Via Cayusa @ Flickr.
I forget that I live in something of a progressive/feminist bubble, both in NYC and on the internet, so when I go to west to Small River Town to see my mom, I invariably get a little shellshocked about what I see and hear. I hadn’t been there in two years, so it was perhaps a bit more acute than it might have been during my recent holiday trip
Below, a smattering of the latest examples that caused me cognitive whiplash and/or feminist despair, many of them at the hands of my nearest and dearest.
1. The most egregious–if only for being the most common–was the truly ridiculous amount of fat-talk I witnessed, especially from my mother. “What do you think of this bread? It only has X calories per slice!” “I can’t eat that fudge.” “I haven’t been to [the health club] in weeks. I’m so bad.” (The counterpart to this were the greetings from all of the women I saw after a year or more absence: “You look great! So skinny!”)
During the first few days of this, I tried changing the subject a few times, but it came up so much that one night when we were having dinner together, I just went there. “Mom, I wish you wouldn’t talk about food as if it were the enemy. Enjoy it. Your weight is fine, and you’re in good health. You eat lots of fruit and veg and whole grains. ” And I went on to talk about HAES a bit. I don’t know if it got through at all, but I still heard some self-disparaging remarks. All while she’s making christmas cookies, of course.
2. In another conversation about students and their parents. Mom, who’s been a special ed teacher for more than 30 years, said something to the effect of “I think mothers today just aren’t home enough; they can’t spend good time with their kids [who are acting out or doing poorly in school].” I countered: what about the dads? “…well, them too, I guess.” My mother worked before my brother and I were born, and returned to teaching when I went to kindergarten, so…? I suppose we were just a special case.
3. Small River Town is a place where you have to drive to get anywhere, so I spent a lot of time riding along, seeing giant, anti-choice billboards along the roads: “My mommy chose life!’ “Protect your babies…born and pre-born” and “Abortion stops a beating heart.” They all have pictures of chubbly, smiling white infants on them, of course. I’m not sure if I should take the prevalence of these messages as evidence that no women in the SRT area get abortions, so disapproved a practice it is, or as evidence that abortions are so common that multiple enormous, maudlin advertisements are needed to dissuade them.
4. Before I left, I had the opportunity to visit with a few friends from high school–both dudes–one I haven’t seen for 3 years, the other for nearly 10. While there was pleasure in catching up with each of them, I was sorry (if not terribly surprised) to learn that each was a world-class mansplainer. While I can stomach hearing them hold forth on their own careers (my knowledge of contemporary orthopedic surgery, for example, is less than expert), I found myself getting a bit snappish when they presumed to know my business better than I: “Oh, so your dissertation is about X. Of course.”
And I was snappish out of frustration with myself at least as much as with them; I found myself going-along-and-getting-along far too much. I allowed them to monopolize our conversations–perhaps first out of real curiosity, but then out of old habits or politeness. Lady politeness. Let the gentlemen speak. Don’t disagree too strenuously.
Blerg.
I left SRT for all kinds of reasons, and obviously have deeply mixed feelings about returning, even for brief visits, but lest I think I’ve successfully banished the Big P from my life–either the one I walk around in or the one in my mind–all it takes it a quick trip out of my bubble. It’s like a booster shot: painful, but necessary and ultimately good for me.
Boy, do I FEEL you on this one. My family has its calorie counters and Mansplainers and historical revisionists, and I certainly come away from some family holidays with my tongue bitten raw.
At the end of the day, it’s highly unlikely I’m going to change these people, so I’m very selective about picking my battles–the only time I actively whip out my best Bitch is when someone’s commenting on my personal life. General stupidity I try to ignore.
But thinking of it as a booster shot is exactly right, IMO. It reminds us that there’s a lot of unhealthiness out there, and helps fire up the feminist immune system!
Oh yes. It’s also hard to really say something because a lot of times it just seems like more trouble than its worth. I have in the last year or so started to say stuff about the calorie counting just because it’s really hard for me to hear as I’m trying to care less about that sort of thing. But the other garden variety patriarchy bullshit? I always feel damned if you do damned if you don’t. Like Becky wrote, I try to pick my battles.
I agree that picking your battles is key. I try to see it as a reminder of what I don’t want to be. But ultimately, sometimes, it makes me feel isolated from my family. The one thing I haven’t managed to control is the rising of my blood pressure while I bite my tongue
The booster shot analogy is a good one, PhDork. I hear Becky, bluebears,and misscalculate about picking battles.
But then there are times, I cannot but say something, even if it isn’t the right battle to pick. This happens with a couple of family members, so I generally choose to not spend time with them. The rest of my family is pretty good.
oh god, that fat talk was more than I could bear this trip, and I finally lashed out after the umpteenth time my sister/mom said “OMG I look soooooo fat in X picture.” come on, family, fat shaming ain’t part of the christmas spirit.
It’s interesting the ways my experiences kind of converge with/diverge from yours. I’ve lived in Manhattan since the time mother.of.a.lesser.god incubated me. And my family (my mom’s, since my dad has almost no family, and none anywhere near me) is pretty damned progressive in the scheme of things, though my mom can be reluctant to self-identify as a feminist, depending on the conversation. But my stepmom does, which was great for me as I grew up.
Anyway, the food talk in my family is out of control. I’m the only one in my very big family (ten adult cousins and siblings, four siblings in mom’s generation, all very close) with a diagnosed eating disorder. But almost all of the women have disordered eating patterns, while the men are completely exempt from what is complete body snarking on the part of my mother and two aunts. I’ve lost count of the times we’ve been driving home from Hanukkah/Rosh Hashanah/Thanksgiving and my mother or grandmother or whoever has started dissecting the weight gain of Cousin X or Cousin Y. Always females. It’s extremely disheartening, and makes me very paranoid about what my relatives say about me when I’m not in their company. And even last week, I mentioned to my mom I’m making couscous and she immediately says, “don’t eat too many carbs.”
Am I wrong to hope that a family should be a safe space from food talk, regardless of whether or not someone has an ED? And it is disturbing how gendered it is. Male cousins and my uncle are completely exempt from the discussion.
::Head explodes::
I never know how to act in these situations (and I’m similarly only really confronted with them when I’m back where I grew up). I’m a people-pleaser in many ways and don’t like conflict, but I’ve learnt to be more of a bitch over the years. Now it seems that no matter what I do, I feel it’s been the wrong thing – if I make a comment, I feel I’ve been too pushy, and if I don’t, I almost feel dishonest, since silence is so frequently taken for agreement with what’s been said.
And Sarah, I have the EXACT SAME couscous story. (And several similar ones). And I had an ED too. I have to wonder how our mothers cannot understand that anyone who has gone through that will probably not need any reminding about the ‘danger’ of carbs, even if they have overcome the ED? Not that it’s good to make comments like that to anyone, but there’s obviously an added sensitivity there.
1) During the holidays, I became frustrated with family members wondering if I get enough nutrients (because I don’t eat meat) or just being generally puzzled at the idea of being vegetarian. I keep reminding myself that my older relatives have probably heard almost nothing about vegetarianism in their lifetimes but still.
2) I was confused when relatives referred to Native Americans as Indians and resisted asking them if they were talking about people from India.
3) By the end of the week, I was wondering where the nice not controlling older men are. It seemed like every relationship between people 50 or 60 years old or older I heard about involved a man who was more controlling than I would accept.
4) There was too much weight talk too.
Lyndsay, my fam is mostly over their vegetarian Shock, but they’ve been dealing with it for about 15 years. It will come in time.
And re: #2…just ask them “feather or dot?” next time.
And yes, the older men thing is really shocking. I didn’t spend a lot of time with my uncle and aunt, but between his weird irascible demands and my beloved aunt’s eye-rolling-in-response, it was enough.