A Midwestern upbringing
can be a challenge to overcome. Girls of
my era were primarily raised to be amiable and polite at all costs, and there’s
nothing much wrong with that except that sometimes you need to take a stand on
things and say what you think and it’s frustrating not to have the skills for it. I never came close to nailing the perfect
little lady thing, southern-style; nevertheless, it took me an awfully long
time to actually find my voice.
It wasn’t my mother’s
intention to saddle me with a timid spirit, it went with the times. Later on, she waded into the deep end of a
heavy-duty education that afforded her a platform for the things she cared
about, so I’m fairly certain she’d be happy to know that I hardly ever shut up
these days about what matters to me.
It was one of my high
school English teachers who initiated the process of dragging me out of my
shell. She knew exactly who she was, she
feared no one, and for some inexplicable reason she believed in me. I instinctively loved her, but she scared the
crap out of me. I wasn’t entirely sure
what she wanted from me, she seemed to have come from a world I wasn’t yet
acquainted with, and I was deathly afraid I was going to fail her in some fundamental
way that would forever seal my fate as a weenie.
College served to
further draw me out, but I can’t say that it markedly defined me, nor did a
brief stint in the business world before getting married. Marriage added definition, as did motherhood,
but my personal signature on my own life was still largely invisible.
Then, a decade ago, a
rapid succession of sudden and unforeseen cataclysmic losses shredded my safety
net and thrust me into an entirely new
life. There was no way to turn back the
clock and undo events – the only way open to me was forward. I was faced with monumental decisions, and I
found that as I dispatched them one by one my trust in myself grew
exponentially.
It was around this time
that my son introduced me to Facebook, and I suddenly had a built-in forum for
my incredibly hilarious stand-up comedy, by which I mean lame graphics and too-cute
sayings gleaned from the far recesses of the internet. But the more I interacted with new friends
from around the globe, the more I grew to appreciate myself as a full-fledged
human being with valid thoughts and opinions.
It helped that I had recently married a man who loves every square inch
of me, exactly as is, and encourages me to always and forever be myself, no
matter what.
It took the economic
collapse of November ‘08, however, to firmly kick me into high gear and
galvanize my resolve to speak up and to never again stand on the sidelines watching
things unravel. Turns out there’s
nothing quite like a damaging financial beating from unethical sources for
building backbone. All at once the
confidence I’d gained through forced independence, the empowerment that comes
from a truly great relationship and supportive friends, the knowledge I had garnered
through reading and research, and my “rage against the machine” came together
to not only expose that elusive voice, but make it bold.
I used to be fairly
blasé about politics, disengaged and careless about the process, vague as to
what impact this or that initiative would have on my life. No more.
I’m mad as hell and I can’t shut up.
I’ve always been painstakingly careful not to offend, but lately I’ve been
struck by the fact that very few people I encounter share that same
compunction. They say exactly what they
think, regardless of whether or not they can support it factually. And if it hurts someone’s feelings, too bad.
Some people have informed
me, in an unmistakably accusatory manner, that I’ve changed. It’s true, I have. Crushing grief and overwhelming
responsibility will do that to a person.
At the same time, I remain the person I’ve always been. For one thing … or two … I still try to get
the facts straight, and I continue to do my best not to bash innocent people
over the head with them.
I have wonderful young
friends who are raising their daughters and
their sons to own who they are and what they want, from the crib forward. I watch these young moms with awe, and I
silently applaud their delightfully expressive children, especially the
girls. Boys have long been known for
their bravado and natural confidence, so it’s those little girls who impress
me. They don’t doubt for a minute that
they have something to say and that they’re to be taken seriously in every word
of it. They’ve got the walk and the talk
and they’re headed for big stuff. I have
my eye on at least one who, if nobody beats her to it, could very well become
our first female president of the United States. It would not surprise me a bit.
You go, all you moms and
daughters. You make me so proud.
A Rose Among Thorns
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