successful women.

I woke up unusually (some would argue this) bitchy today. This is the way I'd like to document my morning for future reference. I think it's fair to say that I'm not really bitchy, because that's a word we use when women don't fall into line, or more specifically, allow themselves to be criticized, ridiculed, or ostracized. But in this moment, I'm not thinking about how men perceive women and keep them "under control." This is the moment I realized we are victims of our own gender's view of how women should behave. It's not pretty, and we don't even realize we're doing it to ourselves.

I caught myself doing it yesterday, when I learned that an old school mate, whom I now work with, though very much from a distance, was being moved into a new office. With her new title. She was one of the "mean girls" when we were in school, but that's of little consequence today. When I overheard the man helping her say, "If there's anything you need, (Ms. Person), just let me know." 


And I rolled my eyes. 

After hearing too much as of late about what I can or can't do in the future, and how I am supposed to do things, and when am I getting married and so forth, I can't believe what I thought: I said in my head, "How does she keep getting promoted--who is she sleeping with?"

But I am smart enough to 1. not say this out loud, and 2. think more about what would make me have such a thought in the first place. One reason is simply that I haven't been as successful. The gaping difference between she and I is that she has a degree. I am still working on mine, which means the both of us are on an entirely different professional playing field, especially in our line of work. She also seems to be lacking the one thing that most women possess. Self-doubt. This could be surface deep, and I realize that I am in no position to judge what she feels. But what she appears to be is a confident, well-dressed, well-organized person. This makes me incredibly jealous, as I typically fail in all three of those categories. I'm much better fitted into the hole that is self-doubt. I'm pretty sure that's the square hole into which we square pegs do fit. 

Now I'm going to delve into the even more uncomfortable, because I think it needs to be said. A few months ago I had a spontaneous abortion, which not so loosely translates into "miscarriage." This isn't something we are supposed to talk about, so if you think you're shocked, you should know that I'm shocking myself by even writing this down. But I think it's important. For me and for women. 

The night of said miscarriage, I was filled with self-doubt. I questioned whether it really happened, or if I was just "freaking out." I called my step-mother at 11 p.m. and she, the anti-sexist, was supportive, comforting and really listened to me. Maybe she could handle this because she gave up having children of her own, just so my sister and I wouldn't have to deal with the thing known as the blended family. She is a fucking saint. But anyway.

The next day, I called my primary care doctor and told her what I felt and what I saw. She said that it sounded like I was right, and that it seemed unnecessary to go to the emergency room because my body was doing what it was supposed to do. She asked if I was o.k. This is another person whom I rely on heavily--and she always comes through for me. She is not alarmist, and she doesn't treat a woman's body like a thing that needs tests and medication and excessive visits when something doesn't go quite the way we expect. She knows that our bodies are complex things that often are doing what they should even if we don't like it. But I digress. 

I called three of my closest friends that morning. Two that have experienced pregnancy, and one who hasn't. Two were sympathetic, and one was downright wrong. I'll ask that you guess which one of them said, "You didn't have a miscarriage. If you had a miscarriage, you would know it." 

It was the one who successfully did everything in order. Got married to the love of her life, had two kids, and bought a bigger and more beautiful house in which to raise the two kids. The same one that wants the best for me, and therefore refuses to see my point of view when I venture too deep into uncharted or unconventional ways of thinking. She continued the conversation by telling me that my doctor was just "telling me what I want to hear." Which makes no sense whatsoever. Because I'm quite sure that I didn't want to hear that an embryo that would have been my child fell out of my body and got flushed down the toilet. 
 
She even took it one step further and said that if I did have a miscarriage my doctor would have told me to go to the emergency room, so she was of course, lying.

After a few days of unexpected and inexplicable sadness and a general feeling of malaise, I was fine. I was surprised by just how strong that feeling of loss is, regardless of whether I even knew this would have been baby was on the way. And the way women cope with the loss of another woman is, one out of three times, by making them feel like a failure. I felt as though I was just having delusions and wished I had saved the tissue so I could take it somewhere and be certain it was what I thought it was. I also experienced moments of blaming myself. Did I drink in the couple of weeks prior? I did take those four ibuprofen that day...and so on. A smart person knows that this happens for reasons we can't begin to comprehend. It is natural and in many cases quite possibly for the best. 

As I go forward with my life, I'm hoping to break a few molds, as I so often have. My lifestyle choices are most comfortable for me. I don't concern myself often with what will make my friends and family feel more at ease with my life choices. I don't think that would be fair, and I would have so much less to offer them. Don't get me wrong, I do have many friends who know what it's like to be a weirdo in a strange place. God, I love them dearly. They are the least sexist people I know, too. They don't have that thing that makes them say, "who did she sleep with," when I experience successes. I didn't even realize that was a thing that makes me want to talk to them more than anyone else. They are not mean girls. 

And I am successful. In so many fucking ways. Primarily because I'm doing things my way, and in my world there is no can't or should. There is did and done.

If this isn't suitable for anyone, I'm gonna have to go all bitchy on your ass.