Sexism isn't an opinion. It's fact.

Image via: mytinyphone

So I got into a Twitter discussion with @MrOzAtheist and his followers yesterday. As I write this it's still going. 

Let me begin by saying, I have followed him for a while and have mostly had admiration and respect for him and his work, until now. I agreed with him about atheism and the harm that religion does, particularly the institutionalised Abrahamic religions and their impact on women's lives. The thing is I am very often disappointed by people I admire, in particular, men I admire, who despite all their intelligence and kindness, still harbour very deeply ingrained male privilege, sexism and misogyny. When they are questioned, this brings about a whole shit storm of abuse, denial and deflection, from themselves and others, including women who have internalised the effects of patriarchy. At the very least, these high profile men aren't speaking to me as a person. They are speaking to other men and women they approve of. Women like me are their secondary concern. Male is standard. Female other, regardless of the gendered body spectrum. And women are so used to internalising it, they accept it, even perpetuate it.

That is why, when I came across a Tweet by MrOz in response to a Tweet by the ABA (The Australian Breastfeeding Association), I was taken aback. Given his understanding of the harm religion does to women, I assumed he was a feminist. My literal response was WTF.

I was not offended, but thought it was sexist and an abuse of male privilege to feel entitled to make a sexualised comment, (asking consent before breastfeeding, conjuring the image of an adult male sucking on a woman's breast) in that context. IN THAT CONTEXT. I was particularly annoyed that the ABA was attempting to make a supportive Tweet, aimed mainly at mothers, perhaps first time mums, who are embarking on breastfeeding, with all it's obstacles and stigmas, for the first time, and that's where he chose to try out his 'lame' joke. Some people even called it a "dad joke". Because saying "just kidding" means you're absolved of any wrong doing. Daggy jokes are a great way to get away with saying whatever you want and then blaming the person who thinks it's off. I swear, I was waiting for someone to say it was like locker room banter, but no one dared. Close enough though. I get that consensual adult breastfeeding is a real thing. I do. It doesn't bother me. I just don't believe that is who the ABA aimed their breastfeeding Tweet at.

It is no secret, despite the foot stamping denial of some, that breasts are sexualised, women's bodies are sexualised, as objects for the gratification of men. This is an acceptable way to view a woman's body and particularly her breasts. When breasts are exposed in order to suckle an infant, controversy ensues. That is why the ABA felt the need to remind women that their right to breastfeed anywhere and anytime is protected by Australian Law. If it wasn't an issue, the ABA wouldn't have needed to Tweet that.

Breastfeeding rights and stigma aren't an issue just in Australia. Recently, an American mum posted a picture of herself breastfeeding in a Victoria's Secret store, after being asked by staff to move along and breastfeed her baby in the toilet. The hypocrisy was evident.

Image via: Daily Mail (I know, shit source, but relevant content.)

MrOZ thought it was funny to play on the ambiguity of the words and to place himself in the position of the user of the breastfeeding woman's breasts. He was applauded might I add. People, women too, breastfeeding mothers, even the ABA, saw no issue with this. He was just making a silly joke and he was addressing consent, so let's give him a parade and a medal for being a champion of women's self-determination, while creating the imagery of a grown man sucking on a woman's breast. On the ABA account. In response to a supportive Tweet aimed at possibly inexperienced breastfeeding mothers.

I didn't find it funny in that context, but I will reiterate. I wasn't offended or triggered. I just called it what it was. A man feeling entitled to pipe up on a women's safe space aimed at empowering and supporting them, to be funny, hardy har. What a hero!

Mayhem ensued. I was accused of all the textbook dysfunctions that addle a woman's brain when she insists on not being treated like a doormat. I was humourless, couldn't take a joke, didn't get it, too sensitive, a social justice warrior (that's not an insult btw!), crazy, angry, bitter, needed a root, needed a wank, triggered, abused, man hating, racist (for mentioning white male privilege) and sexist just to mention a few. One woman thought that someone should hit me to shut me up. MrOz, in fact none of his followers, found that inappropriate. At one stage, I retaliated at a fellow who called me a "femitroll". I said "go fuck yourself sideways, you disrespectful cunt". It didn't do me any favours. Although, I deleted it, thinking my brutal retort would only be funny to me, MrOz, being the pro Twitterer that he is, had already screen grabbed it and re tweeted it. Several times. It was the only one of my responses he focused on. He kept asking me to explain the sexism, but didn't want to address it when I did. Just kept denying any wrong doing, intentional or not, and kept calling me crazy. It's my ovaries you know, I'm hysterical! Oldest come back in the book.

No one, not women, not mothers, not the ABA, not people who I thought were feminists saw that it was sexist to feel entitled to invade that space with a sexualised joke. Only one person finally agreed that it amounted to harrassment, but then people argued that that was impossible because it was on Twitter, not real life. I know I know, offense is taken not given. I chose to be offended (I wasn't), it's subjective. Ok. Well in that context, it was sexist. 

They insisted it wasn't sexist. If anything, he was championing consent. And if any woman was triggered by that, she was the problem. If a new mother reading that, feeling the weight of new responsibility, the scrutiny associated with motherhood, the stigma of breastfeeding, the myriad of emotions and hormones that the ABA aims to soften the blow of; if any woman may have found that an invasion of her safe space, she was the problem. That is victim blaming and rape culture in action. But I was told they were "buzz words" that didn't mean anything and to go get a sense of humour and a root.

At one stage the discussion turned into women playing the victim, the family courts being against men and fathers, women perpetrating violence against men at the same rate as men against women, men dying more often than women at war. I kid you not. Those things were thrown back at me for merely questioning the context of a shitty sexist joke, the content of which I didn't even give two shits about. 

I simply thought a man creating the image of himself sucking on a woman's boob to breastfeed (with consent of course, *round of applause*) on a Twitter account reassuring women of their right to breastfeed their infants without harrassment, was harrassment in itself and that privilege was sexist. The End. 

 

Playing in Home Corner

 Image credit: patheos.com

There's always something to do around the home and if you expect to live in an unattainable magazine spread, then you'll never leave the house and you'll never be satisfied. It's easier to keep things in order when you live alone. When you live with other people, you can only be responsible for your things; have control over your personal space, like your room for instance. You need to negotiate the standards of the common areas and how you share the space. As it should be. You're not responsible for anyone else's mess. Obviously young children are dependent on you and the irrational little buggers refuse to negotiate. If you are the only adult in the house, you're it. It's hard until the kids are old enough to help out. Socialising children to participate in the running of a household and to become independent is extremely important. If there is another adult in the house, then all the work should be shared. It shouldn't even be a question. If you are an adult, then you need to know how to be self sufficient in all aspects of running a household.

Unfortunately, the division of domestic labour is still extremely unequal. Women still end up doing the bulk of household duties, regardless of whether or not they have children or work. Research shows that the financial independence of women alone will not decrease how much work they do around the house. A shift is needed in the gender ideology of men. They simply need to do more household tasks and child care to catch up.

There also needs to be a cultural shift. Pay attention to advertising. When ever any kind of household cleaning product is advertised, it almost always depicts a woman doing the task. Except this ad from India, which is an excellent attempt at addressing the issue. This kind of sexism is not only degrading to women, it is patronising to men. There are men out there who live alone or share with other men and shock horror, THEY DO HOUSEWORK.

As the workforce participation rate for women increased, the need to find ways to make things easier became more urgent. In Australia, child care is expensive, often canceling out the limited income that women with young children can earn, especially if they only work part time. However, the comparative quality of our child care system places us among the best countries in the world in regards to child/carer ratio, qualifications and training of carers, early childhood curriculum and safety. So these days, it is extremely common, if not in fact the norm, for children to be cared for outside the home much earlier so women can go back into paid employment. The trouble is that women are then coming home and spending each evening and weekends doing most of the unpaid work.

One solution is to hire a cleaner; someone that can do the ongoing tasks to keep a household running. This is another added cost and seems to be a band aid solution to the issue. I used to be a cleaner. I worked for an agency that sent me out to do child minding and home cleaning. I enjoyed it. It was a no pressure job, while I was in between jobs. It was casual employment, so although I didn't get any benefits like sick leave or holiday pay, the work was well paid and flexible. I never felt demeaned. The houses I cleaned were generally very nice and belonged to employed people with families. I folded washing, vacuumed, cleaned the bathrooms, dusted and tidied up a little. I had three hours or so to do it in. I almost felt like I was ripping them off because there really wasn't that much to do. These days you can hire a cleaner to do an end of lease clean or to stage your home for selling it, but when there are adults and older children living in a home, why aren't they doing it?

Personally, I couldn't imagine hiring a cleaner. I just don't see the need. Maybe because I did it for a job and it would be like hiring myself. There are two adults and we live in an apartment. I have three daughters, but even if they were sons, I can't imagine them growing up not participating in the household tasks needed for us all to stay fed, clean, clothed and somewhat ordered. I don't just mean cleaning their rooms either. I envisage them having a go at cleaning the bathrooms or picking up and folding the washing (or putting it away, which is the bane of my existence!) I have fantasies of us living in a house with a yard and spending a day tending to it as a family. 

Maybe I'm delusional or idealistic, but does it have to be an unrealistic dream? Teaching my kids that it's their responsibility to contribute to the smooth functioning of their home is instilling life skills that they are going to need when they are independent. Gender shouldn't even be an issue. Everyone needs to know how to function as an adult. Everyone should be able to do things like sew on a button, get stains out of clothes or the carpet, throw out rotting food and wipe out the fridge, change bedding and towels, empty bins, put up a picture, change a light bulb, mop a floor, operate a stove top, keep a plant and a pet alive, cook a meal, buy groceries, air out a room by opening a window. These things aren't just for aesthetics and comfort, they keep us well and allow us to function as civilised and mature adults.

When I was a cleaner I thought about why they hired me, these fairly middle class people with businesses and nice houses. Why were they happy for a stranger to come into their home, touch their belongings and do the things that we should take pleasure in doing because it's caring for our intimate environment. It felt like these people couldn't be bothered doing the basics like washing up their breakfast dishes or scrubbing the skid marks out of the toilet after doing a poo. Did they see it as a task below them? I don't buy that there isn't time. There's time. You make it. You prioritise. If you run out of undies, you put on a load. The house doesn't have to look like a catalogue, it doesn't have to be spotless (I dust by blowing on the furniture....with my mouth!) However, if everything has a place; if the bathrooms and kitchen are hygienic; if you have clean clothes and towels and the fridge and pantry are stocked so you can prepare healthy meals, you can still have a life. You can still work or study all day, you can still go out to restaurants, you can still spend whole weekends out of the house or week days where you only use the house to sleep and shower. You can still have a full life and run a functional home. It isn't difficult to clean as you go. To keep things ordered and to be aware of the needs of the household as a communal space. The more everyone contributes, the less there is to do. The expectation should be that it's everyone's responsibility. Why would you want someone else doing that for you? Isn't there a kind of satisfaction from taking care of the space where you live; your home. Not in a Stepford wife kind of way, like the mundanity of house work is meant to give us an organism. It isn't. It can be relentless and time consuming and aggravating. Especially when it isn't shared or it is taken for granted. However, in the right context, it's simply taking care of the place where your security and comfort reside and the things that make up whatever it is that you define as home. There's whole industries based on styling or interior decorating or feng shui or whatever. It's not hard to see having domestic skills as an opportunity to do it yourself. It's something everyone should take pride in. You groom yourself, why wouldn't you groom your personal living environment?

My one and a half year old twins already know that when they finish eating, they put their plates on top of one another and move them from their high chair to the table. It doesn't help me much, it's not cleaning up, but it's a subtle message of 'when you finish with your plate, put it up.' They also have their toys in storage bins and know how to pack up. It's a game, but a very important one.

The biggest issue people have is clutter. We buy heaps of crap we don't need and we run out of places to put everything. We don't need much. Travel is a testament to that. How freeing is going on holidays when you only live with what is in your suitcase and you don't miss anything? I have become a chucker. When I rented I moved regularly; 13 times in 10 years. One year I moved three times. It was exhausting and heart breaking, but in a way, liberating. It allowed me to go through all my belongings regularly and throw out the crap. I've lived in my current home for eight years. A lot has happened in that time. I traveled with my partner. We got married. We had three kids including twins in three years. We have accumulated a lot of crap. This year I'm being ruthless. I am a vigilant present door bitch with the kids. I know their grandparents adore them and want to shower them with gifts to watch their little faces light up, but I've set limits and they have started buying them things to play with when we visit, which means it stays out of our place. I sound ungrateful, I know, but the relationship with their grandparents is built on everything else, not toys.

I'm not against the cleaning industry, but it feels a bit classist. Cleaners are usually women, migrants, single mothers, students. I wouldn't want to rob them of a livelihood, but maybe then the industry needs to be valued more. Certainly for cleaners who clean public places, wages need to be increased and attitudes need to change. Nothing shits me more than watching how the custodians in food courts are treated. People leave crap all over the tables expecting the cleaners to pick up their garbage. Recently the cleaners in Parliament House in Canberra went on strike over wages. Considering the extravagance some politicians get away with, raising their wages to match the importance of the work they do isn't a big ask.

Maybe we need a cultural shift on a bigger scale. Raising kids to be conscious of their living environment, picking up after themselves, being responsible for their toys and tidying up, not being destructive and seeing things as disposable, pitching in around the home. Surely this will lead to functioning adults who respect the environment and the planet. Who live responsible and respectful lives towards places and people who maintain places. It's definitely a 'think global act local' moment. Cleanliness, conservation, recycling, good hygiene and health, a reduction of consumerism and waste, equality in the distribution of domestic and menial labour, the gender pay gap. It all starts at home.

My Fling with PND

My fling with PND lasted about an hour. I say fling because it wasn’t a full blown relationship. We met, we checked each other out, we had a bit of a pash and then I realised PND was a complete bastard and wanted nothing to do with it, so I dumped it.

When I had my first baby, I was so thrilled that I’d finally conceived after a year of trying and getting really close to intervention, that I literally threw myself into mothering her. I jumped every time she squawked. I leaped out of bed enthusiastically in the middle of the night to feed and soothe her. I prolonged every phase of her development; mostly because I was too inexperienced to read the signs that she needed to change, but also because I indulged in the established routine and was afraid to alter it. With support and information, we got there in the end. She ate solid food and weaned off the breast easily, she slept through the night, she rolled, crawled and walked, she got teeth, she’s talking and she even sits on the loo every now and then and actually goes. Even when I was tired and frustrated and confused though, I was never really depressed. I never felt utter despair. I didn’t feel rage. I wasn’t confused to the point of sobbing. I was content and happy. For the majority of the time it was me and her in the trenches. Her dad at work during the day and during the night, I insisted he sleep so he could function at work the next day, knowing I could rest when she napped.

When the twins came along she was 18 months old. Again we were thrilled to be having not only another baby; a much wanted sibling for her, but two healthy little girls. Our family was going to be full, abundant; something we dreamed of, but weren’t sure we were going to achieve. Despite everyone’s shocked warnings of how busy we would be and the necessary banter about the chaos that would ensue, we were truly excited and thrilled. We weren’t under any illusions that it was going to be easy, but we felt prepared. Raising our first through that first year was still fresh in our minds and we learned a lot. We knew it wouldn’t be the same though. There were two babies at the same time and a toddler who’s nurturing still needed to be observed and progressed milestone by milestone. We were going to become masters of multi tasking, champions of triage, expert jugglers. Well I was mostly, because let’s face it, I’m the primary carer whether I care to admit it or not. Yes I have support; my husband and parents do their best to help me. However, the majority of care giving for all three children at this early stage is my sole responsibility. It was my choice, my preference and I can do it. I do it pretty well. But it’s bloody hard and sometimes, it doesn’t have to be, but it is. Sometimes there are more obstacles and hurdles to jump than there needs to be.  

I first flirted with PND shortly after settling back at home from hospital with the twins. I’d had another caesarean and was in a fair bit of pain, but luckily the hospital sent me home with a small supply of Endone. I have a lot of feelings and rationalisations about both my caesarean birthing experiences. Bottom line is I did not give birth vaginally. I say vaginally not naturally because that implies that it’s a competition between natural and artificial birth simply defined by which part of your body the baby came out of. And people are too shy and uptight to say the word vaginally....vagina. It is so much more complicated than that. Yes, a caesarean operation is medicalised and involves a lot of artificial intervention for want of better words, but vaginal births are rarely without assistance too. I am completely in awe of women who go into labour naturally and give birth without any drugs and no intervention like episiotomy, forceps, vacuums, tearing and no assistance to the baby afterwards either. Heaps of women do it and have done throughout history. More women are aiming for that these days and when everything aligns and there is a perfectly healthy, low risk pregnancy, strong supportive networks around the pregnant woman, intelligent and woman focused midwifery and doula services, progressive medical systems to fall back on, education, money, comfort, time, peace of mind – so many factors; when all those circumstances combine and harmonise, it is definitely more possible and desirable for a completely natural birth to happen. When it doesn’t go completely perfectly, we are lucky enough to live in a country where medical birthing support is available and accessible and whether a woman needs a little help or a lot, her birthing experience can still be positive with the desired end result that everyone aims for; a healthy, safe AND HAPPY mum and baby. I needed a lot of medical support both times. The first time I wasn’t prepared for it, the second time with the twins I was, but still needed more than I thought I would. I was in excellent hands. I was surrounded by incredibly kind and capable people at both hospitals; one was public the other private and I learned a massive lesson; that so many expectations are placed on birthing women, so many false assumptions are promoted and there is a lot of misinformation out there. We as a species are still evolving biologically, emotionally, psychologically and culturally and all these factors contribute to our birthing experience. It is the single most important and profound human experience there is; perpetuation of our species and next to death and physical illness or injury the hardest thing a human will have to endure. Really. What else is harder or more profound? Don’t get me wrong. In saying that, I am not saying that a choice or otherwise not to experience that leaves you lacking; there are other human endeavours that are just as challenging in other ways, but giving birth and raising a child is intense and unique. We need to honour that better as a species and acknowledge what is necessary in a collective way to ensure that the experience has the best possible outcome for everyone. At the moment we don’t do that all the time. This is reflected in so many aspects of society. The administration of medical support to pregnant women to facilitate self determination in their birthing experience, the gender inequality women experience in the workplace and in society generally, how public spaces cater to parents, children and families and how we address issues surrounding depression and mental illness to name a few. We don’t look after our planet either, we don’t look after each other. We need a Revolution. Right now I’m reading Russell Brand’s book by the same name. It says everything I am trying to say so much more concisely. 

So the drugs ran out, I was making sense of my birthing experience; mine and the whole idea of birth generally and at the same time trying to fall into a new routine with two newborns and a toddler. When I say I was thinking about it generally, I was thinking how lucky I was, even though I felt obligated to explain or defend my experience of a very medicalised birth to many people. When you have a caesarean you have to explain what went wrong. It is not how I experienced it. Everything went right. I didn’t die and neither did my babies. I was surrounded by kindness and made comfortable in every possible way and I was surrounded by the love of the closest people in my life at all times. What more did I want? What more did I have to do to demonstrate and prove to people that although I would have liked to have given birth vaginally both times and everything I came across – people and information – preparing me for birth was telling me that was the proper way to do it, I actually had no control over how my body behaved and could only trust that the intervention I received would ensure a good outcome? I thought about women who have none of that. They may give birth vaginally and drug free, euphorically and safely, but they may have no other choice and if something goes wrong, it goes terribly wrong. They may be living in a remote community or in a war zone or a refugee camp. They may have no family or medical experts to cajole them through the pain and terror and have to muster the strength through their own self determination and survive the consequences no matter what happens. I started to think about birth on a global scale and this was magnified with every little experience I confronted. Whenever I found myself lamenting over a particular aspect of my experience, I imagined the alternatives. I found gratitude. I reasoned that it could be worse and how can I make it better for myself and for others. This story helped me immensely.

 

I took the babies and continued to take the toddler to the health clinic for their periodical check ups. At the end you do a little tick a box quiz, which I love and have absolutely no cynicism about how leading they are (eye roll) and I always scored pretty well. I always answered completely honestly, because I am up for the discussion with the nurse and ready to rant about how I feel about the label Post Natal Depression. Again, it’s not that I don’t believe it exists. I am certain it does and that there is a spectrum. However I understand where I’m at on that spectrum and my critical analysis is that you can’t put a woman in a pressure cooker and expect her to remain cool as a cucumber in a crisper all the time. That’s just madness. I always answered the questions truthfully and I especially loved the one about the sense of humour. That is my measure for my state of mind. Can I still laugh at things? Am I still able to find the comedy? The answer is almost always yes. The other good ones are about crying and raging. Do I cry and rage often? Not like the normal amount that is expected when you are elbow deep in shit most days, when you are exhausted from broken sleep and waking through the night sometimes hourly, when your body is being ravaged by breastfeeding and mastitis – I’m on my sixth bout and this time the site of infection was right behind the nipple and one of the twins has teeth…..yep excruciating. When you are alone with three babies most days and you’re doing most of the feeding, lifting, napping (them not me), changing, cleaning, singing, entertaining, routine monitoring, cooking and food preparation, thinking and planning and observing….what do they call that these days? Hypervigilance. 

So at around the babies’ 6 month check, which was really at 8 months because we were delayed after one of them had a minor cleft operation at 4 months; it was at this appointment that I answered truthfully; I hadn’t had a good belly laugh in ages. I cry more than normal – when the babies refuse to sleep, when I am in pain, when I feel unfit and frumpy, when I haven’t got time to write or crochet, when I’m bored of the same three rooms and I despair at a world that is cruel to women and girls and I am raising three. I rage more often than I used to. I nag my husband and my toddler; I pick fights with them and my parents. I get the shits with the general public (OK I did this most of my adult life, but now it’s for different reasons like why are they taking up the pram parking when they don’t have children, why is their trolley abandoned in the middle of the isle, why is the neighbour continually slamming doors or using power tools beneath my bedroom window, why do people have to mow lawns so often, why are people so impolite, rude, indifferent, conceited, incompetent, complacent….why am I so angry all the time.)

The baby health nurse listened to me and validated my feelings. She said everything I was going through was understandable. I’m in the thick of it and she recognised that I am very self aware. I made a commitment to take some time out and go back to looking after my body and mind through yoga. I have now bought a ten class pass and started classes.

When the teacher asked at the first class if there was anything in particular we wanted to address at the session I had to bite my tongue. People said their lower backs and neck hurt, some wanted a good stretch – I wanted to address my deep seeded rage and existential confusion; I didn’t say it out loud. At one part of the class we were lying on our backs and he asked us to take a deep breath and release it with a loud sigh; I fought the urge to scream out MOTHERFUCKER.

It’s a start. I’m trying to do one or two sessions a week and I’m already seeing the benefits. For some people who are experiencing Post Natal Depression it is much more serious and complicated than that. Maybe they don’t have the tools to critically analyse and understand what they are experiencing and only see the symptoms independent of the causes. For me it isn’t like that. I can’t control feeling like crap; crying and getting angry, feeling overwhelmed and confused, feeling lonely and isolated and desperate that everything is bleak and hopeless. But when the moment passes I can make sense of it and I understand that I feel those things not because of something inside me that is dysfunctional or broken, but instead I see it as a very normal response to what I am experiencing being a stay at home mum to three babies under the age of two. I think that if mums didn’t respond with the emotional and psychological behaviours that we associate with depression after making a human or two or more in their bodies, having given birth and being suddenly bombarded with the immense responsibility of taking care of babies; if they were all calm and positive and well groomed and happy all the time; that would be psychotic. That would be dysfunctional and not a normal response to the stimuli. 

For some women, medication is absolutely appropriate. I am afraid to take anti depressants because I think I will like them too much. I recognised something very sinister in myself when the Endone ran out and I faced the prospect of having no more pain killers. I felt a bit like a junky that needed their next fix and was not going to be able to score. I have an indulgent and addictive streak that I need to keep an eye on. I am very good at utilising tools like wine for example, to self medicate and keep me calm. This hasn’t been an option until recently because I don’t like to drink at all while I’m breastfeeding, but the babies have cut back on feeds and I’ve been allowing a glass or two each night and it has made an immense difference. I can get a good buzz on with just a small amount and it is helping me get through the nights. The babies still don’t sleep through and I think the nights are the hardest for people who experience depression. On second thought, the nights are hard on most normal human people who are engaged with the nature of existing and have a mind and emotions. The nights are dark and silent and the self and the mind are alone to dwell and reflect. The self is awake to dance up a storm of despair and uncertainty that the day time can easily mute and hide in the light. If it was legal, I’d smoke a joint once in a while.

I guess my point is this. PND is very real and very debilitating for some women, but it isn’t a flaw in them. It isn’t a condition that is inherent in their nature. It is a response to a situation that will push any normal person to their absolute limit. Women all deal with this pressure differently and we all make choices and sometimes have no control over how we experience pregnancy, child birth and parenting.

I’ll end with one of my favourite quotes.