I had hoped the notion that I would don tweed skirts and a shapeless jumper on hitting 50 were a thing of the past, but no, according to this company this was my aspirational future.
Why is it that women have such a difficult time accepting aging? Sure, in ancient times our life opportunities could be determined by looks and child bearing capabilities; but those times are long gone and yet society still seems unable to value women over the age of 40.
The father of economics lived with his mother. She took care of him for his entire life. Yet he never thought to value her work to clean the house, cook his food or care for him.
Why is fragility so valued in women? Is it simply that helpless dependence makes men feel stronger and more powerful, reinforcing their role as leaders and providers in society?
In normal times we push our way onto the tubes and buses, compete for jobs and school places without even talking to our neighbours or fellow travellers. Yet behind this independent, competitive façade there are times when we come together to help those in need; bringing food, medicine or companionship to those that are isolated and showing we’re not all ruthless, selfish loners in a Darwinian economic soup
I don’t want to be part of a culture that is frozen in the past. I want to be part of a developing world, in which we can all thrive. Clinging to outdated ideas, or the status quo will only hinder all our progress
A phoenix from the ashes of despair. An ugly duckling that became a swan. What is initially unappealing and unpromising has the potential to become beautiful and admirable in maturity. There is hope for us all.
Research shows that women who want to succeed are told that they need to consciously monitor themselves to balance assertion with enough caring/nurturing behaviours so they don’t upset the way in which others are used to seeing the world working. How much longer do we need to hide our strength behind a soft outer shell to be accepted and recognised for what we can contribute?
I’ve always loved water. I have childhood memories of outdoor unheated pools and my long suffering father forced to accompany me to keep me safe. Recollections of rushing into the Irish Sea every day on holiday and emerging blue, shivering and covered in goose bumps to then hide behind a windbreak and chafe heat back into my limbs.
What are we doing in reading Rapunzel to our sons and daughters? A girl who was so conditioned to focus on her looks that she fails to realise that she could use her own hair to abseil down the tower and escape to freedom. So much for realistic life expectations and good role models.