Harry Potter's Guide to Depression

Note: There are spoilers in this post for Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. If you haven't read it, there might be something seriously wrong with you. I recommend seeking medical attention, or your nearest library, as quickly as possible.

Over the last two days, my various social media has been blowing up with lovely tributes to the truly talented Robin Williams. The news of Williams' death is so tragic, and I have vacillated between feeling uplifted and sad by the prominence of articles and posts about mental health. Understanding and dealing with mental health issues like depression and anxiety is really important to me personally, and I'm glad to see that it is being taken seriously right now. I am, however, very sad that we often don't become more aware of important issues like this until it results in someone's death. It is my great hope that our society can develop a better understanding of depression and anxiety and lift some of the stigma for those who suffer from it.

Over the next few posts, I would like to share some things that have helped me in my own attempts to improve my mental health. My goal in doing this is to have a conversation about something that we, as a society, don't talk about very openly.

I read a facebook post that called Depression a silent killer. I would agree with that because most people that I know who have experienced depression have largely kept it to themselves. However, I would take it a step further and say that depression can kill you even before you're dead.

J.K. Rowling has said that she based her dementors, the creepy hooded guards of the wizard prison Azkaban, on her own battle with depression. First reading the Harry Potter books, I never thought about this, but Austin and I have been listening to the audiobooks the last few months. We just finished The Prisoner of Azkaban, and I have to say that I think Rowling has captured depression brilliantly.

Dementors suck the happiness out of the very air around them, but they do more than this. In a dementor's presence, you feel like you will never be happy again. They make you think of the worst parts of yourself and your experiences. Eventually, a dementor will turn you into someone unrecognizable. They will suck out your very soul and leave you a shell of your true self.

Of course, in the Harry Potter series, dementors can be driven away by a powerful charm. The Patronus charm uses the caster's happy thoughts and memories to stave off the soul-sucking dementors. I can say from experience that depression does not work that way. When I felt my worst in my year of graduate school, I actually had more to be happy about than to be unhappy about. But this didn't make me feel better. It just made me feel like I was unworthy of all the good things in my life.

However, I have to say that I have a new favorite scene in Azkaban, one that I actually find great strength in when thinking of my own experience with anxiety and depression. Harry was able to produce a fully-fledged corporeal Patronus that drove away hundreds of dementors only because he had glimpsed a future version of himself doing just that (it's complicated). When Hermione expresses her amazement that Harry was able to perform such a complex piece of magic at the tender age of 13, Harry tells her "I knew I could do it this time because I'd already done it."


That is basically my own personal Patronus Charm. There is no simple thinking happy thoughts or chocolate consumption to combat my anxiety or depression. It is what it is. But it is not permanent. I have always been happy again. I know I can get through it this time because I've already gotten through it once.

A Post In Which the Author Channels the Dictionary

 

On March 25th Gloria Steinem turned eighty years old, an event that sparked a great deal of examination of the feminist movement. I think it is difficult for a woman my age to imagine an America before her incredible influence. After all, we have Women's History Month and Ms. Magazine and the Internet is happily overflowing with articles encouraging body appreciation like this one. Still, the more I read, the more I think we need a new word to replace "feminism": a word that more effectively describes what we actually believe and want.

I'm pretty sure that's not about to happen though, so I will just have to explain the less effective word. Reading about Gloria Steinem, I was reminded of two opposing thoughts I have held about the term "feminist" in the last several years, both of them inaccurate. The older of the two thoughts was "I don't dare call myself a feminist or people will think I hate men." This is ridiculous on a number of levels. Feminists do not go around calling men "the enemy". (That is a title we reserve for Rush Limbaugh, for obvious reasons) We do not think that women are superior to men. We simply wish to have the same opportunities and respect as men. Joss Whedon made a great speech (which you can watch here) in which he dissected the term "feminist". His primary dislike of the word came from the fact that "you can't be born an 'ist'". This suffix is used to denote a person who subscribes to a certain belief system or practices a certain activity: botanist, Baptist, sexist. This misleading little "ist" gives the impression that equality for men and women is not a natural state. Obviously an untruth. So here's my first definition:

Feminism - 1. n.  the belief that equality is equality is equality and everybody deserves it regardless of genetic makeup.

The International Men's March to Stop Rape,
Sexual Assault, and Gender Violence

Clearly my fear of being perceived as a "man-hater" was irrational but also seems to be shared. According to a 2013 HuffPost/YouGov poll, only 20% of Americans consider themselves feminists though 82% believe in gender equality. This seems largely to result from a belief that "feminist" has a negative connotation, especially for men. Unfortunately, there are actually real people out in the world who believe that feminists are either lesbians or ugly women who can't manage to land a boyfriend. Well, the whole point of feminism is not to be defined by our sexuality and I don't believe in ugly women so we're just going to move on from that load of [insert unprintable word of your choice]. In reality, feminism is not only beneficial to all women but to men too! My fiancé is an aspiring opera singer with the soul of a poet and an intense dislike for all sports. I imagine he has felt "unmanly" around his buffer, more athletic (but far less loveable) counterparts as many times as I have felt unfeminine by my inability to put on eyeliner.

I'm not stupid or naïve, by the way. I am aware that men and women have different anatomies and hormones and these differences cause them to feel and experience the world in different ways. But this is just genetics doing its thing, not a requirement. However, our society seems to think that men (n. an adult human male) and women (n. an adult human female) are supposed to behave in very specific ways. These are constructs, however, not the natural state of things. I say this with confidence because I have had the good fortune to watch two little boys grow from tiny balls of fat desirous primarily of food and warmth into tiny people with proper little thoughts about dinosaurs, the ocean, and Doctor Who. My youngest nephew, Nico, has a toy kitchen which he adores. He likes to wash his plastic dishes when his Daddy washes the real dishes. Preston, his six-year-old brother, found two mystery Lego people in his Christmas stocking. He opened each package to find a Lego alien in one and a Lego fairy in the other. I do not exaggerate when I say that Presto seemed to think that both Lego figures held equal amounts of awesome.

I want Preston, Nico, and my own future children to dress in a way that makes them feel expressive, play with toys that educate and inspire joy, and pursue subjects, careers, and activities that sustain them physically, mentally, and emotionally. Whether or not these things lead them down a path that conforms to society's definition of masculinity is completely irrelevant to me, which brings me to my second definition of feminism:

Feminism 2) n. the belief that a person is a person is a person and everyone deserves to be treated as such regardless of personal preference.

This brings me to my second inaccurate thought regarding feminism, which was "I can't quite grad school because I write a feminist blog." As if feminism can only be represented and advocated by "driven" or "strong" or "successful" women. (Of course, all of those words are problematic but I'll get to that.) This idea is nearly as bad as the belief that feminism is for ugly women because it is the idea that a feminist has to be a certain type of woman.

In this article, Shannon Kelley credits Gloria Steinem with "showing us that feminists can be funny and get manicures." I like manicures and shopping and pretty dresses. It's kind of crazy, but I actually feel exactly the same about gender equality when I'm looking and feeling "feminine" as when I'm sans make-up and jewelry. Stunningly, my mental capacity is the same too. Being a feminist is not about acting like a man, which is more likely to inspire accusations of being bossy or controlling than respect.

Feminism 3) n. The belief that people should be taken seriously as a result of their abilities regardless of appearance or refusal to conform to stereotypes.

Steinem also redefined the idea that women are supposed to get married and have children, which is a wonderful thing. Marriage and procreation is not something that all men and women want, and no one should be pressured into a forever that they don't want. I personally am excited about getting married in a pretty white dress and I would like to raise some children one day (with equal help from Austin, of course). I have absolutely no interest in running a business, getting a PhD, being an Olympian, or any of the other awesome things that we see women in the news for. My passions and abilities seem to be leading me toward fields that are largely dominated by women. This does not make me feel like a failure as a feminist. This makes me feel like an incredibly strong, independent, and successful woman because I am taking steps to achieve the things that I know make me feel happy and fulfilled.

Feminism 4) n. the state of being true to oneself. 5) n. a word that describes the natural human state

Gloria Steinem has done tremendous things for American women, but we are a long way from thinking that feminism is cool. I admit, it's not the most self-explanatory of words but put it next to postmodern and it looks oh-so-friendly. Unfortunately, it's a word we still need but I hope not for too much longer. Take a lesson from your friendly neighborhood historian: inequality is sooooo last century.

Feminism 6) n. a word that describes the way things ought to be

Feminist graffiti on an offensive advertisement, 1979 

A Brief Message to Mothers

I have been thinking about this post for a while now, ever since my friend Vanessa sent me this amazing poetry video. It is not very long but is wonderfully insightful. Please watch it!

I have toyed with the idea of a post devoted to mothers for months now. Finally, I have decided to write it today on my own mother's birthday.

You may wonder what qualifies me to give advice to mothers since I am not one. I have a mother though and so I consider myself an expert. It is my belief that parenthood is the most important job in the world. Parents call their children their greatest accomplishments. They say that raising children is the most fulfilling thing they've ever done. This is not what I am referring to.

I am talking about saying things to Austin that I've heard my mother say to my dad. I refer to my love of fantasy and science fiction, my taste in music, my anxieties, my obsessive organization, my writing skills, my love of books and British television, my aversion to spicy foods, my devotion to crocheting, my belief in education, my open mind and overflowing heart. I refer to the essence of myself, all of which can be traced to one of my parents.

I am me because my parents are who they are. I might have been different. Austin might have been different. My nephews might have been different. The whole world might be different based on what parents taught their children. This is why I consider parenthood the most important job ever: because parents make the world what it is.

So mothers have to be careful what they teach us. Obvious, right? But I think our mothers have missed something. This is not directed at my mother but all of them, including the one I hope to be someday. It's not enough to teach us that we are beautiful and perfect and loved just the way we are.

You have to teach us that you are beautiful too.

The older we get, the more we become like you and I, for one, celebrate this. It gives me courage and confidence. Because I am like my mother, there is hope I will achieve all that I want to. But there is danger too. Will our mothers teach us that we are perfect now but we are destined to be made ugly by aging? Will my body be destroyed by my own future motherhood? We learn in our youth that every birthday is an important one because we are always worthy of celebration. Mothers, will you teach us that, at a certain age, we should not celebrate getting older anymore?

Mothers, assure us that we will not one day lose our self-worth.  Teach us that we will always be beautiful and perfect and just the right size. Teach us that it will always be more important to be smart and kind than thin and feminine. Teach us that another candle on the cake is something to be grateful for because life is a blessing.

Please.

Teach us that you are beautiful so we can believe that we will be too.

Counting on Two Hands

I thought I'd open a post about anxiety and depression with a little
Supernatural humor. I like to think I'm like Sam: being "troubled"
only makes me more awesome!

An hour after publishing my last post about our irrational ideas about our own beauty, I found myself deep in conversation with my friend, Chris. Chris told me about his own battle with academic-induced anxiety. He told me about sitting on his bathroom floor shortly after starting a master’s degree and feeling literally as if the walls were shrinking. He called his mom, and he went home. Chris has since completed an MA in history and is working diligently on his PhD at Auburn, which is how I know him. Even so, he felt a similar anxiety his first semester of his PhD program, primarily because he had no idea how he was doing in one of his classes. He has since realized that, had he been doing poorly, someone would have made him aware of the fact. And I thought about what I wrote about depression and anxiety in my grad school follow-up post – that it makes you feel alone – and I realized it required an addendum.

 

Depression and anxiety make you highly irrational.

I started taking medication and seeing a counselor for generalized anxiety when I was in high school, but I can trace it back to a decade earlier. I distinctly remember, as a kindergartener, being afraid to ask the teacher if I could go to the bathroom. It was partially shyness, but the main problem was that I wasn’t sure if I should say “bathroom” or “restroom”. I had heard it called both, and I didn’t want to say the wrong thing to my teacher. Similarly, my parents picked me up in the middle of the night from countless sleepovers and church camp outs. I would stay the whole night at a relative’s house only if my big brother was there too. Even then, it wasn’t as simple as a phone call: “Come get me!” It was an agonizing process. I never simply admitted that I wanted to go home. I came up with what seemed an appropriate excuse –  I wasn’t feeling well or I couldn’t sleep – something that I thought would appear more reasonable to my disappointed host than “I’m homesick because I’m a child and we do that sometimes.” Of course, I understand that children are not the most rational of beings. They haven’t learned how the world works yet or that children can get away with saying anything at all. But my anxiety, perhaps based in a child’s timidity, was exacerbated by the desire to be well-thought of, a desire that long-outlasted elementary school.

I joined my high school’s newspaper staff because I thought I liked writing. My first article was well-received, which made me happy until it came time to write a second one. What if I couldn’t write anything as good as the first one? Making good grades on tests had the same effect: a high “A” was all well and good until you realized there was nowhere else to go but down. I loved being considered smart, but I lived in fear of someone finding out it wasn’t true.

Every time I moved somewhere new, where there were presumably no expectations of my intelligence, I thought I would be different. But I fell into this pattern again, to an even greater extent, when I went to college and finally graduate school, where it culminated in a near inability to look my professors in the eye because I was sure I must have done something disappointing.

Shall we analyze the irrationality of these situations? First of all, the only time one should be that stressed about high school or college, for that matter, is if one is making poor grades. (I don’t mention graduate school here because I gather that it is highly stressful even for the perfectly rational and mentally sound.) Second, there was no truth for anyone to discover. I’m not the “makes-good-grades-without-trying” type that we all know and hate, but I’ve always been a good student and a good writer. Even if I did poorly on a paper or test, it’s not a statement about my value as a human being.  

My anxiety has never been solely related to school, however, though that has always been a source of great stress because of the importance I have placed on academics (I’m Hermione, remember? Plain but clever). When I started driving, my anxiety increased dramatically, I suppose because I was expected to navigate the world without the buffer of my parents or older brother. I didn’t like putting gas in my car because pay-at-the-pump can be confusing, but paying inside required human interaction. Shopping alone was a traumatic experience. It is often hard to find what I want, and I feel perpetually in someone’s way. I feel guilty when I forget my reusable bags and like I’m inconveniencing the cashier when I bring them. There is a moment of fear every time I swipe my debit card, even if I know exactly how much money is in my account. Phone calls from numbers I don’t recognize frighten me: did I forget to pay a bill? Did something bad happen? And whenever someone says, “Come see me after this” I spend the entire class or meeting going over what I might have done wrong.

I assume that you recognize the irrationality in all this because even I can. I recognized it even as I was doing it, but here’s another addendum:

Like cigarettes and chocolate, anxiety is habit-forming.

Without even knowing I was doing it, I built my life around avoiding situations that made me anxious: I didn’t drive on the interstate, I didn’t pump my own gas, I didn’t go to the grocery store alone, I didn’t answer questions in class, I didn’t join extra-curricular organizations unless someone asked me to in which case I didn’t say “no”… Until the idea of having anxiety made me as nervous as the situations that caused it. I’ve had the same recurring nightmare from the time I was eighteen until a few months ago. While the details change, I have always forgotten to write a paper until the night before it is due. I completely freak out. It is the middle of the night, and I am alone with my panic. Basically, my recurring anxiety dream is about having severe anxiety.    

What can I say? It happens to the best of us.

Of course, people told me this way of thinking made no sense. But you know how married people talk about falling in love and they say, “When it happens, you just know”, and you think you’re going to be the one person in the world who doesn’t “just know” and are, therefore, going to miss the marriage boat? That’s sort of what it feels like. People told me that the world is not actually that frightening of a place. They said that no one is paying that much attention to what I do. They told me it doesn’t matter if I mess something up on occasion. And I knew, in my head, that they were right, but I felt like those were rules that applied to their life, their world, not mine. These were people who spoke without thinking and drove to Atlanta and back in the rain.

I was so afraid of disappointing people that I became an expert at figuring out what they wanted to hear and saying it. And people liked me, which is what I wanted, but I feared that maybe they didn’t really know me: that the person they liked was someone I had invented. Until I couldn’t tell which version was me and which was invented. I couldn’t tell the difference between what I wanted and what I thought other people wanted for me.

But the absolutely worst part of it was that I really believed that was just how it felt to be me. I did make a couple of efforts, mostly in college, to reinvent myself and the person I wanted to be. But by last year, I had accepted that this was who I was. I had come to define myself to myself as nervous, high-strung, cowardly, and close to only a privileged few. There was a time when I could count the number of people I wholeheartedly loved and opened up to on one hand. I thought I was going to feel like that and be like that for the rest of my life. I thought I was going to ruin Austin’s happiness by dragging him into it.

I repeat: anxiety and depression make you highly irrational.

I definitely am not trivializing anxiety here or suggesting it can be turned off like a switch. It can’t. But it doesn’t last forever. I promise it doesn’t. I’ve been anxious and depressed for a long time before, but I’ve always been happy again.

I feel so much better since leaving school, and not simply because of the academic stress. I’ve mentioned before that the act of quitting gave me courage, but it did more than this. I feel as if I walked around with a veil over my face that showed people what they wanted to see, but when I took it off they still loved me. And for the first time I could see how silly it was to think they would judge the choices I made about my life.

I’m still anxious every day. I still often don’t sleep well. I still get nervous when the phone rings. I agonize over sending emails at work. I had my first post-graduate school “freak out” as a result of car trouble that I thought was going to interfere with my job. I didn’t feel properly me again for three days. On top of the familiar anxiety was a feeling that I’d failed or relapsed. But do you know what’s really strange? It’s been two months since I’d really panicked and, until then, I’d nearly forgotten what it felt like.

A little advice for keeping anxiety at bay.

That’s fine with me.

I didn’t make a conscious effort to put that behind me when I left grad school because I honestly didn’t think it was possible. Now I know that I can deal with it. I’ve learned that I can keep it at bay with a haircut and a purpose: I joined a book club, volunteer at a library, write a blog, join service Saturdays, take vegan cooking lessons, and go out with friends. Still, every time I am confronted with something I am nervous about doing (which, let’s be honest, is still at least 5 days a week), I think about putting it off. Anxiety is habit-forming. And then I think, “No. I’m not going back there.”

I wanted to write this post partly as encouragement because I so remember thinking it was forever. And it wasn’t. But there is another reason too. As Chris and I discussed our experiences, he told me he wished he’d known how I was feeling last year so we could have talked about it then. A year ago, I never would have told him. I was obsessed with being liked and I didn’t see what about my neurosis was likeable or even acceptable. So I spent years trying to hide that I hate driving and that writing papers terrified me. Since I opened up in my grad school post, I’ve talked to a lot of people and a lot of conversations have started with “I don’t tell people this, but…”

The truth is, I would not relive that level of anxiety for anything – not even if it was my only opportunity to travel with the Doctor in the TARDIS. But now that it’s over, I’m glad it happened. I’m glad I know what it feels like, and I’m glad I get to talk about it. Because by not talking about it, we send the message to ourselves and others needing encouragement and support that there is something wrong, even shameful, about the way we think and feel.

I kind of wish the Dowager Countess narrated my life.

So the facts are these: I am high-strung. I ask an annoying number of questions because I’m terrified of screwing up. I hate driving in the rain. I don’t do roads with more than 4 lanes. I’m shy at first but once you know me, I’m hilarious. I have no sense of rhythm but love dancing. I hate shopping alone, but I do it. I find inspiration in stories, fictional and real. I love history but have a terrible memory. I find people fascinating. I have strong opinions that may or may not mesh with yours: it’s okay with me if it’s okay with you. This is me, and you can take it or leave it.  

And since I’ve accepted that people will either like me or not, I have found myself so much more open to them. I’m not thinking so much about what will make me more impressive to others. Honestly, I think I’ve always liked people, but I used to be afraid of their judgment. Now I see an opportunity to hear stories, to learn, to connect with my world. I know that the anxiety will probably always be there, in the back of my mind, waiting to creep up to the front of my mind. But I also know that I can handle it and still be happy as long as I keep saying, “No. You are not welcome here.”

And since accepting this, the people I love can't be counted on two hands.

Be Rational, People

The idea for this post (parts 1 and 2) came from my friend Mike, and has since grown into a monster that I’ve sat down to write at least seven different times. Mike and I worked together at the Auburn University library over the summer where we bonded over a mutual love for science fiction and fantasy. Among other shows, he told me about the show Warehouse 13, which he particularly liked for its strong female character, Claudia. He considers Claudia, a resourceful and tech-savvy inventor, a good role model for his teenage nieces. “Who else do they have?” he asked. “Paris Hilton?” Mike’s nieces sound like pretty awesome young women already, but I think he brings up a relevant point.

Claudia, from Warehouse 13

I started writing this post in my head months ago and, at that time, it had a clear thesis. I have since lost all concept of what it is actually about and where it is going. But it’s my blog so I’ll ramble if I want to, right? My conversation with Mike led me to poll my friends about their favorite female role models in books, film, television, and comics. So I started compiling a list that included Hermione Granger (Harry Potter) Anne Shirley (Anne of Green Gables), Scout Finch (To Kill a Mockingbird), Eowyn (Lord of the Rings), J.K. Rowling, Oprah Winfrey, Ellen DeGeneres, and Jennifer Lawrence.

And one metaphorical can of worms was opened after another. First of all, we couldn’t all agree and some delightful analysis of fictional women ensued. Apparently, we should have all been lit majors. It is no secret that Hermione Granger is my personal heroine, but my sister-in-law pointed out that, though Hermione is a positive role model, she often plays second fiddle to Harry. Similarly, some people thought The Hunger Games’ Katniss was an example of a strong, brave young woman who became the face of a revolution. Others felt that she lost this persona in the second and third books after suffering various traumas. The media hype surrounding the films portrays the story as a love triangle, and I love the below response to that.

Going off on a tangent here, but I don't understand love triangles. How does one romantically love two people at once? Sherman Alexie describes my feelings exactly: "He loved her, of course, but better than that, he chose her, day after day. Choice: that was the thing."

I came across the second can of worms – in the form of this infographic – while scouring the internet for fictional female role models. I admit that it has some troubling character/plot inaccuracies. The title alone, however, brings up an important point: “Why do all the girls who save the day only look a certain way?” Basically, the author asks why popular heroines are all “white” and shy. I believe Suzanne Collins actually describes Katniss as having olive-toned skin, but she is portrayed in the films by the light-skinned Jennifer Lawrence (whom I adore, by the way). All the other heroines are, in fact, “white”.

(Another tangent: I use “white” only because I can’t think of another word. Caucasian suggests these heroines hail from a mountain range in Russia so that doesn’t work either. I am bothered by the use of “black” and “white” as descriptors, though because 1) they are colors, not descriptions of ethnicity, and 2) they are not even accurate as we are all just varying shades of brown. My five-year-old nephew came home from kindergarten and told his mother “Some kids at my school have light brown and dark brown skin. Our skin color is bright brown.” When his mother explained that his skin color is called “white”, Preston exclaimed “What? We’re not white! We’re not Voldemort!” Children are the best social commentators.)

"When I was nine years old, Star Trek came on. I looked at it

and I went screaming through the house, 'Come quick! There's a

black lady on television and she ain't no maid!' I kew right then

and there I could be anything I wanted to be." - Whoopi Goldberg

Revenons à nos moutons…The author is making his point about the scarcity of African American heroines specifically in film adaptations of popular books. I wonder if authors tend to write characters that resemble themselves, and writers probably fall into the quiet bookworm personality spectrum. So the real question, perhaps, is why are we not reading best sellers written by African American women? It really bothers me to present a question and not provide a solution but I don’t have one. I would love recommendations though!

Austin opened the third can of worms by informing me that men are people too. I suspected it might be true, but now
I’m sure. I feel that my previous post provides too simplistic a discussion of body image and media. For one thing, a number of the men I know are also concerned about sexualized media portrayals of women. They don’t buy into the “beauty” stereotype and are offended when television and film portray men as doing so.

But even beyond this, media portrayals of men also affect how they see themselves. My friend Kacey recently attended Dragon Con with her husband and commented that “plenty of men there were looking on their buff-tastic fellow geeks cosplaying their favorite characters with body envy.” Male super heroes and members of the Enterprise crew also wear skin-tight uniforms. Most male heroes (in visual media) are portrayed as very fit and physically strong. The general feel I get from this is not sexualization as much as a show of strength. My dad suggested that it is not so much an issue
of physical objectification. Rather, each gender is presented in their stereotypical ideal. According to these “ideals”, sexy = feminine and strong = masculine

This = Untruth

So, why don’t I hear much about how media representations affect men? Are women more sensitive to social pressures? Does society train us to believe that stereotypes about men are true while those about women are not? Surely, it is as great a concern: boys should not be made to feel “unmanly” because they don’t look like Thor.

The last can of worms (which no doubt Preston would inform me is a disgusting and not very vegan-friendly metaphor) almost prevented me from publishing this post. It is that I am a huge hypocrite. I complain about these stereotypes and simultaneously consume the media that perpetuates them. For example, I like to listen to Pandora’s Dance Cardio radio station when I exercise, and I don’t think there is a song on that station that does not objectify the female body. It’s not the message I’d like to send, but it serves the purpose of getting me pumped up to suffer.

Then there is my newfound devotion to the show Supernatural. I love the series, but the main characters (two 20-something brothers) are often depicted using their good looks and fake badges to gather information (and a phone number) from a scantily clad barmaid. In spite of this, the show actually has many of the positive themes found in some of my favorite books like Harry Potter or The Lord of the Rings: family, loyalty, courage, and free will all set against the backdrop of an epic battle between good and evil. So, should I feel guilty about watching a show where this is fairly standard dialogue?

I’m going to say "no", and my blog means my rules. What I actually need (rather than guilt) is greater media literacy and a better grasp on reality. I say this to partially poke fun at my love of all things outside the realm of believability (time-traveling alien, demon-fighting siblings, school for wizards and witches...), but it’s also really true.

Example: I have devoted a large chunk of the last five to seven years of my life to writing. I am told that I am good at it, and I desire to be good at it, but I do not believe myself to be good at it. I mean, I’ve written enough "A" papers to know logically that I am, but I don’t believe it. When I write, I get nervous, I have an irrational fear of accidental plagiarism, I obsessively reread and re-edit papers I already turned in. People told me over and over again that I wrote well, but I thought they must have missed something. Then, I recognized the irrationality of that thought and feared I might be mentally unstable.

The jury is still out on the latter, but if I'm crazy then so are a lot of other people. Because there are, apparently, doubts about this woman's physical beauty. What I am trying to say is this:

There's nothing wrong with liking books, movies, or TV shows, but it's not real. And I don't mean the part about dragons and magic. While no doubt they come from somewhere, the stereotypes are not real. Masculinity and Femininity cannot be simply defined and nobody is just one thing.

and this:

We look at ourselves and we can't see that we are beautiful. We see fat and flaws and we're not even looking at what our real value is. We spend so much time looking at ourselves that we don't see what other people see. And that is just crazy.

When Austin and I were still in college, he decided to take me out to dinner after a hard week. We were broke so this was a big deal, and I grinned and gave him a hug. He looked at me and said, "You look so pretty right now." I was so stunned, I remember actually looking in the mirror to see what I looked like. I was wearing jeans, a baggy purple t-shirt, no make-up and a crooked pony tail. "How?!" I demanded, and he said, "Because you love me." (Yes, he actually says things like that. It's like living in a movie.)

Be rational, people: look at yourself and see what the people who love you see.

Your Body is a Miracle (Part I)

According to a 1997 study of 3,452 women, 89% of women want to lose weight. In addition, the relentless pursuit of "thinness" is considered normal female behavior in Western society as "thinness" has come to represent attractiveness, self-control, and even success. It seems unlikely that we are born with the belief that being thin is a requirement for beauty. For most of human history, being thin (and by thin, I mean emaciated) was simply the only option and being heavier was a sign of affluence.

If we're not born with it, when do we learn this mentality?

Marie C. claims here that 53 percent of girls say they are unhappy with their bodies by the time they reach 13. Unfortunately, she does not say where this statistic comes from, and I was unable to confirm it. Whether or not the percentage is accurate, however, it inspired a really interesting project. Marie interviewed and photographed children under the ages of 10, asking them a simple question: 

"What do you like about your body?"

The responses are childlike, funny, and generally adorable. Just read what six-year-old Bayan wrote: "I like that eyelashes are long. I like that my skin is half white and half brown. I like that my hair can shake." But they are also incredibly practical. Nine-year-old Lana likes how fast she can run and how healthy she is while six-year-old Laila likes her hands because they help her draw.

Eight-year-old Jeniah lists the amazing things her body lets her do

The whole experiment is summed up by five-year-old Lola who wrote, "I like my body because it's magic." Sure, it's another one of those cute things kids say, but it's also true. I'm a John Mayer fan, but he got it wrong when he said "Your body is a wonderland." Our bodies are, at the very least, incredibly complex pieces of machinery and, at the most, downright miraculous.

As I type this, I can't help but think about a ten-year-old boy that I babysat for once. Thomas had a much-needed kidney transplant in January, but his family just learned that his rare kidney disease has returned and is attacking the new organ. As I think of gangly, grinning, beautiful Thomas I am ashamed that I ever considered my body anything less than perfect.

What happens? Why do we stop thinking of our bodies as the miracles that they are?

It seems logical that girls first learn to love or hate their bodies from their mothers. In fact, I started this blog in response to Kacey Edwards' open letter to her mother, found here. To recap briefly, Edwards wrote that she learned to have a poor self-image from hearing her mother talk negatively about her own body. She calls on her mother to help show her three-year-old daughter that beauty will not be her most important attribute. It is a wonderful goal, but one I fear they cannot accomplish alone. Because, eventually, girls are old enough to read books, watch television and movies, play video games, and go shopping with friends, and they learn, based on these media portrayals, that girls and women "should" look and act a certain way.

women in video games

About Face is a nonprofit organization focused on media literacy. Their goal is to educate girls and women so they can resist media messages that affect their self-esteem and body image. According to About Face, high exposure to mainstream media in young women is associated with a stronger emphasis on physical appearance. In addition, girls and young women who consumed more mainstream media also more readily accepted the stereotype of women as sexual objects. This affects women more than simply physically. In a 1998 study, college students were asked to try on either a swimsuit or a sweater. While wearing the garment, they took a short math test, and the women wearing swimsuits scored significantly lower. There were no differences in the men's scores. The creators of the study suggest that thinking more about one's body - and comparing it to sexualized cultural ideals - disrupted these young women's mental capacity.



Hattie Hooker Wilkins

I just finished typing the Encyclopedia of Alabama entry on Hattie Hooker Wilkins, the first woman elected to the Alabama Legislature in 1922. When asked why she ran for office, Wilkins explained that, because the population consisted of men and women, it should be represented by both genders. Surely, the same is true of media. In fact, male protagonists in television and film are much more common. Of the female characters who do appear in sitcoms, three-quarters are underweight. Similarly, in the film industry, body doubles are often used for actresses who don't meet the requirements of an idealized female body. Young adult fiction revolving around a female character usually incorporates a romantic interest, often a love triangle. Of course, romance is an important part of a girl's coming of age, but surely the same is true of boys.

Even within "nerd" and "geek" culture, which claims to have the strong female characters that popular culture ignores, women are still often marginalized. Women are often considered less "legitimate" nerds than their male counterparts. The reason is not entirely clear to me though I think it is linked to a (false)assumption that women don't read comic books or play video games. My personal "geekery" tends to stay in the domain of fantasy, science fiction, and history books and the BBC. However, many women obviously do enjoy these activities, and some of them put together this great message:

The CEO of Yahoo, Inc.! defined geeks as "people who love something so much that all the details matter." We wear the title like a badge of honor, but the women who develop in-depth theories about how Sherlock survived Reichenbach are summarily dubbed "fangirls". Then, of course, there's the issue of sexualization and body image. Apparently, women prefer to save the world in a bathing suit or, occasionally, in their sexiest underwear. It's not easy for a self-conscious girl to cosplay as her favorite character.

 

If media (popular and geeky) teaches both men and women that we're supposed to look and behave based on a sexualized stereotype, what are we supposed to do? Should I refuse to let my future daughters (and sons while we're at it) consume certain books, shows, and movies, some of which I deeply love, for fear they'll have a negative self-image?

 

Of course not! Fortunately, for me and them, there happen to be some excellent role models in the media, from fictional characters to authors to talk show hosts. I am currently working on a post devoted solely to a list of these role models, and I plan to have it up in a couple of days. As you tell your daughters about Bella and Wonder Woman, I hope they'll also meet Hermione, Katniss, and Anne Shirley. 

A Lightness About You

I just got home from the Auburn history department's graduate student mixer where I was welcomed and hugged. And I replaced my plans to write a post about female role models in media for a brief follow-up on my decision to discontinue my graduate program.

I wanted to do this for two reasons. The first is to say THANK YOU. I have been so overwhelmed by the positive response to my decision and my post. I had some anxiety about telling people, but I promised myself that, no matter how nervous I felt or how anyone reacted, I would not act as if I am ashamed or I have failed in some way. Because I'm not and I haven't, even if some people thought otherwise.  In fact, most people, when I explained my reasoning, agreed that I made the best choice for my own health and well-being. They were just glad that I made a decision that makes me happy and hope it will make me a more social creature.

Of course, there have been a couple of people who have considered it a financially unsound decision as withdrawing from school (which provided me with a monthly stipend) was the equivalent of quitting my job. Once I even heard, "There's not much money in social work or libraries" (as if historians are rolling in cash). I admit that these instances made me angry, but they also taught me what it really meant when Atticus Finch told Scout to stand in someone's shoes and walk around in them for a while. I can see what this looks like from the outside, but I also know that on the inside it feels right. And the people who matter can see that too. It felt amazing to hear my friend DG say, "There's a lightness about you that I don't think I've ever seen before." And he's known me since I was an undergraduate.

I felt most validated, however, when three of my friends told me they shared my post with someone who felt as if their own decision to quit graduate school was a disappointment or a failing. This leads me to my second reason for wanting to post a follow-up.

 

When I told them of my decision, several people surprised me by sharing their own personal battles with academic-related anxiety and depression. All the time I struggled, there were people around me who knew what it was like, and I just didn't know it. Depression and anxiety make you feel alone and isolated. I want anyone who may be struggling to know that it's not true. I promise you that someone else (like me) has felt the same way. And whatever you decide, most will understand and be supportive. Certainly the decision leads to other complications, such as my current unemployment. But I finished a year of graduate school, made the difficult choice to not finish it, and told everyone about it. Honestly, I can handle whatever comes next. And so can you. You have been strong and brave and what you were once you can be again. Let there be a lightness about you.