Are Girls as Valuable as Boys?

March is Women’s History Month … so every Wednesday this month I’m joining other bloggers in writing posts to Celebrate Women. Today’s prompt is … “Share your personal narrative about how you became the woman you are today or how women influenced how you became the man you are today.”

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The Beginning:

It’s 1965, my parents have two boys, followed by three girls. A few months after the third girl is born, one of the boys dies from health complications. Around this time, my mom becomes pregnant again and is due on my dad’s birthday.

They assume the stage is set … for another boy.

Fourteen months after my sister was born, eight months after my brother passed away, one day after my dad’s birthday … I am born.

Four years later, I have a younger sister … so my house has one boy and five girls.

From time to time, I hear, “Janet was supposed to be a boy.” I keep quiet until I’m in my teens, then I say that I’d prefer not hearing that.

Combine that with a strict old-fashioned religious environment where both my family and the church believe in a stern man-is-the-head hierarchy … and I develop major insecurities as a woman.

The Middle:

In my early twenties, I leave my childhood boxes. Love from my husband and friends helps me take steps towards understanding my value. I research women, their place in the world and in God’s eyes (some of that helps, some doesn’t). I read, study, pray and forgive. In bits and pieces, I am able to shed some of the bondage I associate with being a woman. I began to value myself … a little.

But I don’t yet know the importance of learning to be comfortable with my own insecurities. I assume I need to ‘get over’ the insecurities that hound me. I’m confused about how to do that. Instead of learning from strong women that I admire … I try to be them. I figure that’s the secret. One does this and that … and another does so and so. It worked for them, so why won’t it work for me? It’s a confusing-never-fulfilling ride.

Two things save me during this time. A friend who is into deep conversations and silly movies late at night. Both of them can help with the stresses of life. And I’m drawn to running. Though at first, I’m not sure if I should be. Shouldn’t a good woman/wife/mother be giving to others instead of taking time for herself? With time the stability and joy I find in running helps me see how vital it is for my sanity.

I’m a mother of three, who I teach at home. I’m a business owner. I’m involved with my church. I’m tired. I pause … there has to be more. Another season of soul-searching. Another round of reading, studying and praying helps clear my mind. More layers are peeled and I find I still have a deep disappointment against myself. I don’t like me. I’m not good enough. Another attempt at forgiving.

In my mid-thirties, my world crashes. Recovery for a beat-up body that almost died is tough … then I discover that my mind and spirit are also severely beat-up. In the middle of the pain … anger and disappointment rage. Old insecurities burst back on the scene with a vengeance. I don’t even recognize it at first, but I’m partially blaming myself … the woman I am (or am not) as the reason that I got injured.

A saint arrives. A woman who knows she is loved and who knows how to love. She advises me to set boundaries … to protect myself from environments that stress me. She encourages me to Be Still. In the stillness I begin to feel love … unconditional love. A love that loves me … just as I am. The good, the bad and the ugly. The little girl, the woman, the person that I am. It’s all me and it’s all loved.

The amazing thing about feeling loved is the freedom it gives me to be me. It’s not without struggles, but forgiving others and myself is easier, and the labels and false ideas about being a woman fade. A pleasant surprise when I love myself for who I am … is that I am also able to love others for who they are.

The End:

I’m not at the end yet (middle-age reaches to eighty, right?) I pray with each passing year, the strong dividing line I’ve carried about the value difference between women and men continues to fade and I more fully embrace the person that was born on a stormy fall day in 1965.

For more posts that Celebrate Women or to join the blogging party, visit here.