Learning Gender Roles Via The BBC

The BBC have recently been accused of sexism with their remake of children’s classic Topsy and Tim.

It was claimed by parents that the BBC misinterpreted the original children stories, and chose instead to reinforce traditional gender stereotypes, which were being aimed at very young children. The charecter Tospy is a little girl who is seen baking princess cakes with her Mum, while her Brother Tim is informed baking is not for him. As a boy he can play outside on his bike or help his Dad with “mans work”.

I wondered, as I have on many occasions before, how do we learn our ‘gender roles’? Is it nature or nurture, and how can we be sure?

Thinking of my own childhood, I recall never being compelled by my parents to be particularly ‘girlie’, and naturally I wasn’t this way either. I was always encouraged to just be me, and perhaps by being a headstrong child who knew what I liked, pressures to be ‘girlie’ (if they existed), never affected me. I therefore feel surprised that in the 21st century children are still being encouraged to mimic, and reflect, what their own parents deem to be acceptable gender specific stereotypes. It just seems almost self defeating and rather odd.

Why would any parent force their child to be anything, and ruin their own child’s ability to blossom and develop naturally, free of preconceived ideals laid down throughout the eons?!

What is so terrible about girls playing with cars and bikes, and boys playing with kitchens and dolls? Surely having diverse skills and interests make for more rounded and capable future adults?

I know if I had children, I would indeed encourage them to be them; who else can they be after all!

Don’t get me wrong, their is nothing wrong with traditional gender roles, if those people performing those roles are happy enough to do so. Yet, there is nothing wrong with mixing it up either!

Living in Madrid I see many more examples of the conventional family unit than I do in the UK. The wife cooks, cleans, takes care of the house and kids, while the man works, is head of the household, applies the discipline and often the education of the kids. This is almost expected and seen as the social norm.

Now my household has never been quite like this, to the surprise of the people I meet in Spain. People are shocked that I am interested in politics, and also that my degree, career and writing all have a political grounding. I have actually been told how unusual it is for a girl! Obviously they haven’t heard of Emily Pankhurst, Simone de Beauvoir, Eleanor Roosevelt, Margaret Thatcher, Naomi Wolf and Hilary Clinton; what about Eva Perón?

For me, applying any expectations upon a person, especially at a young and impressionable age, just becomes a simple case of the self fulfilling prophecy. You get what you expect. Women and men then become merely caricatures of their gender, nothing more than that! How can we then argue they are naturally as they should be?

Have women actually been able or allowed to genuinely break through that “glass ceiling”? Not if the 21st centuries depiction of gender is the reference point; a woman’s place is still at home, while the man still belongs to the world. This has to be true, the BBC even think so!

To be serious, in recent years it has been a giant step backwards for men and women alike. Adverts, marketing, media and society in general have peddled the over sexualisation of the younger generation. This has drip fed a generation with gender specific notions of beauty, relationships, sex and availability, youth, frivolousness, self obsession, celebrity culture, diets, gossip, fashion and materialism.

So, maybe reverting to the stereotypical gender roles is only the natural step forward from this re-education?

For me I feel it is difficult to distinguish, and therefore state concretely, how much of nature actually plays a part in a child’s socialisation, self perception and development. Especially with all the dross floating around their environment.

Think about how difficult it is for us as adults to really separate ourselves, and our choices from all the expectations applied upon us, what we have seen, learnt, experienced and absorbed into our psyche?

If it is so difficult for us as adults, the question then remains; how can a child?

Nature v’s nurture, for me there is no real contest to contest!

Unpicking You

How can you, unpick you – that is your fundamentals, what has made you you for so long?

I always think of myself as sentimental layers of life experiences built up over years, and compacted together to form layers which represent my whole being, a person; for the moment, a ‘final product’.

If there is something amiss, somewhere deep down in all that sediment layering then how can that be sifted through? How do we locate successfully that one ‘bad seed’ upsetting the equilibrium of our being, creating disharmony?

There are certain things which effect me and impact on my life; these I feel are embedded reactions to something long gone or long ago learnt. These embedded ‘flaws’ or ‘bad’ reactions, ‘faulty’ coping mechanisms or whatever else are more difficult to locate in my life layering than something recently learnt, experienced and assimilated into myself.

In fact, pin pointing the specific incident that triggered these flawed behaviours, faulty coping mechanisms or bad reactions which currently effect me, is the hardest thing to do! Perhaps the reason for this is because they are anchored to my childhood, before I was fully cognisant?

If something impacts upon us before we are fully self aware, how can we then unpick these flaws in ourselves? How do we begin to find the thread to unravel, and unpick ourselves, thus solving these issues we have? How can a root be found without knowing first where to look for it?

Isn’t what we have automatically assimilated into our fundamental core person, the most difficult to then rectify if there are problems with this assimilation?

Perhaps then it is time to move on from even trying to unpick ourselves. Is it ever worth spending time feeling that we should be more than we are? Is it worth considering that one moment, long ago in our past, may have diverted us from becoming a different person – one perhaps more ’rounded’ and grounded?

I have begun to think not.

Some things have no rhyme or reason, they just are. The best method of healing, for me, is to just accept my ‘warts and all’, and embrace who I am – faulty or otherwise! Unpicking myself, unraveling my threads would, I feel, create more problems than it would solve. I may be flawed, faulty and even bad on occasions, but then that is me, the only me I know – so who is anyone else to contest that?

None of us are perfect, but those little imperfections make us all perfect just the way we are.

Who would we be without our little flaws – would we be better people or would we be worse? Who can really ever know for certain.

Daily Prompt: Toot Your Horn

“Most of us are excellent at being self-deprecating, and are not so good at the opposite. Tell us your favorite thing about yourself”.

 

This is quite a difficult question to answer, in my opinion.

It is reminiscent of those awful interview questions that are asked of you when you least expect it! Everyone dreads forming a genuine answer, as no-one is really certain that ‘favourite thing’ and themselves should even be coupled in the same sentence.

Yes, we are, or most of us are, excellent at being self-depreciating; but isn’t that how we are brought up to be? Hasn’t that been societies way of making us displeased with ourselves; making us believe we are all mini projects never quite completed to the ‘standard’ required?

I often struggled with finding one thing about me I liked as a child; these feelings of restraint, or not ‘blowing my own horn’ then followed me into adulthood. I never felt quite good enough in any respect. It was difficult for me to show what I could do; whether that was talent, skill or intelligence.

I often allowed others to just take centre stage, because I didn’t think I belonged there. This was because I was so uncertain of myself and afraid, though I often hid that very well to conceal those disconcerting facts. I know in some ways, I still do.

You see, being bullied relentlessly from the moment you begin school, does tend to take its toll upon your self esteem and image. Especially when you are reminded on a daily basis by ‘friends’, ‘classmates’ and teachers alike that you are useless. This heinous reinforcement is then difficult to unpick, even by family.

So, what about at this moment – what is my favourite thing about me? I’m getting to that honestly, just wait a moment!

As a consequence of being bullied and other situations which were also difficult for me to deal with growing up; I actually learned a lot about people, life and myself.

Yes, my confidence and self image took a massive blow to the back of the head, but I have worked to reverse that by learning to fight my own corner. This took time, but I did, and it was the most important thing I found I was able to do to help myself.

How, well by using my words to overcome whatever obstacle confronts me. Words have helped me to not be at the mercy of other people’s nastiness, judgements, ill treatment or whatever else they use in their arsenal to hurt their fellow human beings. I no longer allow ‘would be bullies’ the power to put me down.  This in turn has helped me leave the bullied and powerless child and teen that I was, in the past.

So, my favourite thing about me is my ability to express myself. Without my words I think I would have retreated away from the world, but with them I managed to move forward, find confidence, courage and a place for me regardless of where I am. They allowed me to; challenge myself, to discover, to develop and to achieve, not only just to stand up for myself! Using words to my advantage has had a massive impact on me and my life.

Am I ready to storm that centre stage? Well, I am not adverse to the suggestion any longer, thanks to my words!

Death Is Not The End

Nothing can prepare you for hearing those words, of realising that too soon you have to face up to such a harsh truth. Its knowledge that once gained alters everything else from that moment on. It is like the moment freezes, and suddenly normal body functions, such as breathing, become laboured as though the weight of this awful thing is physically, as well as emotionally bearing down on you.

A friend of mine has recently gone through the trauma of the death of her Father. When the news that his illness had taken a turn for the worse and had become life threatening, she was actually with me.

I felt futile; what can anyone say or do to relieve such sorrow and the empty hollowness that such events bring; nothing, no one can make it all better and take that from you. No words fit such a dramatic and profound event, it is beyond such things.

Such events change us I heard, and not just mentally and emotionally but actually physically too. For two years after a death those who are left behind have to also endure a physical change to their bodies as a result of loss and grief. I think this change never heals, how can it? You are not, nor ever will be the same person before that person died.

‘They’ do say a lot of things about death, like if we all experience things the same way. I am aware that grief moves in a process, and it does; after time this process should be completed and the individual remaining should be free of the feeling of loss and sadness (so ‘they’ say). For me that has never been the case.

My friend’s loss resonated with me; in that poignant and raw moment, that to be honest was fairly surreal for me, my own experiences of losing a loved one was quickly revived. I realised I was uncomfortable with the whole thing. I wasn’t able to deal with or cope with the unresolved feelings in myself, that were brought forth by my friend’s own heart breaking news.

My lingering grief remains extremely difficult to discuss, and for me the emotions and sadness are like raw and exposed nerves, which to this day cause me great distress. Even typing this, and thinking about what I want to say here, is more overwhelming than I thought it would be. I can feel the emotion sitting like a mound in my chest; it feels heavy and tight, I feel stressed and dizzy, afraid and upset. It’s almost like shock.

I am obviously not detached from the death of my loved ones, especially one in particular.

What prompted me to want to write this entry was something that happened a few nights ago. I have been thinking about this, although trying not to. It has been a while since I dreamt of the person I lost, but this dream was more vivid than ever I recall. They were back, standing in their house surrounded by other family members. I recall being immediately eager to see them. I pushed through a couple of people to get to this person, and we hugged each other tightly. I told the person I’d missed them so much, and feared I’d never see them again. This person said they knew that, but that they were with me, and had been watching me and were proud of me.

It was my final dream before waking. I got up and sat on the sofa and cried.

I haven’t told anyone else about this, the reason I write it here is that it is anonymous, and no one knows me, nor will anyone in my life have to know that right now, I am crying typing these words. I am obviously still affected by a death that occurred over 10 years ago. This is something I cannot resolve for myself, I haven’t the power to make it OK for myself.

The person I still mourn was special to me, that person shaped my life and is part of who I am. If I am selfish for wishing they were still here to talk to, ask advice of, hear their opinions, debate politics with or just laugh with, then I am and I don’t think that is a flaw. I don’t want them not to rest wherever they are, they deserve to be free of their body and to be happy in a good place; but I still miss them.

This death was an unexpected event. People used to say, ‘Oh, that is a good thing no suffering’; well let me tell you it wasn’t a good death for those of us who loved that person. That was just un-thoughtful and infuriating to hear. It was like they made light of the trauma and loss, as though we should have been grateful.

There were no goodbyes for us, no time to put things in order, hear the last words, and give one final kiss. No way of understanding, coming to terms with anything. How could it have been that one moment this person was alive, and the next gone forever, where no one could follow them. I couldn’t understand the difference in those moments, like a light had been switched off. Why that person had be extinguished in such an extreme manner, with all the evidence left behind that they had merely just stepped out, and would return at any given moment. It was cruel.

I couldn’t get that straight for years; that severed separation without warning left a deep wound. I kept asking the questions, wanting all the medical reasons and I hated everything and everyone for it being as it was. It was like unfinished business. I felt cheated, lied to and deceived, guilty too. In those moments I would have gladly shared my own life with that person so they could have lived on. I begged for that and prayed for it. Death couldn’t be the end.

What made it worse was the fact there had been this over bearing feeling of doom. A lingering and awful feeling that wouldn’t leave. I felt something terrible was going to happen, something I couldn’t change. In fact I felt it on that very morning of that person’s death, and ignored it. I didn’t go and see that person as something inside my self urged me to. I thought I was just being melodramatic, but after gaining a call when I was nearly 70 miles away that day to return home, I knew immediately it was going to be the worst news that greeted my return.

People don’t have to believe what I felt, but I know what I felt, and those around me know too, because they were there every time I told them something bad was going to happen. I felt that it was going to be something horrendous, so bad, it would make me cry hysterically.

I felt guilt, if only I had said and done something as a reaction to this feeling. Maybe I could have intervened and changed what happened. I felt I had let them and myself down. I felt I was a terrible person; by ignoring my bad feeling, I had just let the person die.

Writing this now was something I thought I’d never do, as I even avoid talking about it, because as I have mentioned already it is painful and distressing. I don’t like how it makes me feel still, sick, all through my system. Yet, it is there and somewhere I feel I have to let it go.

I can cope with most things life throws at me, but this is one thing I still cannot cope with and feel it still. This has created a great concern in me; that those I love will end up the same, and I won’t be there to see them, to comfort them to tell them I love them. That they will leave me the same way, without goodbye. I am frightened of that, not of my own death, but anyone else’s. Even admitting that scares me, it’s like tempting fate by exposing that weakness publicly, that something terrible will happen.

I’d like to know if anyone else feels like I do. I’d like to know I’m normal, and that amongst all these faceless bloggers I am somehow not alone in these emotions. Maybe this is my post where I truly write for personal therapy. I don’t want sympathy or to pull the ‘hard luck’ story, I don’t feel hard done by. I just suppose I want to gain an understanding of why I feel this way still, to gain comfort from knowing of others who have felt or do feel like me. Maybe I just needed to admit what damage grief has done, even after the years have ticked by the pain still can endure, and affect us who are left behind who just don’t understand why.

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