This week's Five Star Friday is brought to you by a complicated story, sexism at trade shows, body image, Italy, personal revolution, ageism, powerful women, growing children, hauntings, getting paid, motivation and momentum, boundaries at work, a doomed pregnancy, and Daisaku Ikeda:
It takes courage to become happy — courage to remain true to one's convictions, courage not to be defeated by one's weaknesses.
— Daisaku Ikeda
I have been given something that requires great care and kindness. It feels weirdly melodramatic and incompatible with the highly ironic and critical parts of my voice. I'm stuck with telling a story about how I'm not telling a story. It feels like I am holding a bird's nest, complete with tiny eggs inside it, just short of hatching. How did this end up in my hands? And what am I supposed to do with it?
I've tried to write this particular post three different times over the past year. I have three versions of this puppy sitting in my "Edit Posts" box right now. One is very serious and heartfelt and melodramatic. It's not so much a blog post as it is a Very Special Episode of something. Another one is short, sarcastic and flip, and has me coming off really angry. And the third one starts off straightforward and clear, but then gets so convoluted it's like my fingers are speaking in tongues.
So I'm going to give it one more shot.
These three incredibly strong females have changed me. In spite of the insensitivity and regardless of reliving their personal pain, they stood up for all victims.
When they stand their power is unstoppable.
Think about your own story. What do you want to happen in it? As the protagonist, will you outdo yourself to make things happen, or are you still waiting for the cavalry?
Even though I believed in choice and reproductive freedom, even though I trusted others to make decisions for themselves, when it came to my own freedom to do what I felt was best for me, I wasn’t sure if I deserved to have such an easy way out. I didn’t believe in bad luck; I just thought I had failed—as a woman, as a daughter, at motherhood—and that I should be punished. It was a crazy thought but nonetheless, it was there; grief and sorrow are unpredictable, strange, messy.
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