The blessings of being a woman

After being told yesterday by a tall angry black man that as a white wo(e)-man whose forefathers have destroyed the earth, that I am ‘doomed to death and slavery to be reborn into hard physical labor once Revelations and other biblical things come to pass’, and also read in the Siddhur, a prayer book for Orthodox Jews, that every day Jewish men “give thanks to G-d they’re not women”, I am moved to write my essay.

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Thank G-ddess I am a woman. I am Her vessel and I couldn’t be more pleased.

That is –I am a wo(mb) and wo(e)-man in addition to having been at times maiden, mother, and crone. She made me perfect, if not always excellent, in every way.

Each stage of life has given me oodles of wisdom and blessings. In my “dotage”, my life tapestry is clear and ornate. I am exactly where I want to be right now- even as it’s likely that can change.

I thank G-ddess for giving me my exquisite senses. I appreciate a gentle breeze on my skin, the songs of small birds, and earth’s celestial glories. I get chills listening to refined usually classical music and as a tetrachrome with a version of synesthia, am viscerally excited by beautiful colors. I see hundreds of subtle differences. My slender fingers appreciate textures, drapes, and pile. Most men have no time to appreciate these things as they are caught up in their brutish superficial worlds.

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When I am a maiden, my breast are buds. Other than being small and beautiful, they haven’t shed milk. With them, I have more symmetry than a man. This makes me especially appealing as a hu(e)-man waveform with extra “balance”. My breasts are naturally graceful and pleasing- to my eyes especially. When I massage them, I am comforted.

Ironic too – since as a wo(mb)-man and wo(e)-man, my emotions are like tidal waves. So, at times I’m anything but balanced inside. But emotions, which men have in scant supply – other than anger, provide us with very useful information as to what genuinely moves our heart.

As one who births, my wo(mb)-man’s heart is built to be a little bit extra sensitive. I learn to eschew what isn’t helpful to my psyche’s (or my baby’s) condition- and to appreciate the power of a chocolate bar, of being in a soothing well-lit comforting space, and of nature’s ability to heal. Because I can get PMS, I get to take time outs- preferably in a green space (and not in any red tent!)

With my menses, I also have a regular way to shed toxins. Maybe that’s why in general, my immune system is stronger and healthier than men’s. And, at least until recently, women tend to live longer -because they can and want to.

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Unlike men who are tasked with heavy mindless jobs which use mainly their arms, wrists, backs and stubble-fingers, I get to learn how to use my delicate hands in a myriad of ways. With them, I dexterously create clothing, beautiful tables laden with dishes, and can fix practically anything and use all manner of tools. Food is prepared lovingly instead of created in a jazzed up clangy kitchen by chef’s that begrudge me- their patron.

As a wo(e)-man and mother, I learn to be proficient in a variety of tasks. With practice, I can juggle multiple things at once –to nourish, feed, and entertain.

Because of my many skills, I can be useful to most people in one way or another. Feeling genuinely useful ~always gives the giver a little boost of oxytocin; the receiver has to be vulnerable to receive similar benefits.

I also learn from my ‘mother’, biologic or not, sometimes all you need to do is “listen” in order to ease a troubled heart. There are things I cannot fix but can be a source of spaciousness. Sometimes it’s helpful to ask simple questions in order to help another shift gears.

Why go to a psychiatrist when a cup of tea is what you need?!

This is a reward that isn’t replicated with a corporate paycheck. In time, I can gain a vast skillset- especially if my life is mostly domestically oriented- as it is now, being a retired crone living al(l)-one. I can whip up a three-course meal or be satisfied by a simple stew and slice of homemade bread. As a wo(e)-man, I’ve learned my needs are actually quite simple. I plan and optimize my time according to my whims especially since my children are out of the nest and I’m free of any man.

Don’t get me wrong, I love getting a paycheck too! Going to work with its clear expectations, is a calm retreat from home’s chaos- especially when you’re a wo(mb)-man with young children.

Also, being employed, even part-time, gives both parents breathing room – extra income adds a buffer. Dad’s not the only one to rely on for income – this comfort is felt somatically.

And, children are resilient. Most children don’t grow up isolated in nuclear families with just a mom all day, but live amongst extended relatives. Going to daycare and/or school is helpful to strengthen social skills and immunity.

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As a maiden, mother, wo(mb)-man or wo(e)-man, I have few deep-voiced (intimidating) mentors who can make or break me (unless it’s my body they’re after which is always renewing even if it’s been sullied by their unwanted touch).

I receive ~no pats on the back or fist bumps- thus reinforcing me to keep honed to any “superiors” proscriptions. For a wo(mb)-man especially, they set a low bar and few hurdles to jump over -other than passing an entrance test. They often figure that we wo(e)-men are tapped as caretakers first when push comes to shove, so don’t give us the “important/urgent assignments” that help us “climb the ladder”. For a wo(mb)-man and wo(e)-man like me, this is objectively true; the health and safety of my kids and family come first.

(Granted, if I was gay with a hysterectomy or post menopausal, I’d be very pissed if I weren’t treated equally as her efforts and availability are equal.)

Because of that, I get to figure out what I like to do. I learn to trust both my intuition and my heart. I get to do interesting research as I successfully navigate the maze of big wide world which typically makes little room for me.

I am in few crosshairs -other than a jealous female who has bought into the idea of “competition” -when really that’s a mirage. Ultimately, choices are almost always personality-based. I don’t want any man, who doesn’t already want (just) me and not her!

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Meanwhile my brothers are laden with an elder’s expectations of what they need to do in order to be successful. Whereas I have several stages of life, each with many faces, he has two – boy and man. I’m not including when he once again as a senior becomes infantile since, in many ways, he never outgrows this stage.

In our western black and white world of today, once he’s declared a “man” his life is repetitious drudgery. Work tends to favor either his hands (really arms, wrists and palms – not fingers) or mind depending on his school grades- and father’s conditions. As a result, he’s constantly out of balance. Since he only does the “heavy lifting”, his back is frequently pained. Either way, his heart is left out of it.

He’s often/always groomed conditionally. With that, depending on his demographic, he’s are force fed a diet of toxic activities with grueling hours and captivity. I’m including the penury of hours at a keyboard- stuck in praying mantis pose.

After all their “positive conditioning”, which they come to rely on, woe to him who falls short. Then, instead of kudos and pats on the back whilst “being one of them”, he is excluded and made the butt of jokes.

Because a man has few unmet needs when he’s groomed to be dependent on a “her”, whether this is a mom, sister, girlfriend, or spouse, he rarely independently explores. He doesn’t often learn to navigate amongst strangers and stays close to his band of brothers. He learns about the world from men who went before him – as they did themselves too. In this sense, he lives in a world of constricted recapitulation.

Nor can he routinely ‘make do’– because he relies on “her” to do it. He’s pretty stuck when shit hits the fan.

Instead of beautiful breasts, he has ugly genitals. (I’m sorry, but scrotums aren’t appealing). These he learns to abuse in order to find physical release, that is, when she’s not there to do it for him.

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Conversely, with most of my ‘jobs’ I get to use both fingers and head at the same time – along with my eyes and heart. As a wo(e)-man, and later woman, (after I’ve shed my extra letters and not caretaking codependents), I am much more likely to be in a state of atonement at any given time. I am well versed in what it’s like to be in a gentle flow state- another condition that supports my health.

I am a being of flexible proficiency. I can accomplish more in a day, if I wish to, and savor tangible fruits of my labor to create harmony from chaos than any man I’ve met to date.

Poor guy, as he relies on his imposing voice and stature and has so few actual skills, no wonder his ego is fragile. He falls apart – and relies on a wo(e)-man, one who will listen and comfort to his change of state, while she patches him up and satisfies his misplaced lust.

I say misplaced, because “lust” is symptom of being stuck without conscious possibility of actualization. Really, he wants and is here to create his own world of successes.

Or perhaps his heart and brain shrivels into bitterness with stinking fruit inside -like the big black man I ran into who day after day stands on the Ruston Way promenade spewing words of hatred for his livestream audience. Why doesn’t he get a life?!)

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As a “maiden” and later “mother”, at least in this country, I’m not expected to serve warmongers. That is, I’m not expected or required to bear arms against any of G-d’s children let alone hurt or maim them. For this I am especially grateful since I believs every creature is sacred and holy. Maiming and murder stains a soul permanently; over time it breaks it.

(Here I must admit, as a frustrated and isolated mother with a son who was willful and defiant, I bought into the idea of “spare the rod, spoil the child”.

In this I was wrong. Later I learned how I’d (with his father) modeled my son’s behaviors- in other words, his rebelliousness was learned from me and dad. In a more equitable world with community support, this wouldn’t necessarily happen!

The only blood I’ve got on my hands is from my own period. Underwear is washable. Skin sheds daily with or without scrubbing. After a week or so, I’m fresh as a daisy.

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As a wo(mb)-man I bear Gaia’s hu(e)-man fruits from my womb. This no man can do. Luckily or unluckily, it’s only for a few years- like 25 out of the 70 or 80 I can be reasonably expected to attain.

With children, I get to hold, love, and play with innocence especially when they are young. This is an energetically healing field. I am generally trusted– unlike any man.

I don’t have a man’s deeper (scary) voice and threatening fist-like hands. Nor am I full of rigidity- as I’ve not been honed to any male elder’s operation manual of what she shouldn’t do. And thank G-d I wasn’t born a Jew or owned -and repressed, by my husband’s family – well only on weekends when my mother-in-law visited).  I know this isn’t the case for many others and I’m very sorry for that.

As a woman, living in America, I am freed from recapitulating grandfather’s and grandmother’s foreboding stories meant to leave my inner child psychically scarred and small.

Young children notice bodily energies. Even though I’m a stranger, my neighbor’s toddler gives me hugs every once in a while, or did. Now he’s school age and seems less interested. He doesn’t hug any other neighbor. I don’t know why, maybe he likes my smile and genuine demeanor.

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As wo(mb)-man, in my buxom post-partum condition, when my boobs gain a size or two, I’m especially comforting.

Almost every hu(e)-man has been held against their mothers’ breasts when they were in a state of neonatal bliss. Subconsciously my big squishy pillows are deeply reassuring which is why Dolly Parton’s example created a wave of wo(mb)-men seeking implants.   Having heard so many stories and held so many beings, my corpus resonates with those comforts. Even if they aren’t here physically now. As a wo(e)-man, I get to hear many intimate stories.  Some I learn from them vicariously. Each one I contemplate later instead of ruminating about endless numbers and spreadsheets.

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I thank G-ddess for helping me see the gems in a situation despite the mess and dross. I know what needs to be clarified and/or tossed for the underlying perfection, really excellence, to be revealed.

I particularly thank G-ddess for birthing me into a lush verdant land of opportunity (the US) which I know gives me many more advantages than most of my sisters world-wide get.

Because of efforts of those before me, instead of recapitulating their mothers’ worlds they fought for my right to express and be paid a fair wage. From financial instruments with my name, I get to work and sock away monies for later; I got to retire. Now, as a crone and most often woman without anyone imposing changes, I plan and execute life according to my whims and rhythms.

Without constant distraction of other’s needs and wants (all inculcated and conditioned) I can finally collect and organize my thoughts (thou oughts) which more often than not, I’m able to bring into coherent sentences.  Sentences affect group mind and expand sent(i)ence.

Every day, I can create a little something special for myself, exactly to my specifications. Thank G-d I’m divorced!

Personally, I’m glad to finally be able to focus on my own strengths and research “weaknesses”. I can even share space with another – as I’ve learned not all words need be shared which helps keep my peace.

As a now-single homeowner, I know that I can do any domestic, garden, and garage chore even if it takes me longer. I don’t actually “need” help – but I appreciate when it’s offered. My accomplishments are mine.

And yes, as Helen Reddy said, “I am woman, and I am strong”.