’t I recognize my parents' wisdom sooner?

I want my daughter to decide for herself whom she will call “friend”.  I’m doing my best to help her grow in confidence while also humbly accepting personal failure. I also need for her to understand (in eight-year-old terms) that if a peer pushes her into something she’s uncomfortable with or makes her feel shameful, she is under no obligation to continue that relationship. Friends will no doubt disappoint at times, and that is okay, but there needs to be a threshold. More importantly, I’m trying to teach her to trust her instincts in determining the difference between genuine and phony. She doesn’t necessarily have to be a leader, but she also needn’t be a follower, she can just be exactly who she is. While insisting she be kind to everyone, she is given the right to decide what qualities are important in a friend and whether or not she will invest in that personal relationship because any worthwhile friendship requires a sizable investment on both ends.

It’s a learning curve for the both of us. I’ve met some pretty great women lately. As hard as it may be to trust they are women and not rabid coyotes, I am making investments. Some of these ladies are cynical and jaded, like me. We share a common perspective and love to hate the same things. I find comfort around them because I know I’m understood. And some are refreshingly positive and sweet, seeming never to have a sarcastic thought. This I find fascinating as my mind is proficient in all things negative and social assumptions are as natural, for me, as breathing air. I am learning from them how to assume the best of others, and I have yet to be disappointed. Finding good people has taken me far too long, but I do believe I’ve arrived. I’m hopeful that my daughter is observing what healthy relationships look like and will also choose to surround herself with authentic humans who have her best interests at heart.

-Shelley

HAS SEX BECOME JUST ANOTHER CHORE YOU DON'T WANT TO DO?

“Let’s talk about sex baby, let’s talk about you and me, let’s talk about all the good things and the bad things that may be, let’s talk about sex.” -Salt-N-Pepa

Disclaimer: If you’re my mom or my dad or my mother in law or my father in law or any old person I look up to, promptly close the window on your screen and move along to Facebook or something.

I was in a self-help book club before we moved. It was glorious, full of intelligent, interesting, open-minded women eager to share their perspectives. There are certain requirements for a book club to be considered legitimate. One is books and the other is wine. I’m a rule follower, so naturally, our book club had both.

At around hour three, the wine bottles were usually empty and the subject matter had taken a surprising turn- to sex. This happened Every.Single.Time. We learned some interesting things about one another. I’m a classic oversharer. Especially when booze is involved. (You take that one bit of information to your graves girls. Y'all know which one I’m talking about.)

Anyway, this book club, coupled with the intimate stories told to a hairstylist, and tidbits from friends, have given me some insight about how much and what kind of sex everybody is having and how they feel about it.

From what I’m hearing, most of you just aren’t into it. Sex has become yet another chore, lifetimes away from the glory days of pre-wedded bliss.

Is this because the world is complicated and exhausting? Is it because your hormones are whack-a-doodle from the aforementioned exhausting life, coupled with pregnancy upon pregnancy? Is it because you feel like your hot factor has dramatically declined in the last half-decade or so? Is your marriage doomed?

The answer probably lies somewhere within all of those, except maybe the doomed marriage part (fingers crossed for you).

Most of us are gettin’ it on somewhere between 1-3 times per week, according to stats on The Google. But, realistically, word on the street (my street) puts it more at like 0-1 times per week. Zero times is a travesty, ladies. Sex is free, fun, and it’s healthy. And, it’s good for your marriage. It’s a win, win, win… win.

We don’t need to hold ourselves to the standards of a national average. Quality over quantity makes a difference. Five wham-bam-thank-you-mams in a week don’t count for much when it comes to emotional connection. Not every night is going to be filled with mind-blowing sex, but you gotta squeeze those in whenever you can. It’s a subjective necessity that varies for everyone. If once per week you’re having an intense session and everyone is satisfied, then don’t play the comparison game.

Let’s pick apart what’s going on for those of us that just aren’t feeling it. (These suggestions are predicated on the assumption that there aren’t additional emotional/ sexual issues to address for either party- we’ll address some of these in future blogs.)

If you feel like you’ve never recovered from the cray cray hormonal fest that is pregnancy and/or breastfeeding, you’re in good company. I’ve certainly been there. After 15 months of breastfeeding my second and third children, I had the energy levels and the libido of a cardboard box. Getting your hormones checked is a losing battle, because they fluctuate wildly depending on where you’re at in your cycle, so don’t waste any bucks there. First off, everyone needs to take Vitamin D3, Magnesium, B12, and iron (this one only if you’ve tested deficient). These vitamins are game changers for your energy levels and almost all of us are deficient (yes, even the healthy eaters).

Check out adaptogens, like ashwagandha and rhodiola. These aid stress regulation and hormonal regulation. While not an adaptogen, SAM-e helps with stress and depression. Read my article about Adrenal Fatigue. If it resonates with you, think about making the suggested changes.

Maca root powder, Evening Primrose, krill oil, and DIM are excellent supplements for regulating hormones in whatever direction needed. A lot of us (most of us) are estrogen dominant (read about this here) because of mass exposure in our environments. It’s important to avoid unnecessary exposure to estrogens- plastics, non-organic produce, soy, non-botanical cleaners, make-ups, and hair products, etc etc.

Cleaning up your diet, to support health and energy will do so much more than improve your libido. You’re worth it. Your family is worth it. Your marriage is so worth it.

Now that we’ve gotten the health stuff out of the way, let’s talk about the possibility of you just not feeling sexy enough to want to actually have sex. Your husband’s idea of sexy has more to do with your self-confidence, and his complete and utter love for you, than that extra 15 pounds you just can’t seem to shake. He doesn’t care. He’s not picking you apart the way that you do yourself. He wants you. Don’t deny yourselves that satisfaction and sense of connection because you want to keep your saddlebags under wraps.

Maybe things have gotten monotonous and the payoff isn’t feeling worth the effort involved. Good sex is a two-way street. It’s like that thing we always say to our kids - “bored people are boring.” Get off your back and have some fun, mix it up, dress it up. It might feel silly, but some sexy music and a pretty lil’ something can set the tone. I have a sexy time playlist on my phone. It helps take me out of my responsible, adult, list making head, and puts me in the mood. I’ll even listen to it during the day to rev myself up for the upcoming evening. I associate good times with those songs and enjoy thinking about that more than just when we’re in the moment.

If your husband still doesn’t seem to know what’s up with your body, nothing is going to change unless you share what you’ve learned with him. He doesn’t have a vagina, how is he supposed to know what to do with yours if you aren’t incredibly specific, down to the last detail? Everyone likes different stuff. You won’t hurt his feelings if you clue him into what works for you. Most men greatly appreciate the guidance. They love to see you satisfied. It makes them feel accomplished. (If your husband isn’t interested in anything more than his own needs, that’s a relationship issue that surely bleeds over into everything else, and most definitely requires intensive mending. Ditto if you’re not thinking about his needs.)

Guilt is another roadblock in allowing our partners to pleasure us. I used to make assumptions about what my husband did and didn’t want to do, or how he felt about spending time just on me. The truth is that he loves me and enjoys seeing me feel good. He thinks I’m worth the effort.

Some of us struggle with shame and embarrassment surrounding sex or nudity. It’s hard to talk openly and use all the anatomical words to describe what we want in the light of day. Some of us may not even be sure what we like or what works. There’s no magic bullet for removing programmed shame. It takes time and forced communication. The more you talk about it, the more you experiment on your own and together, the more desensitized you’ll become. Up until I was about 30, I struggled with discussing and learning my own preferences, relying upon various partners to teach me. Over time, through toeing the line of my comfort zone, it’s become a much easier and far more rewarding process.

If none of this seems applicable, and you’re just not into your guy, that sounds like a marriage problem, lack of sexual interest being a byproduct, probably accompanied by a host of other byproducts.

Assuming you’re in love with your husband, there are little changes that can make big differences.

Here are a few things that have proven helpful with maintaining intimacy in my marriage:

I go out of my way to really notice my husband, the way his arms flex as he’s making his breakfast, his cute lil’ butt walking around the house in his sweatpants (which I give a squeeze every chance I get). I pop into his office regularly to sneak more than a basic smooch and maybe pass a lil’ verbal foreplay his way. These things may sound silly, but they build tension and by day’s end we’re excited for more. It takes effort and mindfulness, but it’s minimal, reminds us of our pre-children selves, and it’s fun.

I know that we’re all spent by the time we’ve cleaned dinner dishes, herded a bunch of kids into the bath, gotten them to sleep, and then settled into the reprieve from parenting that is bedtime. I don’t think any of us are immune to that. Sex after a long day is like exercise, you have to motivate yourself to get started. Once you’ve done it, it’s almost never regrettable. Most of us have a laundry list of shit we need to do all day, every day, and often times sex just doesn’t make the cut. Wine on the couch sounds much more alluring. Making sex a priority can grow your relationship, and the extra strength it adds to our partnerships helps us handle the chaos of life and parenthood. It’s a fundamental part of marriage, a physical extension of the emotional connection that is imperative to a healthy, loving relationship. It’s not just about getting your husbands rocks off because men have “needs.” If you allow yourself to really be immersed in it and take the time to nurture that connection, so many aspects of your marriage and your self-image stand to benefit. If you’re not having sex, you’re roommates- you’ve removed an incredibly special and definitive piece of your marital relationship. Rewrite that list, move intimacy up several spots and see what happens, you’ll likely be pleasantly surprised.

-Angi

Side note: I really want to emphasize that so many women have varying degrees of psychological associations with sex and current experiences are colored by past experiences. It’s not always a drive issue and definitely not always as simple as I’m presenting in this blog if your sexual history and upbringing are complicated. There’s help out there, and it's more common than you think ❤️.

THERE WILL BE BLOOD (Daniel Day Lewis to be played by a Tampax)- Embracing the Beauty of our Female Cycles.

 I am on the brink of having a woman as a daughter. My 11-year-old has passed into the realm of breast buds and mood-swings. She is asserting her independence daily; stretching her long legs out to see if the same old boundaries still apply. She is asking for opportunities where we can choose to trust her, and then pushing us as far as she can to see if we can still be trusted to be there. One day soon she will bleed from the most sacred of her body parts. What could possibly go wrong? I went through this same thing. All women did, and we have fond memories of that time right… right?!... shit.

There isn’t a lot of positive confirmation in the whole period department. Typically, our moms didn’t say the right thing, or they said nothing at all. We tend to simply chalk up the failures of our mothers during this time as a phase we lived through. We turned out alright, so will our daughters. Maybe.

Let’s be honest, this ‘day and age’ cannot be depended on to represent a healthy version of what a woman is. Unless we are hiding our girls under rocks, they have seen (or someone has colorfully described to them) Miley Cyrus riding on a wrecking ball. Family movie nights have relentlessly depicted the one right way for a woman to have a body. And, any two-dimensional coming-of-age idol that they may desire to imitate has been put through the sexually objectified wringer (with no objections). Such is life.  Heap on the weight of every trite observation that is made about pubescent girls in our society, and get on with the journey.

But what if we could offer them more? Who is to say that you cannot rewrite the best version of this experience, the one that you wished you’d had, and give it to her? What would it take? Go back to 12 years old you. It’s that gangly time where you made strange fashion choices and your close-to-full set of adult teeth looked too big for your mouth.  You were on the verge; an old favorite Barbie still stashed in a drawer, alongside a journal full of magazine cutouts of Keanu Reeves’ face. What would it have taken for someone to empower you for the transition ahead?

If I could rewrite that chapter in my life, I would have my mom speak proudly about the things that were to come. I felt her apprehension about what my body was doing like a shameful punch in the stomach. There was no getting out of it, I was turning into a woman. It was going to yield a crabby disposition, uncleanliness, and pain. And, oh by the way, “I’m so happy for you.” What the fuck?

I can say now, with complete wisdom, that she didn’t lie to me. All that jazz was true. Patience is sparse, blood is messy, and cramps hurt. The message from my mother and society was to accept it and then pretend it’s not happening for the rest of my life. Cover it up. Be a woman. What I wanted to hear so badly was, “Yeah, it’s hard. But it’s important and this is why…”

Becoming a woman means that your body will now remind you of what is most fundamental. Even if you want to forget, each month, your body will urge you to look inside yourself. Every message that we are berated with about being a beautiful, clean, untarnished, desired body, is thrown on its face by the cycles of womanhood.

The beginning of many women’s cycles starts with bloating and the discomfort of uterine tremors. These contractions assist in the shedding of the uterus lining, but they also effectively cause you to clear your schedule, slow down, and say “no”. I have learned that writing “just say no” on my calendar, during the first days of my cycle, is one of the best ways I can love myself.

There is nothing like a period to get you in contact with your body.  Whatever parts of you, that you’d rather ignore, demand hands-on attention.  I was using tampons before I was fully aware of the anatomy of my own vagina. That seems a little crazy, considering the logistics. With the progression of time, the blood that returned each month drew my focus to a place that no one wanted to talk about. Staying hygienic and tending to my menstrual needs guided me into having a relationship with my own body.

Surprise, surprise…  it wasn’t until after childbirth, that I understood the significance of fertility. Now as a mother of four, I covet those feelings that arrive with the release of an egg. I am passionate and creative with a force. It is this phase of my cycle that I love relating to the moon. When the albedo glow of the sun reflects back at us as a growing crescent, we too are able to construct new things, to grow into new ideas and give our energies to these endeavors. We wax like the moon, creating a literal new life within us,  or manifesting expressions of the life we lead now.

I couldn’t find poetic evidence that I wanted to scientifically connect us as women to the lunar phases. The electromagnetic forces that control our ocean tides have not conclusively been found to affect our ‘lady-tides’. However, our moon plays a vital role in circadian rhythms. The sun’s energy that reflects back to earth in our night sky does have an effect on our melatonin levels. This hormone doesn’t just make us sleepy, it also regulates our cycles! Boom, connected.

As our body’s hormones subside, and we prepare to expel the unfertilized egg, the world tells us that we are unbearable. I remember the first time my mom blamed my emotions on my period. I felt enraged that someone would tell me that I didn’t know how I felt like my own feelings couldn’t be trusted. PMS is a fucking superpower. Not allowing your body to slow down and rest? Cramps take care of that. Refusing to physically connect with “shameful” parts of your own body? Nothing a repeated bloody crotch won’t fix. And last but not least; Denying your self-worth? Not standing up for yourself? Pretending it doesn’t matter?? Post Menstrual Stress will dump those undealt with uglies right into your lap. The tears and angst come out like a torrent of unresolved disputes, and everything you stuffed away during the past 25 days has “better out than in” written all over it.  

When day one of my cycle comes, I don’t say “Gee whiz! This will be fun!” but I do have a deep respect for a process that has reconstructed my view about the woman body I live in.  I figured a lot of it out on my own, and that’s okay. I know now that early conversations about our bodies lead to young women who value sex in a safer way. Knowing our self-worth creates a clearer picture of what we want (regardless of what he wants). This kind of self-esteem, to speak our minds, is a virtue we can learn as girls.

I can’t wait to tell my daughter to trust her woman-self; her growing, changing, communicating body is a marvel. We know how to handle a fair share of shit. And, I can’t imagine that would be half as possible without the wonderful mechanisms of our menstrual cycles.

-Emily

OVERWHELMED BY LIFE- Tackling the Never Ending "To Do" List of Motherhood.

You know that feeling when you haven’t vacuumed for a while and a piece of dried up dinner bit gets stuck to your sock, then you walk around with it for a long time, aware of the little lump it creates with each step, mildly annoyed, but not motivated enough to do anything about it?

That’s the place I’m in right now. There are lots of little figurative bits creating frustrations, but I struggle to find the energy to work on them. The sum of their parts has proven great enough to stymie me.

My daughter has had her pacifier for too long. We took it away for a week. It started out well enough and then promptly ended when she started waking at 1 am and screaming uncontrollably for 2 hours. Do I have the energy to fix that? Maybe if it were my only problem, but as it stands now, no.

My oldest son is noticeably neglected feeling, and it’s affecting other parts of his life. When can I fix that? In between the diaper changes, breakfast making, lunch making, and morning grooming, or do I tell him he can’t play with his friends after school because he has to hang out with his mommy instead? And, what do I do with the other two kids who will pitch inevitable fits because they’re not in the mix?

My husband is noticeably neglected. How to keep my eyes open past 8:30 pm, so that we can talk about something other than all the shit we need to work on?

My youngest son has started having tantrums and retreating to the stairwell closet when I refuse him a pre-dinner snack or a post-dinner dessert. We both know he’s not going to eat shit if I cave. And, he’s been telling me he wants a new mommy before he slams the door to the closet. This was the kid that liked me the most, as far as I could tell.

At all times, at least two out of three of my children do not like meat, beans, cheese, eggs, or rice. Wtf am I supposed to cook for these people??

I’ve had a big kid home sick from school for 3 of the last 4 weeks, thereby removing the bulk of my beloved, and entirely necessary for my sanity, toddler naptime respite, my only personal time. Can you say angst?

I’ve been allowing myself to derive too much of my self-worth from social media responses to this God-forsaken blog, and that’s a recipe for depression.

I’m tired.

I think I have to go back to work, and I  don’t wanna.

And like 10 other things.

Deep breath. And another. And another.

On adequate sleep, and maybe with one or two less kids, these things wouldn’t feel insurmountable. Getting laundry done, tidying the house, and making all the food for all the people seems like the only stuff that can make the list. How in the hell are we supposed to do that AND be good moms? No, really, I’m asking… how? Somebody tell me, please, cuz I’m at a loss. Being a housekeeper is a full-time job. I can’t not feed the children. They have to wear clothes. There’s nowhere to cut the fat from, cuz motherhood is notoriously fat-free.

I don’t want to just get by with “good enough.” I don’t want to have to choose between spending time with my son and cooking dinner. I don’t want to collapse into a chair and scroll through Instagram, instead of tackling the challenges in my life, because it’s the only thing that’s underwhelming and requires nothing of me.

Let’s talk about this. Let’s have a dialogue about how women are supposed to pull off the ever-growing, downright unrealistic, expectations of us as mothers, while also working out, eating well, and maintaining friendships. 

For me, for today, I’m just going to pick one thing and chip away at it, moment by moment, with quiet resolve, reminding myself that my childhood hero, Wonder Woman, was only as real as her invisible jet. Cuz that’s all I’ve got. The rest of the list can wait, neatly folded up and tucked into my back pocket, because it simply has to. I can’t be all things to all people, but I can be one thing in each moment, and through the powers of intention and mindfulness, I can do my damnedest to make those moments count for something.

-Angi

GOOD WOMAN- Challenging the Stereotypical Definitions of Good Men and Women.

Like anyone else, I have idealized the occasional Hollywood face. Depending on the storyline, or character, the actor or actress may have the power to creep into my heart and nestle into the corners of my outlook on society. Case in point, me crying through all of The Force Awakens because Daisy Ridley was a fully clothed, bad-ass, female Jedi, cast as the main character. This Star Wars movie even passes the meager “Bechdel” test;  two women, whose character names are known, speak to each other about something other than a man. Oh. My. Gawd. If you’ve never heard of this test, you will be disheartened at how many of your favorite childhood movies don’t come close to passing it. The incredulousness I felt about the portrayal of a strong woman character was lost on my 10-year-old daughter, who thankfully lives during a time when women and people of color are cast as heroes and heroines on the screen.

For me, the magnitude of fictional characters has transcended beyond the limits of amusement. During my formidable years, I yearned for that black dad off of The Cosby Show. He came home every night, didn’t yell, had money, and was clearly adored by his family for his sense of humor. The show made me have amicable feelings, ones that I had to rearrange upon hearing that Bill Cosby had a looooong line of women declaring him a rapist. I wish that I could say I was raised an informed feminist, but I wasn’t, and I felt pity at first for the fictional character I knew, played by a real-life man who did insanely wrong things to real women. Breaking up with Kevin Spacey and Louis C.K. won’t be nearly as hard.

While ranting and raving about the significance of having our entertainment craftily entwined with our worth, I have come across plenty of dismissive glances. Leave it to the budding feminist to tear apart our leisure ventures and turn pleasurable lounging into an activist movement. The caricatures that two-dimensional women are portrayed as seem to be the “phantom” that Virginia Woolf claims “is far more difficult to murder than a reality.”  Yes, women are set at some disadvantages in life, but obviously, we have the capacity to construct ourselves separately from the images that Hollywood portrays of us… right??

The contagious empowerment of the woman voice is ablaze across all social medias right now with definitions of what a good man is and is not. “Toxic-masculinity” is being passionately discussed alongside the explicable difference of healthy masculinity. Testosterone that knows no bounds is scary. “Good men” know this. And I have to stop here because it struck me that we own this phrase, “good men” and know it well and can speak of it without assuming audacity. But damned if I can’t clearly imagine a bunch of men throwing around the expression “good women” without clearly defining what that is.

I challenge you to ask yourself even, what is a “good woman?” Is our quality defined along the same guidelines as men; loyalty and bravery? Is each sex admiringly sorted into the confines of JK Rowlings Gryffindor-house definition? (I regress to admit Harry Potter is a huge Bechdel-test failure…) A good woman is pulled apart by differing definitions of what she should be.

I know intrinsically what a “good man” should be. Aside from the very obvious, obtaining consent before performing sexual acts… a good man is loyal to his family and partner (if he has them) or, at the very least, to his friends. If he is loyal to his country, that is coined as ‘bravery’, which is narrowly distinguished on the big screen as brandishing a weapon and slaughtering opposing races in the name of glory, guts, and God.

But the flesh and blood ‘good man’ is brave and loyal in many other ways, like: learning something new, humbly facing humiliation, assisting the weak, or acting selflessly for the common good. A good man’s strength is displayed by his quiet ego, he listens before he speaks, and is naturally generous with his time and possessions. I could go on and on because I graciously married a living example (insert emoji with heart eyes here).

It is easy to proclaim a man “good” for having the attributes of a mother; sorting dirty laundry, making meals, changing a diaper or wearing a baby. Can the same be true for a woman who hustles like a stereotypical dad; dependably providing for the family, making individual sacrifices to forge a profitable career, keeping the bad day at the office confined to the office, relinquishing free time to be spent by the desires of the household...? Not likely.

Before you tell me that a good woman “fears God and submits to her husband”, I ask you to read some Naomi Wolf, or Carol Gilligan, then we can talk.

“...reclamation of moral authority could well lead women to make lasting social changes along its lines, and have faith to call those changes God’s will.  Compassion might replace hierarchy; a traditionally feminine respect for human life might severely damage an economy based on militarism and a job market based on the use of people as expendable resources. Women might recast human sexuality as proof of the sacredness of the body rather than of its sinfulness, and the old serviceable belief that equates femaleness with pollution might become obsolete.”

We, as women, are depending on one another (finally!), as a collective force, to challenge very old and wrong ways of thinking. The ‘here and now’ momentum that has given way to women speaking out against sexual harassment, male-entitlement, and toxic-masculinity, is setting the stage for a universal definition of a “good woman”. I see her holding up her head high as a living example for girls. She proudly has a body and speaks without shame about the functions of that body. She “can show you how to be strong, in the real way” (“Steven Universe” by Rebecca Sugar) and be a HERO to both girls AND boys. She can influence other women by embracing their unique differences, and still cherish what we share as human beings living in feminine vessels.

This week I hope to stop and appreciate the attributes I see in women that define them as “good”. We are often narrowly described as beautiful by many standards, but let’s “speak beauty when we see it” by broadened standards. Speak strength, even when butted up against failure. Speak support and community over judgment. Speak a love for yourself. You are the living embodiment of what a good woman can be.

-Emily