I saw Wonder Woman-

-and I need to talk about her.

I'd like to start by putting aside issues that have already been mentioned and talked about elsewhere: Gal Gadot the person being problematic, the influence of the patriarchy, lack of diversity, and the fact that the super serious male character was named Steve (it just DOES NOT sound cool when Steve is dying and Wonder Woman is yelling STTEEVVEEE! I feel like I'm watching a sandwich commercial or something).

What matters for me is that I started crying during the very first fight scene (involving men, not the practice scenes) when strong, fierce women start yelling and flying through the air and protecting themselves. 

I didn't understand the obsession with superheros until I watched Jessica Jones on Netflix. Then I saw the female reboot of Ghostbusters, and now Wonder Woman, and I really, really get it.

Representation matters.

As a cis woman, I grew up in a society that both subtly and forcefully told me I'm weak and lesser and overly emotional. Like so many others, my consent was violated, I was made to feel small, and I internalized and pushed down traumatic events until they became physical pain. And all around me, I saw women "needing" to be rescued by men; women portrayed as week and helpless. Strong women were always a surprise or funny.

When I see women who can fight back, who can save themselves, protect themselves, I feel better. I feel like I could do the same.

Once, in therapy, I was talking about how anxiety was making it difficult to sleep. My therapist asked me to imagine people standing outside of my house, protecting me. All of them were women: Olivia Benson, Xena, Jessica Jones. I'm glad that I had them to imagine, because when I imagined men standing around the outside of my house, my anxiety grew.

Tonight, I can add Wonder Woman to the list of role model heros who help me feel safe.

Far From Home

NaPorWriMo 2017 #21

A human carrying a thick suitcase,
Always around like a shadow
Under the direct Tucson sun
Black and yellow under blue skies:
This is the shape of chronic loyalty.

Spread on a spectrum between two coasts
To where I finally found a method
For unpacking the baggage,
The endless boulders and mud
Once thought to be precious gems;

They're now less heavy and ambivalent
So I can make my own home
Over all that confusing scaffolding.

Women

NaPoWriMo 2017 #11

This is common but somehow still unknown:
Pain so much a part of the body that it
Becomes an extra organ,
Another thing to care for with tired limbs
While looking for instructions in pages on pages
Of experimental notes with no obvious patterns.

This is the way I am now.

I've joined the many without wanting or meaning to.
Suddenly the lifelong waiting room scenes make sense;
I'm starting to see clearly through the fog
What only my body can remember.
I'm crawling along with the crowd on sore fingertips and knees
Calling for answers with hoarse voices.

This is the way I am now.

We will keep showing up in hospital gowns
Demanding to be taken seriously;
Using our burning bones to light the way
With scars and rashes and graying hair
All of our evidence marked as exhibits,
We know there are answers you haven't yet tried hard enough to find.

This is the way I am now.

Too Much Self in Self-Care

I recently asked for feedback on Facebook from my peers in the behavioral and mental health fields regarding self-care. Self-care is quite a buzzword for us. We attend trainings, take classes, make charts, and read article after article about remembering to treat ourselves, find time for ourselves, eat chocolate for ourselves, etc. etc. So we have plenty of information about HOW to perform self-care. I wanted to know if it works.

Some of my friends and co-workers responded that the typical exercise, nights off, and massages work for them (I know, I think they're lying, too!) But there was also a plethora of "eh, kind ofs"; people who said they're still working on it, and even a couple of hospitalizations (yes, more than one!) In my own experience, I'm surrounded by people who are tired, worn out, and stressed. Personally, I don't find massages, manicures, and hot baths to be enough. I feel like the current zeitgeist in self-care is putting too much emphasis on the self and not enough emphasis on our surroundings.

We are already doing so much! Sometimes taking time out to drink tea and paint my nails begins to feel more like an obligation, and one that won't really accomplish anything in the long run. After my nails dry, there will still be trauma, large caseloads, constant changes, and meager budgets, and I still feel tired.

I've tried to start doing things that really feel like they're accomplishing something, making a bigger difference, and possibly changing some of the things that cause me stress in the first place. I know I can't completely change the field of social work so that it's not stressful, but I can take action so that I'm not shouldering so much of the stress.

So here's my list:

• Doing absolutely nothing. In a field that expects so much, in a country that values production, in a home where I keep trying to bring Pintrest to life, flopping on the couch for a couple of hours and raising my middle finger to responding, cleaning and creating feels FANTASTIC.
• Setting boundaries both at work and in personal relationships. This includes
• Saying no! to extra tasks at work, clients who "need" you after hours, having a perfectly clean house, letting your relatives stay with you for two weeks...
• Saying yes! It's okay to go out and do things before all of your notes are finished, before your house is vacuumed or before you've purchased groceries for the week.
• Eating frozen foods. I am so. tired. of hearing about how I should eat for optimum health. Over the past year and a half and three different doctors I've been told about all of the things I should be watching out for (soy, dairy, grains, sugar, chemicals that I can't pronounce, preservatives) and all of the things I should be eating instead (turmuric, vitamins, probiotics, mushrooms, things that are dark in color) and at a certain point I decided that it was less stressful to have some pain rather than have to spend so much time obsessing over food. I now keep some Daiya frozen pizzas and some peanut butter and jelly on hand at all times for those days when I just need to not think.
• Therapy I can not stress this enough for my fellow social workers and therapists. We need it, too.
• Humor "Not a shred of evidence exists in favor of the idea that life is serious." No one knows who actually said that, but they were right. I try to laugh as much as possible, even about the tough stuff.
• Speaking Up I often come across the sentiment that the world (and this career field) has always been "like this" and there isn't much we can do to change it so we should just accept it. That feels disempowering to me, so I say something. I believe in change. When I can, I'm going to tell you what's not working and try for something different. 
• Standing Up for myself and for others. This is hard and often makes other people mad. But doing it is like giving myself a huge hug. 
• Moving More Slowly I'm trying to stop rushing. Even if I'm late. 

What do you think? I'd enjoy having more of a conversation about this!

Did I Ever Tell You About the Time...?

Once, as a child, my teacher called me “sour grapes”.

Instead of letting the hammer hit the nail again

I bounced her words back like a metal trampoline

And told her she could eat them; I’m just expressing myself.

Once, in middle school, a boy rubbed my leg

Without asking my permission. I stood up

In front of the class, asked him if there’s a problem,

If maybe he’d forgotten which legs were his.

Once, in high school, my youth pastor told me

My heart was made of construction paper and

Ripped so easily I’d leave pieces behind in the chests of others.

I showed him the holes filled in by what they’d given me in return.

Once, in college, the chaplain told me I was suffering

Because I had unforgiven sins weighing on my heart.

I tore open my gut and laid out my scarred insides,

I left him with the pain and dis-enrolled that day.

Once, as an adult, three men in a pick-up truck

Whistled and honked as I walked to work.

Ten a.m., basked in sunlight, I grew to ten feet tall,

Chased them down, and slashed their tires.

Once, I imagined I had superpowers

Once, I was respected and not vulnerable.

Once, my body was my own to control.

Once, I stood up for myself.

Once, I forgave myself, for all the things

I wished I’d said and done. 

Thank you, Nicole Homer.