I am woman, hear me roar...

This is probably less personal than the posts I usually write, but it is something that I feel very strongly about, so I guess that makes it personal. And there’s only so many times you can write about being fed up!

My husband, my best friend but above all, my equal

Yesterday saw the one hundred year anniversary of women getting the vote in the UK. It would be another ten years before they enjoyed that right on an equal footing with men. It astonishes me that, a century later, there are still institutions and companies that find it acceptable to pay women less than men, despite the fact that they are doing the same job. You only have to look at the machinations at the BBC to see that.

Gripping...

Coincidentally, yesterday was also the day that I went to see ‘The Post’, Stephen Spielberg’s latest film about the events leading up to the publication of the damning Pentagon Papers. Im a real sucker for a good journalism movie - All the President’s Men, It Happened One Night, Spotlight - and found The Post absorbing and thought provoking. The main thrust of the story, and the reason that the director rushed to make it, was the role of the press in shining a clear and rational light on things that administrations would prefer the public not to know, and the freedom to publish. It was truly gripping, and actually evoked a fist pump from me when the printing presses started to roll! But, as with all great films, there was an intriguing subplot - the role of women. 

I want to read this...

Katherine (Kay) Graham was the first female publisher of a major American newspaper, but only because her husband died. She has been quoted as saying that she was proud that her father ‘gave’ the paper to her beloved Phil, and that it never occurred to her that she would be considered suitable to take on such an important job. Astonishing! The Post is punctuated by scenes depicting how women were regarded in the early seventies - the male advisor taking over in a key meeting, the bankers assuming they know best, female clerks waiting outside the doors of the New York Stock Exchange and even Graham herself demanding more columns about fashion to please her female friends. Watching Meryl Streep portray Graham’s shift towards doing what she felt was right, in the face of all opposition and the possible loss of all she held dear was breathtaking.

Nearly an adult!

I was slowly emerging as an adult in the mid-seventies, and spent time railing against inequality in my youth. I never actually burnt a bra, but I flirted with Women’s Lib when I was at college. There is no doubt that since I waved a placard in 1975, major strides have been made, but there are still circumstances when women are discriminated against, purely because of their gender. 

My placard waving friends in 1975 - where are they now?

I never had to break through a glass ceiling in my career, but very few men worked in the Special Needs or Primary sector of education when I started out. I don’t think thats true anymore, but I’m willing to bet that its the females on the staff that get asked to do the more ‘pastoral’ or ‘care’ aspects of the job, while the men play football with the lads. I appreciate that’s a sweeping statement, but I’m sure there’s a grain of truth in it.

Looking forward, the #metoo campaign has served to shine a clear light on how people, largely female, have been exploited by those in power, Carrie Grace has fallen on her sword to demonstrate the inequalities at the BBC, and there is a heartening number of women in politics. And yet there are still clubs that refuse the admittance of woman (although, to be fair, would you really want to be a member?) and  young women who do nothing to promote the cause - if I hear one more say, ‘I didn’t bother to vote, I don’t get politics’ I will tie them down and make them watch the footage of Emily Davison being trampled by the King’s horse in 1913. 

On a stamp...must be important!

I’m sure that if they had to endure the lot of women in less enlightened times, they’d pretty soon see that ‘politics’ isn’t only about men (and women) in suits, Brexit and the budget, it’s what underpins the entire structure of our lives. You’ve got to be in it, to win it!

I survived!

So I survived! More than survived, I enjoyed it! Of course, I am referring to my boudoir shoot.

I probably need to rewind to the very beginning. If you've read my previous blogs (here ...and here) on this topic, you’ll have guessed that ‘boudoir shoot’ wasn’t top of my bucket list. It had never even crossed my mind until a friend shared a post on Facebook.

Where it all started...

It was from a photographer, Martin J Patterson, asking for female bloggers, living locally, to take part in a boudoir project. I normally wouldn't have given it a second look, except that this friend (you know who you are!) had tagged my fellow blogger, dear friend and extremely beautiful The Salted Tail! Not me. Despite the fact that I am also female, also local and also a blogger. It is fair to say I got the proverbial hump.

Has Nanny got the hump, Granddad?

I thought about it for a bit, spoke to my blogger friend who screamed ‘DO IT!’, and messaged Martin. Then told my husband… The rest, as they say, is history.

I have already shared, in unblushingly honest terms, my feelings building up to the shoot, but nothing prepared me for how nervous I would feel when the day finally arrived. To say that I was like a bear with a sore head is an understatement - no one could talk to me without me snarling a reply, and the phrase ‘silk purse out of a sow’s ear’ kept playing in my head as I did my hair and make up. 

Of course my eyes looked like this...

At this point I should own up to having watched Youtube tutorials on ‘smokey eyes for the older woman’ and buying more make up in the last week than I have in the last five years! I took a selfie to send to my daughter but deleted it immediately, deeming it to be just too hideous. I sat, bra-less, watching Wimbledon, thinking, ‘What have I done?’ in an anguished internal voice…

Then Martin arrived, and slowly but surely my fears dissipated. He talked me through what to expect, how the session would work and gave me some tips on how to pose. My sister was acting as my chaperone, although at times she mistook ‘chaperone’ for ‘court jester’, pulling faces, provocatively sucking her finger or just being daft.

We have trouble taking each other seriously!

In the end I had to send her out of my line of vision because I couldn't keep a straight face, and I actually found I was taking posing quite seriously! 

I think poor Martin may have regretted his decision to shoot a more mature woman, as he realised that their joints don't move in quite the same way as a younger person’s! Pretty soon his instructions were prefaced with ‘If you can…’ We did laugh though, and I felt surprisingly relaxed with it all.

Exactly

Because Martin was the consummate professional, it didn't feel uncomfortable or awkward - all the things I was dreading, like laying on a bed wearing not very much, looking into a camera, being the focus of attention for over an hour, just weren’t a problem. Me, being me, overcatered (just ask anyone whose been to one of my BBQs!) - I only wore one lot of the underwear I bought and an old shirt - but in the end none of it mattered, and, if I’m completely honest, I was quite disappointed when the shoot finished.

Looking back it all seems quite surreal. I know my husband felt really uncomfortable about it, and admitted to feeling sick the whole time the shoot was happening. This has led me to question what made me pursue it. I love my husband very much and regret having unsettled him to such an extent. The truth is, since I retired I’ve felt increasingly invisible. When you have nowhere specific to go you make less of an effort with your appearance. I’m lucky enough to be married to a man who adores me regardless, but equally who fails to notice when I do put on some slap or a new top. So for a while it was nice to be the focus of attention, to feel that my appearance mattered - to buy new things, to bother to moisturise, to learn new make up techniques. It reminded me of how I felt just before my wedding when, despite insisting otherwise, I really wanted to look like a princess. 

I really felt like a princess!

Some people may think that makes me shallow, but surely you can be attractive, make the best of yourself and still be a worthy person. I’m going to try, anyhow.

As to whether I felt empowered by the experience…well, I face-timed my daughter and felt a bit more comfortable with how I looked in the corner of the screen, I am seriously thinking about buying a new swimsuit and I woke up this morning feeling just a little bit happier in my own skin. 

All this, and I haven't seen the photos yet…of course they could make a difference to how I feel, but somehow I don't think so. And I do promise to share - some of them, anyway!

As a footnote, I must be feeling more youthful. Last night I dreamt I was 41 and pregnant! 😯 

So I'm doing this...

So this happened…

I met with Martin Patterson, the photographer for my boudoir shoot. He admitted on the phone that he’d never photographed a boudoir shoot with anyone in their sixties, but didn’t think that should be a barrier to me working with him.

© Martin J Patterson

I was so nervous about the ‘consultation’, but didn't really need to be. Martin soon put me at my ease and explained how he worked. He seemed to get on with my husband too, discussing focal length and types of camera and I think that helped quell some of his fears too!

While hubby showed him upstairs, I had to complete a questionnaire, so Martin could judge how the shoot would pan out.

*What part of you body are you proudest of? None of it!

*What part of your body would you like us to de-emphasise? All of it!

*What would you like to wear for your shoot? A burka…

In all seriousness, I did find it quite difficult to complete, finally deciding that my cleavage was the bit of me I was proudest of! After a long chat, and looking at some of Martin’s work, we decided we’d go ahead and agreed that he’d be back in touch before the end of the summer.

I really hope it does what it says on the tin...

At this point I felt quite excited and I started to google ‘matching lingerie’. Not only was that a real eye opener, it also meant that, every time I surfed the net I had adverts for knickers popping up all over the place. I duly cleared my cookies, and took myself off to good old Marks! M&S lingerie department in Norwich is HUUUGE and I soon found a couple of bras I liked and that, more importantly, fitted. It then took me and my sister about an hour to find suitable (for ‘suitable’ read ‘large’)matching knickers! I also bought a pretty ‘less is more’ gown and felt quite happy about my purchases. 

Not easy to find...

I sort of forgot about it for a while and then, when I was feeling at my most hideous because my knee injury continues to prevent me from exercising in any way at all, I had a message from Martin to say he’d had a postponement and would next week be okay for the shoot! 

‘Of course, why not?!’I replied…why not? Because you’re a silly old woman who will probably break the camera lens and who won’t even be able to bring yourself to look at the pictures! 

So, to prevent me bottling out, I posted the first part of my blog and was heartened by the encouragement (and gentle mockery) of my friends! I purchased a flagon of industrial strength Immac, had my eyebrows waxed and even bought some eyelash curlers! I have spent this weekend noticing every blemish and imperfection on my face and body to the point where I feel I need to either blindfold myself or cover the mirrors! I googled ‘Preparing for a Boudoir Shoot’ and discovered that everything I need to do I should have already done so, apart from putting sparkly white bed linen on and not wearing a bra while I watch Andy Murray play (not because I’m a hussy, but to avoid strap marks for the first part of the shoot), I’m done! 

Come on Andy - just don't expect me to jump up and down!

   

To Boudoir or not to Boudoir? That is the very scary question!

Challenging the perception that old people are serious!

When I started this blog, as well as giving me something to do, I wanted to challenge some perceptions, be they about autism, mental health and wellbeing, self confidence and old age. I’m not sure whether I have succeeded but I have found that I love writing and had the supreme compliment last month when someone said that I didn’t know her, but she felt that she knew me, because she had read my blog!

An opportunity has recently arisen for me to challenge people’s perceptions of old age in a new, and frankly scary way. I’ve agreed to take part in a ‘boudoir’ photo shoot. For those of you who don't know what that is (my husband needed it explained) boudoir photography is a style of photography consisting of intimate portraits of women, intended for limited viewing. So, I’m getting my kit off, in front of a camera. I’m hoping that it will give me some confidence in how I look, and be, in some way, empowering. At the moment, however, I couldn't be more terrified if was going wing-walking. It has to be said that my hubby is also a little anxious, although I have reassured him that I won’t be leaving home to follow a new career as a glamour model!

Not scary, not scary at all!
(©www.wingwalkdisplays.co.uk)

Since agreeing to this venture, I have questioned myself as to why I would even consider it - I have never been that happy with wandering around in any other state than fully covered. But maybe it is this that I am trying to overcome. I won’t go swimming because I feel judged by other women (always women, by the way, don't much care about the men), but if I can bring myself to pose in my undies and, more importantly, bear to look at the resulting photographs, I’m hoping it will help my self-confidence. Many women, I know, have boudoir shoots as a gift to their husbands or partners. In my case, it will be a very much more of a personal challenge.

Does my boudoir pass muster???

So, my anxieties…well, for one thing, its happening in my house - is it suitable? Do I need new bed linen? What if I’m judged for my decor?

I have a propensity to make inappropriate comments when I feel embarrassed or awkward - telling the nurse carrying out my mammogram that ‘boobs are a bit like playdough really’ was not a good idea! How will I manage to keep my mouth shut?

So much like play dough...

And don’t get me started on my body…lumps, bumps, muffin tops. How will I appear confident and relaxed? I have spoken to the photographer and he seemed very nice. He’s coming to do a consultation in a couple of weeks and I’m sure he’ll reassure me. 

My knicker drawer - its all grey, so it matches, right?

Then there's underwear. I’m a ‘grab what’s clean sort of woman’ so will definitely need something that at least matches. I’ve looked at various boudoir photos - on Pinterest! Who knew?! - and some women cover up with a shirt or gown, in a less is more kind of way. That’s quite appealing! I suppose if nothing else its an excuse to go shopping.

The next thing on my list of worries, which is probably silly because I’m planning to challenge people’s perceptions, is um, people’s perceptions.

Proud, independent, gin-drinking woman...

I’m a proud independent woman and wonder if people will think less of me for doing something that focusses, ostensibly, on my appearance. Is this what I went to Women’s Rights rallies for in the seventies? Well actually, I suppose it is, in the sense that it’s my body, to do with what I want. But what about my family? My children are fine with it, but my step sons? Their wives? My nephews? Aaagh, I’ve been telling them to read my blog, and now I maybe don't want them to! But I will have autonomy over which pictures I share, so the ‘less is more’ approach will probably, almost definitely, be employed!

As you can see, I’m talking myself in and out of it - I can pull out at any point if I want to. Will I go through with it? Watch this space…

Woman's Rights are Human Rights!

So, women’s rights. Not a light hearted topic for a blog post, but many things have conspired to make me feel the need to write this. 

Being retired has given me considerably more time to contemplate personal and world events. Now that I don't need to stress about work I find myself reacting more vehemently to things that I read or see on tv. At the end of last week I started a new book - The Letter by Kathryn Hughes. Whilst it’s never going to pull up any trees in the literary world, or challenge for a Booker prize, the plight of its protagonists affected me in a primal way. One, living in the early seventies, was trapped in a marriage with a violent, manipulative and abusive man, whilst the other, in thirties Britain, had her life outcomes controlled and altered irrevocably by her equally controlling father. As I read, I became increasingly incensed and angry, but also anxious as I imagined how these characters were feeling - no doubt as the author intended. 

Then I watched Call the Midwife…On one level this is Sunday night tosh, but it also serves as a reminder of what life was like for some communities in the late fifties, early sixties. Again the storyline revolved around a woman in an abusive marriage who was effectively trapped because men had all the power, both socially and legally. In the way of Sunday night, pre-watershed dramas, an escape was found for her, although, in reality, the first women’s refuge did not open until the early seventies. Sometimes though, even they didn't help. If you can bear it, read this article about how the system continues to fail some women. 

Women's March, Chicago 

My reading of the book and my watching of the tv programme coincided with the inauguration of Donald Trump as President of the United States of America. It will never cease to amaze me that this misogynistic and reactionary man was elected to the most powerful position in the Western world. His treatment of, and language around women has been abhorrent, and now he has the power to impact on their lives in a very real and scary way. I feel it especially keenly as my step son and his wife live in Chicago and will be directly affected by any chipping away of rights for individuals. 

It is difficult to believe how things have changed for women within my lifetime, but it is a constant battle to maintain rights that were hard fought for and won in the seventies. Every time funding is threatened for health and fertility advice and support, women suffer though ignorance and lack of care. Whatever your personal feelings are about abortion v. the pro-life debate, I am old enough to remember that if women and girls are desperate enough, they will seek to terminate a pregnancy in whatever way they can. Making it difficult for them to receive advice and care will not change the outcome, just the woman’s safety. And, however much we continue to do so, it is never possible to judge an individual’s situation and why they make the choices that they do.

I have been lucky in my life - my parents treated me, my sister and two brothers equally. We all grew up believing anything was possible. When my first marriage broke down, laws were in place that enabled me to extract myself from it, relatively painlessly, and society did not shun me or my children. I worked in an environment that was predominantly populated with woman, and progressed in my career as far as I wanted to, with equal pay and no apparent glass ceiling. Nobody told me I needed to wear particular shoes, make up or clothing, as reported on the BBC website this morning, and I largely felt, and feel valued as a person. I am remarried to a lovely man, who is not above cooking, cleaning and ironing (as long as it’s not  bed linen). I don't know if these things are true for every woman of my generation.

Womens' March, Chicago

I marched for Women’s Rights in the seventies and I fully support what the thousands of women (and men) across the World who marched on Saturday were saying. It appals me that Trump implied that these people had not voted in the recent election, simply because they were objecting to him. Women are humans first, women second, and as my daughter-in-law’s banner said, “Women’s rights are human rights”, and these rights should not be threatened or eroded by anyone.