musings on work, life, and children
Jul. 11th, 2006 06:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chanter1944An NBC news broadcast tonight got me thinking--don't blame me, my father's the one watches it, I was in the room out of plain curiosity. This is the result. And no, it's not fiction.
So a report comes on about what working mothers *really* want. Da da dum, as if there's going to be some kind of blinding light streaming out from New York and there'll be insight and understanding the likes of which have never before been seen beamed all across the country. Yeah right. I'm guessing I'm not the only one who figured the underlying theme of the segment would have something to do with the balance between children and career and inevitably come back to the ongoing struggle for women's equality. and hey, I can appreciate that struggle aspect, being a woman myself, albeit one who didn't grow up with a June cleaver image hanging over my head.
But my first thought didn't have anything to do with figuring out ways for women (or men, because yes, we're slowly reforming from a patriarchal society here thank whoever you worship) to spend more time with their families and still keep up their current schedules. Not even close. My first thought was good lords above, if americans didn't have it drilled in to them practically from day one that work was their be-all, end-all destiny and have this seeming obsession to strive for some societally-conjured brass ring, working God knows how many hours a week in the name of unsatisfying success and giving themselves heart attacks and all manner of stress-related illnesses and burning themselves out along the way, maybe working mothers wouldn't have this problem.
OK, so maybe I didn't think of *all* that at the start. Having a few minutes to puzzle out one's thoughts really does help.
I have no desire to wear myself out for whatever reason, unattainable success, affluence, social status or unrealistic societal expectations--any of it. I don't want to end up like my mother, exhausting herself and keeping up a brave front that crumbles when the littlest things send her into a towering fury followed by frustrated tears and a storming off that puts me to shame and shows me exactly where I got that talent from. I'd at least like to enjoy myself and leave some time for my partner and whatever children we might decide to have, whether I'm the one who actually has them or not. And that leads me into the other point on my mind.
As I was leaving the room after that report and the news broadcast itself were over, I offhandedly said "OK, I don't think I'm having kids." The discussion went along the lines of no, not kids right *now*, and who knows? But what was running through my head was the fact that regardless of if I were considering having children, regardless of when, I couldn't say anything to my family because if I do, when I do, I want to be in a loving, committed relationship. With another woman.
bingo. Sticking point. My two weak attempts at coming out to my family ended in failure, one passed off as a social experiment done in the name of an interpersonal communication course I was taking at the time (and not passed off very well, either) and the other hasn't been spoken of since, as I think she's trying to forget it ever happened. So yes, beyond the issues of sperm donation, the definition of marriage, non-traditional (at least in the US) ideas about giving birth, society's predjudices against a child with two mommies--not to mention the two mommies themselves--and the need to find a country with a less... destruction-inducing standard of work than this one's, I have a problem on an incredibly basic level. I can't even talk about having kids. To. my. own. parents.
I'd have no problem coming home from university, bringing my girlfriend with me and introducing her as "Mom, Dad, this's Jenny, my friend." for a while. but I'd want them to knoweventually, and I know that sooner or later they're going to have to. I want them to accept me and somehow, judging from the reactions I got both times I tried to bring up the subject--stunned, sputtering disbelief on one hand, and the question of could I honestly distinguish attraction from friendship and admiration on the other... hello! As if I hadn't been trying to do that for *years* before this! I don't see the acceptance thing happening any time in the near future. Or the not so near future.
I don't want to cut myself off from my family. I inherited Dad's humor, love of history and geography, and knowledge of when to get the ever-loving hell out of a situation and fast or else be subject to the fallout of a verbal explosion. I can't count the times we've split from the scene of the day/week/month, same direction and usually same time right down to the minute, and that day we talked about sneaking out of a disney movie to go see the General's Daughter? Classic. And my mother and I share clothes, shoes and the hair that three or more generations of Reetz and Scheel women have. I got my singing voice from her, my temper from her, my intensity from her and I respect her immensely. She can read me like a book and knows exactly what to say to cut me to the heart, but if something's going on with me, you can damn well bet she'll know. She combed my hair and matched my clothes and there was that whole giving birth close to four months early thing. I don't want to be estranged from them. I can't cut them out of my life in order to have one of my own.
but if they won't accept the fact that hey, hello, I like girls too! what choice will I have? If the farthest I can get is a question of whether I've had enough social interaction to tell attraction from friendship (cough, snort, cough and this is where I say leave my blindness the hell out of it already, you're not living in my body or thinking with my brain, so you don't know what you're on about), then I haven't exactly got loads of room to compromise.
and this isn't even taking into account how my sisters are going to react when *they* find out. Oh dear...
Holy cow was that ever a load off. I'll write about something much more light-hearted later... like my Great America trip. Yeah, that...
So a report comes on about what working mothers *really* want. Da da dum, as if there's going to be some kind of blinding light streaming out from New York and there'll be insight and understanding the likes of which have never before been seen beamed all across the country. Yeah right. I'm guessing I'm not the only one who figured the underlying theme of the segment would have something to do with the balance between children and career and inevitably come back to the ongoing struggle for women's equality. and hey, I can appreciate that struggle aspect, being a woman myself, albeit one who didn't grow up with a June cleaver image hanging over my head.
But my first thought didn't have anything to do with figuring out ways for women (or men, because yes, we're slowly reforming from a patriarchal society here thank whoever you worship) to spend more time with their families and still keep up their current schedules. Not even close. My first thought was good lords above, if americans didn't have it drilled in to them practically from day one that work was their be-all, end-all destiny and have this seeming obsession to strive for some societally-conjured brass ring, working God knows how many hours a week in the name of unsatisfying success and giving themselves heart attacks and all manner of stress-related illnesses and burning themselves out along the way, maybe working mothers wouldn't have this problem.
OK, so maybe I didn't think of *all* that at the start. Having a few minutes to puzzle out one's thoughts really does help.
I have no desire to wear myself out for whatever reason, unattainable success, affluence, social status or unrealistic societal expectations--any of it. I don't want to end up like my mother, exhausting herself and keeping up a brave front that crumbles when the littlest things send her into a towering fury followed by frustrated tears and a storming off that puts me to shame and shows me exactly where I got that talent from. I'd at least like to enjoy myself and leave some time for my partner and whatever children we might decide to have, whether I'm the one who actually has them or not. And that leads me into the other point on my mind.
As I was leaving the room after that report and the news broadcast itself were over, I offhandedly said "OK, I don't think I'm having kids." The discussion went along the lines of no, not kids right *now*, and who knows? But what was running through my head was the fact that regardless of if I were considering having children, regardless of when, I couldn't say anything to my family because if I do, when I do, I want to be in a loving, committed relationship. With another woman.
bingo. Sticking point. My two weak attempts at coming out to my family ended in failure, one passed off as a social experiment done in the name of an interpersonal communication course I was taking at the time (and not passed off very well, either) and the other hasn't been spoken of since, as I think she's trying to forget it ever happened. So yes, beyond the issues of sperm donation, the definition of marriage, non-traditional (at least in the US) ideas about giving birth, society's predjudices against a child with two mommies--not to mention the two mommies themselves--and the need to find a country with a less... destruction-inducing standard of work than this one's, I have a problem on an incredibly basic level. I can't even talk about having kids. To. my. own. parents.
I'd have no problem coming home from university, bringing my girlfriend with me and introducing her as "Mom, Dad, this's Jenny, my friend." for a while. but I'd want them to knoweventually, and I know that sooner or later they're going to have to. I want them to accept me and somehow, judging from the reactions I got both times I tried to bring up the subject--stunned, sputtering disbelief on one hand, and the question of could I honestly distinguish attraction from friendship and admiration on the other... hello! As if I hadn't been trying to do that for *years* before this! I don't see the acceptance thing happening any time in the near future. Or the not so near future.
I don't want to cut myself off from my family. I inherited Dad's humor, love of history and geography, and knowledge of when to get the ever-loving hell out of a situation and fast or else be subject to the fallout of a verbal explosion. I can't count the times we've split from the scene of the day/week/month, same direction and usually same time right down to the minute, and that day we talked about sneaking out of a disney movie to go see the General's Daughter? Classic. And my mother and I share clothes, shoes and the hair that three or more generations of Reetz and Scheel women have. I got my singing voice from her, my temper from her, my intensity from her and I respect her immensely. She can read me like a book and knows exactly what to say to cut me to the heart, but if something's going on with me, you can damn well bet she'll know. She combed my hair and matched my clothes and there was that whole giving birth close to four months early thing. I don't want to be estranged from them. I can't cut them out of my life in order to have one of my own.
but if they won't accept the fact that hey, hello, I like girls too! what choice will I have? If the farthest I can get is a question of whether I've had enough social interaction to tell attraction from friendship (cough, snort, cough and this is where I say leave my blindness the hell out of it already, you're not living in my body or thinking with my brain, so you don't know what you're on about), then I haven't exactly got loads of room to compromise.
and this isn't even taking into account how my sisters are going to react when *they* find out. Oh dear...
Holy cow was that ever a load off. I'll write about something much more light-hearted later... like my Great America trip. Yeah, that...
