Like trees, we are reaching out during our time of passage.  At [...]]]> Trees are a testimony of resilience. They cannot escape Mother Nature’s vagaries, human beings’ assaults, or other attacks from the fauna and flora. Yet they grow high and deep, simultaneously reaching for the light and for the dark.  They reach out to the sun to absorb the light and grow, and they reach in to the center of the earth to absorb its needed nutrients and get stronger.  This duality is the essence of the trees’ life. It takes what it needs to fulfill its destiny, which is to grow taller and bigger and stronger in order to live its purpose, which is to enable life on this planet for as long as possible.

Like trees, we are reaching out during our time of passage.  At different times, we will reach out for different things.

As a baby, I probably reached out for attention, love, food, plays, practically all the basic needs.  I do not really remember this time.  So I can only assume, but I am probably pretty close.

As a toddler, I reached out for attention, love, food, plays, but also for knowledge.  I love puzzles, and all games that made me think in general.  I wanted to belong; I wanted to be like the other children.  I started kindergarten at 3 years old, and my mother told my teacher that I was not allowed to play outside at recess.  I remember that day, as I could not understand why I could not play outside.  Thankfully, the school, by whatever miracle, brought my mom to her senses and I could go play outside, after that day, but I still was not allowed to play with boys.  Obviously, I did it anyway…

From a young age, I felt different and I really wanted to be like most everyone else.  Children from similar background and culture were in the same boat, but most children were not from a North African background and their parents were much more open.  So in addition to what most other children reached out for, I was already reaching out for fairness and justice.  Although, I have to say that I took advantage when I could.

When I was in elementary school, Jonathan liked me and all I had to say if anyone bothered me was: “I am going to tell Jonathan” and I was left alone.  Yes Jonathan was a bully, which I had no concept of at that time…I took advantage of a bully’s services…so does that not make me a bully?  Oh!  I do not like that idea, but it is a fact.  I wonder where Jonathan is now…

So apart from reaching out for a bully, I started to reach out for peace and still for love.  This was not the case in my day-to-day surroundings.  I started to reach out to people who thought I was intelligent and could accomplish a lot in my life if I wanted to.  I started to sort out my friends and hung out mostly with children of parents who did not share my parent’s beliefs.

As the paragraphs above demonstrate, I searched and reached out for love all my life, but I think what I was really reaching out for was acceptance and happiness.  Like a tree, I have been reaching down deep to get stronger and keep my grounds and I have been reaching upwards to the light and warm that acceptance and happiness provide.  I had so many turns to take, so many bumps to jump and so many high obstacles to overcome that I found myself tumbling down many times.  In the end, it did not matter; I eventually got back up and kept on growing.  My branches were going different ways and had, in many occasions, to take very long and harsh roads to get where I wanted.  I had to cut my way out and I cried, and I was bruised, but I also laughed and danced in the process.

I started to smile for no reasons; I told my kids that if they saw me smile that it was ok.  They ask why and I replied that when we smile we cannot be sad at the same time so I was going to train my face to be happy.  After all, these muscles did not have lots of practice…  Then I started to dance and what a blessing this is…  I am completely on another planet when I dance.  My face lights up, my body moves to the music, my soul is free and most importantly, and my body and my soul are at peace.

I can dance for hours.  I actually do not know where the energy comes from.  I can be very tired, and as soon as the music starts, I am on the dance floor!  Especially if it is Latin or oriental music.  When I dance my arms are up most of the time, just like a tree…Everything moves in synchronization from the feet to the tips of my fingers.   I am reaching out to the sky, to the light, to the spirit and to my divine self.  I am reaching out and giving thanks at the same time because I am so happy to be where I am in my life.

I know I started a new chapter in my life last year.  I do not know where the road is taking me.  It did take a huge turn, as the move from New Brunswick to Ottawa did not turn out to be as intended with my job, but I take the road dancing and skipping like the young me should have gone through life.  It is never too late to be happy… I know that for sure.  Where ever the road is taking me, I am going through the journey happy and I will love what I get, I know J

Well… I thought I finished this piece but I had a strange dream last night about a woman who was getting people to do things that were painful.  People would do it just because if they did not, things would get worse, and they were very afraid of her.  At one point at the end of the dream, I ripped a square piece of fabric that had a drawing or instructions on what needed to be done.  I took the piece of fabric from the hands of the other person and ripped it.  She was in disarray and said: “Oh no, now it going to be worse”.  I said what will happen to me? She said not you, I, and her hands started to change into silvery white glittery tiny branches, and the transformation moved from her hands to change her whole body.  It was beautiful to watch, and once the transformation was completed, it became a very tall and dense evergreen tree.  Very healthy, very tall and lean, yet the needles and branches were looking so dense and at the same time, they freely moved to the wind.  The soil was healthy as well and I could see through.  It was rich looking and had a ray (more in a shape of a circle pulled vertically deep into the ground) of orange and yellow within the beautiful darkness of the soil.  It looked very healthy and packed with good nutrients.

I decided to tell my dream because I think that the girl who was scared of the consequences if she did not do what she was told to was me.  I found a way to help myself in my dream to transform and become stronger and healthy in a land of rich colors, magnificent light, nice breeze, and packed with food for the physical and spiritual bodies.  I am that tall and lean evergreen tree.    What a beautiful message I received last night; it gives me hope, faith, and assurance that I am on the right path.  Not sure where I am heading but it is a rebirth and I cannot wait to see what I become when I grow up.

Welcome to the Memoirs By Mail meeting place!

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Sadie’s eyes too were looking at the upper right corner of the fish tank.

“But maybe he’ll make it again”, she said hopefully.

Goldy had already pulled off a couple miracles in his time.

It was Marty’s night to put Sadie to bed.  I had had a long week and had popped into her room to give her a quick kiss on the cheek so that I could sit on the couch with a glass of wine.  I had a momentary pang of resentment for that fish.  He was taking my moments of peace.  But Sadie [...]]]> “I think we have a bit of a situation here.”  My husband’s eyes remained on the fish tank.  He heard me come to the door, but didn’t turn around to look at me.

Sadie’s eyes too were looking at the upper right corner of the fish tank.

“But maybe he’ll make it again”, she said hopefully.

Goldy had already pulled off a couple miracles in his time.

It was Marty’s night to put Sadie to bed.  I had had a long week and had popped into her room to give her a quick kiss on the cheek so that I could sit on the couch with a glass of wine.  I had a momentary pang of resentment for that fish.  He was taking my moments of peace.  But Sadie turned from the tank, and her eyes rested on mine.

“Do you think he’ll make it again Mommy?”

This fish had survived three near death experieces. Each time I had the speeches ready for Sadie, each time we had prepared, but each time this fish had look death in the eye, and survived.  This time was different.  I walked up beside her.  My husband was kneeling and Sadie was leaning forward so that they were both eye level to Goldy.  He was barely alive, floating on his side near the top of his tank.  Every so often his fins would move, showing waning signs of life.  I put my hand on her back as she turned to look up at me, her eyes sad and pleading for me to say that he again would survive.

“Sadie”, I said.  “Goldie is still alive, but I think he’s very close to dying.  He looks like he’s struggling a bit”.

“How can we help him?”

“Well, we could wait for him to die, or we could help him die so he doesn’t have to struggle so much”.

My husband sent me a stunned look.  I hadn’t planned to have a discussion with my 5 year old daughter about euthanasia, but that was some how happening.

“I don’t want him to be hurting”

“I know” I said to her.

“We could let him die, or we could help him along by flushing him down the toilet”

“Why would we do that?” she asked.

Goodness, why did we do that?  What answer was I going to give?

“Well, that way Goldy’s body will go back to all his fishie friends in the lake” my husband said to her.

Good one, I thought.

“Okay, let’s do that” Sadie decided.

With my eyes still on Goldy, and my hand gently rested on Sadie’s back, I asked her “Do you want me to put you to bed while Daddy flushes him, or do you want to watch him go down the toilet and say good bye to him?”

“Will you come with me and hold my hand?” Sadie asked me.

“Of course!”

The three of us walked in to our tiny bathroom.  Goldy resting in the tiny net.

“Good bye Goldy” Sadie said as Marty dropped him into the toilet and flushed.

No tears were shed, but Sadie’s eyes were sad.

“Would you like me to lie with you for a little while?” I asked.

And as I lay down with her I said to her.“That was very sad, wasn’t it?”

A quiet sniffle came from her. “it’s okay to cry.  It’s okay to be sad”.  With that permission the sobs came in waves.  For 10 minutes, the grief of losing her first pet set in.  And as quickly as the tears started, they seized.  I lay next to her in the dark.  I gave her hug and a kiss, said good night and walked to the door.

“Mommy?” she asked.

“Yes Sadie.”

“What happens to us when we die?”

Pupuce:  He woke me up at three in the morning.  I had a dream that my brother put a little kitty on my chest while I was sleeping.  I opened one eye and I saw a little orange ball frozen from fear.  I closed my eye quickly and went back to sleep.  In the morning, I get up to go to school and plug the light in [...]]]> Many animals blessed my life.  I learned compassion and unconditional love from them but they had to sacrifice their lives, and that is not fair.  I could not choose one animal to speak about so I will briefly describe what I learned from each one and who they were; albeit some did not stay long enough to really know.

Pupuce:  He woke me up at three in the morning.  I had a dream that my brother put a little kitty on my chest while I was sleeping.  I opened one eye and I saw a little orange ball frozen from fear.  I closed my eye quickly and went back to sleep.  In the morning, I get up to go to school and plug the light in to see a little orange kitty running away and hiding under the buffet in the living room…. It was not a dream!  It was real!  We have a cat!  His name was going to be Pupuce, but he did not want to come out of under the buffet so we decided to let him get accustomed to us.  He did and became very big.  WE took him out for walks on a leash and everybody was coming to see our cat…You can’t leave your cat out alone when you live in a large building in France.

Pupuce had the colors of the sun, he loved to sleep with us and he would go in the blankets all the way to the end of the bed, come back and lay down by us.  He loved to sleep in the closet on the piles of clothes.  One day Pupuce disappeared… I was crushed.  I looked for him and could not find him for days.  In Paris there are too many cars so Pupuce is probably gone.  One day I get to the elevator and I hear a meow…It was Pupuce!!!  He came back, so all excited, I took him up… bathed him, told him to stay in the towel until I came back with food.  I asked my mom for money and went to buy him food.  At night I hear my parents arguing about the fact that my dad did not take the cat far enough, since he came back.  I was crushed again… I knew my mom did not like animals but to throw them out so I was mad at her but it was just a matter of time before he was gone again and never came back.  I felt bad because I was falling asleep when it happened and pretended I did not hear them… I could have said “NO” and my dad would not have done it… but only while I was home…I could not save Pupuce when I was in school…I hope he forgives me!

Sloidie:  My brother had a puppy named Lloyd… His girlfriend did not like the dog and one day while we were visiting, she kicked him and he flew towards the baseboard… I was outraged… I did not like her much to start with… I grabbed the dog and he became our dog.  My sister, my brother and I realized it was a pedigree Belgium Sheppard so the name had to start with S.   I don’t remember how we got that information but my brother must not have told Lilianne that important fact… and we also found that it was a she not a he… so her name became Sloidie.  She was full of life and full of love.  She was gorgeous and absolutely loved us and I absolutely loved her.  She was beige and so lean… we would play a lot, and if we came home together, she would jump at me, and then go to my sister, then back to me, etc… she did that dance for a long time.  She was extremely smart.  All we had to say was” Sloidie! Va chercher ta laisse!” and she would go in the hallway, take her leash from where it was hung and out we went…  Everybody was jealous of Sloidie!  Strangers had the guts to ask me if I would consider given her away… uh! No….  Sloidie had a brother that a neighbor had and we took her out for a play date with her brother.  They were both so happy to see each other, they had a great time.  Then Sloidie got sick and she had to go to the veterinarian clinic.  I left with my parents to Algeria for the summer and left Sloidie behind at the clinic.  I called my brother who took care of her then until one day he told she died on my bed.  The vet said she should have been better by now and she just does not want to die there.  He told my brother to take her home because that is where she wanted to be.  He placed her on my bed since she could not walk and an hour later she left this earth.  This was the biggest loss I ever had in my life… I am crying right now just thinking and writing about it.  Tears are coming down as if it was just yesterday…It has been over 30 years, and it is still raw….  I still see her smiling, happy face, and believe me when I say she was smart… she understood everything.  I hope she remembers me!

My ex-husband was a forest engineer in Algeria and was the Director of a National Park, which had a zoo. He brought home these two creatures, which unfortunately, I did not have time to name or to enjoy.  The fennec fox was so fast that I could not stop him for running out of the house and go through the fence of the terrace.  He died hitting the ground L   I hope he understands!

He also brought home this baby wild pig.  I tried to feed him a bottle of milk and he was so scared… I remember his scream.  His mummy was not able to take of him.  Overnight he went into my ex-husband’s working boot and, in the morning, I found him stuck in the boot, not breathing.  He could not get out and I did not hear anything at night.  I hope he understands!

This is Zoe… My brother and his wife moved to Algeria and brought Zoe from France with them.  Unfortunately, they could not keep her so they brought her to us in the village of Kabylie, where she had lots of space to run…  However, my mother did not want her in the house so she had to fend for herself at night.  I hid her in a few times and she slept under my bed, but I was not able to do it for long before my mother realized it.  She was in a dog house at night but we could not always protect her and she got sick.  The veterinarian said there was nothing that could be done, as she was infested with worms in her whole body.  She had a place to sleep but when it was her time, she found the strength to walk to the main door and lay down there to go; she wanted to be closer to us.  I am the one who found her in the morning, and again I was crushed.  I dreamed of Zoe a few times.  She seems to have been looking after me.  I feel bad because I have not been able to do the same.  I hope she forgives me!

Felix was given to us by a dog breeder.  We had him because he had an anomaly and Felix could not have been used to breed.  Felix was very protective of me.  We did a lot together; we went for long walks in the woods, we played and he was very strong.  Nobody came close to me because he would warn them and they would stop dead.  He did not do that when my ex-husband was with us, but when it was just him and I, he stayed close to me, and nobody could have touched me.  When we came to Canada, we left Felix with my brother who was supposed to take care of him, but unfortunately, he did not. He gave him away to a person who was not able nor willing to take care of such a big dog.  I am not sure what happened to Felix.  I am pretty sure that He has long passed, but he is the only one I do not know the circumstance.   I asked my ex-husband, when he went back to Algeria for three weeks, within the year we moved to Canada, and he said he did not know.  I know he lied to me.  I always felt I abandoned him and it has been very difficult to come to terms with this.

Brutus got his name from his stature.  He was a very strong dog.  He was fast, sharp, and strong.  He even brought me chickens home to cook (that he stole from the neighbors and killed).  He was so fast that nobody could stop him.  He loved to eat; he loved to play;

Moe was a talkative cat, very soft and very loving.  He never had enough of cuddling time.  But he was brought home after Dusty and Dusty was very jealous and to a degree a bully. Moe has been adopted by someone else and is happy. I could not keep him and I hope he forgives me!

Dusty is now with my daughter in Montreal and he is loved more than a child could be.

Yes I was blessed by having many animals touching my life, and I will have animals again.  But one thing I know for sure, I will do so when I can be there for them.  And I hope that they stick around longer than my previous furry friends did.  I loved them all and I keep very vivid and fond memories of all of them.  They really have specific characters that are unique and very different.  Pupuce, Moe, and Dusty are three different cats.  Sloidie, Zoe, Brutus, and Felix are very different dogs.   They all came into my life for a reason, and I hope that what we were to teach each other has been learned.

But there in the jungles of Sumatra, near the border of Acheh province, we got what we came for: we saw them.  Apparently, we share 97% of our DNA with these creatures that the Indonesians call [...]]]> We hiked all day, on what we were told was an “easy” trek, but actually involved slipping up and down the walls of an endless series of muddy ravines in the tropical humidity.  Things grow everywhere in the rainforest – trees in dead logs, vines around trees, all spiralling, grasping, and reaching for the sun.  There are leeches in the mud, ants breaking down the stumps.  By the time we reached camp, I was bright red in the face, soaked through with sweat, my legs so tired they were shaking.

But there in the jungles of Sumatra, near the border of Acheh province, we got what we came for: we saw them.  Apparently, we share 97% of our DNA with these creatures that the Indonesians call the people of the forest.  And they were like us in some ways – the way the mother held her baby and fed it; how the young ones played, while the old man sat composedly and watched the world go by; the interest they took in what was happening around them.  But at the same time, they were completely other.  Completely wild.  Their hands are like our hands.  But their feet are also hand-like – and their arms are as long as their bodies.  The mother stopped cradling the baby to hang from a tree, while her little one clung to her body.  They look cuddly, with their ruddy orange fur, but they’re frighteningly strong.  And I’m ok with that: I like that they’re wild.

Going to see the orangutans was a once-in-a-lifetime experience that I took advantage of when I found myself in the neighbourhood.  But at the same time, I had mixed emotions about it all. It seemed voyeuristic.  What was I, who am generally indifferent to animals, hoping to gain by hiking out into the jungle to see these rare cousins of ours in their natural habitat?  We have so much of the planet, while their range has been reduced to a few pockets of Borneo, and this one region in Sumatra.  And yet, even there, in the name of appreciating them, we left our mark: my heavy footprints all through the mud in the jungle that day, and on the riverbed where we camped, various bits of debris from previous trekkers – humanity’s shiny flotsam, sparkling in the sun where the wild ones alone used to live.

*

When I was a teenager, my sister took a few ski lessons, which prompted my parents to renew their interest in an activity which they’d put on hold when we were young.  And so, much to my initial chagrin, we became a skiing family.  When I was first learning, I hated skiing – I felt out of control on the hill, and the experience of trying to make it down in one piece didn’t make up for the disadvantages of getting up early on a Saturday and driving for an hour to spend all day outside in the cold.

Eventually, I got the hang of it, and learned to love the feeling of whipping down [...]]]> Hey Group! Quick question: Do you think this title is too cheesy?

*

When I was a teenager, my sister took a few ski lessons, which prompted my parents to renew their interest in an activity which they’d put on hold when we were young.  And so, much to my initial chagrin, we became a skiing family.  When I was first learning, I hated skiing – I felt out of control on the hill, and the experience of trying to make it down in one piece didn’t make up for the disadvantages of getting up early on a Saturday and driving for an hour to spend all day outside in the cold.

Eventually, I got the hang of it, and learned to love the feeling of whipping down the hill – even becoming brave enough to try moguls and glade skiing on March Break vacations in Vermont.  It was on those same vacations that I really developed “ski friends”.  We took daily lessons with a group of kids with whom we would then ski in the afternoons (thus the peer pressure that led to me skiing the glades ….) and hang out with at the “youth centre” in the evenings trying to play pool, taking advantage of the one night of free access to the resort’s hot-tub facilities, and watching the endless loop of extreme sport videos with a mixture of mockery and awe.

But even though I learned to love to ski, there was a part of my mid-nineties teenage self that desperately wanted to be a snowboarder.  Skiing was the establishment – it was, as both my parents’ sport, and as a long-standing Olympic event, clearly mainstream.  Being a two-planker always felt somewhat square – as if I should be going to après-ski at some fancy Aspen chalet in an angora sweater with a bunch of preppy rich people (I didn’t know any preppy rich people, and certainly wasn’t skiing in Aspen, nor wearing angora … but I’d seen enough power-to-the-outsider movies to know it was something I should disdain).  Snowboarders, on the other hand, had only recently been permitted to buy lift tickets at most hills. They always looked a bit cobbled together, and a bit insane, with their grungy, youthful, and countercultural aesthetic – in other words, they were the physical signifiers of everything I longed to have the guts to be.  I was a fairly straight and narrow kid, but I knew that, somewhere deep inside, there was a snowboarder trapped, and that this “real” me should be wearing baggy pants and a wallet chain, and keeping up with the eyebrow-ringed boys on the half pipe.

And so, one Saturday, when the family was skiing, my boyfriend and I tried snowboarding lessons.  He had messed around on a snowboard at the toboggan hill at his farm, and so had a bit of an idea of how to stand on one.  I, as a skier, could not teach my body to lean on edges located at the front and back of my feet, rather than at the sides, nor could I get the balance right to make it up the t-bar lift on the bunny hill, which was as far as our beginner package tickets took us.  And so, by the end of the day, I was sunburnt, butt-bruised, and longing to return to the effortless sailing down the hill that I had finally achieved on my skis.

I never tried snow-boarding again, but all through my high school years, I continued to feel that ache – the sense that I would somehow feel more whole if I was on the inside of that group on the outside of ski hill society.  Now that I only get out on the hill a couple times a year, I am quite happy to experience the exhilarating rush of strapping my two skis to my feet and discovering I can still carve my way to the bottom, and I am certainly not out there enough that, as with some people I know, skiing has become boring, and it’s necessary to take up boarding to keep entertained on our small local hills.  But that’s not really why the dream has faded: through the passage of time, snow-boarding has become almost as mainstreamed as skiing – it’s now in the Olympics, and those cute spiky-haired eyebrow-ringed boys of my youth probably have small children, houses in the suburbs, and mini vans.  Because what I longed for was never really about being able to snowboard, what I wanted was to be a snowboarder.

When I was a little girl, I loved to wear dresses, but I also loved to play in the sandbox and climb trees.  Luckily for my mother, we were able to acquire bags full of clothing from her friends’ children, so that I could have fourth-hand party dresses that owed nothing to anyone, and were [...]]]> Nobody has ever accused me of being a lady.  A lady is delicate.  A lady moves with grace, and is always put together.  A lady wears leather gloves, not mittens, and carries lipstick in her purse.  A lady can probably eat round foods at a cocktail party (grapes, olives, cherry tomatoes ….) without having to worry about them rolling off of her plate because she talks with her hands too much.

When I was a little girl, I loved to wear dresses, but I also loved to play in the sandbox and climb trees.  Luckily for my mother, we were able to acquire bags full of clothing from her friends’ children, so that I could have fourth-hand party dresses that owed nothing to anyone, and were ready for the sandbox.  I wanted to be a ballerina or gymnast so badly, but my folks would never sign me up for dance lessons, and I was a flailing fly-away-haired disaster in gymnastics.

As a teenager, I had the fortune to come of age in the era of grunge.  I wore cut-off jeans and over-sized plaid shirts.  I owned three pairs of shoes – hiking boots, sport sandals, and a pair of oxfords, because I needed black shoes for band.  I played rugby, though my coordination and agility hadn’t improved much since my childhood days of gymnastics.  If I wore a dress, it went with my boots, sandals, or oxfords, and I’d throw a pair of mickey-mouse boxers over my tights if it was short, so I didn’t have to worry about sitting on the floor.  As a camp counsellor, I was the one whose voice would carry over a hundred 12-year-olds, and keep them occupied doing repeat-after-me songs when dinner was running a bit late.  Boys liked me, if only as a novelty – I suppose I was pretty, but I was also excited to talk about science fiction and willing to play touch football in the mud.  To some of them, I think I was a guy with nicer legs.

In my twenties, I suddenly had friends who wore make-up and fancy clothes.  For the first time, I felt self-conscious about my inability to blow-dry my hair.  And so I decided to play on a different field – when others were dressing for sophistication, I went for whimsy: striped socks, retro t-shirts, and pigtails.  The childhood vision of the poised ballerina slipped further and further away:  I was very involved in theatre, but I never played a romantic heroine.  I specialized in broken and bitter characters: the one exception was when I starred as Snoopy in Snoopy! The Musical.  On the upside, with my 5-minute morning routine, I was well suited to living in residence and back-packing.

It was in this period of my life that I first felt like my femininity was somehow lacking. When I was younger, I was still definitely a girl, while being utterly unladylike.  As I got older though, I realized I wasn’t a lady, and I think that, in some ways, this meant I didn’t know how to go from being a girl to being a woman: it was like I was never going to be this idea of “woman” that was in my mind, so I would have to remain a child.  And it was hard to align femininity with my growing feminism – being a lady seemed regressive, but I was caught somewhere between the second and third waves of feminism, when the definition of female strength was hotly contested, while at the same time all of the social messages I was receiving equated being an adult with a more polished exterior.

As my twenties turned into my thirties, and I became a professional, a not-so-newly-wed, and an auntie to an ever-increasing number of babies, I realized that somewhere along the line, I had become a woman, without becoming a lady.  I have responsibilities, a family, a home, and a career.  I am a strong adult.  And as I’ve found my womanhood, I’ve learned to embrace my femininity: I still talk with my hands too much, like to wear my striped knee-socks from time to time, and am make-up-free but, at the same time, I have learned to appreciate a bit more polish. I don’t think anyone will ever accuse me of being a lady, but I have put to rest the little girl’s dream of being a ballerina, to embrace a womanhood that is strong, whimsical, and feminine all at once – and that fits me well.

Femininity (also called womanliness or womanhood) is a set of attributes, behaviors, and roles generally associated with girls and women. Though socially constructed, femininity is made up of both socially defined and biologically created factors.[1][2][3][4] This makes it distinct from the simple definition of the biological female sex,[5][6] as women, men, and transgender people can all exhibit feminine traits.

But what is it for me? It is definitely a socially constructed concept.  Feminity is in both male and female human beings.  Based on our DNA, our culture, and our surroundings, we exhibit more or less of it.   If asked to define it, I would have had different definitions at different times of my life.

As a child, feminity meant difference [...]]]> What is feminity?   Wikipedia defines it as follows:

Femininity (also called womanliness or womanhood) is a set of attributes, behaviors, and roles generally associated with girls and women. Though socially constructed, femininity is made up of both socially defined and biologically created factors.^[1][2][3][4] This makes it distinct from the simple definition of the biological female sex,^[5][6] as women, men, and transgender people can all exhibit feminine traits.

But what is it for me? It is definitely a socially constructed concept.  Feminity is in both male and female human beings.  Based on our DNA, our culture, and our surroundings, we exhibit more or less of it.   If asked to define it, I would have had different definitions at different times of my life.

As a child, feminity meant difference and injustice.  I was told that as a girl, I had less rights; I had to become “mariable” as soon as possible and my duty was to please men by doing what they expected of me.  My training started with my brothers so that I would become a “perfect wife”.  Although, I was very little, I prepared my first meal (couscous and beignets) at 9 years old.  I knew how to wash clothes by hand at 10; I took care of a baby at 10 entirely by myself, and I cleaned an entire house.  By the age of 12, I could take care of a household – literally.  Technically, I was ready to get married at 12.  Mentally, I was not.

This led to quite a few issues with my mother.  I refused to marry young, to marry someone I did not know, and to marry someone from Algeria.  I was determined so much that at 15, I vowed to never do those things.  I remember, I was in the living room and my rebellious attitude was “I am not doing that”.

So years have passed where, feminity was pre-defined for me.  I was to become a perfect wife, mother, and daughter in law.  I was to wear what I was allowed not what I wanted.  I was to work with my brothers for free (and then give my money to my husband) because as a girl, I was told I did not need money.  Really?  I could not tie the two together…  Feminity was defined for me as motherhood and wife.  Yes I wanted children but I did not want a husband.  I mean the ones I knew, in my family, were not that great.

I quickly associated feminity with objectification, pain and unhappiness.  And for years, that is exactly what I experienced – a lot of pain and unhappiness.

Once I moved to Canada, I found myself alone with my children, and my definition of feminity was impacted by my new surroundings.  It was hard because I did not speak English, I did not know anyone in New Brunswick, and it was very cold L

Over the years, I developed new and great friendships that taught me that feminity was beauty.  I started to change my way of thinking about feminity.  My personality changed.  I was wearing what I wanted not what I was told; I worked and kept all my money; I was a mother who was respected by her children and who respected her children in return.  I was studying and improving my life and the lives of my children as the same time.  Feminity still meant motherhood, but was no longer associated with pain and unhappiness.  No one was imposing their views on my feminity.

Yes I saw feminity as difference, but as a beautiful difference.

Now I still saw objectification of feminity.  Unfortunately, I am not the last one to have gone through what I have gone through.  So many women get their feminity defined for them and have to live by those definitions.

I love and cherish my feminity…I am so grateful to have been born a girl, despite the suffering it brought to me.

I am a girl, a woman, and exude feminity qualities.  Feminity is special and should be cherished.

So the concept of feminity is socially constructed, but we can have a huge impact on how we define it too.  After all, we do not have to accept it as it is presented to us. As we grow up, we can decide to adopt all or parts of the pre-defined feminity concept, or even construct our own version.