just who does she think she is?

My mother was a watcher. And by watcher, I mean someone who watched people carefully and observed mannerisms, flaws, details other people might not notice. Though she was not a writer, she probably could have turned those skills to the page, since their tendency passed on down to me, powers that I hopefully use for good far more than evil. One of the things she did repeatedly when I was a child, and a comment I heard her often say, was "Who does she think she is?" It was usually uttered in parking lots, where we waited for my dad to run into the store, and a woman, all ages, all body types, all types of dress was carrying herself just a little too confidently. 

And by confidently, I mean just normally. Maybe breezily or casually. And this may have been her biggest flaw. She wasn't like those of us who are anxious, uncomfortable awkward in life just hoping for the asphalt to open us up and swallow us completely. Certainly not like my mother, or me for many years as a teen, keenly and acutely aware of our body and its size, the way clothing fit or did not fit, how much time we spent pulling fabric away from curves. A women who really seemed to be okay in her body, whatever it looked like. Whatever she was doing. Kind of just existing. While my mother's own body issues plagued her for her entire life, I was not going to let it do so for mine.

And really, maybe it had not so much to do with body image slone. I watch a lot of YouTube style and thrifting videos, where women bloggers spend a lot of time apologizing or fending off potential attacks about their hair, the detergent they use, what they put on their sandwiches. Which seems silly until you actually look at the comments, and sure enough, they are responding to a sort of watchfulness on the part of other women who somehow like to spend time leaving negativity on other people's videos. This is especially true in body positive spaces, where many comments seem to say, how dare you?  Have a body and put clothes on it and enjoy them?  You're supposed to be miserable. Shut the fuck up. 

And then today, a Taylor Swift Grammy's win and some news of a new album, and my feed is filled with people who are tired of her being so much and so productive and just everywhere now, she should dial it back. To be less. Take up less space. And really it's the same bullshit. If she seems that nice in real life and is that successful, she must surely be a raging bitch and super problematic, cannibalizing those around her in pursuit of her own glory. She's surely not successful because she just works really hard. 

Not that I am in any way as famous/successful/rich as TS, but even I've felt it in some lit circles, at my old job in the library. That demand that you be less. Write less poems (because how could you be good if you're prolific), promote yourself less, publish less, take up less space, stop doing extra work that really needs to be done or you'll make co-workers look bad. Stop stepping on toes or over bodies that haven't moved in decades.   When I was in my MFA and dared win a contest or start a press or publish a first book (the same things my online writer friends were already doing in spades). But still, who do you think you are? 

There is a certain amount of taking up space that you're allowed, especially in any given corner. Especially if you are a woman. Occasionally I hear someone muttering the affirmation "I am enough." and I always laugh since I will usually apologize for being too much. Perhaps mine should be "You are not too much." Too opinionated, too driven or ambitious, too frank when asked a question. I preface new people sometimes, apologizing in advance for personality quirks they will surely encounter if they stick around long enough. Maybe I should be done doing that as well, as should TS for any attacks that she is writing too many songs or releasing too many albums, or just getting too much airtime at football games. That's just way too much space...