It’s time to change the stories we tell about women.

I was brought up Catholic, went to church every Sunday, taught Sunday school and got my start singing in the choir. When I was in high school, I went to a parent led youth group night.

I don’t remember the full specifics of the night, other than each parent was going to lead a discussion on a specific topic. We broke off into smaller groups and would go from room to room participating in each activity or discussion. I do remember that the topics of each discussion were what a much more shy person would call “delicate”. I only remember two of the topics well. One was about std’s and how they can spread. We did some kind of exercise with M & M’s or something that showed how insidiously they can spread from one person to another. I really wish I could remember more about it because I am almost positive it too would give me something to write about.

But then there was the talk about the big S word, Sin. This one, I remember well. It was given by a parent who I didn’t know very well and can’t remember his name or that of his children. I do remember him however because he always wore cowboy boots. Even before this meeting, I remember seeing him in church often and wondering why in the middle of upstate New York he wore cowboy boots. He had a very stern manner to him and there was a certain something that always made me feel a bit uneasy. So while I may have already walked into that room with a bit of a bias and judgement, what happened next would all but confirm my intuitive ponderings.

There was a desk at the front of the room. Most of the other parents who were speaking that night had activities or papers set up on the desk. They had come prepared with visuals or handouts. It was very clear from the beginning that there was going to be none of this. As we all sat in our semi-circle shaped tables, he sauntered to the front of the desk, leaned against it and crossed his arms in front of this chest. He then proceeded to tell the story of Genesis, specifically the time in the garden of eden when Eve ate the apple. He spoke about her being born of Adam’s rib so as Adam would have a companion, someone to make him less lonely. He spoke of her curiosity towards the apple and the snake as the devil in disguise, tempting her to it. He then spoke about what happened once Eve gave in to her temptation and desire and ate the apple. He said how horrible life became. How Eve would now have to bare the burden of childbirth and Adam and she would never know eden again.

Then he spoke about sin. He said, “because of Eve’s mistake, we are now all born with the black mark of sin on our souls.”. He went on to explain that while we can never get rid of the original black mark, we can make sure not to get any more. He said that if we thought of our souls like a punch card, the more we sin, the more black dots it gets marked with. And however many black dots we get is how we will be judged whether we go to heaven or hell. I have to tell you, that at this point I am both flabbergasted and fascinated. I was very different than I am now. I was not at all interested in feminism or social and racial justice. I just wanted to sing musical theater all day long and go on my merry way. But THIS, this grabbed me.

As he finished up he asked if there were any questions. No one spoke. I decided to raise my hand, I have no idea why. He called on me and I asked him, “Can you ever erase these black marks?”. I fully expected him to go into an explanation about how if you repent, go to confession and commit to being a good person, of course the black marks could go away. Instead he simply replied with “nope”. He said that you can only go on to make sure that you don’t get any more black marks, but once you have one, it’s there for all eternity.

The other night I wrote a poem called The Wisdom of My Womanhood. This is my response to this man. This is my response to an entire history of this story being told to scare humans and punish women for their curiosity and desire to be something more than the simple playmate of man. This poem is my little piece of rebellion against all of the patriarchal bullshit that has been handed down to us with men of too feeble a mind to acknowledge and accept a woman’s power. It is a rebellion against the women who have been able to be gaslit enough to not realize their own role in the patriarchy of our society. It is for the women who have taken this story personally and had men like this one put all of the blame for the wickedness of life on one woman’s mistake, which isn’t a mistake.

This new and much improved version of this story is for all of the daughters who don’t need to have this kind of abuse handed down to them any longer. For my daughter. It’s for the shame and damage that has been weaved into our spirits simply because we were born women. It’s for the immaturity it has fostered in many men who still can’t handle a woman in the fullness of her power. Who have to find harmful ways to keep the women in their lives down.

What I do want to point out is that at the end of the poem, the man and the woman walk away, together hand in hand. He trusts that he can be safely led by the wisdom of womanhood. Perhaps even learn of his own wisdom beyond his selfish desire for power. This is not an F you to men. It is a wake up call. I am a huge believer in the power of story. But it is time to change the ones we have been telling. Either we need to change their endings, their perspectives or get rid of them all together. It’s time to change the stories we tell about women. They were made up once upon a time by foolish people and we no longer need to carry the burden of their foolishness. Eve, should you be a believer beyond the story, gave us life. There is no sin in what she did nor are there any black marks on your soul. There certainly are none on mine. But I’ve also chosen to change my story. And no man in cowboy boots gets to tell me otherwise.

The Wisdom of My Womanhood

He says:don’t eat the fruit,
Death will surely come upon us.
Stay, stay exactly as we are in this perfect eden,
There is no need to look outside of this.
Come play, be free, naked and blissful in our ignorance.

But deep inside a curiosity stirs.
The sweetness of the awakened fruit is far too desirable.
Inside there is a voice, a longing, saying you are so much more than this.
So much more than a simple playmate.
This childhood of man is not where I wish to stay.

I reach up and pluck the stem from the tree.
My mouth wraps around the cold skin and as my teeth sink deep into the flesh,
Sweet nectar runs down my lips.
For the first time I taste what life is.
The blandness of perfection fades away.

You have ruined us, He says. Your sin is what we will continue to bear for all eternity.
Now there will be pain, now there will be sorrow.
Now I will have to work and wear clothes and make something of myself.
The fault of this lies solely on you. You will bear the weight of this punishment.
Your womanhood has cursed us all.

Wiping the juice from my mouth,
I stand up taller than I ever have.
He cowers in my shadow, for I have changed, grown inside my skin.
I reach out my hand for him to come to me.
He refuses it.

It is time for you to grow now too, I say.
It is time for you to know the reality of life,
Not so that you will suffer.
So that we may live in its fullness
This has been nothing but a mirage, a playpen, a gaslight.

I carry no fault and refuse your shame.
It is not a sin at all.
It is my wisdom that knows the sweetness that lies beyond this perfection.
It is my wisdom that knows to listen to my own inner calling.
It is my wisdom that has saved us from the unlived life.

He stands up, takes my hand
Together we walk into the unknown.
Ready to feel the sharpness of what lies ahead.
Ready to cry, to laugh, to ache, to fear, to grow.
Ready to be led by the wisdom of my womanhood.