#yesallwomen

Lately the internet has been flooded with retellings (or first tellings) of violence women have suffered, due simply to our gender.  At first I was hesitant to add my voice to the chorus. Compared to some of my friends I have suffered very little, and I do not want to diminish their stories by comparing them with something less intense. Then, I realized the #yesallwomen is about showing that all women suffer from gender violence, and so I believe that every woman should share their experience, even if it seems comparatively insignificant.

Because I am a female:

• I have been whistled at and called after on the street. 
• When I didn't respond, the whistling turned into hurtful comments, about me being ugly. 
• I have felt unsafe walking down an empty street at night, and called a friend, just to have my phone line open in case something happened. 
• I have been drugged at a bar. 
• I have had my butt and breasts groped at work, on the bus, and in the street. 
• A taxi driver felt it was appropriate to demand sex as payment. 

There are more. These little bits of violence pepper everyday life so often that eventually, they stop registering. But here is the really strange thing. Sometimes, my friends tell me about how men (old men, young men, attractive and unattractive) make lewd comments towards them on the street. Although this happens to me, it doesn't happen nearly as much as it does to other girls, and this makes me think, "What is wrong with me? Am I really so unattractive that I can't even get the attention no one wants?" What does that say, when gender violence is so normalized in our society that I devalue myself for not being a victim? It isn't that I want to experience it. It is just that it is so normal, so common, that I find myself an outlier because I do not endure it. THAT, I think, is sad. 

Shadows

Last night, I was putting Peatuk down for bed, and I noticed all of the shadows in our room. Our room is still in the process of being unpacked. That means that it is cluttered, the floor has tons of stuff on it, and the cupboards are usually open from my occasionally putting away an item here and there, then leaving the task. This, combined with the yellow night-lamp we use backlighting everything from behind his crib, makes for a rather creepy setting.

Well, it is creepy to me. I am not sure if it is creepy to my son. As I tried to soothe him I noticed he was looking up at his mobile and whimpering. Whimpering at bedtime is a common occurrence. He whimpers because he is tired. He whimpers because he doesn't want to be left alone. He whimpers because it helps put him to sleep. I wondered if he was whimpering at the mobile, and if he was, was he whimpering because he wanted it to run again, or because the shadows made it frightening?

Do babies fear? When do we start to develop fears, and what causes them?

I know what makes me fear the shadows in my room. It comes from an obsession with horror films. Thrillers. Dark, psychological stories. I like reading books about things that go bump in the night. I am fascinated by serial killers. I know that these subjects will end up leaving me sleepless, wondering about ghosts in the closet and monsters under the bed, and yet I can't help myself.

I guess, in many ways, horror/thriller is my porn.

The reason I am anti-porn is because I believe it restricts an individual's sexual vocabulary. When sex is something shared by two people (or more, whatever) in privacy, it is an act of exploration and expression. When one of those two people has watched many other people having sex, they have a set expectation of what is included in sex, which limits their potential creativity. Their world-view is shaped by the sexual dialect they have learned.

Similarly, my world-view has been shaped by a dialect of fear, created by horror films. I have learned to associate shadows with their potential to hide people/things that would harm me. I have learned to imbue objects with the potential for animation, and the animation they take on is always ominous. Open cupboards, bathroom mirrors, empty houses... heck, even my baby's eyes, in low light, can freak me out. Even when I know, logically, I am safe, I still have a bit of a sickening thrill in the back of my throat. I know exactly where it comes from. Child's Play. Nightmare on Elm Street. Carrie. These books and films have penetrated to my very core, changing me.

Nikola does not like horror films. If I want to watch them, I have to watch them on my own now days. He sees no value in adding that fear to his life. Until yesterday, I didn't really understand what the big deal was.

I don't want to raise my son in a shroud of potential harm. I want him to experience potential magic. I want him to have a vocabulary in which shadows are beautiful and mysterious, but not frightening. I don't want him to watch horror films, and I don't want him to pick up on my issues from the films I have watched over the years. It makes me wonder- can this be undone? They say that certain things cannot be unseen. Will these images, and the fear they inspire, stick with me for the rest of my life? Or is there a way to overcome it in myself? I like to think that porn viewers can learn to expand their sexual vocabulary when they stop watching porn and develop an ongoing sexual relationship with another individual. It takes time, but slowly they begin to develop their own voice. Unfortunately, with horror, I am not looking to establish my voice, but to take certain aspects out of my world view. Can I forget, or is it too late for me? 

Perfection

This isn't what I imagined my life would be like at age 30. To be perfectly honest, I never really bothered to dream about the future that much. I suppose that occasionally, while dating particularly lovely people, I considered a family life. But up until the Peace Corps, I was too busy planning my next three months to think about my next three years.

Now my husband and I live in a small apartment on the outskirts of the 2nd/3rd (depending on the time of year) largest city in Bulgaria, which still feels small compared to San Francisco. We have a three-month old son, and very little routine. We live from income to income, despite how affordable this country is, mostly due to unforeseen immigration expenses (oh, and having a baby). Although both of us can make between $20-30/hour working online, we tend to spend too much time in bed, or playing with our son, to actually make a sizable profit.

My main concerns these days are the color of poop that comes out of my son, and a diaper rash that comes and goes. Somewhere, deep in the recesses of my heart, I want to be able to write again, but it just doesn't seem as important as singing, "Itsy Bitsy Spider," or tickling Peatuk's toes to hear him giggle. My biggest frustration is the smell of slightly sour milk coming from our kitchen sink at the moment, and the fact that half of our apartment is still not set up. My biggest desire is a real, live, working, washing machine (next month!).

My days look like this:

Wake up and feed our son. Put him back to bed and wake up his father. Watch glee while feeding the baby. Look for articles to write online. Debate what to cook for dinner. Decide to make a salad instead of cooking. Take a 2-3km walk around the new neighborhood. Decide that the sea views and adorable houses, mixed with the young, family atmosphere was worth moving away from my awesome mother-in-law. Stop by the local store and pick up ingrediants for our salad. Go home. Watch That 70's show while having dinner. Take a family shower. Go to bed. Wake up in the middle of the night to a screaming baby. Sooth him and put him back down. Lure my still-working husband into bed. Repeat.

Occasionally, there are visits to Peatuk's doctor, which involve an exciting bus trip into town, and the inevitable "breast-feeding-in-public."

Sound boring? Perhaps, but I am strangely satisfied by it. Although I have some desire lurking in me, such as adding daily morning yoga to our routine, and getting in dance classes eventually, for the most part I am happy.

Last night there were fireworks being set off over the sea. We had a perfect view of them from Nikola's office. They were huge, and loud, and the three of us sat on our front steps for a moment and just watched. It was perfect.

However, I am still missing one key thing: that perfect female friend. I am not an overly social person. I find small-talk tedious and I don't really enjoy having a lot of aquaintences. However, the happiest times in my life have been when I had a good female friend. I am thinking back to Jez, and Holly. These two women were amazing. They brought out parts of me I didn't even know existed. Going for coffee, a run, out dancing, or just hanging around the house, possibly cooking, was so basic that I took it for granted. Now, even though I talk with both of them, I am realizing I need to find one of those good friends here.

But I run into the problem I have always encountered: How does a shy, socially demanding, woman cut through the bullshit and find a friend? Both Holly and Jez were magical work finds. Working from home cuts that out. I have never been particularly good at finding friends in dance class, or yoga, although those will be places I am looking. Internet friends rarely turn out sane (except Maria and Eva- those were good finds). Babies are supposed to be friend magnets, and although Peatuk does get quite a bit of attention while we are out, I haven't made a magical connection yet.

So, perfect life, almost. Just one more thing. Operation, find that perfect lady friend. 

The Anti-Body Shaming Movement Makes Me Question My Culture

I read this article on body shaming last night and I was immediately agreeing with it. I was "guilty" of many of the points in the article and, by the end, I was swearing to myself that I would do better.

Then something very strange happened. I noticed a distinct feeling within me. It reeked of nostalgia. I felt like I was once again the girl who ran around the bay area, dancing naked on beaches, spinning fire in Golden Gate Park, and eating vegan treats at hot tub parties (this was before the gluten-free trend started up). The feeling struck me so firmly that I was able to stop and wonder if I have really changed, and what about this article brought up that past self.

I will start with the obvious. The article was posted on facebook by someone from the bay area. Of course it was. As far as my contact with it is concerned, the anti-body shaming movement radiates from the bay area. It fits in with the culture there. The ideals of radical acceptance, and an evolution of a young crop of burning man lovelies learning to love themselves. Having been there for years I can still give the, "right answers," when it comes to questions about appearance, self-acceptance, and inclusive communities. It is something that has been ingrained in me, so when I read an article like that I can sit there and agree without really ingesting the thoughts behind it. To me, it is fluff that supports the dominant culture of that time and place, pretending to create new culture because that is part of the 'value of progression' that we crave.

That much is clear to me only because I have been away from the bay area for quite some time. I lived in Tucson for 3 years, and now I have been in Bulgaria and Turkey for four years. That is 7 years since I have been in that area, communing with those people, living that golden life of 'love.' But facebook does a pretty good job of making me feel like I am still connected with those people, ideals, and places. I wouldn't say that I still feel like I am part of that community, but I feel like I am still sharing culture with them. This realization made me think about the culture I am in now.

I still skate on the surface of Bulgarian culture. For the two years that I was in Peace Corps I tried to dive into culture, and while I was moderately successful I was still holding onto the idea that I was temporary. Being temporary in a place makes me only semi-permeable. It is the open-ended possibility of forever that actually allows me to change. I have only been living in Bulgaria with a forever mindset for the past year, and in that year I have been rather holed up with my husband and his family. I definitely have no handle on Varna's culture. However, I tried to imagine what people in Plovdiv or from my village would have said about that article. Would it bother them? Would they agree with it?

In Bulgaria I have gotten used to everyone I know giving their two cents about what I should eat, or shouldn't eat. They ask about my exercise. They definitely comment when I lose or gain weight. Older women are the worst about this. Most of them make wonderful food and then feed it to me until I pop, not allowing me to decline. All of this seems normal to me now. It doesn't make me feel bad about my body when people comment on it. I just accept that bodies are more public property here (as far as the gaze is concerned) and weight and size are acceptable topics of conversation. Then there are girls who are living on coffee and cigarettes, and the occasional piece of cake, so they can be a size 0. Is that a problem caused by body shaming, or by the influence of western media? Do Bulgarians see body shaming as a problem? Is it a universal problem, or is it culturally embedded?

With the idea of how people should interact with others becoming more and more globalized I wonder where the lines of culture are drawn. 'Shaming' is a hot word, but is everything in that article actually shaming, or does it only cause shame when taken in the sensitive context of the hyper self-reflective bay area, and American culture in general?

This is one of those questions that I don't have an answer to. It is new. It is something to think about. I am not trying to make any point in this post. I am definitely not saying one culture is better than the other. I am simply making an observation regarding my own cultural boundaries, triggers, and experiences. Maybe in a while I will come up with some theories, or at least a more coherent thought on the subject. 

The Ethical Side of Baby Making

If you asked me five years ago whether or not I would ever give birth my answer would have been no, or at least, "not likely." Although I love working with kids I have never been particularly fond of babies so it seemed like working in summer camps and YD initiatives was perfect for me while having a kid of my own seemed somewhat selfish.

I bought into the idea that with a rising global population having kids at all is somewhat irresponsible. Why not adopt a kid in need of a home rather than creating more children? I also struggle with my own love-hate relationship to living in general.

I was tittering on the edge of suicide for most of my adolescence, with cutting, many overly dramatic nights, and puking up overdoses on nyquil in my college dorm room culminating in a three day hospital stay before the age of 21. In the hospital I was finally able to make a logical breakthrough that ended my ridiculous actions. I figured out that, for better or worse, I was alive, and the only thing that was sure in my life was that I would, at some point, die. So, why rush the inevitable? Why not experience things to the fullest instead? With that recognition my life began to change. I got a whole lot happier. I relaxed and took more risks. I am sure the leveling off of my teenage hormones also helped quite a bit. But even though I had come to terms with my life, and the suffering nature of humanity, it didn't mean that I thought it would be okay to bring a baby into this world.

If humans suffer, constantly, why would I wish that on a being I am supposed to love? Why would I bring a child into a world where the majority of people are extremely selfish and deceitful? Where we are so bogged down with bureaucracy that individuals don't stand a chance and corporations rule the world? Where he or she is guaranteed to be hurt, used, and forgotten for the most part? That just seems cruel.

Then Nikola came along and some biological urge just toppled in me. Suddenly I found myself unable to resist the idea of having a baby with him. There was nothing logical in our choice. It was all hormones and urges and desire. Although Peatuk was planned, the timing was not thoroughly thought out, we were just... ready.

So now I have this awesome baby sleeping next to me, sucking on an imaginary nipple, and my heart breaks for him. I see how difficult every day is for him. The shocks of the world. Things like being sick, being startled, not having the complete, undivided attention of those you love at all times. He suffers these things, and I know that he will suffer much, much more. I often wonder if I made a reckless, stupid, selfish choice to bring him into the world.

But then he smiles. One of his favorite pastimes at the moment is to have a light cloth ran gently over his face. He loves it. He kicks his legs, waves his arms, and smiles incredibly wide. He is even starting to laugh at it. His eyes are bright and I know that he is thoroughly enjoying himself. He has a capacity for pleasure that any adult would be jealous of. When he is happy it resonates through his whole body, and he is made happy by the most simple, easy things. It is this happiness that makes me not feel guilty for birthing him. These moments remind me that as much as we are capable of suffering, we are also capable of burning passions, and pure joy. Surely these counteract the suffering and pain we endure as humans.

As Peatuk's mom I want to protect him from suffering. I want to show him as much pleasure as possible. I want to teach him to seek joy and to remember the importance of sensations as simple as being tickled with a piece of cloth. I want to help him hold onto those pleasures in life. It is the least I can do after calling him forward into a society that is so dark and backwards that it seeks to shut off our access to joy. But that capacity for joy is just as strong as the capacity for suffering. So, when it comes to whether it is ethical for someone who didn't even want to live at one point in her life to inflict life on another, I am going to say, sure, it's okay. Life is hard, but in the end, it is worth it. 

My First Mother's Day (On The Other Side)

A couple of days ago I had a little talk with Nikola. Generally I am not a fan of holidays and I prefer presents that are given because you found the perfect thing for me, not because you feel obligated to get me something. For that reason we haven't really exchanged much in the way of gifts. We tend to go out to sushi for special occasions instead. However, I told him that I would like to celebrate mother's day. Even though Bulgarians do not celebrate it, I wanted to. What can I say except that I have been sucked in by commercialism, and after not having a special, secret wedding gift, or a birth gift, I wanted to actually celebrate the holiday. It was a strange desire, especially because Peatuk is still too young to celebrate with.

Well, Peatuk had his own opinion of how the day should go. He has a stuffy nose so he didn't sleep all night, and kept me up with him. I spent the early morning hours rocking him and shushing him, and trying to let Nikola sleep (Unsuccessfully). Finally, when Nikola left for work in the morning Peatuk let me sleep, snuggled up to him, for about two hours. Then I spent the rest of the day packing to move to our new house between holding a sniffly, crying, needy baby. Nikola ended up working late on a new project, and came home around 7pm, when Peatuk finally started to calm down and give those absolutely charming smiles we love.We fed him, changed him, and then left him with grandma to go to sushi.

It was an excellent dinner. It was no different than any of our other holidays, but as it was the first time that we really went out and were just the two of us since Peatuk was born, it was infinitely more special and relaxing. I even treated myself to a full glass of wine. Of course, I couldn't make it through the whole thing because I am such a lightweight when it comes to alcohol now. All in all, it was a perfect mother's day. I guess all I really needed was time cuddling with my amazing son, and one on one, devoted attention from the man I made him with.

The things you own...

I keep coming back to this struggle. Again.

And again...

And, now, once more.

Nikola and I are moving into our new apartment (still- we have been both lazy and waiting to make the purchase of some of our appliances). Every few days we load up our car, like this:

While Nikola is loading things I write down what got packed to make an inventory of the things we own. I know, it is a bit obsessive and not at all necessary. Nikola thinks I am weird, but I feel like knowing what is filling all of the space in our apartment will help us make purchasing decisions. For instance, we both have more than enough cycling gear. We reuse the same pieces and the unused ones gather dust. But not only do we not get rid of them, we can't help ourselves from buying more. After awhile it gets ridiculous. Clothing and electronics are also rather bad. I got rid of two large bags of clothing I never wear (yes, that whole pregnancy thing) but still have a closet stuffed with clothes I am not even sure if I like. Electronics... well:

collapsable keyboard	1
portable speakers	1
palm pilot	1
nike +	1
mp3 player	1
phone screenguards	3
phone stand	3
US plug adaptors	2
mac brick	1
mac brick adaptor	3
palm pilot power cable and computer adaptor	1
broken acer tablet	1
acer power adaptor	1
mac remote control	1
ex. hard drive	1
extra android battery	1
lazer pointer stylus	1

That was just my stuff, and only the things I don't use. Why do I still have a palm pilot from ten years ago that I no longer use? Why am I thinking of getting another tablet when I already have a computer and a smart phone? It seems excessive and all it does is clutter my life. I KNOW that I am happiest living in the woods with a notebook and pen and a soft place to cuddle. Yet I can't seem to help myself. Of course, things aren't so simple now. I have my life, mixed in with the life of a very clutter-happy husband, and a son who has a surprising amount of stuff for only being on this planet for two months. 

I am not sure if this will be yet another exercise in frustration or if it will actually help me to understand my habits and begin living the lifestyle I think I want. (I think I want it, because if I was sure I wanted it I would be taking more concrete steps towards achieving it.) Besides writing down everything and figuring how it will fit in what seemed like a large 1-bedroom apartment and now seems tiny I have began daydreaming about the home we want to build. Will we have an office? An office and a writing space? An office and a writing space and a space for the kids to do their homework? My dream home, that I have always loved for being small, smart, and sustainable just got monstrous. I am definitely rethinking my priorities and trying to find a way to get back to who I was, and who I feel I am, which is not a commercial, materialistic person.