TweetI’ve spent almost three years of my online life searching for my feminism. I spent the first year trying to understand blogging and feminist online activism/communication/communities. I spent the second year throwing myself into media. And this third year, I am sick of “working on” anything and just want to be me, a voice of a Womyn who is unafraid to say that I don’t and can’t know everything about politics, repro rights, or global current events. I am not the greatest or most updated blog when it comes to transgender violence. Or eating disorders or conference news. My worst posts have been where I try to understand and write about an issue for which I cannot fully comprehend.
I’m finished with blogging about things for which I cannot do justice. Others, with their specialization and expertise, will always be highlighted here, but I am finished in trying to “cover” issues which I cannot fully give myself toward. I’d like to think that is the most generous thing I can do at this point: develop the voice I do have in the areas for which I am passionate and knowledgeable and ally with those around me. Mostly, I think I now understand the difference between naively trying to take on the pain and oppression of others (and how utterly futile that is) and how to be an ally in my own skin, bringing fire to both my voice and for those with whom I am in community.
Which leaves me with the question: what do I do with My Ecdysis?
(How many times have I asked myself that?)
Last Thursday, Adonis and I agreed to do a presentation on marriage together.
We’ve been married for about three years and, although great partners in many areas of life, have never presented together on anything.
The preparation for Thursday was intense. It brought all the different ways we work together to the front.
I was nervous. After all, how does a feminist get married?
It was something I had been struggling to articulate for the past four years, since I became engaged and an area in which I had decidedly been quiet. Marriage, a decision and choice I made in love and awareness, is not a one or even two sided road.
Marriage is one of those six stop intersections with traffic lights in all directions; pedestrians walking during the “Do Not Walk,” light and left turn signals that don’t work. You wait seemingly forever to get to the center only to find people breaking the rules and confused as to which direction to move. People honk for you to go through it and urge you to figure it out later if you mess up while those in the car with you advise you to slow down and take your time. There are a million signs giving you directions and mirrors that reflect your genuine sense of disorientation.
It’s messy and there multiple ways to arrive. There are plenty of accidents, a great spot for rage and carelessness, and it’s often avoided by those who do not believe in getting caught in the fray. (Those people are so smart.) With all the metaphors out there, this is the best one for me: marriage is one big traffic intersection.
With all that’s going on, it’s so easy to forget the most important fact, the one thing that truly matters: you’re the one, the only one, in the driver’s seat.
It’s completely your call.
Today, the politics and art of marriage are hardly a quiet topic. From GLBTQ issues, to global and cultural practices, to gender and feminist issues, marriage is one of the most, if not the most, contentious and exhausting topics to tackle as a feminist and as a writer.
So, why am I writing a manifesta on marriage?
Because there needs to be a beam of light on the goods of marriage right now. There needs to be another side of the story told beyond the politics of coupledom, Rick Warren’s beliefs, or the extreme lefts and rights of D.C. I wanted to begin writing a story, a glimpse into the real life of a feminist who chose to get married, that is flawed, painful, but real. Mine is the only story I know.
January is a month of delusions. Most people, myself included, delude themselves into thoughts of who and what they “can be” versus who they truly are. There’s always room for self-improvement, but I took the first 18 days of January to contemplate where I am taking this blog, where I am taking my writing.
This blog has been my baby and work of art. And it is what I have always truly wanted it to be: a feminist memoir. As I write How a Feminist Got Married: A Radical Manifesta, I hope you engage with me in this timeless topic of kyriarchy, equality, and love.