#MeToo: A Letter to my Children

This is how old I was, the first time I was assaulted. 

To my children,

I am sharing something with you that is painful and personal for me, and the reason why is that I want to break the cycle of abuse, so that you, and your children, never ever have experiences like this. Holding these experiences in silence has only empowered sexual predators, and they are everywhere, in every industry and in the White House. And women aren’t the only ones who fall victim to sexual abuse. Young boys do, too. And it’s more common than people would think. The problem is that those of us who have been victims of this feel shame and keep it inside. Not only is that toxic to us, but it protects the perpetrators, and allows them to keep abusing. The reason I’m telling you everything is because I want you to see how rampant it was in my generation, and I want it to end with me. Maybe by me finally releasing it, the monster loses its power.

These are my experiences:

Three years old: I was abducted by two older boys and locked in their apartment. I can’t tell you what they did to me because all my mind can see is darkness. My young mind tricked me into thinking I had passed out. Maybe I did. When my mom and stepfather found me, my stepfather lifted me in the air by one arm and wailed on my behind, shouting at me that I was bad for disappearing like that. I did not have the language to explain what had happened to me or to defend myself. I learned then that it was my fault if something horrible happened to me. 

Eight years old: A boy in my class trapped me behind the handball court and held me there for 20 minutes, holding a metal nail file to my throat and threatening to stab me if I tried to get away. 

Eight years old: Standing on a corner with my friends, a man pulled his car up to the curb in front of us. He was naked and masturbating. I told my mother but there was nothing we could do. The man drove away to terrorize other little girls.

Ten years old: I was out rollerskating and stopped in the local deli to get a drink. The man behind the counter tried to get me to come in the back room with him. I said no. He grabbed my wrist and started dragging me on my roller-skates. I kicked him in the shin with my skates and got away. 

Eleven years old: We were at a friend’s house in Redondo beach. I was walking down the street with three of my friends to see the beach, which was only two blocks away. A man started following us, making kissing noises and saying things like “Hey pretty babies. Where you going?” We started walking faster but he did too. He ran up behind me and grabbed me but I got away and started running. We ran all the way home, and never got to see the beach.  I learned then that girls can’t walk anywhere, even in groups, even in broad daylight, without being subject to predators. And they will get away, and do it to other girls. 

Twelve years old: Walking home from school, my friends and I were on the railroad bridge when a man stepped in front of us, dropped his pants and started masturbating. We were trapped and terrified. We ran back across the bridge, away from our homes, and couldn’t get home for hours because we were afraid to cross the bridge. When we finally got home, I found my mother at our neighbor Susan’s house. We told them what had happened and they called the police, who were not able to find the man. Susan shrugged it off like this happens every day, and told me “Next time a guy drops his pants in front of you, just laugh at him. That’s what my sister does.” Then she gave me half a valium and told me it would be fine. I learned then that men would drop their pants in front of you and it was up to you to learn how to handle it. We were never able to walk to school again. 

Thirteen years old: I was at a sleepover at my friend Laura’s house. I woke in the middle of the night to her 6’ 2” sixteen-year-old brother taking my pants off. He picked me up and carried me into his room and laid me down on his desk. I jumped up and ran. He chased after me and threatened me but I got out. I ran all the way home in the middle of the night. My mother woke to me pounding on the front door. She called Laura’s mother and told her, and that was the end of it. The brother never suffered any consequence for attempting to rape a child. I learned then that you can tell but nothing will happen to the perpetrator, so you better learn how to protect yourself. 

That was also the end of my friendship with Laura. She was too ashamed to face me after that. I learned then that if you speak up you will lose friends. 

Thirteen years old: I was at a sleepover at my friend Sherri’s house. In the middle of the night her drunk father burst into the room buck naked and stood over us. I sat up and looked him in the eye. I think he was surprised to see me there. He turned and left. I never told Sherri, or anyone. I didn’t want to lose another friend. 

Thirteen years old: My mom’s boyfriend’s brother Bobby Abbondante, who babysat me only the year before, said he’d take me to a movie I really wanted to see.  At the drive-in movie, he attacked me, ripping my shirt open, biting me, aggressively grabbing my breasts, hurting me, leaving bruises and hickeys all over me as I fought and screamed. After, he cried and begged me not to tell. This was the year The Wilderness Family had come out. He had made a bet with his friends that he could “nail” a movie star. I learned then that as a female, I had no value - I was just a bet, something to be “nailed.”

Thirteen years old: Standing outside the library at night, waiting for my mom to pick me up. Some teenage boys rode up on bikes and started saying sexual things to me. One of them grabbed my breast and squeezed it hard, hurting me. I screamed and they laughed and rode away. 

Fourteen years old: The man at the deli who had tried to drag me away on my skates became a peeping tom at my house. I was home alone nights because my mom worked. His face would appear in the bathroom window when I or one of my friends was using the bathroom. My friend Greg went to his house with a butcher knife, tried to kick down the front door, threatened to kill him if he ever saw him around my house again. 

Fifteen years old: Late one night I caught my good friend and neighbor Keith watching me undress through a crack in the curtains of my bedroom window. That was the end of our friendship.

Eighteen years old: On vacation in Bimini, an island where there is no law enforcement or government, my cousin Tammey and I walked past my uncle Dan’s entourage one evening on our way to dinner.  A creepy guy in the “entourage” who had been leering at us during the week loudly suggested to the rest of the guys that they ought to grab Tammey and I and have a gang bang. Tammey told the guy to fuck off but I was terrified. We told uncle Dan and he assigned two bodyguards to trail Tammey and I everywhere we went, and somehow had the guy kicked off the island that night. Imagine having to spend your vacation with two bodyguards because there are so many men on the island who might rape you. 

Nineteen years old: My boss, John Makhani, asked me to come out with him after work to discuss my possible promotion. He trapped me at his house, refused to let me go home, and tried to coerce me into taking my clothes off in front of him. For about an hour he bullied me and tried to get me to undress but I wouldn’t. He wouldn’t let me go home until the morning. After that, he punished me by criticizing and humiliating me in front of staff, making my job a living hell until I had no choice but to quit. I learned then that if you stand your ground, you will lose your job. 

Nineteen years old: My friend Diane and I were invited by a friend to a celebrity party at Larry Wilcox’s house. He was a star on the show CHIPS that was popular back then. We arrived at his house to find it was only the two of us, and three guys. Larry started making out with my friend Diane, and he tried to get me to make out with him too. He wanted us to have a three-way with him. I was disgusted. I refused and went outside in the backyard. His 50-year-old creepy friend followed me. He started hitting on me and when I turned him down, he became aggressive. I ran away from him. He literally chased me around the backyard swimming pool for an hour until I threatened to call the police. Finally a friend showed up and chased the guy off. I learned then that if you accept an invitation to a party, you are vulnerable to assault. 

And then there are the many times as an adult I’ve been “grabbed” Donald Trump style- once when I was a waitress in a crowded bar, holding a very heavy tray over my head. The guy grabbed my crotch and I couldn’t defend myself. Another time at a concert. Another time at a restaurant. Another time at a gig. Another time at a Christmas party. 

Donald Trump is the face of every vile man that has attacked me, of every man that has disregarded my humanity. I want this to be the generation that STAMPS OUT men like Donald Trump and Harvey Weinstein and Woody Allen. I want to see good men and good women seated equally at the table of life, and in positions of power. I want to see good men and good women as the stewards of humanity. 

How any man can grow up to treat a woman like she is nothing is a mystery to me. Those very same men grew inside our bodies. Their blood was created from our blood. We cared for them and raised them. I want my husband and sons to be aware of what it’s like for women- or what it has been like.  I want you to be aware, stand up and speak out when you see this kind of behavior in men. Speak up when you hear men talking about women like they are pieces of meat who have no value. Speak up when you hear misogyny, woman-bashing and feminist-bashing. 

Right now, with a vile predator like Trump in the White House, I have no hope for this country. But I put my hope in you, in your generation, to make this country and to make humanity decent again. I’m counting on my daughter to be strong and loud, and my sons to love and respect the women who gave you your life. 

May our future generations only know about the #MeToo movement from the stories they read in history books. 

Why Women Will Lead the Way on Gun Reform

Huge thanks to my friend Brooke Elise Axtell for inviting me to write this piece for The Feminist Wire. This details my personal experience with gun violence, how it led me to work in gun violence prevention, standing up against the bullies who want to silence us. 

"What woke me that summer morning in 1978 was the screaming. I didn’t know it was my mother’s voice. I’d never heard a sound like that come out of her. I ran into the living room to find my seven-year-old brother Christopher covered in blood. He had just been shot in the head by a neighborhood kid playing with his dad’s gun..."

Read the article here: http://thefeministwire.com/2014/05/women-will-lead-way-gun-reform/

The International Women's Day Hangover

Photo: Forbes Magazine

March 8th was International Women’s Day. I celebrated by surrounding myself with brilliant, strong courageous women who inspire me. From morning till night, I was in the company of estrogen-laced greatness. Yes I was giddy and uplifted by the love, encouragement, and beauty of these women. All day my facebook buddies were touting  how happy and PROUD they were to be women. Yay for us! I got caught up in it. You could say it was intoxicating.

And then comes the morning after, also known as… the hangover. And with it, the sober thoughts.

Yes, I love being a woman. Sometimes. And sometimes it just plain sucks.

How could I say such a thing? Because although I believe in the power of positive thinking,  I don’t want to be in denial about the hard truths. If we don’t acknowledge them, we can not change them.

So here is my list of womanly things that SUCK:

It sucks ….

That my son asked me the other day if it was really true that women are paid less than men and I still couldn't say, "No, honey. That was in the olden days."

That we are still fighting for control over our own reproductive rights.

That I’ve had to look over my shoulder all my life walking to my car or getting in an elevator because one in six US women are rape victims.

That my daughter has to carry pepper spray.

That women in so many parts of the world aren’t free, don’t have rights, are chased by the virtue police, have to wear burqas, are stoned to death for minor infractions that men get away with every day.

That 62 million girls are denied an education around the world: http://aol.it/1GeLdEN

That one in four women are victims of domestic violence.

That every 16 hours, an American woman is shot and killed by her partner.

That only 5% of Fortune 500 CEOs are women. 

That the US is ranked 104th in women's representation in government.

Oh yeah….and since I’m feeling cranky, these things suck too:

That women are expected to be eternally thin and eternally young.

The various woman-specific cancers for which research is under-funded.

Bras and high heels.

Okay I’m ranting. I’ll stop.

I’m just saying it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. We have to be better, fight harder, strive more than our counterparts. Here in the US, opportunity abounds and I can pursue any dream I want, but I’m still looking over my shoulder every time a new bill threatens my freedoms, every time a stranger walks behind me, every time I turn on the news and hear yet another report of a missing woman who happens to have a really suspicious creepy boyfriend, and I can never forget that women around the world are still oppressed.

Ever since Eve took the rap in Genesis, on some level we’ve been cowering, apologizing for our gender. We bought the lie, and forgot who we really are. I mean…think about it. We CREATE LIFE in our wombs! We are capable of connecting with others at deep soul levels. Our intuition is astounding. But in many ways we are still in that victim role. We haven’t yet stepped into our full power.

So yes, let’s celebrate, but not because the struggle is over. Let’s celebrate all that is good, the progress we’ve made, and the road ahead that we have yet to walk together. Let's celebrate our awakening. 

I am proud to be a woman, proud of all we’ve come through and survived, proud to carry the suffragette spirit in my veins, proud of all the women I am honored to call my friends. And I will be proud to continue to stand up for women, everywhere, until we are equal, free, and safe all around the world.

Happy Hangover Day.

You Gotta Have Girlfriends

I just had the pleasure (and I truly mean pleasure) of reading a pre-publication copy of  Suzanne Braun Levine's newest e-book, You Gotta Have Girlfriends. For those of you who have been living under a feminist rock for the past few decades (and if you have, it's okay to come out now) in addition to authoring several books on women in their "second adulthood", Suzanne was also the first editor of Ms. Magazine. She has been an icon in the feminist movement and has covered the issue of women and aging so beautifully over the years. In her new e-book, she addresses one of the fullest expressions of our feminine power- friendship.

I had a busy schedule the other day but had set aside an hour to begin reading Suzanne's book. Before I knew it hours had passed without my looking up once.  I was gripped by the stories, and saw myself and my experiences reflected in every chapter. 

This much I know: I would not have made it this far without my girlfriends. They witness me, encourage me, make me laugh when life is painful, and at times, they have literally saved my life. And now as I transition into midlife, that awful, awkward reverse-puberty phase, I can't imagine surviving it without them. I was happy to learn from Suzanne's book that not only do our friendships save us on a metaphoric level, but also on a physical.

"One of the best things a woman can do for her health is to nurture her relationships with her girlfriends, especially after the age of fifty."Hanging out with a small but trusted group of other females reduces damaging spikes in stress hormones, reports New York Times science writer Natalie Angier. A circle of trust can, as she puts it, “mop up the cortisol spills that can weaken the immune system,” which in turn can support additional years of good health.

So there you have it, ladies. Sharing a bottle of wine (or four) and spending the day at Burke Williams Spa is actually a preventative health measure. Cheers!

But as much as we can improve each others' health, some relationships are just plain toxic. Suzanne's book also addresses this. Our friendships with other women can be complicated. Sometimes they are fraught with competition, jealousy, and oversensitivity. And sometimes, they just don't work out. I have recently experienced the loss of a close friendship. This has resulted in many sleepless nights and has been excruciating, to say the least. Reading Suzanne's book helped me to feel less alone.  It was comforting to read the experiences of other women who had been "dumped" by a friend, such as novelist Jacqueline Mitchard, who shared her story with Suzanne. In fact, reading You Gotta Have Girlfriends felt like a heart to heart with a close friend, someone who understood everything I was feeling.

I can't recommend this book highly enough. It is a celebration of friendship, and a look into our deeply layered relationships. It is both encouraging and uplifting and clear-eyed about healthy boundaries. After reading it, I felt a deep sense of gratitude for the close circle of women who surround me, and more at peace about the ones who left the circle.

As Suzanne says so elequently:

"In your gut, you know who your friends are. They are the ones people you choose over all others to spend your fiftieth birthday with. They root for you and they put up with you. They stand up for you and they stand by you. They patiently teach you how to use your smart phone (and can be trusted not to tell your kids you couldn’t figure it out yourself). They listen sympathetically when you need to vent. They know when you are hurt or angry and how to patch things up. And they make you laugh."

Do yourself a favor and buy this book today (at only $1.99, how can you NOT buy it?), and then, share it with ALL your girlfriends.
http://www.openroadmedia.com/you-gotta-have-girlfriends

A few words from some of Suzanne's girlfriends.....

“Suzanne Braun Levine made me understand why I always envied older women . . . life just gets better—more outrageous, more radical, more passionate, less fraught, wiser, deeper, and kinder.” 
—Eve Ensler, author of The Vagina Monologues
“Levine takes us beyond the frontier of our own expectations and into a new and hope-filled stage of life.” 
—Gloria Steinem

** I was honored to meet Suzanne at the Women At Woodstock conference last October where she sat in on a workshop Amy Ferris and I were leading, and then to have her on our Women Write their Lives panel at the San Miguel Writers Conference. We are thrilled that Suzanne referenced  Dancing at the Shame Prom in her chapter about overcoming shame. 

Bill Patrick is a Feminist

Is it possible for a man to be a feminist? If it means to care deeply about women's issues, to do work protecting women and girls from gender violence, and to raise a strong and confident daughter, then yes, Bill Patrick is a feminist. 

Check out Amy Ferris' blog today for our article/interview with this amazing man who articulates so beautifully what it is to be a man in a world of gender violence and inequality. 

To read more of Bill's progressive thoughts, check out Bill's Profeminist Blog.

No one can break your heart like a woman...

None of us have gotten this far in life without enduring some heartache. I’ve had my heart broken more than I’d thought possible, but that’s the price I pay for loving- and not just romantically, but loving friends as well. Nine times out of ten, the rewards far outweigh the risk. I have great love in my life, and am blessed with deep and meaningful friendships. But I’ve had some really bad experiences, the kind that make you never want to reach out again. Yes, men have hurt me, mostly by being thick-headed. But women…women are another story. There have been women in my life who have been vindictive and conniving and intentionally cruel. Women who have smiled to my face while stabbing me in the back. In my experience, no one can break your heart like a woman.

So why is this?

Could this be why the ERA has never been eradicated, and why women are still making 77 cents to every dollar a man earns? I think it is. We've put too much focus on men for our inequality, when we need to get out of the victim role and start looking at ourselves. 

It is my personal belief that as women we aren’t yet standing in full equality because we don’t stand united. We want to rise in the ranks, but we fear there isn’t room for all of us, so what do we do?  We turn on each other. Not believing in our own full power, we knock others down by gossiping and judging and berating- all projections of self-loathing, (and in my opinion, this stems from shame). According to author Iyanla Vanzant, women cut each other down to feel powerful, but this is false power. She says, “It’s easy to be queen among paupers, harder to be a queen amongst queens”.

When we honor ourselves for who we are, the need to minimize others falls away. Happy, successful women don’t feel the need to criticize others. They can be glad for others’ success without feeling threatened.

I love what my friend Amy Ferris says about this- women should complete each other, not compete with each other. Amy and I achieved this while working together on our book over the past year and a half.  We completed, never competed, and because of this, we were able to make a dream come true - and do something positive in the world, to boot. Because of this, we are both stronger women. To me, this is feminism.

Personally, I’d rather be a queen amongst queens. The women in my life are strong and feisty and confident and powerful, and that’s just the way I like it. They inspire me to strive for excellence every day. I would never, ever say or do anything to detract from their bright shining spirits. One flower choking out all the others is not a garden. A garden is only is beautiful when it's brimming with blooms of every variety.  There is room in this garden of humanity for every woman to blossom, to shine in her own unique color and shape. There is room for every one of us to be exactly who we are.

I believe we’ll only find our happiness, strength and equality when we help other women find theirs. But first, we've got to stop breaking each other's hearts, for no woman truly succeeds until all of us succeed. 



Amy Ferris wrote a companion piece to this blog- read it here: MarryingGeorgeClooney.com

Sluts Vs. Hate-Filled Windbag

Sandra Fluke bein' all slutty.

I’ve been reading all of the banter on social media and TV regarding the latest Rush debacle – his calling Sandra Fluke a “slut” and a “prostitute” for wanting women’s contraceptive methods covered by insurance. Saying he wants her sex acts taped and posted on the internet so he can watch.

Is anyone actually surprised that Limbaugh is a hate-filled windbag? He always has been, most likely always will be, so why should we even pay attention to him?

In my view, Rush Limbaugh is a sad, sad man filled with anger and resentment. I mean, look at the guy. He’s morbidly obese, and addicted to Oxycontin and Viagra (which his insurance most likely pays for). He’s been married four times- and no kids, by the way, so according to his theory, either all four of his wives were contraceptive-usin' sluts, OR, they were so repulsed by him they never let him touch them. Or he ran out of Viagra.

My prediction? Rush is doing a slow-motion fall onto his own sword, slip-sliding his way toward a full-tilt meltdown.  One day soon, he’ll be banished to the internet like Glenn Beck, or pitching a reality show like Palin.

But most of us really, really want him to go away now, and the thing is…we could actually make it happen. In the battle of Sluts Vs. Windbag, we have the advantage.

We’re standing in front of the Wicked Witch with a bucket full of water, people.

We hold the power to make Rush what he fears most….

IRRELEVANT.

We could stop quoting him, stop showing clips of his radio show all over television, stop talking about him altogether.

Instead, we could raise our own voices, and speak up for what we believe in. If more and more of us do that, we will drown him out.

It just may be Rush is one of the best things that ever happened to us contraception usin’, book-learnin’, voice raisin’ sluts.  Because of him, many of us are speaking up, and our voices are being broadcast around the world.

And he thought he was belittling us.

Oh, snap!

Feminism in the Gaga Generation?

My girlfriend Maxee and her little girl, marching for the ERA in the 70s

Words have power. I believe this wholeheartedly, and that’s why I am disappointed in myself today.

This weekend I had to prep for a big gig in Beverly Hills. The client requested all the current dance tunes: Lady Gaga, Kesha, Katy Perry, Black Eyed Peas…some which I knew but some that I had to learn. So I’m studying the lyrics, trying to commit them to memory, and I just get this sick feeling in my stomach as I realize that every one of these songs is women telling other young girls to go out and get wasted and have random sex.

There has been a lot of outrage over the T-shirts J.C. Penney was selling with slogans like “I’m too pretty to do homework” but where is the outrage over what little kids are singing along to on the radio?

Let me illustrate:

Lady Gaga “Just Dance”

Where are my keys? I lost my phone.

What’s going on on the (dance) floor

I love this record but I can’t see straight anymore

We’re all getting hosed tonight.

Keep it cool. What’s the name of this club? I can’t remember but it’s alright.

(and this woman is richer than Oprah, by the way…)

Kesha "Tik Tok":

Brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack cause when I leave for the night I ain’t comin back

Everybody gonna get crunk (wasted) Boys tryin to touch my junk

ain’t got a care in the world but got plenty of beer

aint got no money in my pocket but I’m already here.

Katy Perry "California Girls":

Sippin gin and juice…lying underneath the palm trees undone.

Sex on the beach

We don’t mind sand in our stilettos

We freak (have sex) in my jeep

All that ass hangin’ out

And the video for the Black-Eyed peas song  “I Got a Feeling” ( that tonights gonna be a good night) made me cringe. It’s such a happy anthem, I usually love hearing that song. But in the video, what a “good night” consists of is girls dressing like strippers, drinking themselves to a point that they are literally falling-down drunk. The very last shot of the video is a girl in a mini dress passed out cold, lying alone, sprawled out on a New York street. That is someone’s definition of a good night? Am I the only person who is outraged about this? This is how girls get raped, or end up on missing posters. NOT COOL, people.

On Saturday I went to a carnival, where I watched a singing group made up of teenaged sisters, the youngest was eleven. There they were singing the Katy Perry and Kesha songs. Adorable girls, great harmonies, but…an eleven-year old singing about getting wasted and having sex? All of this “fun music” that kids are singing along to is being embedded in their subconscious minds. Words have power.

Great songwriters have the power to change the world. Dylan, Lennon, Joni Mitchell, Jackson Browne...where are those voices today? The times...they are a changin', alright.

Sunday night I had to sing these songs, and with every lyric I felt like I was betraying myself and young women everywhere. I am very careful about the words that I use in my life. But I was being paid, so I had to promote a message I didn’t believe in. When I was singing the Katy Perry song, a little girl about ten years old jumped up on the dance floor. Here I was glittering in sequins, under a spotlight, and she’s looking up at me with her big round eyes, mouthing the words about having sex on the beach wearing stilettos. I felt like a total sellout, ashamed of myself for sending this message to a child.

When I later complained to my daughter Cristen that these songs are taking feminism back to the dark ages, it prompted an immediate eye-rolling from her. “I love those songs,” she said.  She ribs me for being too serious. "It's just a fun song, Mom. Don't make it into such a big deal." I get what she's saying. I listened to radical music growing up. We had Alice Cooper and KISS and Joan Jett. But you know, “Schools out for Summer” or "I love Rock N Roll" doesn’t quite compare to women singing about loving “rough sex” (both Rhianna and Lady Gaga) and getting wasted out of their minds. Is this the kind of freedom we fought for, ladies? Is this where equal rights has brought us? I’ve encouraged my daughter to watch “Iron Jawed angels” about the suffragettes fight for the vote. Not interested. And you know, it made me realize, when you haven’t had to fight for something yourself, it just doesn’t mean much. How many of our young girls know anything about the ERA, and yet they are in the know with Gaga lyrics, Jersey Shore and the Kardashians, because this is what they are spoon fed by the media. Where is the voice of today's generation? And what is the message?

I’m sure some will say I’m the next Tipper Gore, but I’m not talking about censorship. People should have the freedom to listen to what they want. I’m just concerned about the words we use. The words that become engrained in our subconscious minds. The words that shape our children’s perspectives.

So where does this leave me? I’ve been hard hit by this recession and I need to work. Can I continue to work in this industry, singing these songs, and still call myself a feminist? As a young girl I played guitar and sang the battle cries of Joan Baez and Joni Mitchell, and now? 

Is feminism dying in the Gaga generation?

The Day After International Women’s Day

Photo: Forbes Magazine

March 8th was International Women’s Day. I celebrated by surrounding myself with brilliant, strong courageous women who inspire me. From morning till night, I was in the company of estrogen-laced greatness. Yes I was giddy and uplifted by the love, encouragement, and beauty of these women. All day my facebook buddies were touting  how happy and PROUD they were to be women. Yay for us! I got caught up in it. As my friend Barb said- it was intoxicating.

And then comes the morning after, also known as… the hangover. And with it, the sober thoughts.

Yes, I love being a woman. Sometimes. And sometimes it just plain sucks.

How could I say such a thing? Because although I believe in the power of positive thinking,  I don’t want to be in denial about the hard truths. If we don’t acknowledge them, we can not change them.

So here is my list of womanly things that SUCK:

It sucks ….

That a week after having a miscarriage I had to read about this asshat in Georgia who’s trying to pass a bill that could criminalize miscarriage. (I’m on a post-pregnancy hormonal rollercoaster right now -just try to prosecute me. I dare ya.)

That we are still fighting for control over our own reproductive rights.

That I’ve had to look over my shoulder all my life walking to my car or getting in an elevator because one in six US women are rape victims.

That my daughter has to carry pepper spray.

That women in so many parts of the world aren’t free, don’t have rights, are chased by the virtue police, have to wear burqas, are stoned to death for minor infractions that men get away with every day.

That one in four women are victims of domestic violence

Oh yeah….and since I’m feeling cranky, these things suck too:

that women are expected to be eternally thin and eternally young

that we have to wear bras and high heels. Those suckers are uncomfortable!

That we have to suffer through a good forty years of menstruating, cramping, headaches, bloating….and then at the end, you get….ta-da MENOPAUSE!

That we get yeast infections, and bladder infections, and all the other infections exclusively our own, plus all the woman-specific cancers for which research is under-funded.

Okay so I’m ranting. I’ll stop.

My husband has seen me through some tough stuff, most recently this miscarriage. He always says to me “You women have it so hard, I wish I could take some of the burden off you.”

I wish it too. But I wouldn’t wish any of this burden on him, he’s too sweet. I’d like to see other men take the burden. Like Mel Gibson. Or the asshat in Georgia. Or John Boehner. You think you’re crying now, Boehner? Try being a woman for a day!

I’m just saying it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. We have to be better, fight harder, strive more than our counterparts. Here in the US, opportunity abounds and I can pursue any dream I want, but I’m still looking over my shoulder every time a new bill threatens my freedoms, every time a stranger walks behind me, every time I turn on the news and hear yet another report of a missing woman who happens to have a really suspicious creepy boyfriend, and I can never forget that women around the world are still oppressed.

Ever since Eve took the rap in Genesis, on some level we’ve been cowering, apologizing for our gender. We bought the lie, and forgot who we really are. I mean…think about it. We CREATE LIFE in our wombs! We are capable of connecting with others at deep soul levels. Our intuition is astounding. But in many ways we are still in that victim role. We haven’t yet stepped into our power, or as my friend Amy Ferris says, awakened to our greatness.

So yes, let’s celebrate, but not because the struggle is over. Let’s celebrate all that is good, the progress we’ve made, and the road ahead that we have yet to walk together. Let's celebrate awakening to our greatness.

I am proud to be a woman, proud of all we’ve come through and survived, proud to carry the suffragette spirit in my veins, proud of all the women I am honored to call my friends. And I will be proud to continue to stand up for women, everywhere, until we are equal, free, and safe all around the world.

Happy Hangover Day. 

Grrrrrrl Power

Don’t get me wrong, I’ll never be offered membership to any militant uber-feminist club, because I love my Dior mascara and my high heeled shoes and my pushup bras too much, and I’d be hard-pressed to give them up. But I’ll tell you what - I am sick and tired of being told through the media that as a woman I need to alter myself to be acceptable. As if it weren’t enough that we are ridiculed for not having big enough breasts, or being too fat, we are constantly being told through print media, ads and our celebrity population that we must shoot ourselves full of botulism and chemical fillers so that we don’t offend anyone with our age. We are blasted nonstop with ads for plastic surgery, diet products, anti- aging blah blah blah….And this past week I saw not one but TWO stand up comedians making fun of women for having pubic hair. They joke about it as if it so crude and unnatural for a woman to have pubic hair. What’s unnatural is for a sexually mature female to NOT have pubic hair. (and believe me, never in my life did I think I’d ever be blogging about pubic hair)

The message being sent through the media to all women and young girls is this:

To be acceptable in our society is to be perpetually young with a thin, narrow boy-like body, the large, full firm breasts of a lactating mother, and the bare genital area of a little girl.

Did you get that? Read it again, and then think about it.

Why are women held to these sick, twisted standards? We look back in horror at how the Chinese used to cripple their girls by binding their feet to achieve their standard of beauty. But look at us, America, the land of the free. Are we really free? We mutilate our bodies through surgeries and injections, implants and extractions, always striving for that unattainable notion of perfection which doesn’t exist. We are slaves to an unreachable standard of beauty, and are subtly encouraged to feel some level of shame for not achieving it.

Even More magazine, which is a magazine for women over forty, airbrushes their cover models then tells you “This is what 45 looks like”. No! That is NOT what 45 looks like- that’s what airbrushing looks like.

And this ugly message of “you are not enough” is affecting our daughters. Last night I sat with my Japanese daughter-in-law as she cried and cried over gaining three pounds in her eighth month of pregnancy. No matter how much I told her how beautiful she looks, and how normal and healthy it is to gain weight in your pregnancy, I couldn’t erase her shame. In Japan, she told me, no one will love you if you’re fat.

This is craziness!!!

As women we have got to RAIL against this damaging message, and stop it from being passed down to the next generation. So what can we do, each of us, to stop this? I need to come up with some ideas before I start going all “Eve Ensler” on someone’s ass.

Here is MY message, as a woman, to ALL media and stand up comics, and I hope you'll say it with me:

I am a REAL woman, with real breasts and hips and smile lines.

I will NOT conform to your unhealthy standards. I will stand in my truth and learn to love myself just as I am.

Oh and by the way, Barbie can KISS MY ASS!