One thing I’ve accepted about myself is that I discover more about myself by discarding things I don’t like rather than gravitating towards things I like. In some cases, it’s just baked into my identity, such as being Asian rather than black or white. It goes even further in that I am Taiwanese, not Chinese.
Sexuality–I’m not gay or straight. Back when I first realize this, the vocab was limited. I reluctantly settled on bi because it was the best of the bad options. I didn’t like pansexual or omnisexual for various reasons. Bisexual felt limiting, but queer just means gay to most people. To be honest, I would like to be able to say, “I’m sexual” and leave it at that, but it’s too easy to be misunderstood or to reduce it to just sex.
I’m very much not into labels, but not in the “No labels!” sort of way. I understand that it’s helpful to have heuristics and to be able to group people together just to have a connection, but also to have a collective power to fight injustices. Plus, it’s human nature to categorize, and there’s nothing wrong in that.
Unfortunately, I am prone to being overly picky about how I am represented. It’s in part because when I was young, my parents did not see me as me at all. They assumed things about me or imbued me with characteristics that they wished I would have. In addition, they lied. Not knowingly, but both of them were unreliable narrators.
When I realized this, I was in my late twenties/early thirties. It was a reveelation to me that my mother was not to be trusted. I knew that about my father from a much earlier age, but I thought my mother was different. She was, but not in a good way. If something happened that made her look bad, she forgot it happened. She literally erased it from her memory. I saw her do it when she was here during my medical crisis.
She and my father had a huge screaming fight in which they ran into the living room (where I was). It was terrible–really awful. My father yelled at me and I yelled back at him. Later, he wanted to talk about it with my brother, and he was telling a completely different story (about why he was upset. And downplaying the screaming). I told him that we did not need to talk about it, which made him upset. My mother wanted me to apologize to him, and I said, “Why doesn’t he have to apologize to me?”
The next day, she sent my brother and I this huge email about respecting and loving our father more (which, I mean, come on. You can’t demand that. I mean, you can, but you can’t force love and/or respect) because culture. When I brought it up to her, she heaved a huge sigh and said she knew I would be upset by it. And yet, she sent it, anyway.
When I asked why he didn’t have to respect me, she had no answer for that. I said he had yelled at me, and she said I had yelled at him, too. I stared at her incredulously and pointed out that I had done it in defense of her. Her face fell, and she said that she had forgotten that.
I know when my mother is lying; she was not. She had literally forgotten what had happened in the argument within the course of a day or two. Because she would look bad. And because my father would look bad. That was why he changed the story for my brother as well. He actually believed what he said (that he was concerned about my mother’s driving because she hit a curb), but it had no basis in reality. Well, except that he refuses to accept he can no longer drive and then screams at my mother when she does, making her worse.
The actual argument was him accusing my mother of stealing from him. At least, this was when they ran into the living room. They had been arguing in Taiwanese before then, but switched in front of me because I don’t understand it. Much. He has dementia which manifests in paranoia. One of the common themes of his paranoia is that my mother/my brother/I, that we are stealing from him. Oh, also that he was our slave. Which is completely laughable as he is utterly useless around the house. He always has been because he refused to do any chores and because when he did attempt to do any, he put the least amount into it as possible–to the point where it was just easier to do it yourself–so the idea of him being our slave/servant was eye-rolling.
Bceause of my parents’ inability to accept they have flaws or ever do anything wrong, I don’t trust what they say. Ever. They will always twist everything to put themselves in the best light. So, yes, I’m overly fussy about the truth because they are so cavalier about it. To them, whatever they want the truth to be–it was.
I do not want to be anything like them. My mother once said loudly in exasperation, “Just because something is traditional, it doesn’t make it bad!” To which I countered, “Just because something is traditional, it doesn’t make it good.” She hates that I’m not marriedand that Idon’ thave children. My father tried to guilt me into going back to Christianity because, as he put it, it was the one thing that pained my mother most in the world. That I had fled Christianity, I mean.
I know she sees my life choices as a repudiation of her life–she’s right. And she’s wrong. She’s right in that I did not care for the major parts of her life–marriage, children, and Christianity. She’s wrong that I did it to spite her. It’s just not me. None of it. And she cannot fathom a world in which a ‘woman’ is not–well, her.
Here’s the thing. In the last post, I talked a bit about how it was other women who made me question my womanness. I spent so many years of my life being told that I was not a real woman in so many different ways. And, I’ll be honest with you. The restrictions put on women by society do not make me any more eager to embrace the label.
I know the argument is that being a woman is how you define it, but then who cares about labels at all? If there is no unifying traits under the term, then why use it? It’s like when Nancy Pelosi said that you don’t have to be pro-choice to be a Democrat. Yes, you do. There have to be some lines drawn and for me, that is one. You don’t have to like abortion for yourself, but as a policy position, you have to support it.
It’s the same with woman. If we can’t agree on at least a few set traits that define the term, then what’s the point? This is how I get hung up on pronouns as well. If it basically means anytihng ot anyone, and neopronouns are acceptable, then why have them in the first place?
I do understand that the majority of the people in the category fit fairly well in said category. In an ideal world, those on the fringe would be accepted, but not forced into being ‘normal’. We don’t live in that world. My Taiji teacher and I talked about how we both were put down by other women over the years. Her response was, “Oh yeah? I don’t care that you don’t think I’m a woman. I’ll show you.” Mine was, “Oh yeah? Fine. If you are that adamaant that I am not a woman, then I do not want to be one, anyway.” We’re pretty much in the same place, but are dealing with it in very different ways.
More in the next post because this is going long.