I Still Feel Awkward Doing “Men's Work”
I had a skill saw in my hands, and I was talking to my 13 year old daughter who was putting up the collapsable sawhorses. Behind me was a window with an air conditioner hanging halfway out of it, and my 10 year old was inside the bedroom holding the unit from falling.
My friend drove up and I felt that familiar little twinge of uncomfortableness, shame and uncertainty. Just a brief passing feeling in which I decided, within a fraction of a second, that I would not explain to her why I was outside doing this job while my husband was inside. And I wouldn’t defend what, exactly, he was doing inside. She of all people, as a capable, independent, strong single mom would surely not think it mattered that I was doing this job while he was doing something else inside.
We chatted about the reason she had come to the house, and she left without another comment. I breathed a sigh of relief. Then I acknowledged the feeling instead of shoving it aside this time. I’m 35 years old and it’s still a thing to work through. Ok.
I get that little feeling every time I drive a truck or lift something heavy or open a door for a man. It’s how I feel when I check the oil in my car or when I jump start a car in a parking lot as men hesitate, watch, and weigh the decision to offer help or not. It’s the same feeling as when I walk through Home Depot with my 15 year old daughter, knowing exactly what we’re after and where we’re going, and an over zealous male employee shouts from down the isle, “Do you need any help?”
It’s that feeling of not belonging. It’s the little voice that whispers, “You’re not supposed to be here, woman.”
Tuning into my feelings isn’t always easy for me and in this case it’s been a benefit. Intellectually, I know exactly who I am, what I am capable of doing, and where anyone who thinks otherwise can stick their opinion. I ride that knowledge, and do the thing that needs to be done, figuring it out along the way.
As a kid, I climbed trees and played in the dirt. I enjoyed unloading bales of hay off the delivery truck. I trained a horse, was the first to ride her, and would go on trail rides up the mountain by myself.
Inside my head, my dad’s voice would remind me that I’m not like most women- I’m strong and capable of doing anything.
Did you catch the misogyny there?
If so, you’re further along in unpacking the patriarchy than I was just a few years ago.
It took me years of introspection to realize that my dad’s support of me always came with the caveat that I could do anything and be anything because I was *different.* Because I was *his daughter.* Because I wasn’t like typical weak and incapable women.
Those wounds cut deep.
After a lifetime of not feeling like I fit in with women's cultural conditioning and always enjoying physical and intellectual work,
After 20 years of calling myself an equalist and then an egalitarian and then even the big F word- feminist,
After nearly 2 decades of walking out equal decision making in marriage and doing whatever works regardless of gender roles,
After several years of being a single mom and doing all-the-things,
Long after embracing my outside-the-stereotype personality as a part of who I am as a woman,
Though I reject the entire silly notion of women's work and men's work,
I still feel awkward doing “men’s work.”
This is on you, dads. It doesn’t matter how supportive you are of your daughters, if you’re a misogynist in general, they will internalize that message. Your words matter. Your influence matters. The heart behind your words matters.
I’m grateful to have had several women in my life, including my mom, who would step up to do all-the-things. Despite religious beliefs, reality reigned. The reality is that women generally don’t back down from what needs to get done, even if they’d rather a man do it. That probably made all the difference in accepting or rejecting these messages intellectually.
But emotionally, I still have some work to do. I hope my daughters and yours won’t ever have to.
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