Gender Trauma

  • Empowered Womanhood,  Gender Trauma,  Religious Trauma

    Mountain Woman

    There’s a reason I take a lot of photo shoots in the wilderness of myself wearing long, flowing dresses, and it might not be what you expect.

    Growing up I was always told that boys are tough and strong and like to get dirty, and little girls are pretty and quiet and fragile. Growing into a woman, I quickly became aware of pressures to look, act and talk a certain way – to fit into the design being handed to me. For most of my life, typically “feminine” things felt uninteresting at best and suffocating at worse. I have distinct early memories of being a small child helping my dad outside with yard work and watching my mom bustle around inside behind the steamy kitchen windows, cooking a giant pot of stew or pulling bread out of the oven. It sounds like a beautiful memory, but for me it was traumatic.

    The fundamentalist community I was raised in kept a strict divide between men’s and women’s roles. Even at 5 years old I was acutely aware that while I was interested in the things my dad was doing, my body would grow up to look like my mother’s and therefore at some point in the future I would be forced to model myself after her, whether that was the life I wanted or not.

    Growing older felt like a ticking time bomb. I didn’t know at what age I would be expected to be a woman and need to give up the things I loved about myself. I wondered if even someday I might betray myself and make the drastic change voluntarily.

    As a little girl growing up without any brothers, I wondered on occasion if all the quality time I got with my dad was because there wasn’t a son to spend time with. My dad never did anything to make me feel that way, but the culture he raised me in did. I was deeply attached to my dad and felt a strong connection with him. I wanted to grow up to be just like him. We were kindred spirits who understood each other. Some of my first steps were taken on the trail with him and my first word after mama and dadda was “back-back” (backpack).

    That’s how formative the wilderness was to me. From time to time my worries about my gender were reinforced a bit when I saw my female friends becoming more and more restricted as we grew older. My family wasn’t doing that, at least not yet, but I thought I was probably just lucky, not inherently safe.

    Around 8 or 9 years old, I watched a good friend of mine harshly warned by her father to stop climbing on driftwood at the beach with me, because she was a lady. Her family forced her to wear dresses all of the time instead of just at church like my family. That was a good excuse to keep her from moving her body and running free like normal children.

    Around middle school age I was told it was good that even though I was outdoorsy, I could still “clean up nice” and be ladylike. I think the person meant it as a compliment toward my well-rounded traits, but the message I received was loud and clear: being an outdoorsy adventurous type wasn’t a womanly thing to do, but I could get away with it because I was still able to fit the mold the rest of the time.

    At Thanksgiving and other gatherings, the men would walk around the yard looking at the garden and fruit trees while my mom and aunts and any other females deemed old enough to be subjected to restrictive roles had to prepare the meal and clean up after. From a young age I wondered why we didn’t all pitch in together and then all relax together.

    When I had my first period, my mom told me I probably wouldn’t be able to do as many hiking and camping trips anymore. I was terrified but also stubborn and vowed to myself that would never happen to me.

    I’ve been called disgusting for coming home from backpack trips with unshaven legs and greasy hair. I’ve been warned that bears would eat me if I was menstruating in the woods (that’s a lie, but all I had to counter it was my gut instinct).

    Over and over I was shoved into a smaller and smaller box of who I was allowed to be as a female. While little boys were given more opportunities as they grew older, I lived in a steadily shrinking cage. I grew up angry at both men and women. No one was safe. Men were degrading and patronizing and held all the power and women would not stand up for me – instead they were often the ones enforcing the patriarchal ideals in more up-close and personal ways. In that sense, women were more of a threat to me than the men and I avoided female-only settings most of the time.

    I rarely felt in tune with femininity. Womanhood was an unsettling part of me I tolerated on good days and recoiled from on bad days. At best my gender was a neutral thing that added no value and at worse it was an infection, or a tattoo I couldn’t remove.

    For me, climbing mountains and exploring the back-country was my escape. It was the one place that as a woman I was allowed to be different than the mold. I had the freedom to explore myself as I explored the forest. I became stronger inwardly as my body grew stronger climbing snowy slopes. On the trail I was allowed to dress for utility instead of etiquette. In the great outdoors, I didn’t need to meet society’s beauty standards; I was accepted there as I was. No one was around I needed to impress or might accidentally displease just by existing as I am – it was only me and the mountain, and often my loving dad who believed in me and only unintentionally passed on some of the sexist mindsets.

    As a child I didn’t have any female role models in the outdoors. It was a man’s world. In today’s outdoor scene that is mostly inclusive to women, its hard for many people to believe that I saw that change happen in my own lifetime. But as a child only 20 years ago, I would often count the other women and girls on the longer treks and bigger mountains because there were so few of us.

    For so long, my masculine and feminine sides have been separated by a wide chasm inside of me. I don’t fit the church’s – or even society’s – ideals for a woman. I present feminine but I don’t often feel “womanly”. I love my masculinity but don’t identify with maleness. Often over the years, when wearing makeup or a pretty dress it felt like I was putting on a mask and the real mountain-climbing, skateboarding, dare-devil me was trapped on the inside.

    But a few years ago, I got an idea. I wanted to see those two separate worlds collide. I wanted to see the two halves of me become one. So I rolled up a long red dress and stuck it in my backpack one day and when I got up to the ridge top meadow, I slipped it on and asked my supportive dad to take pictures of me. I was afraid I might be doing the wrong thing. I wondered if I was contaminating my safe space with reminders of the threat of traditional womanhood. I wondered if I wouldn’t feel fierce and badass in the mountains if I was wearing a dress. I was wrong.

    I felt like a warrior princess. I felt strong and beautiful and like I could be any kind of woman I wanted to be. I was still the same me I’ve always been. I am not defined by other people’s ideas of me. For the first time, a flicker of pride toward my womanhood burned in my heart.

    The mountains have always represented more to me than recreation or even adventure. They represent my strength and what I’m capable of. They remind me I am powerful, a conqueror. I am embodied; grounded and secure, inherently good in my physical form. I take up space in the world. I am spirit, at one with the Source. I cannot be held down, I cannot be contained. I can do anything I set out to do.

    I’m tackling the hard work of undoing years of damage that fundamentalism caused me. I’m asserting that women are magical and fierce; a force to be reckoned with. I am declaring I can be beautiful AND strong. I can love getting dirty and ALSO look damn sexy in a red dress. I can be cute and childlike and playful, AND I can lead backpacking expeditions and handle myself well in the face of danger. I can take care of others and keep them safe without neglecting myself. I can be an explorer and a wilderness goddess. I can be a mountain woman, a photographer, a strong leader; someone who paints and writes and runs and climbs trees and who skillfully steers a canoe through rapids. I can be gentle and sweet and kind and also outspoken and opinionated and confident and I can sure as hell stand up for myself. I can set boundaries on how people treat me and I can make my voice heard. I can command attention.

    After a lifetime of hiking and climbing in the high country, I was 28 years old the first time I wore a dress in that space; creating an avenue to see these truths embodied. I’m experiencing my masculine and feminine sides combining and colliding in messy and inspirational ways, and I like it! I used to feel good in spite of being female but I’m retraining my brain. My femininity is good.

    I still have a long ways to go; I’m still questioning a lot and learning how to feel content and safe in my body. But I do know that I am a beautiful, powerful soul and nobody else gets to tell me who I am. I am a mountain woman.

  • Empowered Womanhood,  Gender Trauma,  Religious Trauma

    Caricatured and Erased

    I didn’t know Women’s History month existed until 2019. I was isolated in a patriarchal fundamentalist religious community until 2011 and joined an egalitarian Pentecostal ministry until 2017, but the latter community still didn’t recognize or talk about patriarchy being a problem. Women in that ministry still usually assumed traditional roles and while there wasn’t any requirement to, the overall community culture encouraged it. Women almost always stepped down from their careers as pastors to become mothers.

    I hadn’t experienced a space where women were intentionally celebrated and the oppression we face specifically addressed until I moved a few hours away to a very progressive city after escaping my abusive marriage. I attended a women’s march for the first time with a handful of my friends and I was flabbergasted. I saw so many different kinds of women, so many different ways of being and living as a woman. I wouldn’t realize or start to address how much gender trauma I really had until later that year, but below is what I wrote as my first attempt at putting to words my experiences as a woman in the world. Many of the ideas I write here are ones I’ve encountered a lot since then, but at the time this was me putting to paper things I had never heard someone else say before.

    “This International Woman’s Day, I’ve been thinking about what it means to be a woman. Women are expected to be so many things; to fit conflicting ideals. We’re always either too much or too little. We are supposed to be strong but not too abrasive, submissive but not weak, pretty but not vain. We are supposed to be interested in makeup and fashion but if we like those things too much we are shallow. If we have curves we are told we are fat and undesirable, and if we are slender we are told we are fake and not real women. We are praised for being “tough” and doing everything a man can do; and we are warned that men don’t like tomboys. We are supposed to be nurturing and want children, but also we should have a successful career and not let motherhood “hold us back”. We are made fun of for being virgins and shamed for being sluts. We are criticized for taking too many selfies and yet pictures of women are plastered all over the internet and on billboards to sell things. Women are condemned for “selling their bodies” and yet the media is constantly sexualizing and then selling our bodies to make a profit through marketing. Women are caricatured and erased at the same time. Womanhood is distorted over and over again until I am left wondering who is hidden behind all the labels and roles. Who would I be if all these other voices hadn’t pervaded my own? Even though I might not totally know the answer, I know that I must be powerful or I wouldn’t be threatening enough to oppress. I am proud of being a woman, even if I’m still figuring out what that means. I love that I’m a woman even though it’s sometimes been a heavy burden to bear in this patriarchal world. And instead of figuring out who I am supposed to be as a woman, I am defining my womanhood by who I am. Happy Woman’s Day to all my sisters! I’m in solidarity with you as we lead into a better world.”

  • Empowered Womanhood,  Gender Trauma,  Religious Trauma

    A Subversive Photograph

    This is a subversive photograph.
    Albeit a pretty normal, fun, artsy photograph.

    Still, before my deconstruction this picture would have been unacceptable to take or post. Why? It wasn’t a written rule. It was one of those more dangerous under-the-surface ones where you’re never told outright you have to think a certain way but the culture of the community plants it in your head. It’s more dangerous because it’s a form of emotional manipulation, making you feel something without telling you that that’s how you’re supposed to feel. That way it’s easier for them to deny what they’re doing, there’s nothing really solid to place your finger on and its harder to dismantle an idea that you’re not aware you have.

    In fundamentalist Christianity it’s frowned upon to celebrate yourself, to focus on your good qualities, or to focus on yourself at all. Women, especially, are kept under a watchful eye. It’s very easy to be accused of being prideful or vain. When I was submersed in conservative church culture, taking selfies or dressing in a “flashy” way was one of the quickest ways to be accused of being vain and generally frowned upon. Mostly for the women. It’s generally unacceptable for women to feel good about themselves at all, or to feel beautiful or smart or powerful. Confidence is for men.

    Youth leaders told me as a preteen, when getting ready in the morning if I felt cute I needed to change my outfit. My pastor occasionally made comments in his sermons about “those girls who post selfies on the internet to gain attention and affirmation from the world, instead of looking to God”. He even said “all those selfie girls think they look so great, when the rest of us are thinking ‘what a dog’!” And yes, he ACTUALLY said that, ignoring a few gasps from the audience.

    Hearing all this, one might think I was in an extremist, fringe cult. But no, it was a typical mainstream American Evangelical non-denominational church, the most well-attended in the area. It was a pretty easy place to unassumingly end up on a Sunday morning for the casual Christian.

    Taking a picture like this one would have not only been looked down upon as drawing unnecessary attention, but this picture celebrates my power and independence, which are two big no-no’s for Christian women. While it’s all very subtle, the stance, the pose, the facial expression – in all of it I am highlighting my willfulness, strength, and sensuality. Looking down at the camera communicates assertiveness and confidence, a more stoic expression versus and sweet tender smile, a fancy outfit with big bangly jewelry… It sends a message; at least in the church. To the rest of the world it’s just a creative photoshoot.

    I didn’t take the picture to intentionally emphasize those parts of myself – honestly, it’s a pretty normal photograph. I took it because it snowed and I love the snow; I was feeling good about myself, I enjoy being artistic and creative and so I set up a little photo shoot. The person I am inside came out in the photo naturally. But that’s exactly the problem, according to the church – who I am as a person.

    Today I choose to celebrate myself. I continue to subvert patriarchy and fundamentalism by shamelessly declaring I am good. I give a big “F you!” to the church with a simple photograph. They make that last part pretty easy.