Leah

How Growing Up In Evangelical Purity Culture Taught Me To Embrace Feminism

September 28, 2018 by Leah Leave a Comment

I am a feminist. One of the many reasons I believe in and argue so strongly for equal rights for women stems from being raised in the purity culture of the evangelical church in the 90s. One of the ideas that purity culture promoted was that women were responsible for men’s sin in certain ways. So clothing was always an issue: is it too short, tight, low, high, or do you look good in it to the point where a man would look lustfully at you? Purity culture says that your value as a child of God is based on your virginity, or sexual purity. In some circles, sexual abuse and sex outside of marriage carry equal consequences. Because regardless of how it happens, you’re damaged goods. Honest discussions about sexuality did not take place, and some parents went so far as to demand that schools not have sex education unless they were teaching abstinence only. The biggest sin any teen could commit before marriage was to lose their virginity, and if that happened you were tainted, used up goods, compared to a piece of gum passed between strangers. Any movies that had any kind of physical contact beyond kissing were off limits. SHAME was the name of the game.

To learn these things during the formative years of pre-teen through high school had psychological ramifications that I am still dealing with today, still actively trying to unlearn. I don’t believe the people in my life who stressed purity above all else were trying to harm me, or any of us young folks at the time, in any way, but I also don’t think they understood the ramifications those teachings would have. I also grew up in a church where women were not in the elder leadership rules. The men hold meetings about the direction of the church. The men do the opening, table, and sermon. The men are the spiritual leaders. Again, wonderful people whom I love dearly, whose actions taught us, and still loudly say today, that women are not equal to men in the arena of the church.

In college, women were not allowed to wear shorts. The singing group I was in had a set of pants and skirts because some churches we sang in did not believe in women wearing pants. Men and women were not allowed in each other’s dorms, and on more than one occasion I knew of students who were expelled for being in each other’s rooms or for having sex. Expelled from college! We signed a contract when we were accepted to the school: no drinking, dancing, sex, or wearing shorts…too naive to understand what we agreed to.

I gave church a try when I moved to Nashville. Tried a bunch of different places over the years, would get sick of the internal politics and decide it was time to find another one. There isn’t a whole lot of room for single women in the church. Why are you still single? Why are you talking to a married man? Why don’t you try the singles group instead? A pastor can’t meet one on one with a single woman because that would give the appearance of evil. So I left. I left and felt like a weight was lifted off of me. Occasionally I tried to return, but I realized the church just isn’t for me. I was trying to find God in the church and it wasn’t working. So I left and found God everywhere else instead.

Before Rob and I got married, well meaning friends brought up the topic of submission one night at dinner. As in, how a wife should submit to her husband and leave the big decisions up to him. Inwardly I was screaming, cursing, and waving my fists in the air, wanting to tell them they are perpetuating inequality and male supremacy, and that I would never in a million years marry someone who didn’t consider me an equal partner. Outwardly, I felt Rob’s hand on my knee, silently pleading with me to not say anything that would be hurtful to his friends. So like every woman, I remained composed on the outside while screaming bloody murder on the inside.

Thankfully I have a husband who loves me as I am, who supports my independent spirit, and who defends me against those who don’t understand me. He knows my heart. He trusts my judgment, and I trust his. He is not the spiritual leader of our household, but is responsible for his own relationship with God as I am responsible for mine. We both have careers. We both make independent decisions and provide supportive feedback. And, we are not planning to have children, which means that the family-heavy mentality of church life isn’t a fit for us. Occasionally I rant and rave when I find myself in a traditional housewife role, and then I go mow the lawn again, fielding questions from passersby about why Rob isn’t mowing the lawn. Oh, I don’t know, maybe because he’s cooking dinner. We’re figuring out our life together. We’re also figuring out how to get out from under our teenage/early-20s selves who thought losing our virginity would surely ruin the rest of our lives. Guys seem to have less baggage from the purity message though…because women bore the brunt of the shame, like we always do.

And so we live our lives in search of a better understanding of who God is. And we stay alert. We watch. We watch closely. I watched how evangelicals supported Trump when he mocked the disabled. I watched evangelicals support him when he called our neighbors rapists. I watched evangelicals support him when he bragged about grabbing women by the pussy. I watched when evangelicals supported him when multiple sexual assault allegations were brought against him. I watched evangelicals support him when he refused to help our neighbors following a devastating natural disaster. I watched evangelicals support him while downplaying mass shootings. I watched as evangelicals have stood by this president in spite of every action he’s taken that goes directly against the teachings of Christ.

And now, I am watching evangelicals support Brett Kavanaugh. My upbringing is why I am a feminist. The rage and fury I feel in my physical body over what I am seeing is untamable. Christine Blasey Ford is what courage and bravery look like.

It was rather recently in life that I learned how much feminists are feared by the evangelical church. In fact, there are some evangelicals that believe feminists and democrats are bound for hell. I do think that people who believe these things have a fundamental misunderstanding of what feminism is (equality). I also believe they are predominantly white, more traditional men who fear losing the power they wield over women by quoting scripture out of context and manipulating the Bible to meet their own ends. For now, women are still where they want them to be….

I recently finished the book Pure but Linda Kay Klein. I want to encourage every woman in my life who I know grew up the way I did to read it. However, it comes with a warning. Expect to be triggered AF while reading this book. I heard my voice in every story. Many of them were like mine, many were far more drastically damaging than mine, but essentially they all stem from the doctrines set forth in the purity culture. I’m not sure how to process everything I’ve read. I’ll probably take some time to think on it, maybe get a therapist, and talk about it with my husband. I feel less alone having read this book. It connected dots for me, forced me to acknowledge that what I learned still affects me and still needs to be lovingly undone.

My faith in God is stronger now than it once was, but my faith in the church is gone. The place that provided the foundation of my belief was also the place that gave me the greatest sense of freedom when I walked away. My understanding of myself as a woman is deeper and truer than it has ever been. Seeing myself through the eyes of God as opposed to the eyes of the church provides a clearer picture. To my friends whose lives are still affected by the purity movement, at least we’re in this together. Be empowered to be who you are unapologetically, knowing that it’s who you were made and intended to be.

It’s Your Story – Don’t Let Anyone Keep You From Telling It

October 13, 2017 by Leah Leave a Comment

Everyone has a story. I’m writing this post as a reminder for myself, as much as encouragement for others, to speak up. When there is something going on in your life or your heart that is relatable, honest, and true, sometimes throwing it out into the universe makes other people feel encouraged, inspired, or less alone. I have found that with writing this blog. Sometimes in order to share about myself or my past, I have to include the stories of other people in my life, like my husband, family, or friends. I choose these stories carefully because as much as I’d like to verbally spew every emotion out onto the page, I realize that some are more beneficial than others.

“Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic. Capable of both inflicting injury, and remedying it.” Albus Dumbledore

Basically, I’m an open book in the effort to be as genuine as possible with everyone I meet. This is tricky because my authentic self really likes to swear. I love a well placed four letter word. I hate the idea of treating certain groups of people differently because we’re all humans, whether we’re at church, work, around a dinner table or campfire, the gym, school, daycare, a peaceful protest, a concert…whatever space you’re in, you’re still yourself, right? Sometimes people adopt different personalities around various social groups in their life. While I understand this, it’s also a task that requires a massive amount of mental effort I just don’t have at the end of the day. So to keep it real, I make sure to drop the F bomb around family, friends, coworkers, and fellow Christians alike…not to offend, but just to be who I am because wearing a mask around people is seriously exhausting. If you don’t have a problem with swearing like I do, substitute whatever it is that makes you uniquely you: singing loudly in your car while at a stoplight, cooking for others, reading and snuggling with a pet, screaming at the TV while watching sports, whistling in elevators, conversing with strangers, giving water to homeless people on street corners…whatever it is, do it proudly and be consistent about it.

I also really love sharing what’s happening in life, the challenges, joys, vacations, struggles, and downright sad stuff (like losing a pet) because what I’m finding through all this sharing is that people can relate. While the idea of splaying myself open and being vulnerable in this way is always a little scary, it’s better than remaining closed off to the goodness of friendship and the reciprocal stories I’ve heard from others. Think about all the books you love, the stories that shaped who you are. Imagine if the authors of those stories had never written them because they were too scared of what other people would think…

My generation is not the same as our parents. Not to make a sweeping generalization here, but most of us think differently about things that once held some kind of weird stigma. We have embraced therapy. The mark of disgrace that once came with using medicine for mental health no longer exists (outside the church…there is still work to do inside those walls). We have thrown off the notion that seeking counseling means we are weak or have little faith. This has led to a generation of healthier individuals, some of whom have conquered past demons by addressing issues from childhood so they could lead stronger lives filled with a deeper sense of well-being. We have also learned how to leave jobs that we hate to find fulfillment. We parent differently. We are more accepting of different cultures and lifestyles. We are doers and seekers. Each generation finds its way by learning from the one before.

So back to why it’s so important to share your story. There have been blogs I’ve posted where someone has tried to shame me for saying what I did, whether it be about myself or another. I make no apologies. The reason I feel this way is because friends related. They responded with stories of their own, how they were feeling the same way too. It made me realize that being our authentic selves and opening up about what is going on in our lives can sometimes open a door to new conversations. And in today’s environment of hostile division politically and otherwise, we need to cling tightly to the things we can all relate to, whether or not we hold the same beliefs on other issues.

The stories I’ve seen on social media have encouraged the hell out of me and are threads in the vast web that forms our humanity. We can choose to focus on the division, or we can choose to look harder at what is truly going on in people’s lives. Sometimes this is tricky to see from a Facebook post, but cutting off the rich knowledge our neighbors can offer us by sharing would be a detriment to ourselves. It takes courage to reveal oneself to friends and family who might not always understand, but please, BE BRAVE AND TELL YOUR STORY….

Women I know have shared stories about their miscarriages and the pain they felt during that time.
A couple of friends are going through divorce and they have shared how broken they are in the midst of such a heartrending process.
Friends in the LGBTQ community have shared relationship photos and stories about coming out to friends and family.
Pastors have shared stories about transitioning times and beliefs, and the heavy questions held within that space.
Families have talked about their adoption stories and posted their own blogs to encourage others going through that same process.
Friends shared blogs about leaving jobs or switching careers and how rewarding and scary that decision was.
Women (and a few men) have shared stories about sexual harassment and how it affected their lives.
Friends have lost loved ones and pets and talked about the pain of grief and the hope of seeing them again someday.
Parents talk about successes and epic fails, and all the humor and angst that goes along with those!
People have moved to different parts of the country to start new lives and that can be a really lonely place.

We are not islands. We are not snowflakes. Our experiences as humans on this planet make us the SAME. I am so grateful for every post that is real and true in the muck and mire of life. I am working each day on being a little less censored and a little more free. This is a daily practice because it’s so easy to hide in our own shells, staying beneath the bubble of our own denial or fear. Please keep telling the stories. They encourage me. They encourage others you may never know about. Speak truth and life into the mess of the world.

Be you, be real, be free…

The Midlife Crossroad – Trying To Get Unstuck & Move Forward

October 9, 2017 by Leah Leave a Comment

A common thread among the conversations I’ve been having lately with women in my life who I trust and love is that we’re all in a weird phase.

I’m not just talking about a few people here and there who feel this way…it has been the overarching theme of phone calls with almost all of my female friends. It could be our age, mid 30s to early 50s, but the ones who do not feel this way are most definitely the exception. For me personally, the only way I can describe it is that I feel like I’m being pulled in another direction, but I haven’t exactly figured out where that direction points. There is a tug in my heart toward new and different things, but I’m not sure how to pursue those things in a way that is financially feasible, so I feel paralyzed and STUCK in place. This has created an immense internal frustration that has resulted in me feeling like a failure at life. Does anyone else feel this way right now?

A friend recently posted this article on Facebook and when I read it, it hit me like a proverbial ton of bricks. If you relate to anything I just said, make a cup of tea and take 10 intentional minutes to sit with this: http://www.oprah.com/sp/new-midlife-crisis.html Ada Calhoun is my hero for reflecting back so many of the feelings I have been unable to put into words.

As I sat at breakfast with a friend this morning we were talking about our work and the dreams in life we want to accomplish, how we’ve given up on certain ones along the way. What do you do when the things you once loved don’t sparkle and shine the way they used to? How do you cope when the glitter turns to dust? I think there are many contributing factors to this place a lot of us find ourselves in right now and these are the consistent ones I keep hearing.

The division and lack of connection that exists among friends/family/humanity due the current state of the world
Level of social media involvement
Desire to stay informed by watching the news and the inevitable depression that follows from watching said news
Lack of enthusiasm and purpose in the work that you do
Desire to change careers
Fear of not being good enough
Lack of balance from too much on your plate with family, career, and outside activities
Lack of time for peace and silence where your soul is nourished. Or just lack of time, period.
Awakening to your true self and not knowing how to exist contentedly in your current circumstances
Not feeling like you fit in where you live/work
Having everything and still feeling an empty void inside
Financial instability or the fear thereof
Total paralysis when it comes to making changes that might contribute to your happiness

I don’t have any answers, but conversations with others in the same boat have been helping because I realize I’m not the only one. As soon as I lose the feeling of being alone in a lonely place, I’m able to blink my eyes and open them up to a new perspective which will hopefully empower me to get unstuck.

There were a couple of things in Ada Calhoun’s article that struck home with me. She says, “Is it any wonder that women our age possess a bone-deep, almost hallucinatory panic about money? It’s not an idle worry.” And another common theme in conversations, “Maybe you’ve survived downsizing or scrambled back into the workforce, taken on more responsibilities for less money and less respect because you feel you can’t say no. Or because you need the health benefits. Or because you don’t know where else you would go. It all leads to a particularly virulent form of stuckness—being in a job you no longer like, in a career you can’t remember exactly why you chose, with skills that you don’t think will be useful anywhere else.”

My own panic about money centers around whether my husband and I will be provided for in the future. I grew up in a home where the phrases “we can’t afford it” and “we live according to our means” were thrown around like “hello” and “goodbye.” I watched my parents live frugally, steward what money they had with care, eliminate debt, take us on small family vacations, put me through college, save responsibly, and manage to live in an expensive part of the country without major salaries to support that…all while being really stressed about making it work. Even as they look to retirement, the concern of making the finances last looms large. Since we are often products of our raising, I am constantly freaked out by money, worrying that we’ll have enough, anxious about my job going away one day, nurturing misgivings about lack of marketable skills and not being qualified to do anything anywhere, doubting my purpose in life…on and on it goes. Honestly, who has time or energy for that kind of anxiety?!

My personal coping mechanisms for dealing with work, financial, and lack-of-purpose-in-life stress are traveling and hiking. These activities have brought me peace and friendship in ways I never expected. When I am smack in the middle of nature, away from the sounds of civilization, sweating my way up a mountain trail, the worries and cares of life melt away. Scoff at the cliche’, but it’s true. I don’t think about work when I’m standing in the misty wind on a mountain, looking out on scenery so wild and boundless my eyes can’t fully contain it. There is a perceptible, physical change of relaxation that happens to me when I am standing in the woods with beams of sunlight pouring through green leaves to the earth below, or on a rocky shore breathing salty air as the waves roll in. Sometimes it takes removing ourselves from the everyday onslaught of information in order to reset internally so we can handle going back into the world again, time spent alone where we can appreciate our broken, frail, struggling selves for the miracles they are. For some people maybe it’s yoga, reading, watching movies, taking a walk, meditating, dancing, listening to music, playing an instrument, painting, writing…whatever it is that makes you feel most like you.

I don’t know if midlife crisis is the right phrase. Maybe midlife crossroad? Sometimes at a crossroad, you make a turn and sometimes you keep going straight because whatever you’re headed toward is in that direction. I think for right now maybe it’s ok to sit in this, to feel the discomfort, soak up the mystery, and vent the frustrations that come with all of it. That’s all I can do right now and I’m so thankful for the friends who are willing to do that with me…

Loving Lacy

September 25, 2017 by Leah 2 Comments

“Dogs are the closest we come to knowing the divine love of God on this side of eternity.” Anne Lamott

Today our hearts cracked in two. There is nothing in this world that prepares you for the emotional devastation that is losing a pet. Rob and I don’t have kids, and as clichéd as it seems to say (especially to people with children, and I get this), our pets are our family. When we were dating there was a clear understanding that each of us came as a package deal, Rob with Lacy, me with Maddox and Myrtle. I’ve never been a dog person and he has asthma around cats. This is what we do for the people we love. And eventually the pets become creatures we love too because we’re all figuring out this crazy mess together.

Lacy was a shy, stressed out little dog when I met her, and she’d already come a long way. She lived in a house with a bunch of guys, which would have made any woman go nuts, but she happily navigated a world of dirty sock smell and other dogs who weren’t always as kind as her. She barked a lot and kept a general patrol of every noise, car, and pizza delivery guy who came to the door. She stole all the covers from Rob on a nightly basis, but he never seemed to mind. One thing was clear about this cute little hound with the floppy ears, her heart belonged to Rob and Rob alone.

Rob and Lacy found each other at a pivotal point in both of their lives and I think it’s safe to say that she was his saving grace as much as he was hers. Being true to his nature, Rob went to an adoption property to find her, and when all the other dogs rushed the fence, he only had eyes for the shy one hanging back in the corner. After paying $20 for a dirty little pup with ticks and fleas who was scared of everything, he cleaned her up, and so began the love story of a man and his dog. Anyone who knows Rob knows how much this man adores dogs, but Lacy was the apple of his eye. Through the years as she gradually came out of her shell, she was still only her true self around him.

When we were getting married and talking about introducing the pets to one another, there was a lot of concern and worry over whether they’d get along and how on earth my house would handle a noisy barking dog. I had some serious anxiety about it. Turns out, Lacy didn’t have much to say to the cats and didn’t mind that they lived here too. Maddox would often chase after her, batting her with his paw as she’d walk past in an effort to rile her up and get her to play, but she marched to the beat of her own drum. When Myrtle and Lacy were first introduced, Lacy took a good long curious look at Myrtle, tilted her head, and immediately put Myrtle’s whole face in her big dog mouth. That was the one and only incident we ever had between the pets because maybe she just wanted a little taste. Lacy was a kindhearted, sweet soul. She didn’t bite and we never needed to worry about her hurting anyone or anything. This rang true when a little neighborhood kid came to our house one day and got so excited to see a dog, he immediately ran and face-planted right on top of her. She was unfazed by the tiny human.

In the past couple of years that I’ve worked from home, I was able to know her better. She loved to throw up on the white couch right after Rob left for work, so she and I could spend extra time together while I cleaned it up. After years of only being let out on a leash, she finally had the freedom to run in crazy fast circles around the backyard. As she settled into the peace of our home, her barking quieted and she spent her geriatric years lying in the sunshine and soft grass. There were many times when I looked out my office window to see her head raised to the sun, eyes closed in total bliss while sniffing the summer air. No matter how much I checked in on her during the day, she waited for the moment she would hear the car door, signaling Rob was home. Immediately, her face would perk up, the little ears would flop happily, and she’d excitedly jump up to meet him. They played in the backyard. She would fly past him as he tried to catch her and never succeeded. She was a free spirit who adored one person in this whole world above every other.

At 16 years old, she still had a spring in her step, and of course we hoped she’d live forever. This weekend she took a turn, most likely a stroke, and lost the ability to walk and stand on her own. We cried a lot of tears, trying to decide what would be best, keeping her comfortable, shoring her up as she tilted like a ship in stormy weather. Rob lovingly held her, begging her to get better. He was with her every second. I watched her look at him, following him with her eyes, trusting him to keep her safe, knowing he would take care of her. I knew I was outside of it. What they shared was something special. Today, we held her as we said goodbye, shed tears that are still falling, and hope that in the next life, she’ll be waiting there with her cute ears and tilted head to run ahead of us through the pearly gates.

Our hearts are broken, but you will be loved forever, sweet Lacy…