I haven’t written here for a while, but I’ve finally had time to really focus and do so today. I wanted to write about this last week because it related to my poli sci class and the discussion of women. It dealt with the fact that women are raised to worry about their appearance from an early age rather than virtue or character, as appearance is always put ahead. It made me think of my own experiences when I was a young girl and how my extended family would try to pressure me to look a certain way and act a certain way. They would acknowledge that I was smart, but at the same time they’d find ways to criticize my appearance. I never considered my mother someone who was intensely feminist, but looking back at it, looking at the way she raised me, I feel that she was…at least when it came to her expectations of me. She made sure to trust and support the teachers who intellectually challenged me throughout my young life. Instead of emphasizing appearance, she emphasized the importance of me staying true to my values and reaching for educational achievement rather than focusing on succumbing to pressure that my grandmother put on me to look a certain way. The thing that my grandmother didn’t and doesn’t know about me to this day is that the more someone told me not to do something or that I shouldn’t the more I’d remain doing it, not out of spite, but because my choices were my choices. My mom has come to understand this, and she knows that in the end I’ll figure out what’s best for me and if I can’t I’ll ask her for help. So, I don’t know. I guess the reason I wrote this is because I realized that I’m more feminist than I thought and it’s hugely due to mother taking action when she did and I’m very grateful for that. In many ways I feel like I’m the family rebel who didn’t rebel, at least not typically. I had no reason to rebel my mother. I only rebelled in opinions, but even then I never tried to hurt her purposefully since she’s why I am where I am. (hmmm…maybe I can get this tattooed!) Yeah, I’m just really happy that she knew how to raise me. The reason I never rebelled was because I never needed to, and I don’t do so now. Sure I’m doing new things whenever I can, but I know myself enough to know what changes I can handle and what changes I won’t. I don’t think I’m any better than my family members who made mistakes in their past. I sometimes feel like the oddball around them because they know me as the one who’s done “good” for herself. As much as I pride myself on staying true to myself and making my own choices, this wouldn’t be possible without my mother.
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