Ladies, just back off.

I was a stay at home mother. After my daughter was born in 1989, I intended to return to work to my job as an executive assistant, but we were able to manage on one income. That involved moving across the country to a more affordable place, but it was fine, and we loved living in Regina, SK for six years. We had two boys while we lived there. There never seemed a good time to return to work, and there was nothing I really wanted to pursue particularly. I worked on my degree in history while raising my kids. I have no regrets.

That does not mean, however, that I wouldn't have gone back to work if I'd had something which I was doing before and wanted to return to. I grew up with mother who worked periodically and I went to a church which did not promote the idea that we were better Christians if we stayed home. One of the women who was a mentor to me worked outside the home. I actually had thoughts of becoming a teacher once I finished university when we returned to Ontario in 1996.

It wasn't until we homeschooled that I was introduced to the notion that stay at home mothers were apparently more "holy" than other women. The church I attended, while very conservative (and yes, kept women in their place as regards church leadership) had many women who worked and sent their children to day cares without being castigated or made to feel inferior. 

When it came to staying home or working, the person's opinion which mattered the most was my husband's. Part of being a Christian is discerning God's wisdom for one's own situation, not following along with an arbitrary standard established by someone who doesn't actually know us. My husband was fine either way. It astounds me now to hear that in a day and age when we have advanced technology and better understanding of humanity, we still have people banging on about women staying home full-time. And some of the worst culprits are other women. Rather than supporting other women, they like to judge other women and criticize them. On social media, of course, where they can spout off whatever ignorant assumptions they want, have others like their comments, and they can feel superior.

I just want to say this to those women: back off. Just mind your own business. You don't know these women you bash. I understand you are convicted about your choices. That's great. Live our your decisions without regret and I hope you flourish in your situation. But just back off of other women.

It's concerning to me that they call themselves Christians and then live with a continual dialogue of negativity, gossip, and self-importance. They couch their disdain in phrases like, "I can't imagine just giving my precious children to someone else to raise." That's code for: you working moms basically suck. They talk about how it "breaks their hearts" to see other women work and send their kids to daycare. Why don't you let your heart break for someone like the poor in your community? the single women who can barely get by? the lonely widow who has no one to care for her?

I will confess to feeling a little superior when I was in circles which promoted this bias toward stay at home mothers. I was wrong. I embraced that view so I could fit in neatly to a little clique in Christianity. It made me feel so holy and wonderful. Again, I was wrong. I don't like that version of myself. I used to blog my arrogant assumptions and judgment. I was wrong. Sometimes, one of the best things we can do is say, "I was wrong." It leaves a lot room for growth when we admit we are wrong, and we re-evaluate our thoughts.

If someone asks me for parenting advice or how we ran our family, I am reluctant to give it. I always preface it with the reality that I don't know their family well enough. I say what worked for us. And I always encourage any young mother to follow her gut. Maybe that isn't "Christian" enough, but my conscience doesn't trouble me when I say that. Sometimes, less is more.

And I have stopped giving my unsolicited parenting and family advice online to total strangers. For the first time in my Christian life, I feel at peace with where I am. That peace gives me freedom to encourage others with their choices and offer support when there are difficulties. 

So, just back off. Go back to homeschooling your children, tending your homes and your urban homesteads and be grateful for whatever you have. For all you know, while you're ranting about other people's parenting, your child needs you for something, and you're not available to them; which is what staying home with your kids is all about, no?

How racism and trauma led me to and from evangelicalism

My great-grandmother, Agnes, and her four oldest daughters. My grandmother is on far right.

My maternal grandmother was Métis. This was not something I knew until I was in my 50's. It simply was not acknowledged. I am not sure who it was that encouraged the silence, but I suspect it was my great-grandmother. She was a devout Roman Catholic, and when she was raising her kids in Saskatchewan in the 1920's and 1930's, admitting one had any Indigenous ancestry wasn't exactly a ticket to the good life. This was in the days of Indigenous children being forcibly removed from families to attend residential schools. There was still a sentiment in the air that Canada's Indigenous people were to be "civilized." As a child, when my mother visited her grandmother, she was told not to play with the other Indigenous kids; they were to play with white children. Internalized racism was a core attitude in my grandmother's family; and shame. My grandmother was obsessed with being respectable. She passed this on to my mother.

My mother had a child when she was 17 years old. Roman Catholic church, early 1960's, small town Saskatchewan; even if there hadn't been the added element of racial identity, it would have been something that challenged my grandmother's ideas of respectability.  It didn't matter that my mother took care of my brother and married a man who adopted him. She bore the shame, anyway. My grandmother never let my mother forget what an unplanned pregnancy did to their respectability. I believe there is a particular kind of trauma which instills itself into a woman who has a child when she's a teenager. I don't have any proof; I'm just going from the women I know who show similar life-long struggles. What my mother carries with her is trauma.

My mother was also overly concerned with what other people thought of her and our family. Our family also struggled financially; more shame. This was passed to me. I have struggled all my life with wanting to fit in; to be accepted; to feel "good enough." People who never feel good enough have a tendency to just comply with whatever group they're in. They are too uncertain to figure out who they actually are, and often don't really understand why they do what they do.

Enter evangelicalism.

In 1985, after a fairly winding search, I found myself attending a conservative Evangelical church. Here was a group who would accept me and with whom I could identify. However, evangelicalism promotes  compliance."Be like us" is promoted in the name of Christian unity. This is an ideal principle, but unity eventually becomes about observing cultural elements like rejecting alcohol, believing in the Rapture, purity culture, and aggressive evangelism, just to name a few. The focus is still seeking respectability, but in a particular context. In the end, the feelings I had growing up were not "healed" in evangelicalism. In fact, they were made worse, and I passed them down to my own children.

I believe today that for people like me, who carry generational issues of unworthiness, evangelicalism, especially very fundamentalist groups, are like magnets. They promise one thing, and for a while, they provide some relief. But as time goes on, and the pressure to conform continues, that unworthiness re-surfaces. 

What is the answer? I don't really know. I haven't figured that out. But I do know one thing: we need to understand how complex people are. Very often, evangelicalism promotes a "one size fits all" Christianity, especially as regards women. Leaders, i.e., men (and mostly white men, at that) decide what is the standard, and woe betide the one who fails to comply. I won't even get into how women themselves, in an effort to be "godly" force codes of conduct on other women. That's another matter.

I feel a lot of regret about the past, but I also understand that regret is not productive. It does not help one move forward. The best thing I have learned is that if we have struggled with feelings of shame and carry generational dysfunction, we need to seek to understand that. It's crucial. Especially, we must understand that no code of conduct is enough to make us feel "good enough, " even if it is couched in terms of religion. Many evangelicals honestly believe they are promoting a "relationship" over a "religion," but in practice promote behaviour over beliefs. Understanding we are "good enough" starts with ourselves, not in the standards of others.

What it means to be Canadian

What does a book about the woman suffrage movement in Canada have to do with a couple of books by a comedian from Newfoundland and Labrador? I mean, other than subject matter being Canada.

I recently finished the two volumes of the memoirs of Rick Mercer. I listened to them on Audible. If you get a chance, listen to them. Mercer is the narrator, and it's an energetic experience. You will laugh; a lot. I was listening in my car on one occasion, and I'm sure I could have been pulled over for distracted driving because I was laughing so hard. I always liked Mercer. He's dry, witty, self-deprecating, and biting when it comes to politics. What is it about the way Newfoundlanders tell stories? I felt the same way reading Alan Doyle's first book.

In  The Road Years, Mercer focuses on the years he produced "The Rick Mercer Report." This venture was different from "This Hour Has 22 Minutes" in that it was a one man show, where he travelled all over the country just talking to people. If you've seen any examples from his "Talking to Americans," you will know he has a gift for just walking up to someone and starting a conversation. He also did some really interesting and often hilarious things. In his time on the Mercer Report, he visited Algonquin Park to visit a tag a hibernating black bear, went tobogganing with Geddy Lee, got tasered, and jumped naked into a lake with Bob Rae. He also got involved with charitable efforts, often spending time with young people. One thing I appreciate about Mercer is his regular exhortation for kids to get an education. His goal for making the Mercer Report was to learn what it means to be Canadian. Of course, he did not succeed in answering that question; Canada is just too big to pin down. The school teacher in Peterborough, Ontario has very little in common with a civil servant living in Nunavut.  A farmer in southern Ontario may have very little in common with a farmer in Alberta. The country is just too vast and diverse. 

Concurrent to listening to Mercer's book, I read Catherine Cleverdon's book The Woman Suffrage Movement in Canada. The book was written in 1950, which was positive in one sense, but negative in another. It was published close to the time when the events happened, and Cleverdon was actually able to speak to women who were alive during the heyday of the quest for the vote.  But it feels dated now because a scholar today would not fail to acknowledge that white women were the ones who benefitted from suffrage. Women such as Nellie McClung and Emily Murphy were not seeking the vote for Indigenous women. That right would come much later. I would like to read a book which reflects more comprehensive attitudes.

Her research was beautifully detailed. She highlighted the different experiences of women based on where they lived. Manitoba was first to get the vote, in 1916. They had a lot of active women's groups working toward this. Quebec was the last province, winning a hard fought battle in 1940. One of the stumbling blocks in that province was the control the Roman Catholic Church had over the people, and the reluctance of rural women to be interested. There was a similar struggle with generating interest in New Brunswick and Prince Edward Island. Why were women in Manitoba, Saskatchewan, and Ontario more engaged?

The answer to that was not given, and was beyond the scope of her work. Having studied Canadian history, I do know that differences between the provinces is a complex issue. And regional differences exist within provinces, not just among them. Not only is Alberta different from Newfoundland, even Northern Ontario is quite different from Southern Ontario. People in Southern Ontario often forget there is world north of Sudbury.

I recently heard a comment by someone who lives in Canada but is not a citizen. The comment was something about "the way Canada is going" culturally, morally, etc. My question was, "Which Canada do you mean? Eastern Canada? Northern Canada? Western Canada?" I don't think blanket statements about the way "Canada is going" are useful. To know about Canada is to know that this country is diverse. For some, that may be a a net negative. I love that about this country.

As Rick Mercer discovered, we have do have much that unites us from shore to shore to shore. One thing I learned many years ago in high school history is that Canadians have an abhorrence of violence that may explain why our country was not founded on a revolution like our neighbours to the south. The only "revolution" we had in 1837 lasted very briefly and the revolutionaries lost. We came into being as a country as a convenience, not for some grand, united vision. That unique situation is part of who we are now. I have lived in four different provinces, and I assure you, Alberta and Ontario are very different. So are Manitoba and Ontario for that matter. But there is a diversity that while often problematic is what I love. 

I am thankful to live where I do. I recognize that there is a cost to this privilege. My grandmother was Métis, and I'm aware that the privilege of one person very often comes at the expense of someone else's privilege. Yet, I agree wholeheartedly with Mercer's final thought: "I may not know what it means to be Canadian, but I do know I have never wanted to be anything else." 

"If I'm not learning, I'm not alive"

When my father turned 70, he'd already been retired for 12 years. He was fortunate to retire early, and in those first years, he was as busy as when he was working. He was involved with contract work and public service work. But when he turned 70, he began to slow down. It was clear that his increasing inactivity was not good for him. He wasn't okay, and this was bad. For me, my father not being okay meant the world was not okay.

He came through that period, and years later, as we talked about that experience, he told me that unless he was regularly being challenged with something new, he felt he was stagnating. If he wasn't learning, he said, he wasn't alive. This is something he has passed on to me.

I loved school when I was a child. I loved reading and hearing about the world. There was an interlude from 14 years old until 17 years old when that love wasn't there so much. High school isn't actually conducive to learning at times. The problem isn't the curriculum or the teachers; it's the culture of high school. My last year of high school I met my history teacher, Mr. O'Hearne, who introduced me to the wonder of Canadian history, and my learning love affair was re-ignited.

After my first year at university -- which I began at 20, versus my fellow students who were 18 -- I got married. Then there was a baby. I didn't stop learning. Slowly, course by course, I studied part time while I had children. I wrote two final exams while being pregnant, and I graduated with my degree in history in 2001. When my kids were all gone from home, I went to seminary, and again, part time, plucking away course by course, I earned my Master's of Theology, graduating Summa Cum Laude.

Over the years, it hasn't just been book learning. My aunt taught me to grow a garden, follow a knitting pattern, make jam and pickles, and to appreciate classical music. I learned how to make hand done quilts, crochet, and sew clothes for my kids. I learned to make really good bread and pastry. I learned how to take a really good photograph. I love the creative pursuits that domestic life affords as well as the rich learning from books. It opens up my eyes to the world. I like to dig deep and then share what I've learned; not to show how much I know but because as someone who loves to learn, truly loves it, I want to share it.  My dad gave me that. And I'm thankful for it.

Learning makes me think outside myself; especially when I read something that is perhaps a little uncomfortable. Being challenged is good for us. If we react strongly to something, it may be a hint that we should leave it alone, but it can also mean we should look more closely. Why does something get under our skin? What presupposition are we being challenged about? Learning well done, should foster humility in us. 

Learning enriches my life. Sometimes, it is very utilitarian. Like when I had a case of plantar fasciitis, and following the traditional treatment route was no help. I learned a lot about feet, hips, gait, and shoes so that it went away for good. Other times, what I learn inspires decisions; like when after attending an Evangelical seminary, I realized I could no longer embrace that "Big E" evangelicalism. And other times, it's just interesting information that makes life fun and inspires wonder.

Learning, properly done, ought to make us aware of what we don't know. I don't always see that. I frequently see people on social media who know absolutely nothing about a topic but hold strong views on that same topic. It was astounding to me how many people during COVID who had no medical training (and in many cases, no high school education) were suddenly epidemiologists. Who knew reading a few Facebook articles can make us experts?

Here, on my little anonymous space on the internet, on a platform that is surely dying (or dead already), I hope to share what I learn. If no one reads it, perhaps some day, thousands of years from know, when future historians are researching, they'll discover how one very ordinary learner lived in 2024. 

My "homesteading" rant

 Is the phrase "urban homesteader" an oxymoron? That is the question.

It's a term I hear in many locations. The "homesteading" movement refers to groups of people who return to the basics, growing their own food, making sourdough bread, and perhaps raising their own livestock. It's a commitment to being independent. Nothing wrong with that.

This is my sourdough starter, Freddie Mercury.

I make sourdough bread and I have a garden in the summer months. But I don't use the name "homesteader." Even if I were to tear up my entire back yard and haul in some goats to torment my dogs, I would not use the name. Nor would my aunt, who is a retired farmer, and has been living what is popularly called "homesteading," since she married in 1968. The difference is that she had to because they were not well off. And if the garden failed, she did not have funds to take a trip to the grocery store. In addition, I've seen this woman cane her own chair backs, re-upholster her couch, and build a greenhouse for her plants. On her own. The only help she got was getting her husband to pour the concrete floor of the greenhouse. She called it work, and today, with its wicker furniture and bookshelves, she calls it her "getaway." But a "homestead" even while sitting on her 640 acres? Nope.

Modern day homesteaders value creativity, which is good. Growing one's own garden is good for the environment, so I applaud that. Making it a mark of moral superiority is another issue; and I've seen a lot of that lately. In one location, the individual who was extolling the virtues of homesteading claimed that there is a difference between "creators," i.e., homesteaders, and "consumers," i.e., those who don't homestead. Dude, we're all consumers. To be alive is to consume something. As far as I know to buy those free range chickens means to be a consumer at some point.

Tying this practice to biblical Christianity is also something I see a lot of, and having spent a lot of time (and money) to attend seminary, which involved examining what historic Christianity defines as true Christianity, this irks me. In Evangelical circles, the notion of a "works oriented faith" is rejected.  Well, let's think a moment; if I have to start growing my own herbs and grinding my own flour to be a good Christian, how does that compare to the idea of "works oriented?" Truly, I have no problem with people who want to do this. Just stop using it as a way to feel superior, and stop making it normative. 

Ultimately, it's just another man-made version of what real godly womanhood looks like. And if one spends a lot of time going down the rabbit hole of homesteaders (TikTok is the worst), eventually one discovers that these modern day pioneers are often far wealthier than the average, and are often selling books or asking for people to pay for a subscription to their online content. If some find a spiritual connection to what they're doing, fine. Go for it. But stop making it an issue of "do this or you're not a godly woman."

I love finding good sourdough recipes. I love the texture of the bread, and I love experimenting. But it's got nothing to do with my heart. It's an act of creativity. To me, the kind of lifestyle being promoted by these individuals is just living, not homesteading. Why must we find a special term for a way of living? Does it make us feel better about ourselves?

And in my sassier moments, I have often wanted to ask the women homesteading if they use the same kind of feminine protection the original homesteading women used. After all, it's all about doing it on your own, right?

No Trespassing!

 

I took this picture at Castle Butte in September 2024.

I was in a very high control church for over 25 years. I didn't realize how controlling it was until I got out.  Once I had some distance, and I looked back, I could see a lot of unhealthy patterns.

An arbitrary, man-designed standard of "biblical womanhood."

More importance on Christian culture than on Jesus.

Shaming of people who didn't "fit in."

Blaming women for abuse.

Making women accountable for the sin of men in the name of "modesty."

Denying  and minimizing the reality of mental health issues.

I could go on.

I don't want to use the word "trauma" lightly. When that word gets used too much, it minimizes those who really and truly suffered. I can't say I suffered serious trauma as others have, but the last few years were traumatic as I realized I had to leave my community. Our departure was also accompanied by cruelty toward my husband who was on the board that year and dealt with a church split.

I've been away for almost two years, and have aligned with a new church. The day we stepped into its doors, we were embraced and loved. It was like removing a natty old coat and putting on something new. I can't express how grateful we are for being where we are. And yet, despite being away, there are moments when I feel those negative, toxic thoughts coming back.

I'm not holy enough. 

I don't suffer enough.

I'm "woke" because I got vaccinated during COVID.

I don't believe in the Bible because I support equality between men and women. 

I'm a heretic because I treat someone who is LGBTQ kindly.  

My husband reminds me that I cannot let those things live in my head rent free. They're trespassing. It's time for them to go. One of the first steps is to evaluate what I'm putting into my head.

Social media is often a joy killer. Christian social media is often the worst source for joy killing. The judging, the critiquing, the condescension; it's disturbing. Christians often judge pre-emptively. We don't want to be judged ourselves, so we judge others before they can judge us. We may think, "She believes in women being pastors? Well, that person must be a heretic." Judgement done, and then I can go on feeling superior.

I want no more of that. My brother thinks that social media is the end of civilized discourse. He may have a point. I know one thing: despite its exceptional ability to disseminate information, it's not a place to live in. Sometimes, the things we say on social media are the things that our friends and family get offended by or rebuke us for. So, we find an audience who won't. Presto! Online community. No thank you. I'll take a rebuke from a friend or family member any day over social media being my sole source of community.

I am still a work in progress. Old habits die hard, and I need to fence off those trespassers; the ones in person and the virtual ones. The best way to silence their cries is to give them no voice in my head or my social media feed. 

A Quiet Feminist

Nellie McClung, my favourite feminist

I recently attended a convention with my husband. Over the past year, he has been the chair of the board of The Ontario Mutual Association. Part of his duties for this year was hosting the annual convention of the organization. It was held in Toronto at the Sheraton Centre. I'm not a big fan of Toronto, but I did enjoy my time there.

One of the things I love about these kinds of events is meeting people I would not normally have a chance to meet. I was really thrilled to be introduced to our keynote speaker, Clara Hughes. I sat beside her at lunch, and she was a gem. I was able to meet and introduce the speaker at the non-delegates program, Craig Baird, whose podcast I've been listening to for some time, and whose social media feed is one of my favourites. 

I was also able to chat with one of the women who has been serving on the board with my husband. We chatted at length about our mothers and our experiences as women. Both of our mothers were women who made it a priority to care for their families. She talked about the support her mother gave to the kids in very quiet ways. One of the things she said was that her mother was a "quiet feminist."

Growing up in the 60's meant that for our mothers, feminism was a relatively new thing.  Not all women wanted to get involved in the new way of looking at things. It was a time of change and uncertainty. Yes, there were very active, public feminists. But for many of our mothers, it was something that simmered in the background. My mother, too, was a "quiet feminist."

There were no "men's chores" and "female chores." My mother taught me and my brothers how to throw a baseball. My father taught me to knit. My mother mowed the lawn. My father made wonderful home cut french fries and corn soup. They worked together at the practicalities. On occasions when finances were tight, my mother would go back to work for a time until things were less tight. I was not discouraged from having opinions (although, I think she could have learned a bit herself that not ALL opinions need to be uttered), nor was I discouraged from doing anything my brothers did. It's interesting that all three of my brothers are husbands who participate in cooking meals. One of my brothers does all of the cooking in his house. 

My mother recently told me that after I started going to church in my early 20's, and began expressing a desire to shed all feministic tendencies, she was concerned. She wisely said nothing. I did notice that when I became overly opinionated about my anti-feminist leanings, she bristled. So we didn't talk much about that. When my daughter was in her early twenties, and began flexing her feminist muscles, we also avoided the topic. She knew what I thought. 

Sometimes, one can not simply abandon the lessons of childhood. The imprint my mother (and my aunt (who was also a "quiet feminist") was not easily stamped out. And even in my embrace of all things "conservative evangelical," sometimes, I would feel uneasy. Then there was the day about five years ago my daughter said to me, "Mom, you're more of a feminist than you realize."

I was told by an older Christian woman that we cannot be Christians and feminists at the same time. Her rationale was "You can't combine any 'isms.' You can't hold to theism and feminism at the same time." I took her word for it. Mea culpa. I should have thought about it. I didn't. But one day, it occurred to me how inconsistent that was. She espoused both theism and Calvinism. How did that work?

Since becoming aligned with conservative evangelicalism in 1985, I have had to push down certain aspects of my personality to fit in. I have tried to speak less (that didn't actually work), toe the party line of submitting to my husband, and embrace an arbitrary form of "biblical womanhood." I have also had to push down any notions of female equality. To my shame, at one time I taught other women that they are "more easily misled" because the Bible says so. I regularly cringe at some of what I taught over the years.

One of the things which fostered my unquestioned acceptance of anti-feminism was finding more connection and fellowship online that is healthy. I discovered blogging and conservative evangelical blogs, and in order to fit in, I had to continue to endorse what deep down, I wasn't really sure about. As blogging began to fall out of fashion (hello? blogging is actually dead. Is anyone reading?), that community faded, and I realized then how unhealthy it is for one to find the majority of her fellowship online with strangers. It prevents independent thought.

If a woman has taken the time to think through the issues and concludes that feminism is a negative thing (or as the rabid anti-feminists say, "poison), then I can't do a lot about that. I respect someone more if she has at least read about the history of feminism and taken some time to read good exegetical material on the issue. Hitching one's wagon to the star of ultra conservative pastors and simply following along without question isn't studying the issue. And for those who say they know what the Bible says, my question is this: have you done any study on proper hermeneutics? Not every interpretation of the Bible is correct.

I am still learning. The more I learn, the more I realize I don't know a lot. But I am done with embracing a view because my online community demands it. Heck, I don't even have an online community. My church community has no problems with feminism.

And I'm thankful for the "quiet feminists" in my life, who though silent, spoke volumes to me.