2019. Writing what needs to be said.
(Women Harnessing Online Activity)
I want to share something that happening to me over the course of 2017/2018 that involves calling out disturbing online behaviour and how it impacted me. I feel is my responsibility as a woman in the feminist movement to speak openly about this experience; in the hope that the status quo will be moved; that there will be a cosmic shift in how women are treated online; and how this shift will positively impact our real lives. The incidious nature in which women are being profiled, stalked and manipulated through social media platforms is pathological behaviour; and the only way to stop this behaviour is to expose and interrupt it.
They say as an artist, you really are telling the same story over and over again. In celtic folklore, they say when just before you are born, you pick all the challenges you will face, and overcome during your lifetime. This makes me feel in some way powerful, insightful, that these challenges are more filled with wisdom then they feel at the time. It seems the challenge I face is mirrored in the women around me. We are awake, alive. Yearning, pulsing, breathing fighting for a future where we feel hungry for the world and not afraid of it, aware that with each challenge comes huge amounts of fear, and that around us, the battleground is filled with broken hearts and broken bodies that need to rest, lay their broken skin on the ground to heal for a while before it begins again.
Twenty Somethings from a twenty something.
Your twenties are notorious. Challenging, emotionally turbulent, some don't make it out the other side. Here's a few notes as I make it out the other side.
So this is how it goes at the moment. We work. We get up. Exhausted. Extorted. Money on train fare, bus fare, next there will be a price in walking in clean air. Get to work. Either 30 mins early or 30 minutes late, if you're in the north the trains don't run on time and the people that bought the companies couldn't give a flying fuck and install robots instead of people, at a cheaper labour cost to them, but doesn't make a blind bit of difference to the paying public. Get to work, work hard, try to work hard, try to be positive and not be transparant with how your mind has been racing all morning.
In the last week we have seen social media windswept in the #metoo movement, and what its really brought in to focus, in a multitude of different ways, is our varying concepts of visibility.
An all too familiar term. Used as an explanation for buying Swarovski encrusted heels, or dying your hair blue. Not that these aren't all EXCELLENT life choices. Identity crisis, or rather, letting crisis become part of your identity is the topic for this article.
Yesterday I cried amongst strangers. Yesterday strangers opened their arms and the stories of their lives to a public who held them, and loved them. Everyone that walked became a celebrity. By that I mean a person who is publicly celebrated. They were true celebrities and I thank them all for their generosity. Their bravery, and for many their dedication. To keep walking forward when life can throw you backwards.
Birthdays, a time for reflection, a time of thought, thinking, probably too much about anything and everything that’s happened not only this year but everything so far. It seems at this time we are in a constant state of evaluation, planning our lives instead of being inside them. In a perpetual state of constant motion or betterment, without perhaps enjoying ourselves for a minute.
This blog post comes after taking a long hard look at myself. Anyone in their mid-twenties, or who has experienced the ‘mid twenties crisis’ will understand the days of stressing for no reason, late nights and hangovers for times that weren’t so great, and has spent the last few months or years, wandering ‘where they are going’ will perhaps understand where I’m coming from.
A Woman is not a
Not there to build your cage.
To sling you scraps and rub your back
Until you reach old age.
Everything is heavy. My tongue. My tears, my mouth.
I cant pinpoint and describe this overwhelming feeling of weight I have over me.
Single, alone, I-phone, join tinder. Sign up for the swipe left swipe right, anything to not be alone at night-club.
For those of us that were witness to Micheal Gove’s slime ball treachery last on Question Time, and have been following the campaign over the last few weeks (months!) will probably be feeling the unbelievable burning frustration as we edge further and further to decision time.
I’ve returned from a doctors appointment, early afternoon. And the same feeling comes as I leave the doors. A feeling of disappointment, a feeling of not being taken seriously and a feeling of being generally ignorant about my own body.
This is a theory that has been swimming around in my mind for a while now, and I think it’s about time to get it written down. For those that need to revise it, or for those that have never heard it before. So here it is in all its glory.
Something that’s been playing on my mind a lot really is the importance of space. Headspace, physical space, special awareness, outer space, just space, space, space, everywhere and how to get it.
It’s late. Your tired. You replay all the things that happened in that day wishing you’d been smarter, or nicer, or happier, or wiser, or quieter, or anything really apart from what you were…
No it’s not a typo. It’s me trying to be wordy and funny again. And probably failing. But that is the topic for me and todays blog. The confusing muddy cloudy navigation of the mind, So i'm discussing shades of blue instead of shades of grey this time....
I write this entry, on the train home, back to the sunny hills of Hebden Bridge, after attending the Feminism In London conference this weekend, in London. I’m almost too tired to write. And then I think about all the amazing, inspirational, fearless, fighting, and tired women, and I suddenly get my act together....
So we come to the end of our first social experiment here at FEMINHISM, and what a week it’s been...
As I open my laptop, with the hopes of writing another blog, or cruising the latest articles over the internet, I find myself losing any will to do something pro-active in all of 30 seconds...
As we enter the age of the 50 shades of grey area, when it comes to consent, I find myself being more and more confused. Has ‘No’ now turned itself into some twisted idea of foreplay? It’s hard to decipher at what point ‘No’ became sexy...
A turning point in my last relationship, was when we were sat lightly discussing feminism, I even asked him to blog about dating a feminist, when I dared ask the question….