Mother Hen Image: Mr J Shaft Recently, I've been having extended dialogue with dedicated feminists. Or rather, I've been having lengthy coffees with women who considered themselves career feminists before they had an accident with their Pill. They were going to change the world; we chained ourselves to courthouses together while at university to protest the horrendous violence perpetrated against women in South Africa (where we went to university). And then they found themselves pregnant, and away from the great academic role models we used to grill about the meaning of life.
It's not that their pregnancies were the result of violent assault; most were the result of a loving, long-term relationship. It's not that they don't love their kids. But the feminist theory we devoured as students never mentioned motherhood, certainly not in a positive light. Come to think of it, they never mentioned marriage without scorn and derision either, despite the health benefits associated with the institution.
It's not that their pregnancies were the result of violent assault; most were the result of a loving, long-term relationship. It's not that they don't love their kids. But the feminist theory we devoured as students never mentioned motherhood, certainly not in a positive light. Come to think of it, they never mentioned marriage without scorn and derision either, despite the health benefits associated with the institution.
So I thought a lot about our mothers. Being from a small town (well, capital city, but it's still a small town, relatively speaking) in Africa left us, we felt, with a complete lack of feminist role models. The vast majority of women in our mothers’ generation married their high school boyfriends and had babies; a few went to medical school; most became teachers, nurses, or chose a career path deemed "suitable for women" by their parents. Then it dawned on me: I am the feminist I am today because of my mum.
No, my mum never chained herself to a courthouse, or had her mouth taped shut for a whole day (embracing the uni-era nicotine cravings) while wearing a bright purple shirt to show solidarity with women who had been silenced by sexual violence. She never said anything that would encourage my feminism. She married my dad - arguably one of the coolest men ever - and had my brother and me.
No, my mum never chained herself to a courthouse, or had her mouth taped shut for a whole day (embracing the uni-era nicotine cravings) while wearing a bright purple shirt to show solidarity with women who had been silenced by sexual violence. She never said anything that would encourage my feminism. She married my dad - arguably one of the coolest men ever - and had my brother and me.
| What we learn from our mothers is, it turns out, far more visceral. Without words, my mum taught me that it's okay to be vulnerable with a good man - and vulnerability is the birthplace of creativity and love. She taught me which kinds of men to avoid for my own emotional well-being. She taught my brother to be good to women, not in a patronising way, but in a whole-hearted way that validated them. | we can unpick what we want to take with us into adulthood. It reminds us that feminism is a conversation, not a rule book. |
I realised that motherhood is one of the ultimate feminist jobs. Children learn an awful lot about life by watching their parents, and having a role model who lives out their feminism is one of the most validating experiences a young girl can have. Feminists - the popular ones, at least - are concerned with bringing in the next generation of vagina warriors. Do they realise that the next generation of vagina warriors come from their/our own lady-parts? Sure, the internet has become a treasure trove of feminist resources, but modelling mutual love, respect, and enthusiastic consent with our partners is a more visceral way to teach the lessons than with mere words.
A woman confident of herself, her femininity/feminism, her role in her partnership, and her abilities is a better role model of feminism for her children than any apologist with fine words. Even women who stay in abusive relationships are feminist role models - the ones who provide a scary warning of what not to do; watching with outrage as Daddy hurt Mummy formed the thinking in so many of my contemporaries. As we discuss our childhoods, we can unpick what we want to take with us into adulthood. It reminds us that feminism is a conversation, not a rule book.
Last Sunday was Mother's Day in most of the English-speaking world (just not the part that still celebrates the Church of England's Mother's Day). So, ladies (and gentlemen), join me in toasting mums - the ones who taught us about good nutrition by making us tasty, healthy food, even when they were exhausted. Join me in celebrating the women who taught us to read and nurtured our love of great female writers, the women who taught us the feminine handicraft we now use as activist expressions. Will you join me in doing something to validate the powerhouses of healing, comfort, and nurture that helped us survive childhood and blossom into (reasonably) well-adjusted adults?
Bridget Schuil - Lover of science, plants, tea, wine, peaceful pursuits and fast cars. You can follow Bridget on Twitter and read her blog here
A woman confident of herself, her femininity/feminism, her role in her partnership, and her abilities is a better role model of feminism for her children than any apologist with fine words. Even women who stay in abusive relationships are feminist role models - the ones who provide a scary warning of what not to do; watching with outrage as Daddy hurt Mummy formed the thinking in so many of my contemporaries. As we discuss our childhoods, we can unpick what we want to take with us into adulthood. It reminds us that feminism is a conversation, not a rule book.
Last Sunday was Mother's Day in most of the English-speaking world (just not the part that still celebrates the Church of England's Mother's Day). So, ladies (and gentlemen), join me in toasting mums - the ones who taught us about good nutrition by making us tasty, healthy food, even when they were exhausted. Join me in celebrating the women who taught us to read and nurtured our love of great female writers, the women who taught us the feminine handicraft we now use as activist expressions. Will you join me in doing something to validate the powerhouses of healing, comfort, and nurture that helped us survive childhood and blossom into (reasonably) well-adjusted adults?
Bridget Schuil - Lover of science, plants, tea, wine, peaceful pursuits and fast cars. You can follow Bridget on Twitter and read her blog here
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