When You’ve Just Finished “The Lost Daughter” …

And Gone Right Into “The Luminaries”…

It makes you think about the fact you were born a woman; the world has historically been programmed to despise you, and there’s not a goddamned thing you can do about it.

We owe it all to that ridiculous piece of historical fiction that everyone has taken so seriously for the last few thousand years, The Bible, that tells the tale of A GOD (we don’t know whose GOD, specifically) creating the world, making MAN first (sure, because it’s easier to make something that sticks out first rather than something that caves in, one would guess…) and then making woman by ROBBING MAN of a fucking rib. Seriously? You couldn’t come up with something better than that? Good God people.


Talk about having three strikes against you before you even get started. Then woman became the Temptress, the one that got man to eat the forbidden fruit, the human doing the bidding of the Devil on Earth … sure. Seems legit. Blame the human that “stole a fucking rib” from man. Why not?

From that moment forward, most societies viewed women as slaves. As something that should serve man after creating such a horrible outcome in the Garden. Women were not allowed to own their own destiny, for if they did; they were under an evil spell and not following the word of God or being obedient wife servants.

This ridiculous myth has been perpetuated over thousands of years thanks to religion. Cavemen may have been the hunters, but it was the women of that era that were the gatherers, the nurturers, the people that held the clans together and ensured safety in numbers. Men had only two purposes, provide progeny and meat.

Religion drew us into a paternal society. Women had no place in it. Not until recently, anyway. And even now it’s still very limited.

The strongest women are still viewed as a threat to the most religious sects in both Christianity and Judaism. If they do not want to be obedient wives and produce children, they are worthless. They have no value.

Since the beginning of time, women have wanted and been very capable of doing great things. They have, however, been limited, by much less intelligent and capable, men. Any threat and suddenly something new pops up. For example, Lilith, made of filth and dust prior to Eve, she would transform into men to impregnate women to explain away “mysterious pregnancies”. There were others but she was probably the most well-known. The later on we had Witchcraft. Burn them at the stake! How many witches were there? Too many. God forbid you grew up near the water and learned to swim or had the innate ability to float, you were seriously fucked. Burn, you would.

Cleopatra was an evil whore. It goes on and on and on ….

The film “The Lost Daughter” finally creates the ability for us to have a public exchange about something that SO MANY women have felt but are forbidden to speak about …. the fact that they were not born to be a Mom. And if you fall within that category, you are NOT supposed to ever mention it. Never. Not in small groups. Not out loud. Not ever.

Sure, women are born (for the most part) with the ability to produce children, but not all women are born with the innate ability to be mothers. It’s not something that always comes naturally. We act like that’s a problem. Why, WHY, is that a problem?

We have known, witnessed, watched, and waited while men have run off on their families for centuries. Why is it so much more egregious when a woman finds that she needs to take a break? When she discovers, or comes to term with the fact that she’s NOT, perhaps, a natural mother; and needs to leave the situation to ensure the sanity of bother her and her children?

Men are rarely held accountable for leaving. Women are ALWAYS held responsible, and that shit never goes away. Never. But, why? Why are women judged so much harsher than men? I want that question answered and then I want it fixed.

I was not blessed with the ability to bear children, though I was pregnant 6 times. I wasn’t born a girl that felt she was that person who was put on Earth to be a mother, but I also never believed I wouldn’t have a family. You’re kind of raised to believe that’s what happens, you get married, have kids, raise a family … that’s just the way it goes.

But here we are.

It’s 2022 and people still believe that women aren’t great leaders. When in positions of power, it’s because they “failed up” or it’s because they’re bitches that no one wants to deal with. And when I say people, I mean men AND women. It’s ridiculous. Absurd. Obtuse. Outdated, Fucked up. And wrong.

Today was actually Holocaust Remembrance Day. I hope that fewer people will one day stand up to proclaim that it didn’t happen, than those who ask us to never forget. I also hope that one day we, as a society, can stand up to say that women are precisely equal to men, without any kind of ifs, ands: or buts about it.

No asterisks, please. We’re just women.

We’re not Pete fucking Rose.

When You’re Watching “And Just Like That”…

And suddenly experience suffocating PTSD flashbacks during episode 3…

While I did watch this episode a few days after it was available, I realize that this could include “SPOILERS”, so if you do not want to hear about a story line, please stop reading. Honestly, it’s not like I have hundreds of thousands of followers that I could possibly ruin this episode for, but as a responsible, streaming-series-viewing human, I will still provide the warning for the 10 or 70 of you that are still casually dropping by.

This episode shows Carrie attending the reading of her husband’s will. It appeared relatively straightforward until he leaves his ex-wife $1MM. Carrie is shocked, Big’s secretary (that is what she preferred to be called, please refer to eps 1 & 2…) is shocked, and the attorney calls over his shoulder while taking a call from his wife (whom he was desperately trying to avoid) that, “in his experience that means there was unfinished business”.

Carrie is shocked, shaken, and begins to question her entire relationship with Big. To her, they had been happy, the happiest they’d ever been, before he died. When this bomb is dropped, she wonders what else she didn’t know …. As I watched I felt a lump rise in my throat and a dull throb begin to take up residence in the pit of my stomach. I remember that horrible white-wash of ache, sadness and horror; and I hope to Christ I never feel that way again.

I felt like I hit the “love jackpot” with my first long-term relationship. It was amazing. I was in my mid/late twenties, full of hope and promise; the future looking incredibly bright. The world was mine. I had travelled extensively that summer and finally, for two weeks in August, I went back to my hometown (the longest stretch I’d been back since HS graduation) for my little brother’s wedding. While I had a great time by hometown standards, I was very happy to be on my way back to NY the day I left. I attended a Yankees game the next day with my best friend at the time, then spent the following day, Saturday, catching up on errands. By the time evening fell I was exhausted. I ordered take-out and sat down to tackle email.

Back then it wasn’t nearly as easy to check it (I was an AOL girl) when you didn’t have access to your desktop. Now we all have handheld computers and barely anyone communicates that way anymore. I’d been back for a couple of days and after having been with my extremely extended family (French Canadian, Catholic …. you get the idea) I had initially welcomed the peace and quiet; but 48 hours of not speaking to another adult was about all I could take back then.

While checking mail I was simultaneously logged in on AOL Messenger, something you really couldn’t avoid at the time. As a single young woman, I had placed an ad up on “Love @ AOL” several months prior, so I was still receiving blind messages from people that had seen it. I ignored 99.99% of them; but that night I received a message that caught my eye and for some unknown reason I responded.

I was dying to have an adult conversation, so my usual standards and alarms went out the window. We struck up an interesting conversation. Before I knew it, we’d been chatting for over 2 hours. I finally took his phone number and called, continuing the conversation for another 5. The last hour of which was spent trying to convince me to let him come over. I kept saying, “One of my roommates is home, if I let you come over and you killed her I’d never forgive myself!”

“Don’t you think if I was going to kill her, that I’d kill you, too? You wouldn’t be alive to feel any guilt.” He laughed.

“My spirit would roam the land / wherever the fuck we end up, carrying the weight of that guilt for eternity. No can do, Muchacho.”

We finally agreed to meet for lunch the next day and finally went to sleep.

I did give him my address so he could pick me up. He came over, rang the bell; and we never made it out of the house to have our date. We were together, (eventually engaged) for over 9 years from that day on.

Over the next 9 years we had our share of ups and downs, but not once did I ever think that he could, would, or had cheated on me. I am not the suspicious type, I never had any reason to question or even suspect that he’d been unfaithful. It wasn’t until almost 9 months after I’d broken off our engagement that I found out, or should say I was contacted by a woman that claimed she’d slept with him.

I remember that moment clear as day, it felt like someone had sucked the air from my lungs.

Not only did she call and tell me that they’d been together, but she also began to call and hang up. Then she would call and bark short phrases describing things they’d done in bed. I can’t ever recall having been so rattled. All the while, she was a “well-liked” football Mom that, (I discovered much later on) had the police called by neighbors every 4-5 weeks for locking her kids out of the house while she had loud, obnoxious sex for the everyone to loathe/enjoy.

I confronted him, he told me I was making shit up, she would never do something so asinine, but didn’t deny being with her. Eventually he did tell me that he had flirted with her while we were together but didn’t sleep with her until after we’d split. I wanted to believe him, but the damage was done.

From time to time, I wonder why this woman, (who was in a relationship by the way), felt the need to do what she had done to me. It was obvious that the engagement was off, there was no longer anything romantic between us; we were simply friends at that point. I have since (with many hours of therapy) worked through the trust issues that resulted. It took me a while, but I eventually became myself again.

And every now and then, something reminds me of those awful few months all those years ago. But the white-hot flash doesn’t long, and in the end, I simply remind myself that had I not been loved so well she wouldn’t have bothered with me in the first place.

And hey, maybe he’ll leave me a cool million to make up for it someday….