Squeamish Bikini
  • Home
  • Squeamish Features
  • Squeamish Reviews
  • Squeamish News
  • Squeamish Contact
  • About Squeamish

The Mother of Feminists

13/5/2013

0 Comments

 
PictureMother 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.

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.
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
submit to reddit
0 Comments



Leave a Reply.

    Archives

    February 2015
    January 2015
    December 2014
    November 2014
    October 2014
    September 2014
    August 2014
    July 2014
    June 2014
    May 2014
    April 2014
    March 2014
    February 2014
    January 2014
    December 2013
    November 2013
    October 2013
    September 2013
    August 2013
    July 2013
    June 2013
    May 2013
    April 2013
    March 2013
    February 2013
    January 2013
    December 2012
    November 2012
    October 2012
    September 2012
    August 2012
    July 2012
    June 2012
    May 2012
    April 2012
    March 2012
    February 2012
    January 2012
    December 2011
    November 2011
    October 2011
    September 2011
    August 2011

    Categories

    All
    Books
    Booze
    Cinematic
    Dress Up
    Educating Sue
    Educating Sue
    Friday 5
    Friday 5
    Geekery
    Gender Agender
    Gender Agender
    Glitter And Twisted
    Glitter And Twisted
    History Repeating
    History Repeating
    How To
    Just A Thought
    Just A Thought
    Let's Get Political
    Let's Get Political
    Music
    Nom Nom Nom
    Nostalgia
    Tellybox
    Why You Should Love

    RSS Feed

Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.
Photos from Pink Sherbet Photography, anunez619, NikRugby23!, Asso Pixiel