April 26th, 2006
That’s What Friends Are For
After spending an inordinate amount of time today trying to track down details of a conflict two bloggers are having, I realized I am strangely intrigued by difficulties between women. It’s no mystery to me why that is; it’s because I’m morbidly fascinated by my own history of fractured relationships with other women, with trying to figure out what went wrong. The two bloggers in question had a difference of opinion resulting in one removing the other from her blogroll. I watched my reaction curiously, because I am very different from both of these women and the issue over which they disagreed is one that seems very minor to me, compared to the problems I find pressing. It made me wonder if anyone outside the conflicts I’ve been involved in would understand, or care. It’s so easy to dismiss a situation when you’re watching from the outside, but I know from my own experiences that conflicts with other women are among the most complicated, confusing, painful and deeply disappointing experiences I’ve had.
Inseparable from my feminism is an understanding that friendships between women matter. Watching a reading of Carolyn Gage’s play Ugly Ducklings brought home forcefully to me the way in which patriarchy actively discourages the intense relationships so many of us have with other girls; as we approach sexual maturity, the dreaded specter of the lezzie rears her snaky head, and we find out in short order and no uncertain terms exactly what behaviors we can and can’t engage in anymore. Intense, passionate friendships are out. Spending too much time together is out. Physical affection is out. Curiosity about each others’ changing bodies is out. Sexual behavior with each other is most definitely out (though obviously it still happens, and not everyone who goes there turns out to be a lesbian, let me tell you). The channeling of our social, emotional, and physical passions toward boys, and then men, is completely and forever in.
Some of us accept this change willingly; others of us are left bewildered and rejected, teased and taunted because of our desire to maintain the relationships that have provided our deepest satisfaction. We realize that boys and men provide, for the most part, a seriously distant second to the dedicated intense intimate best friendships we enjoyed as girls. And as we grow up some of us encounter radical lesbian feminism, which assures us that loving women could change the world.
So we try to do that. And then the problems start. Because, just like in junior high, not all of us, even the radical feminist lesbian ones, have completely rooted out “the pig in the head.” Not to mention the damage that men have done to us–at least one-fourth of us have been raped or sexually assaulted, just like other women, and often the very experiences that radicalize us, that open our eyes to the way that women are throwaways in this culture, hurt us so badly that we have trouble loving the people we want to love the most–other women. We have trouble working with the people we want to work with the most–other women. We’ve learned to stay safe by manipulating, or lying, or talking about people behind their backs, or yelling, or withdrawing, or attacking them before they can attack us, or talking them to death, or trying to control everyone and everything around us, or fucking up so other people will take care of us, or being super competent and never needing anything, and we often have a hard time giving up those survival skills. It’s really hard to trust that other women aren’t out to hurt us, especially when the very behavior that makes us feel the safest can make another woman feel seriously unsafe.
I have done my share of behaving badly, and most likely will do so again before I’m finished here. One thing I’m proud of is that, looking back over, let’s say, the last ten years, my behavior has significantly improved. The last time I was seriously at odds with other women, I behaved in a way I still feel proud of. Something I’m not too proud of is a pattern that I’ve repeated many times–getting too close to someone, too soon. I’m trying not to do that anymore, because it takes time to really know whether I will be compatible with someone, if a new friend is someone whose actions in the world I will ultimately respect. I thought that similar politics would be enough, but I proved to myself that it’s not. I’ve hurt a lot of women by jumping in too quickly, with both feet, and by not putting on the brakes sooner, and I regret that. I’ve developed some wonderful friendships with women who are very different from me politically, friendships that I hope will last. The friendships I’ve tried to build with women who said what I wanted to hear haven’t lasted, and it’s taken about, oh, 36 years and counting to realize that what people do ought to matter much more to me than what they say.
No one has demonstrated this better than Yawning Lion. Though we are similar in many ways, we do disagree, and there are things about each of us that aggravate the other no end. But Yawning Lion fights the way I wish all women fought. She stays calm. She listens. She tries to figure out what I’m saying, what I want, and what she thinks, and what she wants. She doesn’t get defensive. She apologizes when she acts in a way she doesn’t like. She can keep a confidence. She’s reasonable and cautious about giving advice but when she does, it’s eminently sensible and sensitive. And most importantly, she hangs in. Lots of times when I’ve been tempted to cut and run, she’s done or said something that’s demonstrated just how very unique and rare she is, how much she loves me, and that’s like rain on the parched cracked red New Mexico clay that is my heart, and somehow, somewhere, I find the resources to stick it out. Very shortly we’ll have been friends for seven years, which is some kind of record for me, and I want her to know how much she’s appreciated. It’s mostly because of her stellar example that I’ve found the courage to try yet again to work with women. The confidence that I’ve developed through our disagreements, and what she’s taught me by her support in working on my difficulties in other relationships, have convinced me that I am capable of putting my money where my mouth is, as regards my recent post about prioritizing women and our interests. Last week I became a provisional member of a women’s land community. The women there don’t say a whole lot about their politics; they don’t have to, because they live them. I’m sure I’ll have political differences with some of them, and perhaps personal differences as well. But I believe I can work them out, and even though making a commitment here in New Mexico seems to separate me from YL, given her commitment to Maine, it’s because of her that I have the skills, confidence, and desire to keep trying to build something different together with other women. I can only hope to be even a half-assed reflection of the supportive, challenging friend YL’s been to me. In a long-ago post, I used Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s quote to express my frustration with some associates. But, I think now, I’m with Andrea Dworkin:
There are women of every kind, all the time; there are always women who will ignore egregious wrongs. My aspirations for dignity and equality do not hinge on perfection in myself or in any other woman; only on the humanity we share, fragile as that appears to be. I understand Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s desperation and the rage behind it, but I’m removing her curse. No woman’s betrayal will make us dumb and dead–no more and never again.
