Horror movies and introspection

It occurs to me occasionally that even though I only really started to learn about feminism in the last year, I’ve had a problem with certain gender roles for maybe my whole life.  I just didn’t always think about it this way.

I was told pretty explicitly by my brother and next door neighbor when I was, I don’t know? six? that if I wanted to play with them I needed to through away my barbies and pretty ponies and glitter and angels and become a “tomboy”.  Like, we went through my room and together quite literally threw all these things away (except for a box of horse toys that I hid), and covered the walls with pictures my neighbor deemed acceptable so that they wouldn’t be pink anymore.  And then I cried.  So, in my case, the message that certain kinds of behavior were preferable to others (it’s better to act like a boy than a girl), was not remotely subtle, even though for some reason I often imagine children learning this message slowly over time from multiple sources in a rather ominous fashion.

But the reason I’m writing this is because it means that I have always pretty consciously felt a pull to act in a “masculine” fashion and questioned why I should have to.  For example, when I was always a complete failure in gym class–uncoordinated, slow runner, too tentative to  hit anything very hard or throw anything very far, etc–I would get angry at myself because I didn’t want to give validation to the people who thought girls couldn’t play sports.  I was always internally daring people to say this to me: “No, it’s just *me* who can’t play sports.” And so I’d take on a whole extra burden of shame.

I was thinking about this because I actually agreed to watch a horror movie last night.  With other people around. People who I didn’t know very well who I had in interest in coming to like me.  This is a big deal because I also respond way more strongly to TV than is normal.  When I was a little kid, there was a regular bit on sesame street that I was unwilling to watch because it basically consisted of a serious of unpleasant things happening to Kermit.  I had to shield my eyes in Disney movies during fights, or leave the room altogether.  And I still find myself shrieking embarrassingly during quite tame films.  And it is only within the past few months that it has occurred to me that perhaps this isn’t such a bad thing after all, that perhaps being so sensitive is even a virtue, not at all a vice.  And most of all, the fact that it is a “vice” associated with femininity is not a reason to reject it in myself: I am a woman, and I’m allowed to act like one sometimes, dammit.

So after being assured that it was a quite old movie that really oughtn’t scare anyone (made in the ’80s), I decided to go ahead.  And during a number of scenes I curled up against my boyfriend so I wouldn’t have to watch, but I did succeed in not screaming or shrieking.  At one point someone in the room demanded in incredulously, “you’re not actually scared are you?!” And I was.  And it was ok, because I was ok with it.

I think what I’ve finally realized is that it’s not my responsibility to disprove all patriarchal myths about women and girls being weak, women and girls liking ponies and glitter, or women and girls being easily frightened.  Obviously, these things aren’t true about all women.  There are fantastic female athletes, girls who disdain glitter, and badass women who won’t flinch at almost anything.  It’s not my fault if some people refuse to acknowledge these people; I still don’t have to be all these things.  Some gendered expectations fit me and others don’t, and that will be true for both men and women.