Son of a Bitch

DEAR ANDY,

You’ve started using curse words lately and I know I have no one to blame but myself. The other day you dropped the “F-bomb” right after dropping a toy. I can say with my fullest heart that I have been the best mother to you that I know how to be for almost three years. But censoring my foul language has not been my strong suit. I’ll need to be more careful from now on because words have power and you need to be fully aware of what each word means before you can use it responsibly.

Tonight I attended a very powerful meeting of feminine minds. It was at an event called “Together Live” and it was a panel of amazing women and speakers and storytellers. One of the women was Maysoon Zayid. She’s a brilliant comedian and disability advocate. She made many wonderful points in her speech. One of which was on the power of language. She asked that we reconsider our use of the word “bitch”, as it is rooted in deep and painful misogyny. I thought about this carefully and talked to my friend Nanette about it on the way home. We both decided we feel attached to the word and value its appropriation of use by women (or anyone) wanting to feel more powerful and in control.

Another word that came up in tonight’s panel was “bossy”. Brené Brown pointed out that it is a gendered term used to nullify girls’ leadership skills and assertiveness. I’d argue that “bitch” is just exactly the same thing, but for grown women. “Bitch” is the grown-up “bossy”.

When I was a little girl, I was often told that I was bossy. And I was taught to be aware that asserting my opinions, taking charge, and resisting authority made me unattractive and warranted disapproval from adults and other children alike. I was afraid to be bossy. I was told it was bad. I was compared to bossy children’s characters like Lucy Van Pelt and Miss Piggy. I watched myself closely over time and buried it inside so that only those very close to me could see this aspect I tried to conceal. But over time, the repression of my bossiness turned to resentment and eventually fear. As I was oppressed and afraid of the men in my life and unable to assert my own power, I fell victim to a lifelong habit of doubting my own intuition, sometimes to my detriment.

When I turned 30, I knew I was ready for a change. I remember telling my therapist, who was a man, that my goal was to embrace my inner bitch. He was alarmed. “No No No. You don’t mean that. You don’t want to be a bitch.” I insisted that I did. We had a misunderstanding. As a man, he had been taught that to be a bitch was to be unkind, unfair, unruly, controlling, manipulative, and oppressive. I saw “bitch” as something else. I saw “bitch” as the roar inside I had been stifling all my life.

I had been around enough foul-mouthed adults in childhood to know which women get called bitches. If she doesn’t apologize for her opinions- She’s a bitch. If she seems to have a perfect life- What a bitch. If she has boundaries intact, resists the urge to feign a smile, and sees integrity as being true to herself above all else- BITCH, BITCH, BITCH.

So, yes. I knew what I was saying when I told my therapist my new life goal. I knew I wanted to be a woman of integrity, yes. I long aspired to be a woman who is kind, caring, nurturing, and giving. But I do not seek to be the kind of woman who does not know how to stand in her own space or does not freely exercise the right to be seen, heard, and met. I didn’t know how I’d get there, but at 30, I was well on my way.

When I was 32, a life event shifted me into full bitch mode in a way I couldn’t have anticipated. I had you. And on the day you were born, I suffered trauma that would last months. Becoming a mother unearthed old trauma and made me keenly aware of the collective trauma of women and mothers in our society. And I had to regain my strength and dig deeper to find the bitch I’d buried all those years.

The truth is, Andy, you can’t be a mom and not be a bitch. I know because when I was 12 and my mom and I would have a huge fight, she’d walk out of the room and I’d say “Bitch.” Being a mom is all about being a bitch. It’s about leadership, and decision making, and boundary setting, and enforcing rules. It’s being filled with a powerful (nearly violent) sense of protection toward your child. I picture the meaning of the word in this setting and I think of a large female German Shepherd guarding her young. And I think that “bitch” really does adequately characterize what I feel as a mother.

I tell you this because, again, words have meaning. And I never want you to hear a word and allow it to take away your power. It may be in your ability to interpret that word that you find your true self.

You, my son…you’re one lucky, sweet, strong, amazing son of a bitch.

My life has been a journey from bossy to bitch, and no part of it has ever been without constant awareness and questioning, a deep commitment to a life of love and service, and a desire to be true to myself.

Thank you for helping bring out what I was told might be the worst in me. It was my deepest strength all along.

Love,

Your Bitch of a Mother