By It’s Saturday, so I won’t be putting up a regular post, but in light of the single mothers post, I wanted to share a story with you about my 13 year old daughter.
She was in the bath the other day, listening to music and I was in the laundry room, just off the bathroom. “Mom,” she asked me, “do you ever listen to music when you feel sad?” Thinking this would be an opportunity for some mother-daughter intimacy, a chance for her to tell me all the things that were making her sad, the pressures of being 13, growing up in a rape culture that sexualizes girls, the relentless messages to be perfect, the general confusion that comes with being a young teen girl, I asked her “what makes you sad?”
“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “the elastic on my pointe shoe snapped and got sucked into the edging and now I can’t get it out.”
I did the worst thing possible. The. Worst.
I laughed.
“Mom,” she protested, “my struggles are real!”
To listen to feminist media, young girls are emotionally crippled, deeply confused, traumatized victims, fighting their way through a misogynist culture that hates them and is trying to break their spirits with every step.
Yeah, no. Not in my house.
I understand that my daughter is very fortunate, growing up in an affluent family, with both her parents, but it made me so happy to hear that the greatest cause of trauma in her life is a snapped elastic on a pointe shoe. Once upon a time. the vast majority of children had problems like this. I realize we are not going back to the nuclear family (unless the economy tanks), but I do feel sorry for children struggling with much, much bigger issues, because their parents made such shitty choices.
It’s really unfair.
Adults have let children down, by not acting like adults. Is it fair to say this is mostly the fault of women? I think it is. It’s the whole point of this blog: the radical notion that women are adults.
Now I must go and fix that pointe shoe. How the hell do I get the elastic out of the siding without cutting the whole shoe? Maybe a fine crochet hook? Wish me luck.
My daughter’s happiness depends on it.
Lots of love,
JB
Source
She was in the bath the other day, listening to music and I was in the laundry room, just off the bathroom. “Mom,” she asked me, “do you ever listen to music when you feel sad?” Thinking this would be an opportunity for some mother-daughter intimacy, a chance for her to tell me all the things that were making her sad, the pressures of being 13, growing up in a rape culture that sexualizes girls, the relentless messages to be perfect, the general confusion that comes with being a young teen girl, I asked her “what makes you sad?”
“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “the elastic on my pointe shoe snapped and got sucked into the edging and now I can’t get it out.”I did the worst thing possible. The. Worst.
I laughed.
“Mom,” she protested, “my struggles are real!”
To listen to feminist media, young girls are emotionally crippled, deeply confused, traumatized victims, fighting their way through a misogynist culture that hates them and is trying to break their spirits with every step.
Yeah, no. Not in my house.
I understand that my daughter is very fortunate, growing up in an affluent family, with both her parents, but it made me so happy to hear that the greatest cause of trauma in her life is a snapped elastic on a pointe shoe. Once upon a time. the vast majority of children had problems like this. I realize we are not going back to the nuclear family (unless the economy tanks), but I do feel sorry for children struggling with much, much bigger issues, because their parents made such shitty choices.
It’s really unfair.
Adults have let children down, by not acting like adults. Is it fair to say this is mostly the fault of women? I think it is. It’s the whole point of this blog: the radical notion that women are adults.
Now I must go and fix that pointe shoe. How the hell do I get the elastic out of the siding without cutting the whole shoe? Maybe a fine crochet hook? Wish me luck.
My daughter’s happiness depends on it.
Lots of love,
JB
Source
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