Greener grass

I've been thinking about five women, of whom I am one, today.  We are all the same age.  We were all at the same university at the same time.  Different subjects, obviously, but broadly, you could say back then that we were similar, or at least had the same opportunities.  All of us went straight into further education or jobs on graduating.

Now, over fifteen years later, between us we have nine children and four husbands.

Two of us are employed full time. One of us is a full time mother.  One works part time, and one is trying to find a job where the interviewers will ask her about her skills (many) and experience (vast) rather than how she's going to manage picking her children up from school and cooking her husband's supper.
 One lives in a tiny village.  Two in small towns.  Two in cities.  

One of us was decorated in the New Year's Honours.

One, the only one I don't know personally (although some of the others do), is a FTSE100 chief executive.

Two of us have fish. One of us has a dog. 

One travels widely.  One hasn't had a holiday in over 18 months.

Some read, some knit.  Some sing, some go to the gym.  Three write blogs.  None has as much time for herself as she would like.

All of us, I suspect, have moments where we want some of what the others have. 

None of us has it all.

It's not women who need to change, it's the world.

It wasn't an enormously exciting news day today.

The front page of the Observer featured Maria Miller (you know, the women's minister and culture secretary - she replaced Jeremy (ahem) Hunt in the latter job, as it happens, so she's got a lot to live up to), who is, we are told, planning to send information packs to parents of daughters to encourage said daughters to become captains of industry, entrepreneurs and chief executives of FTSE100 companies (possibly not all at the same time).

She says, does Ms Miller:

"Making sure women can be successful at work and in business is essential if we want a strong economy.  Encouraging women to fulfil their potential... ".

What does that mean?  How do you measure someone's potential anyway?  And are you really only fulfilling it if you do so in a way that contributes to the economic benefit of the country?

Because that's what this is all about.  She says so.   A report from the Women's Business Council says that equalising the numbers of women and men in the workplace (which means increasing the women) could increase economic growth by 10% of GDP by 2030.

So to do this, we need more women working, and that means more women at the top, because Ms Miller also believes that the lack of women at the top of whatever industry is a deterrent to other women entering at the bottom.

I don't disagree with that, although I happen to have more faith in women - I think we have sufficient imagination to be able to see something as a possibility (a female chief executive, for instance) whether it exists already or not - but I think Ms Miller, and indeed the report is missing something else.

I don't think women need to change.  I don't think they need to become more thrusting, more driven, more ambitious, more like men, if you will.

I suspect, though maybe it's just me and I'm making the ego-centric mistake of assuming I'm not alone, that lots of women (and probably some men too) look at the magnates and bigwigs held up for our aspiration and think:  "Eh? They want me to do what?  Well actually, no.  He (or indeed she) doesn't look that happy, despite the yacht".

I am (or was) ambitious.  I have probably excessive pride in myself and my abilities.  I have great difficulty doing anything if I don't think I'm doing it well or successfully (one of the reasons I haven't been blogging so much recently).  My parents gave me a genuine belief that I could do or be anything I wanted.

Despite all that I don't have, and have never had, any desire whatsoever to work 23 hours a day, never to see my family and friends, never to have any free time or always to have a blackberry surgically attached to my hand, all for the pleasure of a (very) large pay cheque and the prestige of running Europe's largest manufacturer of widgets, chemicals or financial derivatives.  I don't look at Sheryl Sandberg asking me to Lean In, with her high-profile job and full-time nannies and think "I want that".

I am a child of the late 20th Century and I want, and have been taught to want, other, more nebulous things.  Things which my grandparents wouldn't have dreamed of demanding:  happiness, self-confidence and the ability and space to express who I am.

And I think many people of both genders look at the demands made on top-level executives, and the greater demands made on those who aspire to being top-level executives, and turn away.  If you can earn a comfortable living half-way up the career ladder, and still have time to do the other things you enjoy, why continue the agonising push for the top?  What is there at the top apart from a view?

The world has changed.  We want different things, but we are still going about it in the same way.  We want freedom to express who we are and time to do the things we enjoy, yet we still expect the people who are most successful in their line of work to do it to the exclusion of everything else.

To get Maria Miller's (and my) dream of equality in the workplace, we don't need to change women, we need to change workplace culture.  We need to make it possible to succeed and to contribute economically, for both genders, without being omni-present, without giving up the other parts of your life.  We need to change attitudes to part-time working, so that both genders can do it with pride, and still rise through the ranks of whatever job they do.  We need to be (and we need our bosses to be) like the entrepreneur Martin Bjergegaard,  whose book I haven't read yet, but who seems to understand that we are all most successful, most dedicated, when we are enjoying ourselves, both at work and outside it, and that being at the top of one thing in your life need not necessarily mean that everything else has to fall to the bottom.

I don't think Maria Miller gets that though, however much she contributes to the country.  I wonder if she's happy.

Are you worthy of admiration?

I have this friend.  In our former lives she was a colleague, but then she married a lovely man who works for the Foreign Office and who now has a job as under-secretary in charge of washing machines (or something) in Pakistan, so that's where she and her two little boys live too.

Now my friend (and apologies if this begins to get a bit gushy and mutual-admiration-ish, but I do I have a point - skip to the end if you want to know what it is) is pretty awesome.  Obviously, she's my friend, and I have great taste.

That aside, though, she's clever, funny, one of the kindest people I know, great fun to be with, gentle and pretty with it (doesn't matter, I know, but I don't want you thinking that she's only got a great personality).  She's also got the great common sense to write a blog.

And recently she's written a couple of posts which say nice things about me.

What? Me? Little old self-deprecating me?

Well, yes.  Me.  Turns out she thinks I'm awesome too.

Now you might say that that's what being friends is about. If you don't think your friends are great, then why bother being friends with them?    So yes, to a certain extent that should, and does, go without saying.

But then I'm not sure it should: go without saying, that is.  Because knowing that this person I admire admires me too is a huge boost to my self-confidence.  I know, of course, that I should value myself without the need for external approval or approbation, but I don't always.  I know, too, that the fact that B and my children (mostly) think I do ok, should be enough, but  it isn't always either.

So I wonder if there are women I admire, (and men too, but I find myself increasingly fighting a very small feminist cause as I grow older, so I'm concentrating on the women here), who don't realise how wonderful they are, what a great job they do - whatever job that is -  and how critical a linchpin they are to their little corner of the world.  And I wonder what a difference it would make to them if I told them.  If I said, in passing, next time we're chatting: "You're amazing.  I hope you know that".

I wonder.  And I wonder who you admire.  And if that person knows that.  And if they don't, whether they ought to.

I bet they admire you too.

Appreciation at last.

My house, about five minutes ago.  B, having got the children up and dressed while I showered, is still upstairs getting dressed himself.

A asks:

Mummy, why do you do all the hard work?
What sort of hard work, Sweetheart?
All the things Daddy doesn't do.

I'll make a feminist of her yet....

As the actress said to the bishop. Or not.

I did something increasingly unusual last year.

On the census form, on the religion bit, I put: C of E.

I don't go regularly any more (distinct lack of child friendly churches round here), and you'd probably never know that I ever went at all if I didn't tell you.  But despite that my membership of the Church of England, is, and always has been, a part of who I am.   Three of my four children were baptised into the church and the fourth has his official dunking booked for later this year.

But following the news about gay bishops, I'm thinking of cancelling the Christening; and if the census were tomorrow, I'm not sure what I'd put.

It's not that I care who my bishop sleeps with.  (To be fair,it's not that I know who my bishop is, living in Scotland as I do.)  Nor is it that the whole thing is a nonsense - it's apparently ok to be gay, and do gay stuff like fall in love, move in together and  have a civil partnership, as long as you don't do other gay stuff; like, for example, sleep with other men.  (Really?  Is there really anyone who thinks that makes sense?)  Nor is it that it almost explicitly invites senior clergy into each other's bedrooms. (Will they also be asking the straight ones if they prefer it missionary or doggy style?).  

It's not actually about the gay men at all, whether bishops or otherwise.  

What's bothering me is the thought of what this says about the whole institution's unspoken attitude towards women in general, and women bishops in particular.

Because underneath it all, doesn't that attitiude boil down to this: 

Being gay is wrong.  Being a gay bishop is ok.  
Being a woman bishop is not ok. 

Or, in other words: while it's sometimes ok to be gay, it's never ok to be a woman.

Is it possible to have a "healthy" relationship with food?

I pondered this as I stood on the scales this morning.

Because I'm really not sure it is.  Or at least I'm really not sure I know anyone, anyone female at least, who has what I'd call a healthy relationship with food.

By which I mean someone who eats what they like, when they like, within healthy parameters, and feels no guilt, worry or obsession about it.

Are you out there? Someone? Anyone?

Because I don't.  And I always thought I did.  From the outside you'd think I did.  I'm 5'4", size 10/12 (although at around 10 stone 4lb, I'm also technially overweight if you believe in BMIs, which I don't).  I exercise regularly.  I cook from scratch, always.  I eat, mostly, my five a day.  I also have a very sweet tooth, and have never knowingly said no to a cake.  I'd rather give up alcohol than pudding.

If you met me, if you looked at me in the street, I think you'd think I was mostly unconcerned about food; that I enjoyed eating it, but otherwise didn't give it much thought.

Well, I'm afraid that's nonsense.

A secret.  I get on the scales every day.  I always used to think that was fine.  It's just a number, right?  But it's not when it puts you in a good (or bad) mood for the rest of the day.   Or when you realise that I look upon the nights when B is away as opportunities to go on a speedy crash diet in advance of cooking excessively when he's back.  Or when you factor in that the sole purpose of the exercise, for me, is to remain in control of the numbers on the scales.

That's not healthy, really, is it?

It's about body image, of course.    As I said, I'm ok, body wise.  I'm not stopping traffic, but for a mother of four, I don't think I do too badly.   When I think about it objectively, I think I'm ok.  The only person who looks at me naked (of the over six variety, anyway) thinks I'm (his words) "delicious".

Another secret.  I don't believe him.

When I look in the mirror, I see, objectively, a thirty-five year old woman of average build, who's had four children.    For B, that's perfect.   For me, that's not good enough.  And if I don't think I'm good enough, slim enough, toned enough, I don't see how he can.

I don't want to get into why that is.  I don't want to start talking about women's magazines, and the porn industry and the objectification of women and the patriarchy.  Or how I worry about what any or all of the above might do to my daughters, because I don't have the answers and I don't, honestly, think there are any.

But I do think, if I am feeling like this, is there anyone out there who isn't?  And if so, what's your secret?

How to be a feminist

Are you a feminist?

I am.

I think.

I think of course I'm a feminist.  I believe, profoundly, that women should not be treated differently because of their gender.  That they should have equal pay for an equal job.  That they should have the right to choose with whom they have sex, when, where, and indeed how.  That they should not be barred from medical care, employment, social activities, sports or anything else purely because of being what they are.

Female.

I have never, once, thought of myself, a woman, as less able, less capable, less entitled than a man. Any man*.

Of course I'm a feminist.  Aren't we all?  Women and men?

But I also wax my legs (not as often as I should), wear make up and bras (I've breast-fed four children, of course I wear bras), take the primary role in caring for those children,  map-read rather than driving, cook the majority of the meals, accept that sometimes employing a woman (me) who goes off on maternity leave three times in five years is less than convenient or ideal and realise that there are some things that men and women do, and will always do, differently.

Am I a feminist?

I've been thinking recently that what I really am, above anything else, is a chronic relativist. I find it very easy to see the other side and, as a result, very difficult to come down on one side or the other.  There is very little I'm certain about.  Very little on which I have a hard, unshakeable opinion.  Very little on which I cannot see that perhaps the others may have a point.

I'm sure it makes me very irritating.  But I'm also sure it doesn't stop me being a feminist.  Whatever those others may think.

Wikipedia (of course) says  

Feminism is a collection of movements aimed at defining, establishing, and defending equal political, economic, and social rights for women. In addition, feminism seeks to establish equal opportunities for women in education and employment.

And I find myself thinking: Well, yes.  Naturally.  But what does "equal" mean?

Caitlin Moran's a feminist. She's written a whole book about it: How to be a woman.  A (her words) funny, but polemic book about feminism.

And I wanted to love it. I wanted to agree with everything she says.  I wanted to shout about it, and make every woman, and man, I know, read it.  But I couldn't.  She made me laugh, lots. She made me nod my head in agreement, lots.  But somehow she didn't quite convince me.

There's the premise for a start.  She would have me believe that she doesn't know how to be a woman. That she was an ugly, ungainly teenager desperately wondering how to be a woman.  That works as an idea.  It even works with her self-deprecating stories.  It just doesn't work if, like me, you spent most of your teenage years wondering not, how to be a woman, but how to be Caitlin Moran.  Terrifyingly clever, terrifyingly cool, undeniably a woman.

More importantly, I'm not sure her arguments work.  She's very keen on flirting, for instance.   She describes herself as a natural flirt. (Another reason, incidentally, I find it hard to believe she ever struggled with being a woman:  in my experience, natural flirts sail through life on a sea of half-raised eyelashes, coy glances and witty asides.  Life for them is much easier than it is for the rest of us).  And she says, I heartily believe that, should they wish to, strident feminists are allowed to flirt their way to the top.  Her logic is that it's just the same as male bonding, and if it gets you where you want to go, then you should do it.

But I'm just not sure.  She approves of flirting your way to the top, but she loathes, loathes with a passion, lap-dancing clubs.  And I can't help but feel that one is the top of the very large slippery slope that leads to the other.  Not that I'm saying that flirting is the same as lap-dancing, but I am saying that it seems to me that if you flirt your way to the top you are using your femininity to exploit men's weakness for that femininity to your advantage.

Is that really that different from using your nice bottom and pretty breasts to convince men to stick £50 notes in your pants, if you are not being coerced or forced into it and if that is what you actively want to do?

I also think she misses a big, glaring, probably pink, elephant in the room.  She covers pants (should be bigger), bikini "grooming" (not necessary and actually probably rather damaging in more ways than just the obvious), weight (doesn't really matter as long as you're healthy and happy - and oh, isn't she missing something with that innocuous "happy" at the end there?),  how to cope with your body and what it does and men's bodies and what they do, pregnancy, motherhood and abortion, sexism, feminism and it-bags and she's very shouty on all of it, very funny on much of it, and terrifyingly accurate on most of it.  But she doesn't deal with the one issue which for me hits right at feminism in the West in the 21st century.

How do we combine our hard-won right to work, to fulfill ourselves, to get to the top of whatever it is we do, to be the best, be paid the best and enjoy all of the privileges that brings with the fact that, however you cut it, we're still the ones that have the babies.  What does feminism say about that fight? About that argument? About the juggling act that is what got me blogging in the first place?

And when will we stop being judged for it?

She doesn't say.  And I'd really have liked to know.

And maybe it's my chronic relativism, or maybe it's just my experience, but I think that that one fact:  the fact that we have the babies, means that after we've done that (and, as she says, it doesn't really matter whether you do have babies or not, you will be asked about it and judged on it), life is always, to some degree, a compromise, and a compromise that men will never have to make.   Because even if you model yourself on Rachida Dati and go straight back to work from the maternity unit, you will be making compromises one way or another and, perhaps more importantly for feminists, you will be judged for doing so.  No-one, but no-one will sit back and say "Oh well, it's her choice, I'm sure she knows what she's doing".

Not a chance.  They'll analyze, and criticise.  And comment on how quickly (or otherwise) you've got your figure back while doing so.

And they'd never (they'll never have to) do that to a man.  Especially the figure bit.

So sorry, Caitlin.  I enjoyed your book, I really did.  But it hasn't taught me how to be a woman.  Or a feminist.

I guess I must have been both already.

***********************************************************************

I should mention that the book was, very kindly, sent to me by Emily O.  A million thanks. 

*Caveat, because, as I say, I'm a relativist too: I'm clearly not as fast as Usain Bolt, or as witty as Stephen Fry, or as beautiful as Andrej Pejic.  But that's not just because I'm a woman. Honest.