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| London (L) and Katie (R) on their first day of school. |
The event was arranged so parents could drop off their infants in one of the classrooms--where three of the school's teachers eagerly awaited--and then meander into the dining hall to meet other shell-shocked and sleep-deprived new parents.
Melissa and her husband showed up a little late. She had her newborn son, Jack, pressed tightly to her, nursing him. All the other parents--especially me--were ecstatic at the thought of free child care for an hour, and we had happily dropped our babies and ran. But not Melissa. She had her son in her arms, looking lovingly down at him as he blinked up at her.
At the time, our babies were mere weeks old. I was in the darkest period of post partum depression, having long given up the ability to nurse, and was still struggling wildly to bond with my child. Watching her effortlessly cuddle and nurse her baby--the only mother in the packed room to reject the available child care--I decided definitively that I hated Melissa.
After that night I tried to avoid her. When I saw her in the halls during morning drop off, I cringed. She would so carefully and lovingly place her precious son in the teacher's arms, hand over a bucket of breast milk and float effortlessly out of the room with the help of blue birds and field mice. I would awkwardly hand over my child, leave her portions of formula and slink out of the room, wondering if I should have held my kid longer or brought a warmer blanket.
Three years and two children later, mothering is now natural, fun, and fulfilling. But in the beginning, every aspect of it felt monumental and I struggled to adapt. Especially the part in which I realized, for the first time, that I am susceptible to female competition.
This isn't to say I didn't have my fair share of this in junior high. But on the whole, being a female never registered as anything other than the occasional pap smear and picking a brand of tampons. When I became a mother, however, my eyes were opened to the two greatest downfalls of our sex: intra-gender competition, and salads as a meal.
Oddly, these two aren't unrelated.
In fact, most women suffer from both of these in a chicken-and-the-egg type fashion. Although I assume competition came first because I think it is somehow wired into women when they are merely girls. We don't start eating rabbit food until much later.
I'll never fully understand why women compete with each other so much. I honestly believe we don't intend to. We don't mean to approach other women as competitors and I'd like to believe we don't view womanhood as a competition. But I'm seeing less and less to the contrary.
When I first met Melissa, I didn't stop to think that perhaps she just had a different way of coping with her struggles as a new mom (which I found out years later was true). Or, perhaps the only reason she was holding her son that night was because they came late and didn't know child care was available (I found out later this was also true). Or that maybe, just maybe, she was intimidated by me as well (also, true).
Instead, I saw her as an opponent.
I looked at her and assumed that what I was witnessing was a woman being better than I was. Handling motherhood better. Bonding to her child quicker. Balancing work more easily. Losing the pregnancy weight faster.
Which leads me to the other aspect of womanhood I'm exhausted by: salads as a meal. When did this became standard practice for women? I'm not saying a salad with a whole chicken breast on it mixed with avocados, cheese, eggs and tortilla chips smothered in twelve ounces of ranch dressing can't be a meal. But ordering a small side salad--without croutons and with the dressing on the side--and convincing me that "it just sounds good,"is the practice of the clinically insane. Or a crazy ritual of competitors. Mind games. Trash talk.
The only thing worse than watching a beautiful, brilliant friend pick at a small plate of grass is watching the abuse she throws on herself while she does it. Claiming she needed to eat a salad for lunch because she "had a carby breakfast" or because she's "been so bad lately."
Now, I have no issues with wanting to be healthy. I make--for the most part--healthy choices in my day to day life. I cook myself a healthy and intricate breakfast every morning. I cook most nights of the week. I frequently purchase almonds, and make substantial efforts to eat them. I drink about 90 ounces of water a day. I can't tell you the last time I've had a candy bar. And, given enough nacho cheese sauce, I can really wolf down some vegetables.
My issue is the self-abuse women throw on themselves for every crumb that hits their lips. Or the sweeping declarations they make, like if they eat carbs they just "balloon up". Or the bold lifestyle choices they constantly take on, like giving up sugar or only eating "clean." And what the hell is with all the juice cleanses? Here, take this spinach, mush it up, drink it, and shit constantly for a week solid. You'll feel amazing!
I can't help but think the only reason any woman would subject herself to that is because she's trying to achieve a standard put on her by someone else. To become a worthy opponent. They see a healthier, skinnier, firmer woman and go into juice-cleanse, shitting-round-the-clock, salad-as-a-meal, hyper-competitive mode.
So then there's a beautiful, talented, brilliant women who spends way too much time obsessing over food and weight and gluten. Using food as a punishment. Self-loathing. Feeling guilt while eating.
And nothing ruins a good steak like tears.
Now, again, making good choices is fine. Drinking water instead of Coke. Fruit as a side. Less red meat. Move your body more. Many, many people do this without even giving it a thought or attaching it to a childhood memory or relating to some grand master carb tracker, or posting about it on Facebook.
These people are called men.
Men don't sit around picking shamefully at their food. Nor do they sit around comparing themselves to other men. My husband has never once looked at another man and said, "Do you think he's a better father than me?" Nor has he taken so much as a breath while inhaling bacon.
Without constantly being threatened by each other, and without giving a thought to eating sugar or enjoying a stiff drink, men have all the time in the world to walk around inventing shit and getting paid twice as much for it.
And sure, I'm fully aware the pressures on females to have it all--ambition, small waists, nurturing demeanor, vulnerability, high sex drive, flawless skin, white teeth and perky breasts. And men don't have any of this on them.
But maybe, just maybe, if we women all started acting like that pressure wasn't there, it might one day disappear.
But maybe, just maybe, if we women all started acting like that pressure wasn't there, it might one day disappear.
Think about it. If we started looking at each other as teammates before opponents, then we could stop all the competition and take each other out for lunch.
And order a hamburger.
And order a hamburger.
We would stop picking at our food. We would stop comparing ourselves to other women. We would stop thinking that spin class is the only reason we're allowed to eat a bite of cake. And we could put our energy more on taking down the man.
And we can start by eating some fries off his plate.
I speak from experience. Three years since that first dinner where I met Melissa, she and I have become close friends. It started because our children are friends. Her son Jack and my daughter Lowery adore each other. In a beautiful, simple way that children can before the conformities of society are thrust upon them.
And when Melissa and I became pregnant around the same time with our second children, a deeper bond was formed. Text messages, emails and meals together helped us move past the competition and into a place that felt nurturing and comfortable.
When our daughters were born we celebrated their health and were grateful for our own body's ability to carry them. We don't talk about breastfeeding or parenting philosophies or losing baby weight. And when we want to share a meal, we don't raise the stakes by ordering a salad.
Now, my youngest daughter London, and Melissa's daughter Katie, are in a class together. On London's first day of day care, I was hysterical. At work, I sat at my desk crying, scrolling through the pictures of her birth while R.E.M. played in the background. Then my phone lit up with a text from Melissa. It was a picture she had snapped of our two daughters. During drop off, she had laid Katie down beside London on the big mat in the classroom. As if instinctively, the girls extended their arms and grasped each other's hands. It was only for a moment, Melissa explained, but it was a palpable love between two female friends.
So perhaps the next generation of women won't have this cyclical problem of eating to compete with one another. Maybe the women of the next generation will have it all figured out. Will spend time talking about improving lives and changing the world and saving the planet. And they won't get hung up on the next diet or exercise fad or boasting their parenting philosophies all over social media sites. Maybe the women of the next generation will just be who they are. And proud of it. And will figure out early on that they are equal to the opposite gender, the way Lowery and Jack did. And maybe they will figure out early on that they are equal to each other, like London and Katie have.
They won't compete. And they will eat.
This is the hope I have for the next generation of women. Because this is the generation of women I'm helping to raise. And here's my driving thought every day as I do: I peek into the future, twenty years down the road, and I see my two daughters at lunch together. They meet regularly because they are close; best friends even. There is not competition between them. Just love and support. It catches my breath how beautiful and strong they've become. They are laughing while they eat their sandwiches. And while I can't quite make out what they are saying, I'm hoping only one thing for my beautiful girls:
When our daughters were born we celebrated their health and were grateful for our own body's ability to carry them. We don't talk about breastfeeding or parenting philosophies or losing baby weight. And when we want to share a meal, we don't raise the stakes by ordering a salad.
Now, my youngest daughter London, and Melissa's daughter Katie, are in a class together. On London's first day of day care, I was hysterical. At work, I sat at my desk crying, scrolling through the pictures of her birth while R.E.M. played in the background. Then my phone lit up with a text from Melissa. It was a picture she had snapped of our two daughters. During drop off, she had laid Katie down beside London on the big mat in the classroom. As if instinctively, the girls extended their arms and grasped each other's hands. It was only for a moment, Melissa explained, but it was a palpable love between two female friends.
So perhaps the next generation of women won't have this cyclical problem of eating to compete with one another. Maybe the women of the next generation will have it all figured out. Will spend time talking about improving lives and changing the world and saving the planet. And they won't get hung up on the next diet or exercise fad or boasting their parenting philosophies all over social media sites. Maybe the women of the next generation will just be who they are. And proud of it. And will figure out early on that they are equal to the opposite gender, the way Lowery and Jack did. And maybe they will figure out early on that they are equal to each other, like London and Katie have.
They won't compete. And they will eat.
This is the hope I have for the next generation of women. Because this is the generation of women I'm helping to raise. And here's my driving thought every day as I do: I peek into the future, twenty years down the road, and I see my two daughters at lunch together. They meet regularly because they are close; best friends even. There is not competition between them. Just love and support. It catches my breath how beautiful and strong they've become. They are laughing while they eat their sandwiches. And while I can't quite make out what they are saying, I'm hoping only one thing for my beautiful girls:
They are talking about something of substance.
But not of weight.
