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| Rosie, "At My Window" by Townes Van Zandt |
After a fantastic few days in Denver at the NWSA conference I find myself returning to my office with a bit of depressed optimism. Is that even possible to combine those two words together and make sense? Let’s see if I can make sense of this….
I’m always amazed at how quickly my optimistic feminist bubble and recharging experiences can quickly burst after returning from an environment that inspired, challenged, and encouraged me to think outside my creativity and myself. Thank you NWSA for reminding me why I am who I am and do what I do.
I could go on and on about how powerful the NWSA conference made me feel but this blog is about how I am coming to terms with my power in an environment and climate that limits women’s power.
I like to bottle up all that I witnessed at these types of conferences and release the contents and watch them seep into the minds and hearts of people in my community. If only it were that simple.
In the few short days that I have returned, not only do I find my words flowing uncontrollably out of my mouth to try and inspire others but I find there are some who appear, with crossed arms and over speak language, seeming to not want to hear what I have to say. Is this because they know something I don’t? Is it that they don’t want the refill of hope spilled into them to then be crushed by administrative strife? Either way, it hasn’t taken me long to settle back down into my everyday struggle of promoting, educating, and supporting gender on the lives of women and men within a climate that could care less about this topic until it brings in corporate money.
My small, meager, all-be-it important job position has once again met the ugly green monster of marginalization. Our program is undergoing another reorganization within a 12-month period. Moving this money loosing hot potato of a program out of one area into another division possibly dealing with similar criteria of sorts.
Where will this new move lead me? I am optimistic, to a point, but it may be at another’s direction. A direction that knocks me back rather than forward, swaying me back to where I’ve come from, challenging me to mobilize my voice more poetically towards progress without getting fired. Yes, there is fear in my tone because I have worked too hard and sacrificed too much to not be recognized, validated, and compensated for my dedication to promoting feminism in this place.
How do I move forward? I recognize those moments, like today, that are not merely coincidences but signs from someone or something. Here’s the story: My door was open and the lights were on. A graduate student not affiliated with the program stopped by unannounced looking for resources for his research on “women in politics” and saw that we had a lending library. He needed to know more about how he could access the library and if he needed to be in the program to do so. We talked about his research topic with a few more details and the more I spoke with him I realized how much he needed validation and support of where he was taking his research. So, even though our office is in a basement off the beaten path it made me realize that if there is a need a student will find their way.
How much of a coincidence is that? For me, the answer is clear; it was a sign. A sign that I will take with me to remind others and myself, that will listen, that feminism is alive and well in this conservative space and it is up to me to show it, embrace it, and promote it. So, with that, my optimism is back and my depression put on the back burner, at least, until tomorrow.
I’m always amazed at how quickly my optimistic feminist bubble and recharging experiences can quickly burst after returning from an environment that inspired, challenged, and encouraged me to think outside my creativity and myself. Thank you NWSA for reminding me why I am who I am and do what I do.
I could go on and on about how powerful the NWSA conference made me feel but this blog is about how I am coming to terms with my power in an environment and climate that limits women’s power.
I like to bottle up all that I witnessed at these types of conferences and release the contents and watch them seep into the minds and hearts of people in my community. If only it were that simple.
In the few short days that I have returned, not only do I find my words flowing uncontrollably out of my mouth to try and inspire others but I find there are some who appear, with crossed arms and over speak language, seeming to not want to hear what I have to say. Is this because they know something I don’t? Is it that they don’t want the refill of hope spilled into them to then be crushed by administrative strife? Either way, it hasn’t taken me long to settle back down into my everyday struggle of promoting, educating, and supporting gender on the lives of women and men within a climate that could care less about this topic until it brings in corporate money.
My small, meager, all-be-it important job position has once again met the ugly green monster of marginalization. Our program is undergoing another reorganization within a 12-month period. Moving this money loosing hot potato of a program out of one area into another division possibly dealing with similar criteria of sorts.
Where will this new move lead me? I am optimistic, to a point, but it may be at another’s direction. A direction that knocks me back rather than forward, swaying me back to where I’ve come from, challenging me to mobilize my voice more poetically towards progress without getting fired. Yes, there is fear in my tone because I have worked too hard and sacrificed too much to not be recognized, validated, and compensated for my dedication to promoting feminism in this place.
How do I move forward? I recognize those moments, like today, that are not merely coincidences but signs from someone or something. Here’s the story: My door was open and the lights were on. A graduate student not affiliated with the program stopped by unannounced looking for resources for his research on “women in politics” and saw that we had a lending library. He needed to know more about how he could access the library and if he needed to be in the program to do so. We talked about his research topic with a few more details and the more I spoke with him I realized how much he needed validation and support of where he was taking his research. So, even though our office is in a basement off the beaten path it made me realize that if there is a need a student will find their way.
How much of a coincidence is that? For me, the answer is clear; it was a sign. A sign that I will take with me to remind others and myself, that will listen, that feminism is alive and well in this conservative space and it is up to me to show it, embrace it, and promote it. So, with that, my optimism is back and my depression put on the back burner, at least, until tomorrow.
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