International Women’s Day: A Reflection on Loving Women, Girls and Mary Jane ❤︎

March 8th is International Women's Day. This is a opportunity for women to be celebrated and called to action around the world. We honour our achievements, our progress, our lives and each other. We get an opportunity to see how far we've come towards equality. It's a great time to look at our milestones and unite in solidarity. Today, I reflect on some key experiences from my formative years, adolescent life as a tomboy, so I may share my stories that have shaped the women loving human that I am today.

Personally, I feel very privileged to be living in this age and this country with a female body. I can walk freely on the sidewalks of my hometown. I can wear what I want and I can let my wildest feminine expression fly. I have a licence to drive. I run my own business earning my income doing what I love. I have a Canadian passport and this gives me the freedom to travel to most places in the world. I am single and I do not have to be in a financial arrangement with a dominant man to live my life. Today, I am grateful for these blessings, as this has not always been my story.

I recognize that not all women in the world have these same advantages. In some places, my independence could be seen as a threat. Women born into some religious cultures, are literally property of their fathers and then, their husbands. I feel very fortunate that this is not my reality and that I was born into a family, and a nation, that eventually gave me the freedom to be me. I encourage us all to share our stories, giving a voice to what has shaped us. I hope that by sharing my experiences and dreams, other women and our marginalized humanity will feel inspired to do the same. I am fairly new to this platform. If you are seeing this and you have already shared your stories on @steemit please send me a link in the comments, as I would love to get to know you and co-create a network that makes us visible and raises our collective vibration.

Raynefyre Sharing the Perfect Gift from Jess

This is PART ONE of my story:

Growing up, I was a stereotypical tomboy. I was not interested in doing the expected girly things that my mother wanted me to do. Playing with dolls, wearing pink dresses and makeup or playing house were never my thing. My joy came from the freedom of playing outside. Riding my bike off jumps, exploring the surrounding wilderness, climbing trees and building forts. I was athletic, strong willed and capable of always keeping up, and even leading our childhood adventures. Growing up on the Canadian prairies my brother and I idolized key players on our favourite national hockey teams. We loved watching Wayne Gretzky score hat tricks and seeing Patrick Roy block every slap-shot, achieving a shutout for his team. I remember wanting to play on a team so badly. The only problem was, there were no girl teams in our small town of 5000 back then. I begged to own hockey skates and play on a team every year, but there was no way my parents would let me. I was told year after year that the sport was not for girls. We cheered for my younger brother's team from the bleachers every year. All while I quietly began loathing who I was. It wasn’t until I started developing breasts at the age of eleven that I began to realize the difference between girls and boys.

During my adolescence, these breasts started to form, and I was treated noticeably different. As if I was fragile or something. All of a sudden, wrestling and rough housing with my Dad was over and it was the beginning of all kinds of weird attention at school. Being one of the first girls to develop a set of Bs by grade six was embarrassing. Some boys made a game of snapping our bra straps. There were times I could feel the burn right through my clothing from their lengthy gazes. I took it upon myself to fight back and never give into the harassment. I stood up for myself and took pride in supporting the other girls when they were “teased” too. I dropped out of competitive gymnastics because we had to compete in spandex and I hated how the tight suit revealed my new curves. I chose to hide my figure wearing baggy boy jeans, tees and oversized sweaters.

Then there was baseball. I played on a competitive team that competed in a 200 km radius of our town. I loved playing, but as I developed into a young woman, I noticed a difference in the way our male coach acted. We noticed one who routinely fondled his junk behind his clipboard. I was relieved the year he was replaced by a couple women coaches fresh from college. I enjoyed being part of my team; we were close like I imagined sisters would be. I played many positions, but mostly I enjoyed being the pitcher.

I loved competing and playing sports so much, but my growing body seemed to get in the way. My breasts hurt a lot and they grew at a rate that left purple stretch-mark scaring for years. Running was uncomfortable and so pretty much every sport I loved became more physically challenging. I also wrestled in my inner world and I was often worried that my extreme discontent would show. I was so self conscious that I dropped out of most of the activities I loved.

When I was 13, I was invited to tryout for the girl’s ringette “A” team. Back then Ringette, was the female equivalent of hockey. We had offence and defence lines and a goalie. Our sticks were straight and we passed blue rubber rings back and fourth to trick the other team and score goals. This game was about finesse and there was no physical contact allowed. This was my opportunity to see what it felt like to play on the ice. I enjoyed it, but I often got sent to the penalty box for what I thought was, just being good on my skates. I played for one year and decided it was not my sport and I still really wanted to play hockey.

My brother was supported through the years with his hockey career. It was the one focus that seemed to keep him out of trouble. He loved it and was actually pretty good. I felt my resentment building towards him, my parents and this alien body that I was growing into. I ended up abandoning most sports and found myself seeking other outlets for fun.

Thirteen and fourteen were difficult for years for me. This was when I began to really feel like an outsider. Aside from my outdoor adventures, I was into escaping through fantasy books about dragons, unicorns and other mythical creatures. At the time my sketchbook was filled with the same fierce beasts, comic book characters like Spider Man and my hockey heroes. I fantasized about a world where I could be and do anything I wanted. At the time, there were a few adults and role models that really saw me and had the ability to support who I was.

During the mid 90s, one of my favourite aunts left her third marriage to a man and "confessed" her love for another woman and came out as a lesbian. This event was part of a huge turning point in my life. All of a sudden the great privilege I had of spending time in the big city with my aunt on the weekends, was not allowed. I remember asking my mother if I could go visit, and for the first time, she said, “No, absolutely not!” I was confused with this response and asked, “Why not?”

“Because, I said so, that’s why!”

For the longest time, I was given no other explanation and I didn’t understand. I was banned from seeing the aunt that had the ability to see me for who I am. So obviously, I pushed every day for what seemed like months to get an answer. I remember things at school got pretty tough and I enjoyed being able to escape my scene and spend time with her. The last time we hung out before this restriction, she took me crystal shopping and started teaching me how to meditate. I was experiencing some bullying at school and needed her guidance more than ever. Pushing harder with my mother again, “May I please go spend the weekend with my auntie?”

“No! Don’t ask me again.”

“I don’t understand, what could she have done wrong? Please tell me, I would really like to see her!”

“Okay, fine. My sister claims she is a lesbian and our family is upset with her for leaving her marriage.”

“I still don’t understand. What does this have to do with me? Are you afraid that it’s contagious? She is still the same person, and just wants to love someone else. This doesn’t make sense! Why can’t I see her?” Is it a crime for a woman to love a woman?

“We are all angry with her so everyone in our family has renounced her because of her behaviour. You are still not allowed to spend time with her,” said my mother.

I remember being furious. I was also confused about their judgement and extreme choice of abandoning her. I also remember hearing my inner voice in that moment: Oh god, I hope I am not a lesbian. People can be so mean to gay and lesbian people. How could this be? They are still people, who fucking cares who they chose to love. It should be no body’s business who has love for who. The reason I wanted so badly to spend time with my aunt was because I was being bullied at school, this time, by my best friend.

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My BFF and partner in crime. We shared many giggles, and played together on the school basketball, volleyball and track and field teams. Anything that gave us days off from class. We skipped out at times and got into stealing tobacco from our parents. We snuck off and went to pit parties on farmer’s fields, drank vodka and experimented with weed. We even shared a binding pledge with a pocket knife, becoming "blood sisters". One day she confided in me about the ritual abuse she endured at home by both of her parents and older brother. I asked why she didn’t report it and she claimed, she stayed and took the brunt of it in order to protect her two younger sisters. She made me vow to keep it a secret. I tried my best. It wasn’t until the third time she tried to take her own life, that I broke my promise. I would have told my favourite aunt as I knew I could confide in her and get the pain off my chest. At the time, I wasn’t allowed to have contact with her so instead, I told my mother. I didn’t know what else to do. I wanted to help my best friend so bad and I didn’t want her to die. I loved her.

This all happened around spring break in grade nine. I was internally tormented. I went to spend my time off from school in the Kootenay’s with my grandparents. I was so lost in myself. I remember being put in art classes and bible studies. I didn't feel safe to share what was going on for me because, I was worried about disapproval from my family. My Grandma is a devoted Christian and at the time most Christians had no room for queer life in their heaven. Or suicide for that matter. My grandparents even left the same United Church we were baptized in, once a controversial lesbian minister took her seat. Their judgement caged my spirit too. I had a few friends my age in town and ended up hanging out with them and finding the same kind of trouble that we did back home. Smoking weed and tobacco, skateboarding, vandalizing private property, partying and even running from the cops at one point. On my grandparent’s days off we spent time in the sun at Kootenay Lake. I swam and found solace under my favourite tree surrounded by the mountains and mother nature.

After ten days of vacation, I returned to junior high and so did my best friend. I actually had no idea if her last suicide attempt was successful. There was no social media, instant messaging or cell phones back then. I was stoked to see her alive. On the contrary, she was angry, and wouldn’t tell me why. She passed me a note that said. “Meet me at the smoker pit. You are going to get your ass kicked after school!” I spent all day shaking with cold sweats, riddled with anxiety. I couldn’t concentrate and I had no understanding what was going on. I really wanted to have a conversation in private instead of making a huge show for our peers after school. These battles never went well and kids would always take the side of the aggressor in fear that they would be the next target. When the end of the day came, I pleaded to her, “Please can we talk about this?”

I remember her exploding with rage in the hallways. “You can’t be trusted!! You said you wouldn’t tell anyone, but you did. I am going to fucking kill you!” Finding my ground, tears streaming from my face, I said, “I am sorry you are upset, but I have no idea what you mean.”

“Your mom called my mom to see how I was doing!” She screamed.

I had no idea this had happened. I broke her trust and apparently so did my mom. From this moment on, I still struggle with wondering what would be the best way to handle this situation. When someone you care about tells you they want to commit suicide, what is the right thing to do? This was not the first or last time, someone in my life had confessed this as their truth.

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At this point in my life, my closest friend wanted to harm me and ruin my reputation at school. My mother couldn’t be trusted. I was banned from seeing my favourite spiritually guided, lesbian aunt. I struggled a bunch and was fortunate to have a young female teacher who I could confide in and write letters to. Besides this, I was confused with my place in the world. I began having fantasies about kissing some of the other girls on my sports teams so that became awkward too. I felt like I had to hide this part of me because, I was already being bullied at school and afraid my parents would abandon me like they did my aunt. Any lesbian tendency, was internalized and denied from that moment on. I tried having boy friends because that’s what all the other girls did. I ended up breaking a few little hearts, because I was never really interested in being in love with them. I just wanted to be like them and have the privilege and freedom to do everything they did. I also wanted to hide any evidence that I could be having sexual fantasies or feeling romantic love for girls.

Throughout my youth, my greatest coping strategy was finding ways to push the boundaries. Mostly fuelled by adrenaline and caffeine, I was a little daredevil. I would do anything I could that was viewed as being badass or rebellious. Usually the first one to fly off bike jumps or crawl through windows, breaking into new construction building sites. I would climb as high as I could and encourage others to do the same. I was sneaky and hardly got busted for misbehaving. I began smoking on the regular and finding ways of collecting smokes for my friends. It was easy to find weed. We didn’t need ID to buy from our friend's older brothers. It was way easier to acquire than booze or cigarettes, plus it was a cheap way to have fun. In my early teens, my habit of smoking doobies was a big part of my liberation. It helped me momentarily forget about my troubles. It became a crutch for escape, a predictable state that shifted my inner world just enough, so I could feel closer to my true self. I guess I felt more in touch with my spirit.

There was a critical time in my life when I was disconnected from the women who loved, nurtured, and held space for me. I simultaneously felt like I was unable to express my love for the girls I had secret crushes on and the women who I looked up to. This was the point when I took refuge and made a commitment to Mary Jane.

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Stay tuned for PART 2

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