All Dogs Go to Heaven
Recently, something happened in my old neighborhood that made me think about how protective I can be over who I love. Two large dogs got away from their owner during a walk. They attacked and killed a smaller senior dog who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time on his walk. I wasn’t there, but I imagined everything happened so fast that neither owner had time to prevent anything from happening. It was just very sad. It made me think of a time when I unequivocally decided I would willingly be mauled to protect my dog, Edison.
When I used to walk him in my old neighborhood, I used to take him to a beautiful neighborhood across the street. Houses of different styles, shapes, and sizes, not cookie cutter style homes you see in a lot of developments nowadays. Two of the houses had ponds on the edges of their properties. Near one of the ponds, a family of Canadian geese claimed their squatter’s rights. Edison tried to bird dog the geese many times, but considering it was private property, I didn’t let him. This curbing of his natural instincts aside, we both loved this walk. It was just a beautiful old school neighborhood.
Apparently, we weren’t the only ones who enjoyed the natural views. One day, I took Edison for his usual morning walk. We meandered on our usual route when we saw a four-legged creature some 200 feet away. Sporting no collar that I could see, it had pointed ears, a bushy tail, and a sly, slithering gait. Clearly, not the run of the mill, neighborhood dog.
This was not the first time I had seen this creature. Two weeks before that, I saw him sneaking around near a different house, trying to blend in. My first guess was that it was a fox, but the second time I saw him I realized he was too big and too beige to be a fox. I looked at him. He looked at me, and we both went about our business. After further introspection, I realized this intrepid wanderer was a coyote.
My second encounter with Cruiser (the name I randomly assigned him) was a little more precarious because this time, I had Edison with me. The three of us looked at each other and stopped in our tracks. Edison is a sociable spirit. His inclination was to embark on a doggy meet and greet. My instinct was for the preservation of my dog and myself.
Without sudden movement that could be mistaken for aggression, I steered Edison away from his wild cousin. (Don’t all Indian parents do that?) He didn’t get it at first. With his usual, excited smile, his look said, “Why aren’t we going that way?” I talk to my dog like he’s human, so I said, “We are not going over there because he will fuck you up!” He still didn’t seem to get it, so I repeated, “You don’t understand! He will fuck you up!” I believe my dog read my nervous energy and had heard me say fuck enough times to know that he should go with Mommy on this one.
We continued in the opposite direction. Cruiser still stared at us. Edison didn’t have a care in the world but I thought to myself: Please God, don’t let this animal go after my dog. Visions of being in an emergency room because the coyote mauled me floated in my head. Not how I would want to spend a day. But I made the decision to stand my ground and keep this animal away from Edison. Emergency room or not. Coyote or Chihuahua, I’m not letting anything attack my dog. I turned around again and Cruiser went on his merry way.
I never saw him again after that. To this day, I don’t know what happened to Cruiser or what his business was in that neighborhood. I think he was casing it for something. I don’t know if he had a wife, kids or if he was on his own just looking for food. As long as he didn’t try to get Alpha on Edison or make him his next meal, I decided to be cool with him and not go ugly on the coyote.
Protecting Who We Love
As I recalled this amusing incident with Edison and how protective I am of him, I realized I am a protector of those I love. Whether it’s my mother, my nieces and nephews, friends, or my dog, I have a natural instinct to keep them safe from harm, emotional or physical. If I am inclined to love you, I am inclined to protect you. It goes hand in hand.
Not that I look for fights or any other sort of chaos, but I will be a warrior for someone I love. I will stand for you and beside you. At the same time, I will actively avoid destructive action, but if I have to, I will mess some shit up. That would be in a rare circumstance, though. At the end of the day, just like Cruiser, I want to be a happy traveler, going my own may.
Until next time… look behind and beyond the veil…
The Blonde and the Brown
A few nights ago, I was out watching a band. My view was somewhat obstructed because I was sitting at the bar, and, instead of being onstage, the singer spent a lot of time working the crowd. But his voice was unmistakable. It had that rock n’ roll growl that I like. I was sitting there trying to enjoy the show when an inebriated Heather Locklear wannabe with too much lip filler kept accosting me and my friend with her deep knowledge of Indian culture.
She became offended when we had the audacity to disagree with her take and pretty much had no fucking idea what she was talking about. We both tried to diffuse her and ignore her for the most part. She sat right next to me, so she kept trying to engage me in conversation which was part her to trying justify herself and part her trying to engage me in inane chit-chat.
She asked me how old I was, and I told her I am 44. “You don’t look it.” Immediately followed that bit of demographic information. Then, “Do you have kids?” After I responded with a matter-of-fact, “No.” Her next question was, “Are you a lesbian?” To which, I responded with, “No, I just didn’t want to have kids with just anybody.” Then, she agreed with me and affirmed that it’s best not to have kids if you don’t want them, as if I needed her to sign-off on that. Her ridiculous question and ensuing comments instantly squashed any inclination to keep placating her. Then I thought. Wow. You’re ignorant. I ignored her after that.
The Runaway Bride
First of all, why would not having kids make someone a lesbian? As if your sexual orientation has anything to do with it. Some lesbians do choose to have children. That’s exactly what having children is: a choice. Unless I’m asking you to help me raise them, whether or not I have children is a choice that has nothing to do with you.
I don’t have children right now because I want to give them the best I can possibly give them at the start. At the least, I can choose a partner who loves me and helps me grow, and I would do the same for him. That is the relationship model I want to give them. If I had them before now, I would not have been able to give them that.
I have been in love twice in my life. Both times, I was the runaway bride. When I knew a relationship wasn’t going to keep me happy for the rest of my life, I bailed. I had no intention of potentially fucking up at least two peoples’ lives if I went against my own intuition. I didn’t want to get divorced, or worse, stay in something that doesn’t work because I was afraid to be alone. I never was afraid to be alone, and I never will be. I would rather be happy, free, and on my own instead of miserable, with someone just because that’s what’s expected, and trapped. Shame on me, if I would ever bring children into something I knew would fail to start with.
Happy and Free, So Let Me Be
I know a happy medium exists, and I know I will find it. I’m not going to let someone else define what that is and what should fulfill me as a woman. I’m lucky to live in a time where perspectives on the roles of women are expanding. It’s not just daughter, sister, wife, or mother, who you are to someone else that defines your womanhood. It’s more who you are for yourself and defined by yourself. You can mix all the other stuff in as you choose.
Right now, I do things that make me happy all day. My work is my passion. I decide my own schedule. I live the most authentic and organic life I can possibly live. I am the best I have ever been. Emotionally, I am in the best position to have children. However that happens is for me and the Divine to decide. Not some plastic shit-stirrer at a bar.
Until next time... look behind and beyond the veil...
Photo by William Farlow on Unsplash
I’ve practiced yoga for over 12 years, and I consider myself a beginner in many ways. Some poses I consistently do well, like the warrior poses. Others I struggle with, like crow. Why I am still shaky on that after 12 years, I just don’t understand. Some poses I have never even attempted, like headstand. I can freely admit that I am afraid to try it because I have visions of breaking my neck. One pose that seems easy but I haven’t fully mastered yet is shavasana, the rest pose.
Why would it be hard to rest? One might ask. This pose isn’t just lying down. It’s releasing everything in that moment and being in complete surrender. It is a conscious choice to surrender. How many of us choose to consciously surrender?
Many of us confuse surrender with giving up. In fact, they are two different things. Giving up is throwing your hands up and refusing to believe in anything or actually do anything. Surrender is allowing things to unfold and accepting what happens regardless of whether or not it is what we think we wanted. It’s acceptance without scrutiny and without judgment. It’s making peace with the reality that has presented itself before you. Is that difficult? Absolutely. I’m still learning. I haven’t fully learned how to silence the catastrophist in my head that keeps me from attempting a goddamned headstand. But what I have learned is questioning, condemning, and lamenting makes matters even more difficult. It disrupts the moment and takes you away from it.
One of my favorite things to do is walk in nature. I explore hiking grounds and parks wherever I can. One of the best lessons I learned about surrender was when I took a new path in the woods recently. Many times, when I take new paths, I have a fear of getting lost. I don’t fully enjoy the walk sometimes because I am anxious about getting lost and how much time that will take up.
Recently, I took a new path and just decided to enjoy what I was taking in. I thought to myself: It’s not like it’s the Alaskan wilderness, where I could die if I got lost. Even if I do get lost out here, I will still find my way. It will just take longer. No big deal. When I did that, I found I was excited to keep going forward and seeing where it would take me. I found that the path took me right to where I parked, and I got there quicker than I thought I would. I just let go, enjoyed, and got to where I needed to be.
When I just let go and find ways to enjoy whatever I am doing without concerning myself with the end result, it goes so much smoother. It’s all about the experience, not just the outcome of it. The outcome is either a lesson or a blessing. If you haven’t beaten yourself up along the way, most times you’ll find a blessing.
Until next time... look behind and beyond the veil...
This is a guest post by Rev. Adam Stoudt.
How many times have you relied upon the opinions of others to make your decisions? One of the first things you have to do when you trust yourself is to stop relying so heavily upon the opinions of others. Do you find yourself analyzing every decision in your head before you make it? If so, this means you are not trusting your inner core or your own intuition. When you come from trusting your own intuition and core, you’re coming from that place of truly trusting yourself.
When you begin trusting yourself, you will go through struggle because you’re so used to second-guessing yourself. It takes time because you have to build a sense of awareness of trusting the process. Know where you’re at emotionally.
Here are the steps to making decisions you can trust:
2. How do you feel about it? Good, bad, or indifferent?
3. What are your options? What are the pros and cons of each?
4. Ask yourself if you are coming from a pure place or a place of ego.
5. Make the decision and be confident in it no matter what others say.
You can experiment with it in different situations. Just follow the steps. Healing yourself, listening to your inner child, and loving yourself are crucial parts of trusting yourself and healing. Each case is different. It can be internal or external. Each situation is unique in its own way. Situations involving others are a little more tricky as we need to be careful as to how our decisions affect others, as well as ourselves. Trust is not only about the situations or decisions we have to make, but also about knowing ourselves and sometimes looking at things we don’t want to claim. Our ego has a lot to do with this. When we accept the good and the bad within ourselves, we can establish a healthy balance and better trust.
Adam is a spiritual adviser and healer. To learn more, visit: www.howpsychic.com
Until next time... look behind and beyond the veil...
Not too long ago, someone I am close to asked me who I trusted. Without a second thought, I said, “Me.” She cocked her head to one side and said, “Good answer.” Then, she told me her therapist asked her that question, and she rattled off every one of her family member’s except for herself. It didn’t even occur to her to name herself. At one time, I wouldn’t have named myself either.
Does it occur to most people to put themselves on that list? Are we really taught to trust ourselves anyway, especially if we’re female? I am the youngest of 8. Any time I wanted to make a decision about anything, my well-intentioned mother would almost instantly tell me to check with my brothers. They always knew better. I’m sorry to say, I drank the Kool-Aid on that one.
Ironically, it was one of my brothers who made me spit the Kool-Aid out. I don’t remember what I was asking him.. He essentially told me to figure it out myself. Then he said, “You don’t take a piss without asking me first.” I didn’t like him saying that at that moment. But later, I had to admit the truth in his words. Of course, he could have said it nicer, but my family generally serves truth without a chaser.
When he said that to me, I looked back on all the times I didn’t believe in myself and didn’t trust myself. When I just finished grad school, I went to a job interview and saw someone I knew interviewing for the same position. I immediately thought he would get the job and gave one of the worst interviews ever. For what? Because I thought someone else was better and had a better shot than me.
Then, I started to look at the things I had accomplished in my life. How I taught myself so many things and did so many things I set out to do in my life without struggle. Someone told me later that trust was a muscle. You had to use it to build it. That’s exactly what I did. Now, I don’t assume someone is better or knows more. Now, I know I have as much to offer as anyone else.
As I reflected further over time, I realized how spot on my instincts were about so many things. TImes when I was actually right. It made me wonder why I was so hesitant to trust my own judgment at times. We have so many voices in our head that talk us out of things before we push ahead. How many of us have said when we listen to our gut we’re never wrong? Then, why does it take so much for some of us to trust ourselves? Some of us assume everyone else knows more than we do. When it comes to what’s right for ourselves, no one knows us better than we know ourselves. We have to know what we know.
I took time to understand these things. Now. if someone asks me who do I trust, I’ll tell them all day long. Me.
Until next time...look behind and beyond the veil…
Photo by Michael Felton
A few years back, a colleague told me I was a “real task-master” to myself because I told her about how if I am not doing something "productive" I monitor how much time I am spending on it. She looked at me and asked me if I would want a supervisor to do that to me. I immediately thought no. When I got home, I thought about what she said a little deeper. I don’t like to be micromanaged on the job and have someone look over my shoulder asking what I’m doing. Why am I doing that to myself without a second thought? The answer to that I realized, much later is that I never really learned how to be gentle with myself. I could be gentle with my students and explain something 20 times, if necessary, but I couldn’t be gentle with myself for spending 20 minutes watching Youtube videos I like. Then, I thought: why do other people deserve my patience and compassion but I, myself, don’t? Of course, I realized right away that I do deserve patience and compassion from myself but it didn’t show up in my actions towards myself. I needed to practice self-love. The key word there: practice. You may not get this right the first time. You may not get it right the first 100 times. But you will get what you need. I did.
Here are 5 steps to self-love:
1. Honor yourself.
Accept where you are and what you want to do on any given day. If you are tired and don’t want to do something, don’t judge yourself for it. If you would rather play than do something "productive," don’t condemn yourself. I’m not saying don’t go to work for 10 days and get yourself fired. I’m just saying not to be hard on yourself for what you want to do and don’t want to do in any given moment.
2. Give yourself what you need.
If you need sleep, sleep. If you want to take a break from something, do it. If you know there is something you need, let yourself have it. You don’t always have to “suck it up.” Respect your own needs just as you would respect anyone else’s.
Take time to sit, and give your mind a break. Take anywhere from 2 minutes to a half and hour. Some people do it for longer. I have an uncle who is as old school as they come. He is the Indian John Wayne, and he meditates. He once said, "I take 2 minutes. I don’t think about nothin!’" If he can take time out for that, anyone can.
4. Be mindful of your self-talk.
Pay attention to your thoughts, especially if you are working on something. How kind are you to yourself if you make a mistake? I’ve called myself an idiot in my head countless times. When you look in the mirror when you get dressed, is the first thing you think of a criticism? I’ve caught myself doing that and realized that I would never say to another person the things I think about myself. The kindness you reserve for others you deserve yourself.
5. Compliment yourself at least once a day.
Give yourself praise when you do well. Maybe when you look in the mirror find something you like about yourself and say it. Lately, I have been complimenting my body instead of immediately focusing on flaws. Most days the first thing I think of is what I like. That didn’t always happen. Now, I feel so much better first thing in the morning.
Until next time...look behind and beyond the veil…
Javed Ansari bundled himself up to go for a walk after the first snowstorm of the season. It was a sunny day, and he always loved sunshine against the backdrop of snow. The walk would do him good, as he was not feeling like himself recently. Although he was lost in his own thoughts, he could not help but notice footprints leading away from his house. Nothing earth shattering about footprints, but since he lived alone, he thought it worth investigating.
All sorts of thoughts raced through his mind. Who would come to his house and leave? What did they want with him? He really had no interest in being bothered with anyone at the moment. What a nuisance. Oh, well. Had to be a logical explanation. No big deal.
Logic guided his life after all. As a professor of chemistry at the local university, the past fifteen years were about experimentation, finding data, finding solutions, winning awards and accolades, and the respect of his peers. Or they said they respected him. He could take it or leave it. He just wanted to do his work.
Well, that was until he met Layla. Layla was on fellowship studying biochemistry. He found her fascinating. Beautiful caramel skin with long, dark hair and hazel eyes. He loved her Mumbai accent, especially since she always made fun of his American accent. His American Born Confused Desi accent. Of course, he would counter and tell her that her accent was just a British knockoff. She never did like that very much.
He smirked when he thought of her annoyance. All the little things they did just to vex each other. She would make fun of his Hindi when he spoke it. Their dinners were a mix of science salon bombastic banter. She was clever and witty. He had an enormous amount of respect for her. The more time he spent with her the more besotted he became.
All he wanted was to marry her. He meticulously went from jewelry store to jewelry store researching. Looking at perfect cuts, sizes, shapes. He wanted the perfect ring for his perfect woman. He chose a halo shape for his angel. He put it aside and tried to put it out of his mind until he saw her the next day. He kept imagining the smile on her face as he placed the ring on her finger. His enthusiasm was short-lived, however. After they had finished the dinner he cooked, he brought up the subject.
“Do you want to get married?” he asked her.
“What?” she asked, taken aback.
“Do you want to get married?” he asked, with a little more hesitation in his voice this time.
She paused. At that moment, his stomach sank, and he wished he could have taken the words back.
“I didn’t know how to tell you this, but my parents arranged my marriage in Mumbai. I just found out a few days ago. I didn’t even know they were looking for me.”
“Are you kidding me? What is it, the 50’s? You can’t tell them no?”
“If I don’t agree, they’ll completely cut me off.”
“Wow, you’ll let them dictate your future for money? I don’t believe it.”
“What will we do for money? You’re still studying, too. I don’t know how to be poor.”
“I do. For you, I would find a way. It’s a shame you wouldn’t do that for me. I understand.”
“I think you should leave.”
Without another word she left. Even now as he trudged through the sun-tinted snow and recalled the memory, it made him sad. He lamented over the broken dreams of the children they could have had. A gorgeous and smart little girl that looked just like her. A handsome, brilliant, and mischievous little boy. A lifetime of missed opportunities.
A cold gust of wind smacked him in the face, and he started to not care who those footsteps belonged to. He didn’t care who it was or why they were there. The one person he wanted it to be, it just wouldn’t be. It didn’t matter to him at this point.
He walked towards the lake he liked to meditate near. As he came closer, he saw a figure. Then, he saw two children running near the water. The figure’s back was turned. So, he didn’t see a face. As he came closer, he saw the face that broke his heart all those years ago.
“Layla? What are you doing here?”
“Raising you and our children.”
“I came back.”
“To a life of poverty with me?”
“To a life of happiness with you.”
After warming themselves up with tea, she showed him their wedding picture, like she had been doing every day for the past month since the concussion that caused his memory failures. He smiled. He smiled at his lifetime of dreams fulfilled.
I was the only brown child born in a suburban Philadelphia hospital in the 70’s. When my mother went to visit me in the maternity ward, a visiting grandfather quizzically looked at me, then her, and said, “I was wondering who that baby’s mother was.” His reaction isn’t surprising because my family was in the local newspaper for being the first family of Indian descent in the area.
From my first days on this planet and for many years after, I stood out in Pennsylvania, whether I wanted to or not. I did actually like being the only Sameena I knew for years. I didn’t like it so much when people would try to call me Samantha just because it was easier for them. I was bemused when I went I went to Penn State in State College when people would stare at me because they couldn’t figure out what I was. I imagine thoughts like these: She’s got brown skin with a pointy nose and straight hair. That just doesn’t add up! Even someone who was black assumed I was black mixed with something. My world at that time was pretty much black and white, with little shades of gray, or in my case mocha.
It was during that time, at the age of 20 that I decided that I didn’t want to live in Pennsylvania for the rest of my life. Don’t get me wrong. I love Philadelphia and my last PA town, West Chester. I just decided it was too cold and monocultural for me. Despite that, 20 years later, I was still there. I think of the Talking Heads song, “Once in a Lifetime” when I reflect on my life sometimes. “Well, how did I get here?” You said it, David Byrne. It wasn’t just how did I get to where I was, but when I knew it wasn’t where I wanted to be why was I still there? The simple answer was just fear. Fear of the unknown.
Prior to this realization, I had already quit a stable teaching job to pursue a full-time writing career. At that moment, my belief in my own capabilities became stronger than my fear of the unknown. It was my belief in myself that inspired me to move. To the Bible Belt in Georgia.
“Well, how did I get here?” First of all, I’m in a city right next to Atlanta. Secondly, it’s diverse. It’s a southern town with more diversity than Philadelphia. Now, I am a proud Yankee, and I will admit that I used to possess the northern preconceived notions of the South. I am in a southern city, and I am surrounded by more cultural diversity than I have ever been around in my entire life. Yet again, I have learned the lesson that you can’t judge.
At this moment, I am beyond complete with my decision to end my Pennsylvania chapter and begin my Georgia one. Albeit, I am a blazing liberal in a blazing conservative state. That’s okay. Politics is a joke in this country right now anyway. I am just enjoying the glow of making a decision and running with it.
I have only been here two months, so I can’t say how long this chapter will last. I am just loving a winter without snow.
Until next time...look behind and beyond the veil…
The United States is anything but united at the moment. It is divided and uncertain, even “crooked.” In the wake of the election and the recent electoral college vote, some are looking for some sort of straightening. People need some sort of certainty that the progress of the last eight years will not be undone. Inspired by the legacy of civil disobedience winning the day, women from all over the country will convene in Washington D.C. to protest President-Elect Donald Trump and stand united to protect the rights of women and marginalize groups. I understand the motivation and the desire to take action, but I will not be joining this assembly.
Someone recently called me jaded. Maybe so, but at this point I am realistic. Donald Trump called Mexicans ‘rapists.’ He talked about banning Muslims and registering them. He only gained in popularity. He openly bragged about sexual assault. He got elected. Around 53% of white women voted for him dismissing his comments as just vulgar. Not only that, they found someone who had settled out of court for fraud to be more trustworthy than Hillary Clinton, who was cleared of wrongdoing time and time again by a Republican Congress. The President-Elect’s campaign was not won in spite of bigotry, xenophobia, and misogyny. It was won because of them.
Some may argue that Trump only won because of an antiquated Electoral College system where rural states with small populations have disproportionately larger electoral votes. There is some weight to that given that Hillary Clinton won the popular vote by close to 3 million votes. It doesn’t matter because the outcome is still the same. The pathological liar has access to the nuclear codes.
So, what good is me standing outside in the freezing D.C. cold going to do to help? Yes, collectively, we can say we don’t approve and we’re watching you. We’ve been saying that, and he still got elected. Will Donald Trump actually care enough to change any plan that he and the new “robber baron” Cabinet have? Of course not.
For that reason, I am going to continue to share my voice and dissent in one way. My best form of dissent is to continue to live my life as freely as possible. I am not going to bite my nails and fret over what Trump and the rest of his billionaires will try to do. I will be watching, and if a time comes where I need to take action, I will. Until then, my mantra starting January 20, 2017 will be, “Just call me Gloria Gaynor because ‘I Will Survive.” As will the rest of us.
As I am still trying to make sense of this incongruous election cycle, I wonder how liberals FUBARed this thing so badly. As little as two years ago, if you told any of us that a presidential candidate would espouse blatantly racist and sexist sentiment coupled with criminality and a lack of knowledge on important issues, we would have said that candidate wouldn’t make it passed the primaries. We all need to stand because Donald Trump’s election corrected all of our assumptions. However, a real surprise amidst a sea of surprises is the number of women who voted for Trump.
53% of all female white voters voted Trump. Hillary Clinton’s campaign counted on the woman vote, especially after Trump was caught on tape bragging about committing sexual assault and cheating on his wife. One would logically think this behavior would submarine his chances with women. It unequivocally did not. Many of the women who voted for him just dismissed his comments as vulgar, nothing more. These comments were simply relegated to the “boys will be boys” category. The lack of outrage and just looking the other way is just another indicator of how pervasive patriarchy still is in this country.
Grabbing someone in the genital area without their permission is sexual assault, plain and simple. Not only did Trump admit that, he gloated about being able to get away with it. This is beyond locker room talk. If men do talk about their sexual exploits, they are about consensual acts. The fact that this percentage of women could just dismiss Trump bragging about a nonconsensual act is part of the rape culture that this society is conditioned into.
As children, when a boy has hit a girl, how many times have we heard, “He just likes you. That’s all that means.” At that age, we’re already getting the message that violence and affection are connected, and we should just dismiss those acts.
How many of us have excused men who make us uncomfortable because we’re afraid of backlash? How many of us are told either verbally or nonverbally, “You were asking for it” if we are assaulted or grabbed? When defending accused rapists, attorneys immediately go to past sexual history to slut-shame an accuser. How many societies stigmatize a woman who is raped and place shame on her?
When women are educated about rape prevention, they are told: don’t put yourself in a situation. That makes total sense, but how often are men told not to rape? We constantly get inundated with messages that blame the woman for sexual harassment or assault and take accountability away from the man.
Patriarchy is how this group of women could excuse misogyny and admission of sexual assault. It is also how women could hold Clinton accountable for “lying” about Benghazi when a Republican committee cleared her of any criminal behavior. Several email probes involving a private server cleared her of any wrongdoing, but she is still considered untrustworthy. Trump, who is about to go on trial for fraud and has been accused of not paying contractors, is still trusted among these women. The list goes on. It’s not just this election. Our whole lives are filled with justifications of inequality. That is how the majority of white women could still vote for Trump.
In no way am I saying that’s the only reason that many women voted the way they did. The Left bears responsibility for alienating the entire working class, men and women. A cycle of judgment occurs on both sides. Hillary Clinton called Trump supporters “a basket of deplorables.” Although some of the Trump supporters’ acts are deplorable. That’s not the way to win voters and influence people. This comment is just a small example of what the working class has dealt with from the Left over the years. Allegations of voter suppression within your own party don’t help either.
What I am saying is patriarchy is among a list of contributing factors as to why women voted the way they did. It underlies how women are constantly taught to accept demeaning sexually aggressive behavior from men. It explains in part how women could accept misogyny and predatory sexual acts from a man who wants to lead them.
Until next time… look behind and beyond the veil...