What is feminism to me?

I recently read a rage-filled fundamentalist post on women’s right to vote (and that women should not have that right) and I secretly thanked feminism for allowing me to be an individual in this society – or any society really.

So what does feminism mean to me? Does it mean “Yay I get to wear pants”? Sure, but that’s really just a side-joke.

It means my husband cannot quit MY job when he thinks I don’t do enough housework. He does not have the ability to cage me at the home and to rob me of my means to make money both for me and for my children (and potentially for him). It means that I will not suffer from the fact that I have no job experience, resulting in the fact that I have only two life choices: Divorce and poverty, or an unhappy marriage. It gives me the security that I have abilities which people are willing to pay money for.

It also means that I can get higher education. I can study at university in order to improve my market value and in order to improve my knowledge. It gives me a chance to decide what and who I want to be. It gives me the security that when everything is lost, my education will still be there.

It means that I can vote. I can vote for the candidate with the best program, the greatest vision, who shares my opinion or, yes, the candidate I find physically attractive. That’s how it is. It means that my opinion will count even if my justification for these opinions is based on superficial issues like looks. I’m not saying this is a good call, but that’s how it is: You cannot chose whether you like an opinion or not, you’ll have to live with others having them.

It means also that I can own things, buy things, make contracts and be a liable person by law. I do not disappear in the existence of my husband once I say “I do”. I am still allowed to exist as a person of my own. This is why I despise people who say things like “Mr and Mrs John Smith”. There is no Mrs John Smith. There might be Mrs Jane Smith.

Feminism means that my body is mine and nobody else’s. Not my husband’s. Not my child’s. MINE. I can do with it as I please. I can pierce it, draw on it, take it where ever I want. I can sleep with whom I want, at any time, or not. It protects me from being raped by my husband without appropriate punishment. It protects me from being forced to do things I do not want to do.

Feminism in its core gives me individuality at the core. It makes me a person with dreams, rights and a future. Feminism makes me human. It makes me – me, just as I want myself to be.

When the patriarchs express that feminism is evil, it is not the feminism they hate. It’s not the pants and the rights they hate. It is precisely the individuality.

Fundamentalist christianity cannot survive in an environment where there is individuality. Everybody must conform to rules and values for it to work. Everybody must submit, men and women alike. Those who do not submit are those who risk the system. Kids who talk back. Women who work. Men who have feelings. Individuals outside that perfect, Pearl-esque set of rules. Conform or be damned. Conform or suffer. Conform or die. Individuality? Uncheck that box as soon as possible. Die to yourself and move the remaining empty shell by the rules of the great puppet-master. Get on the stage and play your role, and by all means, hope it’s over soon.

I am here, reading, writing, thinking. Not because of anything the patriarchs did but because of something the feminists did. They made me what I am today. Thank you for that.

It’s time for us to be Hobbits

One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.

Once upon a time there were two little hobbit girls, a blonde and a red-haired one, living next door. Their land was beautiful and every day was filled with joy.

Then, one day, their hobbit parents met evil Lord G, who gave them the order to give each girl The Ring. The parents did as told. They said to the girls: “You must guard this Ring with all your being. This will give you power. This will make you special. Without it, you are nothing.” And, despite the fact that the girls didn’t really know what the fuzz was about, they accepted the Rings and proudly wore them.

They grew older together, and their friendship was still strong. And finally, one day, a handsome young man hobbit asked for the blonde hobbit girl’s hand in marriage, and for her Ring. At first the hobbit girls were excited, but it didn’t last long.

As they sat together, one day at the lake, the blonde hobbit girl expressed her grief to her friend: “I do not want to give this Ring away. It makes me strong and powerful. It makes me special. It makes me …. better than everybody else.” The red-haired hobbit girl was shocked. What was her friend saying?

You see, the blonde hobbit girl was blinded by the power the Ring gave her. She enjoyed walking around with it, people staring at her hand, people telling her how strong she was for taking the burden to wear that Ring. The red-haired hobbit girl felt the burden constantly. She did not like that people stared at her Ring, knew what it implied. She liked what it stood for, but she could not understand why she would need a Ring to be the person she wanted to be.

The closer the wedding day came, the worse the blonde hobbit girl acted. She was angry and mean, and she started to despite her hobbit fiance, who would soon take her Ring away. “My precious” she started to hiss, “it’s mine. Nobody can take it from me!” Oh yes, the hobbit girl was acting real strange.

The red-haired hobbit girl realized that she did not want to be this way. She decided to run away at night to destroy her Ring, so she could be free again. Free to do what felt right, without needing a Ring to signify it. So she packed her bags and left.

Soon after leaving her family, she came into deserted land, burned soil and a raging war and, far away from a high mountain, a looming eye watching her each and every step. And she knew the eye would soon send troops after her, to bring her back, to make her keep the Ring.

“I need a sword”, she realized. Lucky enough, she found a group of Elfs who were willing to help her. And even though she was imitated by their beauty and strength, she decided to follow them. And she realized that hobbit girls who had gone before her probably had not had the Elfs to help them. Yes, she was very lucky to have found a new group of friends.

Their travels were long and exhausting. Through deserts and over mountains they travelled, until they finally reached the volcano were she could destroy her Ring. And as she stepped into it, the flames bursting next to her, she realized that this was it.

The second the dropped the Ring into the fire, she finally felt its spell lift off her. She finally felt free. And even though she knew she could never return home, she was eager to see the new life waiting for her.

The blonde hobbit, meanwhile, got married and never forgave her husband for stealing her Ring. From time to time, on those lonely evenings, she sits and stares at the Ring in her hand, angry at the world and herself for not being honorable enough anymore to wear it. “My precious”, she hisses then, “you will be worn again – soon.”

________________________________________

I think it’s time for all of us to be little red-haired hobbits. It’s not about abandoning values, it’s about abandoning structures used to rule over you, used to control you, used to make you feel bad. It’s not easy to just let go and give up things that are important to you in order to live a self-governed life.

If you are a young woman still struggling, I highly encourage you to reevaluate the tools used to keep you in control. If you already threw your ring into the fire, don’t tire of being an Elf – aka helping the other hobbits along the way.

Yes, I have a great passion for Lord of the Rings. Watch it! If you haven’t seen it yet, watch it asap! If you already have, watch it again asap!

The internet and me.

I have never been good at the internet. Really. I constantly forget to check the comments on my blog, or the messages on my Facebook, and reaching me via email is about as likely as meeting the pope.

People make fun of me. “Did you see the link I sent you on Facebook?” – “No. I didn’t check my Facebook in… 4 weeks.”. Or “Are you coming??” – “Coming where???” – “OMG did you not see it on Facebook???”

And on top of all that, I’m not quite sure why I own a cell in the first place. I use it as an alarm clock in the morning. That’s about it. Sometimes people call me, sometimes I even pick up – if I don’t have it set on silent, and the battery is recharged, and I actually carry it around with me and didn’t leave it on the nightstand where a normal alarm clock would spend all day, typically.

Texts are even worse. I read them all. But I never reply. Not because I’m a bad person or I don’t like you, I simply forget! A while ago my boss texted me (on Tuesday) to ask if I would come in on Sat to cover for someone who called in sick. I went there on Friday for a coffee with my friend. My boss came running at me asking if I didn’t get his text.

“Oh, yeah, I got it!”

“Then why didn’t you reply??”

“Well, I forgot. But I’ll come in tomorrow.”

“Why couldn’t you just tell me on Tuesday???”

“Well, (giggling) I thought thinking that I’ll come will do it.”

 

Yes, people get frustrated with me, but I also get frustrated with people.

I don’t understand why you would need your phone at all times unless you’re essential for the survival of the human race in case of an alien invasion! I hate when people keep texting/what’s apping/emailing while talking to me. I hate that everybody has to check everything on the internet. I hate when people sit with me, drinking coffee, interrupt me to tell me “I have to update my Facebook so people know where I am”. People most likely do NOT want to know where you are at all times. I hate when people keep downloading useless apps just to show me what they can do with it.

I generally hate when people can’t concentrate on what’s really going on because they’re so caught up typing crap into their phones that won’t change ANYTHING about reality for ANYBODY.

I think it’s rude, it’s inappropriate, it’s bad manners.

And most of all: I hate when people freak out because they don’t have their phone for, like, an hour. Most can’t imagine being without their phones for a week.

Here’s an update: You do not die if you don’t play around on your smart phone for a day. Nobody will miss you. The internet will keep existing even without your constant input of information nobody asked for (and cares for, for that matter).

Can you tell how much I hate phones?

I’m not special!

The last weeks have been filled with positive experiences, especially when it comes to my high school degree.

When I started school I was very afraid I’d be a “weirdo”, I’d be labeled stupid and lazy because I didn’t have a high school degree in my early 20s. I wrote a post about how I found out that I wasn’t an “exception” and how great it was to go back to school – to be accepted as one of many going this way later in life.

The school system is simply different here, allowing people to leave school at the age of 16 (called a “mid degree”) if they wanted to do jobs you don’t go to university for. A carpenter for example, sales people, office jobs, lower career bank and lower career police jobs and so on. So not everyone has a high school degree – basically only people who want to go to university get it. Of course, it is possible for everyone to get a high school degree and go to university still. There are many who got their mid degrees, went through 3 year training to be, say, a lower police officer, and then want to go back to school for a higher police officer career. Hence it’s not looked down upon at all – it’s very normal for a 30-year-old to go back to school to improve his/her career!

And exactly this thinking people have here made me feel like I achieved something great. When people ask me what I do these days, I’m able to proudly say “I just got my high school degree so I can go to university!”. NOBODY, literally nobody!, looks at you funny. People nod and say “Oh great!”.

The main reason why I love this so much is because now, nobody asks me why I didn’t have any training. Everything I did in my life career wise becomes unimportant, because people think it’s great to learn something new. They don’t wonder, they don’t ask why I was a “stay at home daughter”. It’s all unimportant now. I’m not the “weird American fundamentalist girl” anymore. I’m the girl who went back to school in her 20s.

A few days ago Daniel’s Mom invited us over for afternoon coffee and cake in her garden. It’s actually a very common thing to go for coffee and cake at 4 PM. Many do it every day. Mrs Daniel’s neighbor was working in her garden and came over for a quick chat. Daniel’s Mom introduced me and the neighbor asked me what I did for a living. When I told her that I just finished high school, she looked at me, nodded and said “Oh my, you went back to school? That’s great!” Then she told us the story of her nephew who did the same at 26 and is now an engineer. She finished by padding Daniel on the back and saying “Smart one you got yourself there!”. I smiled, simply happy that she didn’t know, didn’t ask about the past.

Finally, finally I’m not so strange any more. Yes, life is so good when you can make your own choices!

Things people look for when they come to my blog.

I keep laughing and sometimes wondering at the search terms used to find my blog. Note: Some are too shocking or awful to post here. See bottom for that one.

 

- “how to lie to my parents about breaking my nose”

How did you break your nose? I suppose the only reason why you would lie is because somebody hurt you, somebody you want them to like. I suppose you tell them the truth.

- “life in european mountains”

It’s wonderful, I suggest everyone try it out at least once!

-”nice tits”

Well, thanks….

- “female nice tits”

Hum. Well I guess they’re almost always female.

- “daughters fine tits”

You shouldn’t speak of your daughter that way.

- “fundamentalist hairstyle”

Let it grow as long as you can. Curl it!

- “my daughter is a christian fundamentalist idiot”

Be there for her. Stop nagging all the time. And be there. AND STOP CRITIZING. Only way to get her to trust you.

- “post cleaning in slaughterhouse”

Interesting!

- “i like a girl from the supermarket”

Say: “Hi, my name is (insert your name HERE!) and I like you. Would you like a cup of coffee some time?”

-”anna duggar too much make up”

I think Anna Duggar’s make up looks wonderful. I keep wondering if a professional does it for the show. Either way, she looks beautiful.

-”christian patrarchcal man having sex outside marriage”

Just like all other men in the world sometimes do.

- “clean slaughterhouse”

You again? Ok, how about you scrub it down?

-”why aren’t the duggar girls married”

Because they haven’t found a suitable match I suppose.

-”whats the duggars daughters name that left home”

I don’t know but leave a comment below if you do!

-”do amish girls have sex”

No. Matter of fact, amish in general don’t have sex. That’s why they died out. Oh wait…

-”mom gives me the silent treatment”

Tell your mom that it hurts you to be treated that way. Ask her to speak to you so you can resolve the issue and mend the relationship. Make sure to tell her that the silent treatment is very painful and you wish you could speak more openly about your problems. It’s normal to have arguments with your parents, remember that too!

-”mirror mirror on the wall jokes about age”

I hope you did not tell those jokes to a woman!

-”why do amish have nice houses”

Barn raising. And Decorations. Makes all the difference!

-”did anna duggar always wear skirts?”

I believe so, if you know for sure comment!

-”interview “lisa bennet”christian”

Do you mean ME? I don’t think there’s one. You’re free to ask anything you want to know and to read my blog though!

-”my naked body”

There’s nothing wrong with it.

At last I want to say that I’m shocked how many inappropriate terms are used to find me blog (among them plenty looking for amish porn, sex with children, incest, or imply that a child has been abused such as “i broke my daughters hymen”). I wish there was some way to avoid that or find out IPs of highly weird sounding search terms.

 

 

Onan the Barbarian and my version of “the talk”

Warning: Embarrassing, mature content ahead. I did it again – I abused a movie title, twisted it up and used it as the headline for my post. I learned how to do this in my Dad’s bible study. I have not seen Conan the Barbarian, but somehow I deemed this a suitable title for this post.

In my last post I talked about the extreme standard of purity me and many other girls in the different fundamentalist movements have to live up to (and usually fail, which causes deadly guilt in them).

Under the covers it looks quite a bit different. There’s a whole lot not-so-pure things going on.

Which, at this point, brings me to masturbation. I remember when I was a kid I was taught all about purity for ever since I can remember. But my parents missed the point a bit there: They never explained to me acts that would make me impure. So, while I strongly believed in purity, I just didn’t know that I could do impure things with myself. A kid of 10 years is too young to learn about these things, I guess, because once you get started talking about masturbation, you better expect the kid asking more questions about sex in every version of it.

So the point I’m getting at: Of course I did things my parents would sent me to the prayer closet for. And I didn’t even know that I wasn’t supposed to do it. I didn’t know of “masturbation” in the sense of it being a sexual practice and not ok, hence why I never really considered the actual act as that “wrong”. It took me a while to realize that I couldn’t do that, my parents would freak out about it. I must’ve been about 12 or 13 when I could sense what all of the fuzz was about, but I was yet somehow too silly to connect it with the fact that I was actually doing it myself occasionally. It didn’t occur to me, this connection. Can’t tell you why. I think I was like 14 when I finally made that connection and realized: “Oooops. That’s not supposed to happen!”. On I went, into the prayer closet, apologizing to God for the sodomy and stuff. But deep in my heart I couldn’t see the big deal. I didn’t see how it was adultery to my future husband – I didn’t think or fantasize about men at all!

However I want to point out that I didn’t know the “technical” side of it. I didn’t  know what an orgasm was (though I had had one at some point, I’m guessing) and I also didn’t know how sex between a man and a woman worked. My best friend and I had a talk about my upbringing in the area of sex and the idea that I didn’t come to some sort of conclusion how it physically works on my own was oblivious to her. First I thought I was a bit dumb for not realizing it on my own until I found out why I never connected male and female genitals to their actual purpose: I think as a girl, you need to know that a man can have an erection to connect this. I never knew about that. Can you imagine a woman  in her 20s and how she reacts upon finding out? “What?!?! How’s that working? That’s like… magic!”.

This and others I found out when my friend bought a book for me. It was a book on sex for teens and it was just the basic knowledge really. At first I acted like I didn’t need or want to read it but I crept into the kitchen, secretly, late at night, to get it and read it in bed. On almost every page I had a wow-moment. Not only did I learn about men for the first time in my life, I also learned about women.

I didn’t know about how pregnancies worked, or how the female body worked to begin with. I didn’t know that having your period actually had a physical function! I thought it was about being unclean and had something to do with growing up. I didn’t know the eggs business! I believed that a woman was just an incubator and that the babies were actually supplied only by the man! Part of this is due to the teaching that sin (and therefore the soul) is transferred to a child only by the father – which is why Mary didn’t give birth to a sinful, human child. She couldn’t because she was an incubator, like every other woman.

I was really shy about this topic, but my friend figured that me not knowing about it would make life in the real world harder for me. After all, I needed to know what I was getting into in case I wanted a relationship. And I guess she was right because the rate of unwanted pregnancies because people just don’T know how it works is pretty high.

A few months ago my roommate and best friend declared that she wanted to have “the talk” with me. She’d get some others to join in and explain to me what’s it all about. I was nervous, refused, yelled at her that she was stupid and embarrassing and I didn’t need her help at all. But deep inside I was excited to have this opportunity. She gave me a few days to make up my mind and while I felt like a stupid kid at first, I was so curious to find out so many new things. I decided that I wanted her to talk to me about it. So a few days later she asked me if I thought about her offer and I replied “I guess, if it makes you feel better…” with clear annoyance in my voice and excitement in my heart.

As I came home two days later, it was early evening and I had been at work, she was in the kitchen, cooking dinner with two male friends and another female friend of hers. I didn’t realize that it was the day of the talk. We ate together and afterwards had a glass of white wine. Finally, my roommate initiated a conversation about her experiences with love and sex. And then one of the guys went and everybody ended up discussing and exchanging. I thought the talk would be horribly embarrassing, but that actually felt natural and fun. I wasn’t demanded to ask questions or answer things. I could just sit and listen. They described a lot of different situations. Like how they reacted when their boyfriend wanted to have sex but they weren’t ready. How their first times went. What they felt about it in general, how important it was to them, what they find acceptable and so on. Especially interesting for me was when one of the guys talked about his experience with a one-night-stand (something I didn’t know but do now!). I expected him to be happy about it and show off, because we all know men are sex-obsessed monkeys, but the opposite was true. He felt it wasn’t for him, he had regrets about it because he felt he had disgraced himself and the girl and he feels like love is most important to have sex.

I was baffled. Everything I learned about sex and love was questioned that night. Could it be true that having sex before marriage doesn’t always break a person? That love sometimes doesn’t last a lifetime? That society doesn’t see sex as something cheap and easy but as sacred and special? That worldly men thought such a thing?

I still don’t know much on the subject, only what I have read and been told by my friends so far, but that didn’t make me go out and sleep around. I’m doubting that the abstinence only and purity movement is the only way to teach a responsible sexuality. But I’m really glad that finally, after over two decades of not knowing what this purity deal was even about I have at least a tiny idea of what’s going on between men and women.

In retrospective I have to say that I believe my wedding night would’ve been a traumatic event for me. So many things I didn’t know, I wasn’t taught about. How shocked would I have reacted, being thrown into that situation? Would it have messed up my view of sexuality? I’m pretty sure it would’ve had tough consequences for me and my entire life and I’m so glad I saved myself from something I couldn’t even grasp back when I ran away from it.

Dying to self

I was going to post some more Vienna talk today, but I made a quick change of plans because I have something different to say.

Growing up, dying to self was key. In case you’re not familiar with this specific descriptions, it basically means giving everything that’s “you” up in order to serve selflessly in any way possible. Sounds good huh? But it’s not. Dying to self is something you can take very literal. You will die in every way possible in order to be someone you’re not.

Some people don’t seem to bother that much, but it’s always been hard for me to be as selfless as I was expected to be. You see, I’m a very private, calm, introvert kind of person. Though I grew up in a big family, I always liked being alone. I’m not much of a team player, I prefer doing things all by myself. I didn’t hate having a big family where there was always somebody, quite the opposite, I loved it. But I always tried to make room for myself in some way. That didn’t mean that I wanted to do things I liked, it was more like just being by myself doing ANYTHING really. I hated washing dishes. I loved doing it alone. I didn’t like vacuuming. It was ok as long as I was alone. Everything I didn’t like in a group I usually liked if I could just do it by myself. I treasured the quiet moments, though my hands were busy, my mind was free to wander, not occupied by yet another conversation, prayer, training or anything like that. I loved asking myself the WEIRDEST questions. Like, is it possible that when you’re 9 months pregnant and you use the bathroom, could it just “fall out”? What would you do if that happened? Would the pain of hours of labor be condensed in that short moment or or or…? It really didn’t have anything to do with faith in those moments.

Now my Dad was eager to teach all of us, especially the girls, that dying to self is key to life and salvation. You weren’t allowed to do anything fun, you were asked to serve others every moment of your life. If you didn’t listen to him, he’d have a speech prepared. “It always about ME ME ME. Do you think Jesus was like that? Do you think he would have died on the cross for us if he cared about himself? NO! He would have hidden somewhere and lived happily ever after! He wasnt about ME. So why are YOU?” and so on. I felt really bad every time I heard that. I started wondering if Jesus could even love me if I kept acting like this. I tried to train myself. I didn’t allow myself to do things alone. When I had to wash dishes, I called one of my smaller sisters over to help me, to teach her to be a servant and a good housewife. How to keep things in order. When I was working in the garden, I asked my brothers to do boy stuff, like carrying the heavy water buckets for me. I desperately waited for God to reward my selflessness. I gave up what I liked in order to feel as good as the people who kept raving about how great it feels to be selfless, how God rewards you for it. But I didn’t feel it. I didn’t feel any different at all except that I was more stressed out than ever.

Prayer time was the only occasion I allowed myself to be alone. I sat down in our infamous prayer closet and opened my bible. But after a day of constant conversation, I didn’t feel like talking to God or being talked to by him. I started reading a chapter and within seconds, though my eyes were reading, my mind didn’t understand a word. I switched the chapter. And the same thing happened again. And again. And again. I closed my bible and folded my hands across my face. Ok I though, I’ll pray some. And in my mind I said “Lord… tell me what to say.” Silence, emptiness of mind. “I don’t know what to tell you.” More silence. My mind started telling me that I needed to do this, I needed to do SOMETHING. I though that was God speaking to me and I couldn’t stand a single word he said. “Be quiet.” I told him. And the voices in my head started rushing with hate and anger and disappointment. How dare you talk to me like that? Pray now, pray now, pray now, or read some more. You can’t sit in your little puddle of selfishness now. And I grew angrier and angrier with the God who hated me so much for wanting a few minutes of peace and silence. “Shut up!” I said over and over until I started crying. I cried myself empty just to realize that my time in the prayer closet was over.

As I stood up, all I could think was “Great job, idiot, time well used.” The amount of shame and hate for myself was so big that I obsessively started being as selfless as I could for the rest of the day. This wasnt something that happened every day, but it happened on many days.

 

Right now, I’m sitting here in complete silence. I’m all alone, doing stuff by myself. I’m selfish. I’m detestable. I’m lost. And I like it. God is quiet, he doesn’t bother me with his voices anymore. I now will go into the kitchen and have a coffee in complete silence, closing my eyes and enjoying nothingness. And I know that God will still be quiet.

Cowboys and my attempts to think about them.

I had never met a gay person in the movement (or maybe I did, but I didn’t know about it). I had only heard terrible stories of the horrible things they do. That they are all drug-addicted, disease-infested, family hating Antichrists. That they can be changed, “repaired” and led back into the flock, but most of them are so ignorant that they don’t even want the precious gift of salvation Jesus offers them. They were spitting in his face. I thought if I ever saw a gay person, I’d be able to tell he or she is gay right away. The men would look feminized and the women like guys, and that they’d probably have scars from the drugs and violence and an empty look in their eyes. Other than that, I have never really bothered thinking about gay people because they didn’t exist in my world.

One of my friends (a female one I want to add) has been trying to convince me to watch Brokeback Mountain for a few weeks now, as she considers it one of the most important and one of the best movies of the last few years. I refused, partially because I didn’t feel like it would interest me at all, partially because I simply didn’t want to see it. There had been a large discussion about how this movie is against marriage and promotes adultery and destroys our morals and values within the christian community and I felt like I didn’t want to watch that type of thing at this point. Either way, she managed to convince me to “give it a try” with the option to turn it off any time.

And what can I say, I watched the entire thing… and I liked it a lot. Technically, it’s amazing, great images, great pace of story-telling, great actors.

But I also didn’t see where the criticism comes from. I mean, yes, it argues against marriage: It argues that both men shouldn’t have gotten married to a woman in the first place. They obviously struggled with themselves and didn’t know who they were – the fact that these marriages would end in a disaster was clear from the beginning. They entered marriage not only with lies, but also as a person they simply weren’t. You can’t keep up a lie for life, I know that from personal experience. They married because it was expected of them. If this social expectation weren’t there in the first place, there wouldn’t have been a problem. Plus, they obviously denied there attractions in front of themselves as well. That calls for an inner fight nobody can get out of undamaged.

It has been argued that the depiction of both wives is pale and negative. I find that not to be true. Especially Ennis’ wife, who finds out rather soon, was beautifully scripted. She is a woman who tries to ignore the obvious problem in order to save the marriage to a man she clearly loves deeply. The incredible hurt she feels can be felt throughout the movie. Especially later, after they broke up, her anger and hurt are expressed really well. On the other hand, she handles with grace. She doesn’t run off and tell everybody. She keeps it a secret, though you can argue whether she does that in order to protect herself or her love. Jack’s wife on the other hand seems very pragmatic. Though she loved him at the beginning, she quickly realizes that she’s nothing but an act for him. She realizes he had only married her because she was the first best chance, and she feels that as soon as Jack could find a way, he would leave her. Out of self-protection, she cuts her emotional connection with Jack and busies herself with work. She too never loses a word or makes Jack feel bad. She does everything to keep the act up for one, and to protect her family as well.

In the end I can say that there is a lot of pain and hurt in the movie, on all sides of the story. The movie doesn’t take a stand on what’s right, what’s wrong, it simply tells a story and leaves it to the viewers to decide. I never really thought about the struggles people with homosexual attractions have to face. After seeing this, you know, I can’t say whether I think it’s right or wrong, but I can definitely say that I can’t imagine Jesus being ok with discriminating people for how they live. He didn’t hate the prostitutes or the adulteress. He loved them and made them feel that they have dignity and a value. If Jesus sees how some people, many people, are treated today because of sex, nationality, gender preference, job, and so on… I think he’s really angry about that and if he ever should come back, he’ll certainly do more than just throw over some tables. I’m just saying that because I know I would.

Family design – Men in the movement

I often feel that while us girls and women who left the movement get a lot of sympathy and have a loud voice, the men are neglected. After all, they don’t suffer as much. Or do they?

A family. The man as the head, the provider. The housewife, raising God’s mighty soldiers, subject to her husband. The kids obey and honor their parents, preparing for their future roles in the kingdom. Or so I thought.

In the months before I left the movement, I struggled with the role the family had designed for me. Being a wife and mother with no other choice, no way out, not even being allowed to follow activities they considered too “boyish” was stifling for me. I could never make my own decisions, I wasn’t “made” for it simply because I was a woman. While I felt I was getting the unfair end of the deal I thought men weren’t nearly as bad as I was. They were free, could do anything they wanted, be anything and never had to listen to anybody else.

Only after I left I realized that this isn’t true. Men too are pressured to fit into a role which might not be what they want for their lives.

Men aren’t only not expected to help with housework, there is somewhat of an unwritten law that men who do too much housework are feminized. Like cooking. Now that I left I know some men who honestly enjoy cooking. One of them, he is not a chef, cooks so well – it’s just as good as any really expensive fancy restaurant. He comes up with his own combinations and menus, knows about herbs, how to make perfect meat and even makes noodles from scratch. And it doesn’T stop there. His cakes are divine to say the least. He does all of that after work, for fun. It’s his hobby, his favourite activity. He doesn’t want to be a chef because he wants to make what he feels like making.

Now, within the movement, a man who cooks and bakes this way for fun… he’d have a hard time. A really hard time. Can you imagine a patriarch in an apron, making the best cupcakes in town? No, men like the one I described are unmanly, feminized, castrated by the feminist world, confused which gender they belong to, what their role in life is.

One of my cousin’s friends is married. When they had a baby 2 years ago, she stayed at home for 6 months. After that, her husband decided to stay at home and raise the child for 2 more years until it was ready for kindergarten. I didn’t know about this when I met them. I met them only once and it was right after I moved here. Still very much in my typical role mentality, I watched this little family in awe. The man fed the baby. The man changed the diapers. The man carried the diaper bag and the baby. The woman had to ask the man if there was another pair of baby socks in the bag and he said yes, and found them immediately. It implied he had packed the bag. And when the baby cried, he was the first one comforting the baby. It was strange. A man acting like a mother? A woman acting like the man? What was that all about?

I didn’t want to be rude, so I refrained from openly addressing it. But I asked my cousin later in private what kind of family that was. She explained that they thought about this decision, that he would stay at home, for a long time. He felt that his wife already had such a strong, intimate bond with the baby, and he wanted something very special too. He had always dreamed of having babies and being REALLY there for them. So he felt like staying at home raising it would be the perfect way to find a special connection.

While this is certainly not the norm, I thought it was a beautiful idea.

A man in the movement doesn’t have the opportunity to do these things. Being too “motherly” is out of the question. Most women are so conditioned not to feminize their men that even if they want to change a diaper once in a while, the women don’t allow it. What would people say if they saw that? Of course, men are supposed to be gentle dads, but they are also the main disciplinarian, the fun part of the parental combination, the one who comes home at night, is comforted by wife and children, plays with them for half an hour till they go to bed. And on occasion, there might be a daddy day. But really getting deep into raising them is usually not an option.

Now while all of the cases I described may be on the extremer end, it still proves that men aren’t free either. They still have to stick to the roles designed by the legalists around them. Since I started blogging I read many thoughts by ex-fundamentalist men. That they feel pressured into a “boss” role within the family which they just don’t feel is right for their relationship and family.

The hurt caused in men is often neglected. Maybe that’s because they are raised to believe it’s a sign of weakness. Boys don’t cry. Boys are boys, strong and brave and the head of the woman. It must be very hard to admit to oneself that this just doesn’t feel right. That they want to be married to a woman who has an opinion and makes decisions. One who doesn’t blame them for wanting to cook on occasion, or take care of the baby on their own for a while, or simply want to pick their own clothes because they have a better sense of style than their wife.

To the lake!

Sunshine + lake + mountains + friends = awesomeness!