Episode 91: an open letter to my mom // Monday, July 6

 

Dear Mom,

For the past three weeks, I’ve been busy interviewing thirteen women authors and reading the anthology they wrote together: “FIERCE: Essays by and about dauntless women.” 

Not surprisingly, our conversations have focused a lot on feminism--on why women need to be fierce. The essays are about women in history that most of us have never heard of--even though we should have.

There’s a Chinese proverb that says, “Women hold up half the sky.” You seemed to hold up more. When you weren’t writing, directing, and building sets for 4-H musicals, or supervising four kids in Suzuki piano, or designing a small group curriculum for the Jr. High youth group, or lecturing hundreds of women on the finer points of Biblical theology--all of that under the deceptive umbrella of “volunteer work”--you were teaching me to separate egg whites from the yolks, how to whip them into the stiff peaks of a meringue, how to fold in the flavorings so the cake would be as light and delicious as a sugary cloud. You also taught me to be empowered and independent; I could make that angel food cake from scratch all by myself before I was ten years old. 

I can remember sheepishly telling my friends in high school that you were a home ec major in college, but looking back now I see that I was underselling you. This wasn’t just about things you would do with an apron on--though we did that, too. It was about managing a household--managing a life. The organizational skills I learned in life came from you. I still map out my grocery list in categories: produce, dairy, frozen, canned, grains, miscellaneous. It makes the work go faster. 

One of my childhood friends told me recently that she remembers you being very strict, and it was true. Looking back, I appreciate those boundaries, and also the way you let me bump against them when I needed to. It was you who taught me to breathe deeply and count to ten when I was angry, you who taught me about sex and drugs, about a faith with freedom to doubt. You did all of this while dad was working long hours, often not rolling in until it was night, sometimes disappearing into the hospital for whole weekends. You must have felt overwhelmed and even isolated, being alone with us so much of the time, but what I remember most are the passionate kisses you’d give him when he came home from work, the pizza and movie nights when we were all together.

You were there for me when I learned that strength can be empowering, but also isolating. At fourteen I proudly recounted to you how I’d done 220 push-ups, beating out all of the high school boys in a contest. You were not surprised when a friend told me that boys were intimidated by me, a sharp pain that would extend throughout my upbringing. You were frank with me about our world’s reluctance to embrace strong women. How there would be people who would not appreciate what I had to say. It took a long time for me to find a man who did not find my strength off-putting, who would celebrate and even amplify my voice.

The irony of my upbringing is that even as you warned me about feminism’s dangers, you modeled many of its virtues. You were the undisputed leader in our house, independent, strong, and capable. Only when I learned from my college women’s studies class that feminism wasn’t about hating men, but about empowering women, did I understand that I learned feminism first from you.

My own definition of feminism has evolved a lot over the years, and I’ve seen you evolve, too. It’s something I’ve long appreciated about you, that you don’t let yourself get stuck in one idea. You’re willing to grow and change and be challenged--and you taught me to be open to those things, too. 

Together, we’ve watched this world change a lot in my lifetime. We’ve had some hard conversations, and many good ones, too. I’m grateful that you’ve always welcomed those talks, that you’ve pushed me hard to think critically and to accept that it’s okay if I don’t have all of the answers.

Today I read a story by the Women and Foreign Policy program titled “Women’s Power Index.” It said that “when women make up a critical mass of legislatures—around 25 to 30 percent—they are more likely to challenge established conventions and policy agendas. Women are more likely to cross party lines to find common ground. Female lawmakers are more likely to advocate for policies that support education and health.”

The article goes onto say that when women are leaders, countries become more stable. They write, “Within countries, women’s parliamentary representation is associated with a decreased risk of civil war and lower levels of state-perpetrated human rights abuses, such as disappearances, killings, political imprisonment, and torture. Indeed, in post-conflict Rwanda, where over 50 percent of parliamentarians are female, lawmakers have supported inclusive decision-making processes that promote reconciliation efforts at the local level.”

Reading the statistics behind these statements, I realized I wasn’t surprised. Because you’ve been modeling these things for me all my life. You’ve taught me that health and education are non-negotiables, that any good relationship requires finding common ground. You worked hard to give our home stability, even when you had to do it alone. You saw places not just in our family but in society where help was needed, and you stepped in. 

You taught me a feminism that was empowered, but gracious. That didn’t discount the value of men, but also didn’t shy away from the reality that we have a long way to go when it comes to equality and mutual respect. Even as you taught me to be firm in my convictions and speak up loudly for what was right, you also taught me that there were times when what I needed to do was to listen. Not because I was a woman, but because all relationships require this. We can’t get anywhere in this world if all we do is shout.

Now that I’m raising my own girls, I think a lot about what they’re learning from me. I’m trying to teach them the things I learned first from you, that what matters most in the women they become isn’t their appearance, but their character. I’m trying to teach them that they are capable and strong, that their ideas matter, that they matter. 

There are sins to be forgiven, scales that need to be balanced. Maybe my girls will be a part of that balancing. I hope my boy will be a part of it, too. 

Thank you for giving me the gift of a feminism that celebrates both my femininity and my fierceness. That doesn’t just look one way. 

The gift of sanity I’m finding my way toward today--that I learned first from you--is that feminism isn’t just one thing. Like any good thing in life, it requires nuance. It pushes us to continue to evolve. It shows us that there are times to speak, and times to listen. Times to be forgiving, and times to be fierce.

The women I’ve spoken to this past week are embracing their fierceness in so many different ways. Some of those ways are familiar to me. Others are new. It’s been a joy to listen and learn. As different as these conversations have been, we’re all searching for the same thing. We’re all figuring out how to be fierce, how to be seen, how to find our way to a world where we are all valued and celebrated. 

Thank you for showing me that first.

Love,

Laura

Before I go, I’d like to thank a few of our newest supporters of Shelter in Place.

Elena Lovo, thank you for being the unofficial caterer of Shelter in Place. In this time of thin living, your meals have been the bright spot we look forward to, the sustenance that gets us through another week. You’ve taught me so much about what real community looks like! I’m so grateful for your friendship and support.

Jen McKillips, thank you for being a true friend who talked with me about stuff that matters from the very beginning. From our first conversation abo ut the fifteen things, to discussions about my novel, to parenting advice just last week, your willingness to get real is precious to me. You’re also one of the supermoms who has also shown me a feminism that is bigger than stereotypes.

Gabrielle Edgell, in the long line of strong women who have shaped me, you stand tall. You’re smart, tough, gracious, and wise--but haven’t lost the art of laughing about all of it. Thank you for believing in me and encouraging me over and over again. I’m still learning from you how to be strong.



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