On feminist parenting

I recently read an article about what feminist mothers do differently (I want to read the article about feminist fathers too by the way) and it got me thinking about how hard feminist parenting is. Basically there’s a lot of panicking involved (as with all parenting, or maybe that’s just me) and so I just kind of panic all the time. After all, the thought that you’re laying the ground for your child self-perception and self confidence is a pretty panicking one. One day a relative remarked that I rarely told my child she was beautiful and emphasized other qualities. I do tell her she’s beautiful, but when I do it’s also true that I automatically add: and clever and kind and resourceful, and a badass, because she’s all these things too and i dread that she will only define her worth by her appearance as society tells women to. I try and dress her in all kinds of outfits, not because there is something essentially and inherently wrong with pink or dresses, but because I would like to chip away at the sexist stereotype that girls have to wear pink and dresses in order to be allowed to be identified as girls and boys can only wear trousers and that the world will stop if a boy wants to wear a skirt. It’s also way more practical to create mayhem and explore the world while wearing pants, and I just want her to be comfortable to do so. 
It’s hard to be a feminist parent because you’re battling, as always, capitalism and sexism, not to mention racism that families of colour have to endure (I still remember all the snide remarks I used to get from children and parents alike because my hair and my clothes didn’t match everyone else’s: being the daughter of a Lebanese family in small town France was not always a breeze).

Industries and people sensitivities are extremely gendered when it comes to children: While it might be seen in certain circumstances as permissible, even fashionable, to play around with gender roles and codes as an adult, I have come to discover that it is nothing short of blasphemy when it comes to children, and being a feminist parent will require constant vigilance and a serious spine to defend your choices. And to be honest, my daughter is only two and pretty much doesn’t give a shit what she plays with as long as she can break it or the colour of what she’s wearing as long as she can smear paint, play doh and chocolate on it. I am however dreading the school years, where there seems to be an absolute obligation to be a princess ( If I see one more fucking Frozen item I will set myself on fire) and where being beautiful seems to be the only thing that matters, to the point where the ultimate insult used by school girls is ‘ugly’. How will I cope then? How will I teach her to fight and what would the alternatives be? See, panic. Being the feminist parent of a toddler seems way easier than being the feminist parent of a school aged child, and then of a teenager, where she will have to come to the painful realization that we live in a world where violence against women is the norm, where slut shaming and victim blaming is the very little challenged statu quo and where social inequalities and racism are rife. Hopefully by that time she’d be old enough to fight all of that. 
Constant vigilance, as Mad Eye Moody would say (do you think my child will be screwed by growing up with a Harry Potter nerd?).
When my daughter falls, and if I see that she’s ok, I tell her to get up and get moving, because that’s life and because I want to send her the message that she is perfectly capable of picking herself up and carry on. Building her self confidence also involves respecting the fact that she sometimes doesn’t want to hug or kiss anyone, and that’s her prerogative because that’s her body (consent 101), but I also try to teach her to respect others bodies and individualities. That of course means no hitting or biting, but also understanding that her parents and others, while always available for a hug and a cuddle, are their own persons with their own lives and are not at her constant service, which means I am not a martyr to the motherhood cause and she is not my tyrant. I still try and make my own choices and remain my own person: it’s not because I have children that automatically the whole focus of my life is them and only them. Sometimes I work sometimes I study and sometimes I just want a glass of wine with my friends. I’ve come to realise that as a mother everything I do will be picked and torn apart by so called parenting experts and society, so I might as well make the choices I’m comfortable with and hope I don’t screw my child up too much. Hopefully she won’t take away from that I was an unfit, selfish mother to her but that you can have children and still have your own life that is a Peppa Pig, finger paint-free zone.  

Constant vigilance: you soon realise that while what you do has an impact, the environment you raise your children has an even greater impact. You need to pay attention to what cartoon you let them watch on TV: is the mother’s character always stuck in the kitchen cooking? Is the father depicted as doing his share of the housework? Do cartoons showing all kinds of families, with two fathers, two mothers, one parent, or any other setting even exist? You have to fight the assault of capitalism: when they do watch TV, how do you fight the 2356 ads for (extremely gendered) toys they’re bombarded with? For now the solution has been very limited TV, lots of outside play and activities and an emphasis on creative activities like painting, drawing, coloring, play doh, reading books daily. If only she could stop using the couch as a canvas we’d be very, very happy. I also recognize that I am extremely privileged: I have a flexible job that allows for ‘family friendly’ hours, I have access to a nice daycare, I have a support system, I live somewhere where my child can play outside safely. This is far from being the case for everyone and families that are struggling to make ends meet, have little or no support, have it a million times harder to figure out, and this is why the other part of the solution to raise kids as a feminist is to fight for progressive change in collective and global policies. Because us parents (and particularly mothers) get blamed enough on just about everything that we do, parents are being guilt tripped and pushed into ‘the mommy wars’ (have you seriously heard a more belittling expression? As if we were running at each others with our aprons and knives to tear each others’ hair over parenting choices because of course women are mean to one another and that’s what we do). It’s high time we stop letting capitalism and patriarchy divide us and emphasize our individual roles in raising children: we are not raising them in a vacuum, most of us do what we can given the environment and circumstances we’re given. It starts with universal, comprehensive access to health, and it continues with progressive parental (parental and not exclusively maternal) leave policies, fair wages people can actually live on, creation and implementation of respectful maternal health care and breastfeeding policies, access to free education, availability of good quality, accessible, affordable and acceptable day care options and laws, policies and practices that respect all kinds of families. And one thing is for certain: we’re not going to get them by watching governments cut health and education budgets and spend billions on defense and security.
Critical thinking and teaching children to refuse and oppose unfair situations is also part of feminist parenting, and that’s actually something that might come back to bite you in the ass because one day, YOU will be the evil establishment imposing unfair rules on the masses. It is called The Teenage Years.

I hardly can wait. 

Blame The Mother

Scrolling down your Facebook feed should begin with a trigger warning: cringe worthy comments ahead, enter at your own risk.

Or at least this is what I’ve been feeling lately. Indeed, it seems that not a day can pass without criminal sociopaths deciding that they simply cannot stand to live another single day sharing the same planet as other people and proceeding to kill them.

Which is in itself, I’m sure you’ll agree, kind of an issue. However, I’ve been seeing puzzling captions and comments on social media with regards to  these news: captions wondering what kind of mothers produced offspring like the perpetrators of killings, how can mothers stand to see their sons parading with guns, how mothers should publicly condemn their children’s behaviour, how mothers’ hearts around the world are bleeding for the victims.

Which prompts me to beg the following questions: why is it always the mother’s fault? Why do mothers have to justify and support or reject everything that their children do? Why is it a knee jerk reaction to turn to the mothers and their assumed faults whenever someone turns out to be a maniac? And why would a mother’s heart bleed more strongly over loss and despair? Aren’t we all able to mourn losses, regardless of our maternal status?

Since becoming a mother myself, I’ve been reflecting a lot on a woman’s sense of individuality once she decides to have children: it seems that as soon as that bump is showing, society deems it its business to put you back into your rightful place of child incubator and Sacralised Mother, Keeper of the Home. You’re expected to reign over a realm of domesticity under the motto: I Shall Sacrifice Myself for My Family. Welcome to the motherhood, it’s definitely anther hood, where you’re apparently not your own person any more. Don’t believe me? Then have a little detour in that great place called the internet, where you’ll be pretty sure to stumble upon articles blaming mothers for their children’s behaviour, with so called scientific studies to back them up.

Any desire for yourself, any show of will to accomplish and fulfil yourself is perceived as selfishness, dismissing you as a ‘bad mother’, the kind of parent that makes criminals. Because surely, if these people would have had good mothers, they’d be crocheting scarves for the poor and not going around on killing sprees.

The sheer amount of such reactions I’ve seen on my timeline, posted by mostly youngish people (is 30 still young? Am I still a young person?) reveals that patriarchal beliefs and attitudes are alive and well, feeding into the news to extend further blame on women (are you surprised?).

Newsflash alert: no, it is not their mothers’ behaviour that leads criminals to act the way they do. There, isn’t it simple? You can stop wondering now.

Now that we have liberated space to have some serious discussions, perhaps we could focus on environmental causes, on socio-economic causes, on psychological causes if you must, on actual material causes that explain behaviours. We are all a product of our societal environment. Of course our education and family (a social unit) matter, but it doesn’t follow that everything terrible that happens in this world derives from the time your mom was late to pick you up from school.

So why this constant blame of the mother? Well, the myth of the ‘perfect mother’, as in, the Mother with a capital M, the woman whose identity is only defined through her children, the woman who sacrifices herself for her children (the notion of sacrifice in the patriarchal ideal of the mother is very important), the woman who is willing to suffer sometimes unnecessary suffering for her children is still ever present and pervasive, with constant pressure over women to fulfil that ideal. So alive and well that it teams up with capitalism to create new so-called ‘parenting trends’ that sell millions of books to tell mothers whatever they’re doing they’re doing it wrong, and that there is always a better way to be mothers. Of course, if you don’t follow all these ever changing rules, your child will become a sociopath and people will share articles about them on Facebook, blaming you for everything you’ve done wrong. Needless to say, the father is very rarely mentioned, as of course he did his part inseminating you and showing up from time to time, and of course everyone knows the essence of a woman is to be a mother while the very essence of a man is to go hunting and retreat to his man cave.

It seems women in general can’t win, and so can’t mothers.

You know what I’d love to see next time someone goes bat shit crazy and starts killing everything and everyone in sight? I’d like to see meaningful conversations about gun control policies, about systemic social inequalities disenfranchising people and making them vulnerable to becoming criminals, about unchecked privilege teaming up with rampant impunity and corruption, leading certain people to believe that life doesn’t matter except theirs, about growing militarism, the banalization of violence and lack of accountability from governments. I’d like to see more conversations about the root causes leading to such actions, and less about it all being the mother’s fault. Us women have been carrying the stigma of the original sin for long enough, and are made to feel guilty about everything enough without the whole world blaming us for the actions of our adult children.

Motherhood and Women’s Liberation: Part 1

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Reading different books, listening to health practitioners and generally going out and about in public, it seems that everyone and their mother have assumptions and expectations on how women who decide to have kids should live their motherhood and how they should parent their kid.

It seems that nothing excites society more than discussing a woman’s right to decide if she wants to have children, how many, the spacing of said children, how she would prefer to give birth, how she would decide to rear said children, feed them and generally participate in their well-being.

Men who choose not to have kids are not seen as denatured, heartless monsters while fathers, for some reason, get a lot less judgement and a lot less heat about their parenting choices. Patriarchy for the win, my friend. So good to be a man in this day and age.

Being a feminist, I was afraid that becoming a mother would make me something of a traitor to the sisterhood. After all, don’t kids suck your freedom dry? The fear is real my friends. However, being a feminist can coexist with being a mother, so we’re saved and out of the woods. The thirst to explore the relationships between women’s liberation and motherhood did not leave me, so embark with me on some ramblings.

What interests me is the intersection between feminism and women’s liberation and social expectations of what motherhood should be. I will therefore start a series on feminism and motherhood and try to unpack all the conflicting thoughts that I struggle with on a daily basis. This should include the choice to stay at home, the case of working mothers, ‘parenting trends’. Dynamics within homoparental households should also be part of these series, although not written by me.

Patriarchal expectations of mothers are well -known and quite straightforward in their claims: women who bear children (and make no mistake, under patriarchal rule, all women SHOULD bear children) should stay home and tend to them, becoming homemakers while men provide financially for their family. These strictly defined gender roles seem to accommodate many women, who clearly state that they prefer being a stay at home mother to being gainfully employed, arguing that there is no greater job that rearing a family. Others decide to stay home for financial reasons: these are often women whose potential earnings would not or would barely cover childcare costs, and who thus decide to stay home to save money. Others have no choice but to stay home as they are unable to access quality childcare in their living area. A new emerging trend is the work at home mother, when a woman decides to start her own business or to work freelance, as a means to both earn money and manage to stay home to rear children. Truth is, there is not one size fits all reason to decide to stay home and raise children, and each woman probably has a wealth of reasons behind her choice (is it really a choice if you’re coerced into it by inequalities created by capitalism and patriarchal beliefs imposed to you?).

While involved dads and stay at home dads are becoming more and more socially accepted in certain circles, we are aiming at discussing here the burden of social expectations on women pertaining to motherhood, so we will not discuss further fathers in this post, except perhaps to say that whenever a dad decides to stay home, he is celebrated as the height of progressiveness, but when women decide to do so they are either judged or barely noticed as this is the bare minimum that is socially expected of them.

But back to mothers who face the choice to stay home. Different feminist currents hold different opinions when it comes to women choosing to stay at home: for some, stay at home mothers only replicate the age old gender stereotype that women are either biologically programmed to rear children or that they are, by essence, better skilled to do so than men, as evidenced by this article on ‘The retro wife’, published in 2013 in New York magazine. In this article, some women claimed that they were feminists who managed to be fulfilled by staying at home. The problem here is the justification they were providing: indeed, upon reading it, one could debate endlessly about their definition of feminism. Case in point, this quote by one of said woman, Kelly Makino:

She (Kelly) believes that every household needs one primary caretaker, that women are, broadly speaking, better at that job than men, and that no amount of professional success could possibly console her if she felt her two young children—­were not being looked after the right way. The maternal instinct is a real thing, Kelly argues: Girls play with dolls from childhood, so “women are raised from the get-go to raise children successfully. When we are moms, we have a better toolbox.”

Someone please inform this woman that feminism doesn’t mean replicating and reciting stale gender stereotypes and marketing them as radical ideas. The very idea that ‘girls play with dolls’ needs to be challenged and turned around, not celebrated and used as a justification for women to remain home and take care of children. As for the maternal instinct, Elisabeth Badinter (French feminist who is wrong on many other things, such as on her position on wearing the veil in France) is right when she states in her book (Le Conflit: La Femme et la Mère) that it’s a construct patriarchy invented to further essentialize women and reinforce the idea that women are natural born mothers. The idea that every woman possesses some sort of natural instinct that will magically lead her to be a good mother makes me roll my eyes: when a your child is born, you may or may not fall head over heels for them. It might be love at first sight, it might be a process, what is true is that you don’t know what in the name of FUCK you’re doing. And that’s ok, children teach you, the parents (as in, both people involved in this, not only the mother) to become parents.

Others currents make feminism about choice, and letting women decide what is best for themselves. My concern and question is: to which extent are we really free in our choices? When does internalized sexism begins and choices end? I honestly don’t have a definite answer on that. As feminists, our job is to keep questioning gender stereotypes first and foremost in our daily, private lives, and to keep questioning why we do things the way we do them. In all truth, I find myself fulfilling traditional gender roles more than I care to mention, so to some degree I am definitely not immune to internalized sexism. I’m working on it though, by keeping my eyes open and reflecting on my actions, every day (yes, feminism means that you can stop enjoying anything lightly, it’s awesome, you should try it).

At the same time, if we’re ranting about the difference of treatment between mothers and fathers by society and about the absence of judgement enjoyed by men, we should not add on to the already consequent pile of judgement faced by mothers, staying at home or not. The main difference, to me, is how we frame things. If a stay at home mother comes forward saying her true happiness is to stay with her kids and that she is most fulfilled in her role as a mother, without pretending that it’s a god given role or something nature and society expect of her, or that she would be the best at it because she’s a woman, I’d be first in line cheering her on and struggling at her side for her work to be valued, for make no mistake, it is WORK, and for her economic contribution to be recognized at public policy level as well as in the private sphere. This however should not mean that all household chores should be devolved to the woman ‘because she stays at home’. If we really are set on staying at home while challenging accepted gender norms, our actions need to reflect this need for change: that means equal involvement in everything household and child related by the partner. This decision also needs to be reversible, it needs to come from a point of understanding between partners that a woman doesn’t do so because she is programmed, because she is better skilled at it because she’s a woman, or because this is how things need to be done. A stay at home mother should have the possibility to go back to work should she wish to do so, which means several things: access to jobs, access to education, access to quality, affordable, childcare, and the absence of discrimination based on her motherhood status while looking for work. The responsibility to be the primary caretaker of children should also be shared, and flexible: today the mother can stay home, but tomorrow the dad can too. In such a flexible, evolutive framework, choice can be made possible.

This shift in accepted gender roles needs to be coupled with a struggle for social justice. Women are more likely to occupy precarious jobs, to be unemployed, to be hardest hit by economic crises, to be paid less than their male counterparts for the same job and the same qualifications and to face significantly more discrimination in the workplace that men. This gender specific situation is to link to the very nature of capitalism to create inequalities, therefore one can not tackle gender inequality without actively fighting the system allowing them to stay in place, capitalism.

Next post will be on working mothers

On Getting Rounder and Body Image

You know, since I gave birth, I feel so free. I wear what I want and I’m like: Fuck you! I have delivered a human being and I pushed her out of myself, my body is so beautiful and powerful!

Maja, a day over lunch

Basically all that is wrong with how the media and society see pregnant women.

Basically all that is wrong with how the media and society see pregnant women.

I was looking at pictures of me taken a couple of years ago, for a photoshoot I did with Lebanese photographer Lara Zankoul, and I found myself thinking, damn, I looked good.

I was curvy, always have been, always will be I guess, but significantly thinner than what I am now.

Because now I am pregnant you see, and my body is doing all kinds of things I do not understand. Like throwing up certain things, and feeling nauseated by almost everything yet roaring in pain if I don’t feed it. It’s expanding, making room for life, pushing things around. It’s like my body was telling me: by all means please get on with your life, I know what I’m doing here. Go. Go I tell you!

It’s an odd feeling for me. Relinquishing control and giving in to nature. I normally don’t do that. I like facts and books and solving things with my brain; and nature, and trusting my body to know what to do simply doesn’t come naturally to me. To give you a rough idea, I’d rather trust the Internet and the waves of doomsday scenarios relayed by total strangers it brings rather than trusting nature. That’s how bad I am. If I could, I’d live in my OB-GYN’s pocket so he could reassure me with ultra-sounds and exams and more facts and figures that my body, is, indeed doing what it should, but alas for now he’s on vacation and trying very hard to avoid me and the likes of me at all costs. So instead I bought a home Doppler to listen to my baby’s heartbeat and soothe my anxiety away, reassuring me that baby is, in fact, still here, but this is another neurotic story that we don’t need to get into right now.

I used to think I was immune to the body image hysteria surrounding me. Yes, I was that naïve. After all, I had never been on a diet: I consider dieting as a barbarian act of torture against my body that would eventually fail anyway. I believe in taking care of one’s own body, but I also believe in metabolism and different shapes and sizes and I’m grateful for the variety of bodies out there, because imagine how excruciatingly boring it would be if we all looked the same. I’m all for eating healthy, but eating only proteins or cabbage soup or baby food for all eternity? Really? Are you kidding me? That’s just not healthy, that’s fucked up and crazy and a manifestation of some very greedy people trying to exploit the mass hysteria around women’s weight they have created so they can build summer houses in Majorqua. The whole ‘weight loss’ industry strikes me as one of the most successful collaboration between patriarchy and capitalism: let’s guilt women into feeling horrible and ashamed every time they put something in their mouth and then let’s guilt-trip them a bit more because they’ve skipped Pilates this week. And let’s make sure they spend tons of money trying to make them change their appearance. So I was all happy and smug, thinking because I didn’t diet and couldn’t give two fucks about the amount of calories in my Twix so long as it tasted its usual caramel-y gorgeousness, that I had accepted my body the way it was and learnt to respect it.

I could not have been more wrong. Because when I got pregnant, something clicked and I finally felt free. Well, let’s not completely get carried away here, I felt a certain sense of freedom. Like, I went to the swimming pool and realized I was not tucking my belly in, the way I usually absent mindedly do. I had never really noticed it until I stopped doing it and something felt great. I felt it was ok for me to be curvier because I was pregnant you see. Suddenly, it was like my curves were justified. Normal. It’s like I had, and needed all along, an excuse for my weight and shape. Of course by then, it was really hard to dodge the fact that I had, in fact, not been comfortable with my body before and that I could get off my self-righteous horse and admit I was not the Kryptonite of weight dissatisfaction and obsession. .

Pregnancy liberated me in a way because it is socially acceptable for pregnant women to gain weight. But again, let us not get lured into a sense of unicorn-y acceptance of pregnant women putting on weight:  judging by the constant scrutiny pregnant women have to endure, it is only socially acceptable to a certain extent to be gaining weight. If you look bigger than what is fantasized about(meaning the body of Gisele Bundchen with a tiny bump), then you can expect incessant comments on your bump and size, with ‘well-meaning’ people telling you that you should be fine if you exercise after giving birth. Er, who asked you anything? And more importantly, shouldn’t you be concerned by my health rather than by my weight? Reading up pregnancy forum boards, I am amazed at the amount of judgment, self-judgment, scrutinizing of every ounce gained and agonizing the majority of women seem to be doing, while most of the times stating ‘my doctors is not concerned’. Again, doctors seem not to be concerned but women are, because pregnancy magazines show us pregnant women that have nothing to do with what pregnancy really is, because there is a growing pressure on women to look maternal and sexy and to pop that kid out while whipping up a quiche and sending in the last budgeting report. I don’t know why I had expected societal pressure to ease up on women once they sport the visible marks of harboring another life. Ultimately, what’s true for women in general are true for pregnant women: my body isn’t mine, it belongs to whomever controls it. Be it a partner, a religious institution, society as a whole, people jeering it on the streets or my own demons in my head. And it comes as no surprise really that we tend to stress over our bodies the minute they cease to be representations of patriarchal fantasies. Some people manage to let their confident selves control how they view their body: they’re able to celebrate it for the gorgeous miracle it is. Others, like me, need an external trigger to boost their confidence and be able to establish boundaries between one own’s body and the daily attacks it goes through every day.

By doing things more or less on its own, my body has forced me into accepting it the way it is. Being pregnant allowed me to make peace with that body I apparently did not trust enough. And the truth is, I have no choice really. It is going ahead with manufacturing a new life regardless of how I feel about the changes it’s operating. At the moment I’m trying to tell it to stop making me crave pizza and shrimp dunplings all the time, and to stop enlarging my breasts because, thanks, they’re big enough as they are, but so far it’s refusing to return my calls.

So I just let it be. And when I look at those pictures, I think: damn, I looked good.

And when I look in the mirror now, I think, damn, I’m powerful. I can create a life, AND go to work, AND write and cook and see my friends and do all the things I enjoy while at the same time having a little bean growing and doing its thing and just asking me to sleep and eat a lot more.

And I also think I look good. A different kind of beauty, a beauty that has a lot more to do with real acceptance of myself and less to do with beauty ideals we are being sold.

My only regret is that I couldn’t reach this level of peace with my own body without the intervention of pregnancy. But I’m writing this post to remind myself for after I gave birth: pregnancy or not, our bodies are powerful. And beautiful.

If we just learn to let them get on with their job.

The Guilt Factor

I would be tempted to say that for me feeling guilty is a total pleonasm: after all, I do have an Arab mother, meaning I’ve been injected with Drops of Guilt for the past 27 years.

It all started quite straightforwardly: you know, you’d be a brat and your mother wouldn’t merely tell you you shouldn’t behave this way, but rather, she’d yell herself hoarse asking God Almighty why YOU were doing this against HER (Lesh 3am bet a3zbineh hek?) , as if you were badly behaving to spite her. Which you weren’t, honestly, you just enjoyed knocking things down and having a good old cry, no personal offence meant to anyone.

Growing up, you’d naively think the guilt would abate, which is, with a bit of closure, frankly laughable. Now that your parents had instillated the right soil to make feeling guilty all the time grow, the seeds of guilt were showered daily with messages sent by society, espcially designed to make you feel guilty and awful about yourself. I mean, first of all, religion – or at least how it is taught in its vast majority- doesn’t exactly scream Non-Judgment, but rather, you WILL burn in Hell for all eternity for not Obeying and Observing what God says. Such a feel good motto.

And since I have filed no application to Sainthood, chances are, I WILL most likely burn in Hell.

Oh well.

But I doesn’t just stop at religion. Advertising and women’s magasines have made a splendid job (not to mention a thriving business) at making people feel guilty. As we say in French, c’est bien simple ma chère amie, if you eat, you should be ashamed of yourself, how could you be so weak, the right thing to do is to starve yourself, now go buy all the slimming drinks I’m adverstising for. If you wear last season’s coat, you’re not good enough, if you don’t perform enough, if you’re not top of the class, if you’re not popular enough then you’re basically a failure. The pressure we currently live under is somewhat very close to unbearable, yet challenging it has to be the toughest job there is out there.

Because it’s not only the evil capitalist world that makes people feel guilty: sometimes, ideology kills too. Let’s take the ideology I subscribe to, for lack of better word and example: feminism. I sometimes feel like I’m a traitor to the cause because I’m married and I cook, but I don’t do it because my husband bites me if I don’t, I do it because i Love it, but nevermind, It doesn’t stop me feeling a tad guilty while I’m chopping onions, ruining all the fun. I also feel like I’m a fraud when I wear a dress and high heels and lipstick, I feel guilty for what seems like letting my sisters down. That’s it, khalas, I love a man and I’m happy to do things for him sometimes, I’m a Geisha and should be banned from the Sisterhood. The odd looks other feminists give you and the remarks you get (you look different in real life than in your Facebook photos, you know the ones with the red lipstick and very high heels: errrr ok?!) kinda don’t help either.

I’ve heard guilt gets worse once you have children, as in, you don’t lose baby fat quick enough, you don’t see enough of your child if you work, you’re a brainless half wit if you quit working. I can’t wait.

In brief, in the words of the Great Samantha Jones (from Sex and the City, Need I say it), AHHHH Coulda Woulda Shoulda. Maybe we should stop shoulding ourselves all the time and just accept who we are in all our complexities. Acceptance. Now that’s a nice word.

To be perfectly honest with you, I do still feel guilty right now for still being in my pyjamas, and I also feel guilty for writing about this rather than writing about what’s happening in Tahrir and Homs and Deraa and Syria as a whole, just to name a few.

As my best friend, the Great Dina Esfandiary would say, I have “First World Problems”.

 Or maybe,I should just admit to myself that I’m a neurotic 27 year old lazy Geisha who loves writing about her neurosis in pyjamas. I think I can live with that, after all, it’s not like I’m invading Irak or anything.