Mel Kadel Women Overcoming Obstacles

Some of the most painful choices are braver and more profound to me than getting married or having a baby. I can think of a thousand stories where a celebration or ritual is needed but our culture doesn't know how to meet what is happening. I would love if a person who leaves an abusive relationship could run through a tunnel of arms stretched out and sparklers in the air. If, when a mother and father put their feet on the cold floor and stand up in the morning, when they have lost a child, they could somehow be met with a circle of tears. Could there be such a thing as a cap and gown for a woman who has finally decided her voice has more weight than the beat of a wing? Might we shower a man with gifts when he can allow himself to cry?  In my work with survivors of abuse, I am surrounded by mostly women, women surviving, women carrying the burden of each other, women picking up the pieces that capitalist patriarchy throws behind its shoulder in its pursuit of wealth for a few. 

Someone said to me that there is no gender pay gap in my work because all the employees are female, but that is just the point. Men see themselves as above all that nurturing, heavy lifting work of holding people's hearts together that are broken, and finding whatever scraps of resources can be found among the giving of donors who see what is going on. "Women's work" requires stamina, courage, fierce determination in the face of a culture that devalues them everyday with a big middle finger to equity in pay.  There is not a day that goes by where I don't have to make some kind of choice that avoids harassment from men, whether it be walking to my car with a bag of groceries, or just plain getting dressed in the morning. I do not enjoy the company of churchgoers very much these days, only a few religious friends from my past have really stayed with me as I have made choices that are true to what I have experienced.  I do not trust most religious communities to give a flying fuck about women, but I will say the times that I was free to fall apart when I was trying to walk their line was only ever in the shadows.  In back rooms, surrounded of course by other women, who encircled me like musk oxen protecting their young from predators. But there are words not in the English language that describe perseverance in the face of suffering.  And I think those moments of resilience are a thing to be recognized. Rituals for the poor or abused would not be beautiful for me if they culminated in the blessing of a pastor, a bishop, or a priest. The patriarchy needs to wash its hands of itself, men need to fucking listen to women and allow them to share in leadership if they are to have the honor touching such stories. One cannot protect abusers in the name of mercy while turning a blind eye to the ones the abusers have shattered on the floor.  If our communities were a safe place to fall apart, as this beautiful post on OnBeing, suggests, I would say we would be a lot more human, less violent, softer.  God damnit our communities would be a hell of a lot more feminine, and males would not be afraid to look themselves in the eye and see their own frailty, and just how much their selfishness hurts. Benevolent sexism hurts more than blatant misogyny because it is offered with such moral syrup, it is coated in lies. Over and over, it makes women apologize for their very existence. Might an orchestra in the pitch black desert night of mourning sound just as radiant, and more mysterious than some violin on a wedding day? Might we celebrate something more complex and real, less oppressive than the image of a bride dressed in virgin white, met by some priestly fellow at the end of an aisle?  I am still trying to name what I am picturing, still trying to find the words but it is much more communal, circular. Not looking for the highest point on the mountain so much, just the wonder of all that grows in its whole. What kind of celebration would it be for two people who love each other to look one another in the eye and be two equals, able to be broken and strong equally, free from the tug of war that our culture of binary gender hierarchy creates, free from the pretentions of a middle-priesthood between ourselves and all that we don't know. There would be dancing, that much I can say. 


If Community Were a Safe Place To Fall Apart