Covid Diaries: My Feminism and Lockdown
I have talked about how finishing the Big Writing Project threw me off. When I wrote the first account of my post-writing life, I focused on my processing of this ending and the blues that come after the completion of big projects. I expected it to run its course, like grief does. Instead, it got worse. I was observing myself as I was spiralling, I was keeping track of my moods, my thoughts, the invasive thoughts that were not mine but were crawling into my head. I was watching as the conditioning of many, many years of being raised into a conservative, patriarchal society came to bite me in the butt.
I did not expect this, so it took me a while to become aware of it: the moment I was left without a Big Defining Project, locked at home without any way to manifest my personality, without anyone to socialise with, I heard the voices in my head serving me guilt. All the things society deems appropriate, for a woman of my age and means, rushed to fill the Identity Void that was gaping in my mind. Suddenly, what’s for dinner was way too important, doing laundry and dishes was the highlight of my day, tidying up was the utmost proof that I was, indeed, a great housewife.
Wait, what?
Yes, this is what Covid did to me. I did not lose anyone I know, I did not lose my job, I was not furloughed, I was not financially insecure. On the contrary, I managed a re-mortgage just in time and I am saving more money in my household, which is now bigger: after a couple of trial runs and considerable deliberation, my partner and I decided to move in together this spring. We carried out the move during lockdown, so it ended up taking three weeks of slowly transporting suitcases and boxes and slowly unpacking them in the new place. And then, we were locked down in one place, instead of two. One place and nowhere to run.
The implications of the move, I think, and the timing of it, created an explosive cocktail in my mind. I did not expect to switch from aspiring writer of Big Writing Projects to Amazing Housewife, but I guess the bitter truth is that some things have been repeated so much that they are ingrained a bit deeper than I thought. I found myself feeling useless for not having prepared dinner, feeling worthless because I have not made the beds, and mind you, I am not making it more dramatic than it was. I reached the point when I was not sure what I wanted to do, because I felt I was functioning on some autopilot that was controlled by someone else. How the house was kept became a determining factor of my value, because there was nothing else in my circumstances to gain value from, to define myself by.
It sounds sad, and it is. I am still struggling with it. I do not recognise myself, and I don’t like this version of me much, either. More than anything, I hate the mentality that throws me into this loop: I have done my ‘thing’ now, time to get serious, stop playing along and do the right thing for my age and gender: keep a house. There is nothing wrong with keeping house, and it is bloody hard work, and I know it very, very well. But my projects, interests, activities, these are not less serious or less important. The things I worked hard for are not gameplay, just because they do not follow this pattern. It was terrifying to realise that I started thinking that way when I was confined.
I decided to write this down because of that stupid letter in the WSJ, that prompted Dr Jill Biden, by patronisingly calling her ‘kiddo’, to drop the Dr from her name. The person who wrote the letter considered Dr Biden’s achievement to be of lesser value compared to her other roles, and maybe felt that it made her stand out too much over her husband. It is that same mentality that I was raised under, that same mentality that made me feel guilty for pursuing what I liked, and for not pursuing what I ‘should’. It is disgusting to see such letters published at this day and age. The weird turn of my thoughts serves as a reminder, to me, that I have internalised too much of this rhetoric, and there is still work to do in feeling comfortable with my choices, my achievements and the lifestyle I chose.
Now that I am aware of it, I can fix it. It is a good way to end this year.
Originally published at http://pausilipon.wordpress.com on December 14, 2020.