Women of the fifties

All weekend I have been pondering what to write about on this site. Today while reading a preview of Grantchester, a series I like, published on public TV, I read an interview with one of the new and younger stars. This is what she said about her character, a journalist in the late 1950s.

LAUREN CARSE:

I love how confident and self-assured she is, because I think it was quite unusual for a woman to be that way in the FIFTIES.

I know many of my readers were young in the fifties as was I. In 1958, I graduated from high school and went off to college. Sadly, I had wrecked my friend's car in July, hit a car that pulled out in front of me, and fractured vertebrae in my back. My mother insisted I see her doctor, a surgeon, who decided to have me wear a metal back brace from my chest to my lower back. I know now that it was the worst mistake we could have made. I entered college in September wearing this brace and wearing clothes made by Mother from patterns that had no waist line. The blouses were straight from shoulders to hem line, about mid hip.

I had no confidence in myself. I felt I looked like some weird person who could not bend at the waist. In fact, I could not bend at the waist. I felt ugly.

But, I met girls in my dorm who were very confident and self-assured. One of them was my suite-mate, Peggy D. She said she was from Washington, DC and was the daughter of a high ranking officer in the military. She had grown up moving from one city to another and from one school to another. She was a pretty girl with long black hair. She had a nice shape, rounded but not over weight. In fact, Peggy was as tall as I was, physically strong and extremely intelligent. I often wondered how she ended up in an all-girl school in Milledgeville, GA. She talked very little about her family, and I realize now that I don't know anything about them.

Our first year at Georgia State College for Women, I wanted to be independent and break rules, feel free to do things I had never done at home, but I lacked the courage to rebel. Peggy bought cigarettes, and at night she persuaded me to sit in our open windows and smoke. My sweet roommate, Catherine, a preacher's daughter, thought we were going to hell in a hand basket, I'm sure. Catherine was a very good girl who followed authority without question.

I had not known anyone quite like Peggy in my sheltered life on the farm, and I was intrigued by her. She soon had a boyfriend from the military college across town. We had strict rules as freshmen as to when and where we could go. Peggy often left the dorm before dark, met her boyfriend, and persuaded me to open the door at the end of our hall, next to her room, and let her in after curfew. No one knew I did that except for our roommates, and they never told on us.

Peggy and I became best friends and signed up to share a room our sophomore year. While we were freshmen, she introduced me to a friend of her boyfriend. I was still in my back brace, but this young man, Richard, wanted to meet me. For the next two years, he and I were a couple. Both Richard and Peggy's boyfriend were officers at the military school. My life was good. I made many friends at GSCW, and I should have stayed there until I graduated.

Peggy did not lack confidence in herself. She planned to go to medical school, and I believe she did become a doctor and lived out west. We lost contact after I transferred to the University of Georgia.

I was a young teacher here. I don't remember why I had red hair.

I knew other girls who went on to good careers, but many simply found a husband and settled down as they were expected to do. Sadly, some left college to get married and later were divorced with children and it was not possible to get their education. I am happy to find some of my college friends now, in retirement, have the chance to follow their dreams, to become artists, writers and work in other fields.

I became an elementary school teacher and taught in one school in Albany, GA for five years. It soon became obvious to me that this career was not my cup of tea. I was too empathetic and the children who had home problems or reading difficulties I could not help them with, kept me awake at night. My husband wanted me to quit because he worried about my mental state. Teaching at the public school depressed me. That was also the time when my mother needed me most.

I did continue teaching, but as a partner in a private kindergarten (Humpty-Dumpty) where I chose what I taught, and my five-year old kids brought me joy. I have come to know that owning my own business and being in charge of what I do is what brings me joy. I had that opportunity in the mid-seventies and again when I opened my writing studio in 2010.

Young women in the past several decades are offered many and various opportunities to pursue. Some of those careers are more difficult for women. I have been told that women in medical schools face a tough uphill battle. The men students often ridicule them; try to make them feel they have no right to be there.

I make a big effort to see women doctors. They usually understand my needs and my concerns better than men. Some of the women docs, especially the younger ones, are defensive, and I think it is because of the struggles they face proving themselves in medical school. Women have been considered caregivers, nurturers and subservient to men, so when a woman proves she can and wants to take the responsibility of being the doctor or lawyer or take a position in leadership, she faces hurdles men do not face. Some husbands do not cooperate when their wives want a career. I have seen the hurt that causes.

I often wonder if, when I was young, I had the self-confidence I now have, what might I have done with my life. I just have to make up for those years by doing what I am doing today. 

How was your self-confidence when you were young?

Please send me your thoughts and let's have a conversation. It is easy to leave a comment. If you have an email address, you can leave a comment, or you can respond as anonymous. Your comment will not publish right away because I moderate comments to be sure we don't have spam. But I read each comment and every day I check the comments to see what you have said.

Living Life on My Terms

I am a fan of Maria Shriver, daughter of Eunice Kennedy Shriver. Eunice founded the Special Olympics and was a phenomenal woman as was most of the family of Rose and Joseph Kennedy. I, like many, thought that anyone who grew up as a Kennedy has it made and their life is like Utopia. But that family has suffered so many tragedies some say they are jinxed.

My life was always dictated by others, it seems, until I was middle aged. My authoritarian father and opinionated four brothers left little wiggle room for my own thoughts and ideas to be heard. My older sister learned early that she had to leave home to be her own person. So did my youngest sister.

Both of them lived in various locations and had adventures I only dreamed of. Gay moved to California and worked with Western Airlines. She traveled to any place Western flew. She often went alone and met interesting people. She wrote letters to me about her trips.

June, the oldest, met an Air Force Lieutenant and eventually left for California where they married.
She had a successful career herself, and helped her husband further his education at Emory University after his stint in the military. I enjoyed visiting them in places near enough I could drive or close enough they could take Gay and me home with them.

Meanwhile, I went to college, earned my BS in Education and came back home to teach. I hated being at the mercy of administrative men who had no idea what I needed in my classroom to help children who came to my fourth grade classroom  not knowing how to read.

I married a great guy who eventually went to work with my brothers. A huge mistake for me because I became caught in the middle between him and family when things went wrong. To make matters worse, we lived on the same farm where I grew up, where my parents and brothers called all the shots.

So how does this relate to Maria Shriver? Through following this extraordinary woman who has taken center stage in her own life, I see much of myself.

She was the only girl in a family of five. The boys were given opportunities she was not. She felt she never had a voice. (So much like me)  She lived a life trying to be the person her mother and father wanted her to be - a good daughter, a good wife, a good mother. When she tells of the rules she had to live by in her strict Catholic family, my heart goes out to her. She watched her mother develop the Special Olympics which debuted the same time that her brother, Robert Kennedy was assassinated and buried. Maria talks about this on a podcast that I have listened to more than once.

Who would think that a rich person who had all kinds of opportunities would grow up thinking she didn't matter, her opinions didn't matter. Now, as an older woman having endured the public humiliation of her husband's affair and divorce, she is writing books, holding meetings with people all over this country, important people who want to talk to her. 

She posts on Facebook and has a Sunday post that I subscribe to and read every week. She has created a powerful organization for Alzheimer's cure and is an advocate for that and many things.
She says we should never think our thoughts, our voices are not important. I agree.

When I moved away from home in my fifties, I found that my voice does matter. I found that the ideas and values I always had were appreciated. Although I had been a great worker in organizations I supported, I had no confidence that I could be a leader, a person who was sought out for my opinions or respected as a person of influence.

I urge my readers to follow and read the books and posts by Maria Shriver. She has overcome her lack of confidence in herself, her embarrassment by a failed marriage that she did not see coming, and the expectations of others who, because of her family name, want her to follow traditions and be like her cousins although she is her own person.

I admire that attitude. The first time I stood up for myself and my opinions against my brothers who expected me to appear and present a program about our family history caused a major upset. I was accused of being mean and selfish, but I was standing up for myself when one of my brothers told me that the family history book I spent 10 years compiling was inaccurate. I was hurt beyond words. I had my doubts that my book had been read, but was appalled when I was told that my research on my grandparents was all wrong.

Some family members will always remember that incident as my fault. But in some ways it was my last stand for myself.

This happened after I had moved away. Would I have been as determined if I had been near my brothers? I was accused of throwing one of my brothers under the bus because he had to give the presentation. He was forced to read my book to deliver the history he had promised to provide.

I grew up, like Maria, in the shadows of brothers and other family feeling I had no voice. But it is never too late to speak up. We don't have to let others, husbands, family or community stifle us.  As long as we are of sound mind, we can control our lives. I will not move out of my home because others think I should. But when I cannot take care of myself or afford to hire help, I will consider making a move. I will not stop teaching and helping writers who need me unless I feel that I have nothing to offer. I will not end my leadership of my writers' organization until I feel that I cannot make a difference.

Visit Maria Shriver here. Read her Sunday Paper by subscribing.

One Step in Becoming Calm

This advice came from an article on how to be calm. I like "remember not to hear praise in a whisper - negative things in a thunder." 

"Step 5: Remember not to hear praise in a whisper and negative things in a thunder. When we look at ourselves, to have a fully balanced picture and a healthy perspective on self, we must appreciate our talents as well as our growing edges. Gain a full inventory of your gifts and then look at when those very gifts (such as enthusiasm) become problematic (intrusiveness), so we can appreciate what is good about both ourselves and those situations that cause our very gifts to become burdens to ourselves and others."

Most of my young life I failed to hear praise although my mother and my sisters saw my talents and abilities, but the negative things bombarded my mind like a massive storm. It has been a difficult task, learning to appreciate my talents. It took writing them down. Making a list and realizing that I had talents. Isn't it awful that we have to grow old to learn what we had all along? Like Dorothy in Wizard of Oz, we have what we need but just don't know it.