I can not believe that it’s almost the end of January, I have been silent, waiting for inspiration to strike, getting through what can only be described as the sweaty armpit part of the year. What a grind late December through January feels like. Even though my birthday is in January, it’s a day of popping my head above the oppressive parapet before retreating again until Spring.
Speaking of which, Imbolg is on its way and it’s definitely currently wrestling with the tail end of January to burst forth into the world. Imbolg. A time of new beginnings, new ideas, changes in direction. The main thing though that stands out for me about Imbolg is the sense of hope it brings. There’s just something in the air right now that despite the quagmire of shitty politics, just feels buoyant and free. An extra layer of fresh, light air above the grey smog.
Recently, I’ve mostly been pondering on my invisibility, not literally, I think I’m still visible and solid. I mean symbolically, I’ve been metaphorically invisible for some time now, it normally happens to women in their late 40’s onwards where they begin to report feeling ‘unseen’. It’s actually got a proper name ‘Invisible Woman syndrome’. Imagine that, a syndrome created just because women commit the sin of ageing. As I edge a little closer to 50 I am in the age group of becoming a little bit opaque.
Living as we do in a Patriarchal society, where youth equals beauty and that equals interest, being an old lady renders you surplus to requirements. There is of course the argument, that our existence as women on this earth and our right to take up space, go beyond the realms of the male gaze and maybe just maybe, we’re all complete whole people who do and think and say lots of different and amazing things regardless of whether the patriarchy takes notice.
My invisibility comes from circumstance, I disappeared from view at 35, as soon as I became disabled, traumatised and sad. Society is not set up for the differently abled, unless we are ‘inspirational’ then we can just go away and let everyone else get on with it, thank you very much. As soon as my ‘worth’ dropped in terms of productivity then I was boring/lazy/less than human* (*delete as appropriate). Almost as if my ideas, my voice, my intrinsic value became null and void. For someone with issues from childhood around being silenced and invalidated, this was a huge grief-filled mess to get my head around. Again, worth being measured by output and whether or not I’m working my arse off, in a shit job I hate for no money, is a patriarchal capitalist construct, whose sole job is to strip all of us of joy and freedom (I’m beginning to see a pattern here, it’s almost as if the patriarchy is really bad for us).
Going from someone who was perfectly abled to being dis-abled was an eye opener for me. My circumstance changed me but it’s society who disabled me. A society unwilling to make reasonable adjustments so we can get equity. A place where you are not seen and are treated as ‘broken’ because you are not typical (even though most typical abled folks are sick and sad and burning out because of, well you know, patriarchal capitalism). The pandemic is a prime example, people unwilling to wear masks and as a result, throw their immunocompromised comrades under the proverbial bus because the message everyone receives is that “disabled people are less than and therefore do not matter”. As I said, SOCIETY DISABLES US. ‘
Lucky me, I have the invisibility bingo, female, older and disabled . Do I just continue to get more and more ‘thin’ as the years go by until I shrivel away for ever, or do I use it to my advantage? I can use my invisibility to slip through spaces and places without being seen, I can say, wear and do what the fuck I like without eyes judging me, urging me to be polite and fit into the mould of ‘woman’ (whatever that means). What freedom this is, what joy to avoid the tut tutting and the expectations.
In the words of the wonderful Mona Eltahawy “I refuse to allow those who don’t recognize my full humanity to expect politeness of me”.
Absofuckinglutely
The Hermits Grove 