How dare those women judge me!! What did they know about me that entitled them to form those all too obvious opinions? They knew nothing. All my life, it seems, I have encountered these hostile attitudes. The weird and totally frustrating thing is the attitude has surrounded me through all the different phases of my life – innocent, not so innocent, young mother, church member, scripture teacher, law clerk, single mum, dedicated mother, sex goddess, earth mother, high-flying glass ceiling bumper, sophisticate, hippy, humble house cleaner, carer, poor, well off, pretty, slim, fat, old, pathetic, proud – it just doesn’t matter what stage of life or what particular incarnation I am involved in, other women just don’t like me!
Could this be an endowment from Mother who sees slings and arrows in everything around her? Dear God, I hope not! I think I am conscious enough of her particular poison not to drink from that same cup.
Ironically I enjoy the company of other women and am a firm believer in the support of sisterhood. Some of my warmest memories swim around the love and support of ‘sisters’. Even those women however, ultimately judged me and found me wanting. Now that really is sad. The loss of that closeness presses in and affects me profoundly.
I used to be judgemental. When I was a young thing and life had not really begun with me, I would stand in judgement of those around me. Favourite thoughts started with things like “I would never”, “How could she”, “No matter what, I would never”, and so on and so forth. I think you get the picture. Life however had plans for me, and it soon knocked those thoughts out of my young head. As I progressively found myself doing pretty much all those things and more, I realised I was in no position to judge anyone. I read a wonderful book once where the author stated that when we judge others we do not define them, but rather ourselves as people who needed to judge. Wow! That was as they say, a light-bulb moment. I had by then ceased my judgemental ways, but had I had any inclination to continue on, that sure would have stopped me in my tracks!
All pretty impressive isn’t it? Weeellll, I suppose on some level, I am still out there judging away. Now I just don’t admit it, not even to myself. The very fact that those women yesterday managed to get under my skin proves that I am still in some way judging. The BIG REALISATION from the day tho’, is that it still matters to me what others think. How can that still be? Have I not payed any attention along the way and have I still not learnt even this most basic of lessons? It seems not! I guess when you really get down to it, it is not so much what they think of me that matters, it is more that THEY DON’T SEE ME!
Here I am 62 years old, and I have lived. I have lessons learnt, experiences to share, care to give, companionship to share, laughter to gift and tears to shed and yet nobody seems to see any of this. What do they see? In this case I suspect they saw a fat old woman, over-dressed by their lofty standards, with a superior attitude and quick mouth. Oh yes, I just cannot seem to resist throwing in my little gems of humour on these sort of occasions. Once upon a time they would have been good ice breakers, but now they seem to be spurned as inappropriate or embarrassing. I know they are not.
Of course, I am an outsider. I know that in country towns, they hate the tourist (ironically) and despise the townie. I would have thought tho’ that the clanship of gender, the love of literature and art would have nullified the trivialities of origin. It seems not. The stupid thing here of course, is that I am really neither of those things. I love this part of the world and would love to make it my home. I thought that the predominance of alternative thinkers, ‘arty-farty ‘ types etc would have meant that someone with an independent train of mind would have fitted right in. It would seem I was wrong in that thought. I have never really been ‘a townie’, even when I worked in Perth for all those years, commuting daily from the outer suburbs. Essentially I am a hill-billy having grown up in the hills. The Swan valley and Norseman were my holiday destinations as a child and from those areas I have gained an appreciation of country and farm life.
The farm girls yesterday were lovely, exuding that particular type of boisterousness that young country women do – even tho’ they (understandably) clove to their own buddies to the exclusion of others. In days gone by, I’m sure I have done exactly the same thing. One could see tho’ looking at their faces they were shining lights and I guess, probably not judgemental at all. They, one in particular, had a simplicity of nature that was endearing. One lass, who proclaimed herself a ‘visual artist’ appealed to me enormously as a person of value (good grief where did that come from – too many Jane Austin!?) – there was a light shining from her that illuminated the room. I think her name was Anne or Annie and I would guess that one could put one’s life in Annie’s care and be well rewarded. I am not one who can read auras, and am not even convinced of the veracity of those who claim they can do so, but there was an aura surrounding Annie – it bespoke of love, purity, humility and true charity. I wonder if she knows this about herself. Other women there seemed to be of similar ilk, but of course, this is all guess work.
There were a couple of other relatively young women, young mothers in fact, who were trying to reclaim their individual status as women, warriors and workers. I wish them luck. I really do.
Chatting to one of these young women, I voiced (all unasked) my opinion that those years when the children are still at the toddler stage, the woman at home and the fella working his butt off are very difficult for relationships. I do believe a couple who can withstand this period, will have fought and won one of the biggest battles couples are confronted with. If this young woman can find the time to be herself in the maelstrom of activity and giving, she just might avoid some of the feelings of inadequacy that seem to haunt so many of us in the years pursuant to childbirth. My own experience was that I put off being myself until retirement – not a fair go I think. This young woman reminded me strongly of a younger me. She was still very much the innocent, even tho’ I suspect her years may have almost numbered 40. She glowed with the aftermath of childbirth and the good intentions still harboured at that stage of life. I could see, sadly, the beginnings too, of the ‘unconvinced woman’ that so many of us become. Unconvinced that she deserved time for herself, unconvinced that she had anything worth giving, unconvinced time to write was worthwhile, unconvinced of her own value. She was a beautiful person, still unsullied by life’s sour experiences, yet unconvinced she should have a voice. I pray that she overcomes her feelings of unworthiness and finds her full potential as a person and a woman. I felt there was beauty of spirit encased in that pretty exterior. I hope she lets it shine and that life does not extinguish that flame.
Another young woman, a journalist, was also just starting back into the workforce having birthed her children. She had a lively energy and having heard a small piece she read aloud to us yesterday, I suspect a considerable talent. Her words were lyrical and perhaps journalism would sell her short. An unpublished novelest amongst us maybe! I would be disappointed to hear in years to come that she had not farmed her abilities and written the beauty that is inherently hers.
There was one other woman there, who instinctively I felt I could have found a bond with, probably largely because she was the closest in age to me. She sounded English and seemed to be endowed with that wonderful self effacing sense of humour some English women are graced with. I would have liked to chat with her but somehow that opportunity didn’t evolve. I think perhaps because she like most others, had friends there.
Katherine was interesting! Doug and I had seen her around town the previous couple of days, and had tagged her “that colourful woman” – an apt description. Katherine I suspect marches very much to the beat of her own drum. Her dress is eccentric and she truly has her own style and I would guess cares little of others’ opinions. I would like to think in fact that she would scorn others thoughts on her dress, style and life choices. She has a sharp mind and seemingly a very open thought process. How very refreshing. I guess she pretty much epitomises the sort of person I had imagined would live here. We would probably never be best mates, but I think we would have some very interesting discussions and would accept each other for the individuals we are.
Another woman, perhaps also somewhat of a kindred spirit, sat quietly at the back of the room! We had a couple of quiet words and I think we share a similar dilemma - that of the ethical question of writing family histories, memoirs, etc. We both, it seems have stories that really need to be told, and yet we risk hurting others in the telling. We both need to weigh up the value of our potential work against possible damage we may deal others as a result. I guess the question is whether or not the story is more of value to others, or more a cathartic experience for us, spewing forth all the accumulated pain of years gone by. Selfish or altruistic – that seems to be the crux!!
Rachel was lovely and although I was at a bit of a disadvantage probably being the only person in the room who had not previously read her book, I found her to be erudite and compassionate. I can see that as a teacher she would excel. She had a knack of drawing people out, encouraging their thoughts and rewarding them for participating. Not once did I feel that she displayed any impatience with group members, even tho’ I thought she may have been tested on a couple of occasions. Hers is a rare ability. I have opened her book this morning and whilst I have only read a couple of pages, the book already has me in its grip. I am not surprised, having met her yesterday, to discover that her son is an autistic person. That degree of patience and acceptance was probably born of the experience of mothering her son. Of course, the kernel must have been there to start with. How fortunate some of us are, that life grants us the opportunity to grow and develop those kernels with our life experiences! There is a theory that God will not send us any undertaking we are not capable of dealing with. I rather think that God gifts us with adversity. The knocks and blows that we encounter along the way mould and transform us into the people we become. It is the shallow dish that collects no rain!
The wonder of the day was Betty! Betty was 85 and to all intents and purposes has lived an extraordinary life. She electrified us with her earliest memory and fascinated us with tales of her life in New Guinea as a nurse and missionary. When we thought we had already heard the most incredible stories from her, she then thrilled us with the information that she had also piloted aeroplanes. Somewhere in amongst all these things she had birthed two children who have grown up to be a Dr and a barrister. What an amazing woman. I think that all of us who thought we had a story to tell, felt very humbled by Betty’s stories. Now there is a woman who really does have a story to tell. I hope that she gets all that wonderful information down on paper before her life here is over. What inspiring stories she has to tell and how much that inspiration is needed today.
So, who then was it that nettled me and drove me to the keyboard this morning? I guess it really only leaves ‘the alternatives’. There have been many terms couched to describe this particular type of person. Hippy, Orange, Feral, etc, etc, I think you probably get the picture. I am trying hard not to be judgemental here, but simply stating the status quo as I saw it.
We had the company of a few of these women. I would have thought I would have found some kind of bond with these women, as I have a fairly compromising thought process and do not fit into any conventional ‘box’ so to speak. Instead, I was surprised to find that I felt judged by them! It has surprised me to find that these people, who consider themselves to be outside of the norm, individuals and visionaries, are more judgemental than the average housewife. Yes, I know that is a damming statement, both to me and these alternative women.
Firstly, I found that they challenged my desire not to judge. One of the ladies obviously finds that soap of any kind is a major sin and exercised her right not to use soap or deodorant. I respect that right, but find it a little selfish that she would expose the rest of us to the dubious benefit of her very obvious body odour. It may not matter to those she lives with, but in close quarters, the rest of us may have a small problem. I must explain here that despite the odour the lady in question looked very clean. Unfortunately, I am particularly subject to unpleasant odours and found that experience a little less than wonderful. I am pleased I was not sitting next to her.
These women chose not to wear make-up, colour their hair or improve their appearance using artificial devices. I really respect their decision and even understand the rationale behind their choices. On a purely logical basis, I agree with their decisions. From an ecological point of view, I think they are right and they are as they say, ‘talking the talk and walking the walk’. I applaud their courage and perspicacity. What I find totally confounding and most disappointing tho’ was their very apparent judgement of others, myself in particular.
I felt wave upon wave of disapproval emanating from some of these women. I suppose I am almost the devil incarnate from their perspective. I am grossly overweight – hence my disregard of millions of starving children, I wear make-up – neglecting the planet, I colour my hair – disempowering my crone status and diminishing my womanhood no doubt. My clothes were all synthetic and I wore jewellery. How very, very sad!
Sadder still is the fact that they have become what they most despise. Judgemental and condemning of those who are not like them! Surely when they all left home, all those years ago, that was one of the false values they were trying to escape. How interesting that they all unwittingly have imitated their doubtless very judgemental mothers. Dare I use the word – intolerant! It would seem that these individual spirited women are no less subject to the old mother daughter syndrome than the rest of us.
Of course, I am over-stating the situation somewhat. Not all these women frowned at me, and I’m sure not all of them judged me. It just felt that way. When I bought my ticket for the day, I didn’t give any thought to the possibility of an all female adventure, but once I realised that was the case, I think my spirits flew a little at the promise of a day bathed with the warmth of the female psyche – it fell a little short of that!
That my dears, means that my age was my problem – not the other women. My age left me feeling on the outer. The vast majority of the women there were considerably younger than me, and Betty bless her soul, has sufficient years not to even notice the attitude of others. How wonderful would that be?
I think perhaps that I just missed having someone of my own there who I could identify with and with whom I could commiserate about life’s inequities and challenges. I missed the humour that is intrinsic to my generation and that certain feeling of belonging. In essence I think that all the women there were amazing, beautiful and spiritual beings. The fault lay within and not without.
Well, how interesting to find that I still have a lot to learn and a long way to go on this journey called life – the journey that juxtaposes with my attempt to achieve true womanhood.
Steph.
