The Women Who Survive

I’ve been thinking about the ways women survive. For millenia, and in this moment right now. About how we continue to stand in the face of difficulty. We maintain jobs and hold families together. We smile in the faces of men who don’t quite see our eyes. We continue to exist as strangers enthroned in marble and mahogany decide we are not whole people. Our survival is defiance of the fall.

We survive in our own ways, whether through stubborn determination, or yielding to the ground that shifts beneath us and hoping there’s a way to climb out. Survival is dirty work regardless, resulting in torn fingernails and scraped knees.

Sometimes we tear each other down. For much of our lives we’ve been in competition with each other - for affection from parents, attention from teachers, job opportunities, friendships, love interests. We’ve been raised with a scarcity mindset that makes us think our resources are limited. We think we have to fight for what we want or take what we need before someone else gets it. Jealousy, envy, and striving strip away the energy we could put toward creating peace.

We’ve let the expectations of this world steal from us the joy of a simple truth: we are stronger together.

In community, women hold all the resources we will ever need. One woman’s strength can meet another woman’s need in divinely ordained provision. We have the privilege of bearing one another’s burdens, even as we struggle under our own. Shame loses its power as secrets are shared and we speak the words, “Me, too.” We know the sacred joy that follows sorrow, because we’ve walked through the darkness together.

We have an unmatched capacity for creation. We create beauty in practical things - knitting baby blankets to celebrate the joy of new life, stitching mini manifestos in bright colors to declare our independence. We notice the beauty around us, and try to capture it in paintings and photographs and words. We feed bodies and souls, and when we have the opportunity to gather around a table together, we create a space where competition is unnecessary. Together, we are for each other. Together, we are safe. Together, we matter.

I believe in the power of telling our stories to each other. It allows us to remind each other of the truth - not just in lessons learned, but the truth of the timelines we’ve lived.

As I went through my divorce almost 10 years ago, I relied heavily on a friend who had been with me from the beginning. She knew all my stories because she had lived the moments with me. When I would begin questioning reality, she held the truth and could remind me of the facts. She eased my burden by bearing witness to my narrative. In the years since, I’ve felt hesitant to tell my story to new friends - will they understand? will they see my journey as sacred and worthy? will they still want me around? But every time the telling holds the same power - one more person now knows the truth. One more person has witnessed my survival.

I’ve also had the privilege of bearing witness in my own way to other women’s stories - to bring a light of perspective in confusion, hope in darkness, humor in despair, righteous indignation in the face of injustice. I get to know the truth, to see how these women have survived, and to affirm all they have to offer. We create community as we share our experiences. Lessons learned. Hurts healed. Your experiences and mine combine to testify to our resilience.

But none of this happens without an agreement between us. We have to agree that we are valuable. We have to agree that the expectations we were handed by well-meaning prior generations are inadequate or incomplete. We have to agree that our capacity for creation means the resources are endless. We have to agree that opportunities to thrive are abundant. We have to agree that our value, as women, as humans, far exceeds station and net worth. That competition is unnecessary because we have all that we need.

This last month has been terrible for so many of us. There are fresh wounds to bind up; I know very few of us feel “strong.” But I wonder what would happen if we looked up for a moment and saw the women around us, struggling under their burdens. What would happen if we opened a door to share what we have, to lighten that load?

This may sound like an impossible abstract vision. But I’ve witnessed women overcoming the impossible. They do it through, and for, love. Love expands, it doesn’t limit. Where our history tells us we aren’t enough and we don’t have enough, love whispers “I’ll make room for you.”