The Women's Sweatlodge

"Since infancy we are inundated with messages about what it means to be 'good girls.' Good girls are quiet. Good girls are pretty. Good girls wear dresses and don't get dirty. Good girls are smart, but not too smart, because if you are too obviously smart the boys won't like you. Good girls don't have sex, but of course they actually do because if you don't, see immediately preceding statement.

And we get these messages from our families, our schools, our communities, and our media. So we must reprogram ourselves through constant reminders of what it REALLY means to be a good girl and a good woman.

Good girls are noisy. Good girls come in many shades and shapes and forms, all and any of which can be considered pretty. Good girls wear jeans and plant gardens and ride bikes and get all over muddy, 'cause they know something the boys have known for years: getting dirty is fun, and dirt (unlike the deeply instilled messages of shame we carry) washes off.

Good girls are smart and aren't afraid to show it, 'cause men and women will not be truly free until we lose our fear of one another's intellect, abilities, and skills. Good girls have sex, or don't have sex, or have sex with each other, and they have it consensually without having it as part of a bargain between themselves and a boy, as in 'if I let him have sex with me he'll take me to the prom/be my boyfriend/ take care of me/support me financially.'

When you walk down the street, or walk through a mall or a restaurant or a place of business, watch the eyes of the women you pass. Women check one another out, scanning face, hair, bodies, breasts. And inside each of us runs a tape as our eyes go up and down, and it sounds like this: 'Is she prettier than me? Is she thinner than me? Oh, her hair is so glossy and swings so perfectly; I wish mine were like that. Her hair looks like crap; mine is much nicer. Hmm, she's older than I am. She's younger than I am. She's got beautiful breasts--they must be fake. They must be real. She's really small-busted; she shouldn't wear that sweater unless she can fill it out. I wish my butt looked that good in MY jeans. I bet she's got lots of boyfriends.'

Listen to the tape the next time it starts playing, and shut the damned thing off. Put in a new tape, one that goes something like this: 'We are all beautiful. We all have bodies that work, walk, play, and make love and we are all good enough. We are many ages and many races and we have beautiful hair. Some of us look good in jeans and some of us look good in dresses and some of us look good in lycra and some of us look good in muumuus, and regardless of how we look in any of it, we are worthy of love. We can each of us attract a boyfriend, or many boyfriends, or a girlfriend, or girlfriends and boyfriends, and none of us needs to steal anyone else's boy-or-girl friend.'"

* * *

"I have a sneaking fondness for teens, especially the rebels, which essentially includes ANY young woman with an ounce of bravery to be herSELF and not what society says she needs to be. I look at young women today and am amazed, sometimes, by the vibrant power present in their faces and their bearing. In observing girls and women I am continually amazed by the firey beauty that ignites when a woman is happy or is wholly engaged in a task that takes her complete energy and attention. I've been stunned to breathlessness as I've watched a girl whiz down the street on her rollerblades, hair flying behind her, muscular legs powering her body in only-just-barely-grounded flight, face alight with concentration and exhilaration. I've looked and looked again as a girl scribbles furiously in a tablet, making note of some thought or image or trancendent idea, her brow furrowed, her hair awry, completely and amazingly unaware that she is vibrating with an energy and a beauty that is wholly about her doing EXACTLY WHAT SHE NEEDS TO DO."

* * *

"Why is it that so many women feel intense pressure to stringently diet and surgically alter their bodies in order to fit an unattainable ideal? Think what could be accomplished if women took the time and energy that they spend obsessively dieting, applying cosmetics, and otherwise altering their appearance and applied that time to education, employment, travel, or political activism.

Women are encouraged by the fashion industry, the media, AND EACH OTHER, to fit a particular mold. Think about what happens, on a physical and intellectual level, when a woman restricts her food intake sufficiently to fit into a size three. She becomes physically weak; a significant portion of her energy is channelled into obtaining and maintaining a whippet-thin appearance. When a woman is more worried about the state of her hairdo or her mascara than on the state of her nation's social and environmental policy, a significant portion of our country's energy is sapped and misdirected.

Think of the potential, if women were to not only burn their bras and girdles but were to burn their fashion magazines and their makeup kits, and were to spend that time and energy lobbying the government to implement such socially conscious programs as free medical care for every resident of the country and nationally supported day care programs for working parents."

* * *

"You have mentioned how this society has crippled its men, by making it a taboo to talk about or to even experience emotion. Society has also crippled its women, by making it taboo to relax about our appearance. In the last hundred years, women have fought for the vote, for the right to own property, for the right to adequate birth control and safe abortion. The laws have changed, but the pressures to be submissive, to look to a man for protection, and to bear children are still very much a part of our culture.

It is also a part of our culture for women to be enslaved by what we see in the mirror and by the responses we see on the faces of men and women we meet each day. It is up to each one of us to decide how we are going to respond to that pressure. Do we buy the concealer (that melts in the sun or when we sweat), or do we let our faces breathe? Do we buy the high heels (that throw us off balance and pinch our toes) or do we buy the supportive, comfortable sandals that allow us to stride openly when we walk? Do we giggle like idiots when a man makes a condescending comment (because maybe he'll like us if we laugh), or do we point out that the comment is detrimental to mutual support and understanding, and risk not having another date?

So we obsessively finger our faces, our stomachs, our hair and think about cutting, tucking, and coloring (because maybe he'll like us better if we look younger, thinner, blonder), or do we take pride in our intellectual, spiritual, professional, and culinary achievements?

Resentment breeds anger. Anger breeds ill will. And how can love bloom in a garden infested by such weeds?"

Cerena Storm