Practicing Compassion but Fuck You, Anyway

We've all heard, "hate the sin, love the sinner." But what happens when you hate the sinner, and the sinner is the self? Where does that hatred go? Enmity spills outward. When I imagine the souls of such people, I see clouds of toxic coal dust, leaking from their pores. But I also see wounded children cowering, waiting to be rescued from the darkness. It makes me sad and angry. It makes me wish that I could reach out and have a discussion with that person in which peace would be the result.

But it has ever been so. It has taken me many of my almost 43 years on this planet to quit trying to rescue people. I can feel for them, sympathize with them, but I cannot nurture the proverbial viper in my bosom.
I spend a lot of time thinking about self-hatred. My own, of course, which I cop to on a regular basis. Although I must say, I've done more to learn to love myself in the past five years than I had done previously. I think that it's about a 80/20 split these days (which makes me a good candidate for the Church of 80% Sincerity. That other 20 percent, well, that quasimodal part, she shows up on some days, and I just try to love her. What else can I do? She's part of me. I remember that this is her, too.

All right, some of you may be wondering. When is she going to get to the fucking point? I do have one. It's about self-hating women, especially those who inhabit the conservative think tank known as "Concerned Women for America." I know that I should just stay away from the place. It gives me the heebie-jeebies when I'm there, sort of like wandering around inside those catacombs where the walls are made of bones. A reminder of human frailty, but just macabre and perverse and something faintly sinister about all of it.
One of the most frequent commetators at CWFA is Janice Shaw Crouse, PhD. She's a senior fellow there, and one of the frequent targets of her rage (besides the usual suspects) are women who consider themselves to be strong and independent.A few days ago, this piece appeared, and I had to read it a few times through to try to understand, ultimately, what I thought was being said.

Power and Independence: At What Price? 

Power is fleeting and often an illusion.

Damn, I thought. A sentiment I can get behind. I'm all about acknowledging powerlessness.

But then, I read on:

Two things about the billboard caught my attention. First, the woman, in her late 30s or early 40s, is a solitary figure whose image takes over the sign. Then, the caption is simple and bold: You Are Powerful.

The advertisement’s target audience is obvious. There is tremendous profit to be made by any company that successfully appeals to the more than 24 million unmarried women in the 20-44- year-old demographic. They make up 47 percent of all women in this age group (compared with only 19 percent that were unmarried in 1968). It is no wonder savvy marketers are targeting these women, since more than 71 percent of them are employed –– with significant disposable income and independent spending decisions.

Can you see what's coming? Perhaps not. You have to be able to read through the other stuff she's written to get a sense of where this essay is about to veer off into. But the mention of "24 million unmarried women" should be a tipoff. 'Coz, ya know, there's no greater tragedy than the myth of female emancipation that sees its empowerment in not being married.

Shit. I'm falling into snark here, and I'm trying so fucking hard to practice compassion. So, let me try try again.

Crouse has actually written a poignant essay about her marriage, and her need, her desire, to be part of a family group. I think that's fabulous. Clearly, she's loved, she loves, and she gets some of what she needs from the way her family operates.

While it is true that I have strong opinions and the temerity to speak my mind, I have lived long enough to discover my limitations; to learn that those I love, as well as those I work with, have needs that I can’t meet and problems that I can’t fix. Most dramatically, I have watched the ravages of illness eat away at the vitality of people who were once very strong; in health crises, none of us has the power to reverse the damage or prevent death. I have seen seemingly invincible power brokers and those solidly entrenched in the power structures brought down overnight.

It's a viewpoint I respect: that all that is solid melts into air, that all crumbles. Nothing is forever.

And this gem of a paragraph, which affirms my own view of why we're on this planet. I echo Anne Lamott on this one. I think we were put on this earth to help each other out.

The true picture, as I have come to see it, is one of human frailty and dependency. But these are not, as might be thought at first glance, reasons for discouragement or despair. Instead, they are inescapable parts of our human existence and should be valued and appreciated because they force us to learn how to live lives of connectedness and cooperation. Our reward is that we find, albeit reluctantly, not lives of power and independence, but lives full of meaning, service and significance.

Then, Crouse writes about her marriage, about having been married for 44 years, and about how she has learned to sacrifice on behalf of someone else.

Her prose is all so seductive. It's sweet. It's sort of cloying, but hey. I've been known to wax purple on behalf of love.

But then comes the kicker. She's not really talking about human beings. She's talking, specifically, about women. All you guys out there, maybe it is okay for you to remain unmarried. Y'all have got important work to do. But us females. Well, shit. We're just not constituted to be on our own.

Nature did not equip human females like she did the mighty female grizzly bear, which truly is powerful and independent. The mother bear is fully capable of raising her cub alone without any help, least of all from the male bear.

The human female, on the other hand, is eminently vulnerable, and the development of the human child takes years longer than in any other species.

See? If we human females are going to fulfill the "prime directive," which is to go forth and multiply, well, we cannot possibly do it alone. We're too vulnerable. And soft. So all this talk of female empowerment is the booby prize, the empty, meaninglessness of the single female life. And what's more. We're pernicious. Single mothers especially have bad, bad influences on the very young.

With that in mind, we might recall exactly what becomes of the adorable, cuddly, playful bear cubs. The powerful, independent she-bear mother, in her solitary way, produces very deadly predators.

Do you realize what she has just done here? She has just lain the blame for crime and the ugliness of modern life at the feet of single mothers. Read that paragraph again and tell me I've read it incorrectly.

How can I talk to the Crouses of the world? I am a single mom. She has, with toss of her multi-snaked head, attempted to turn my world to stone.

Fuck compassion.

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