Claiming Your Inner Werewolf

 

It's October. It's officially Monster Season. As a kid, Halloween was my favorite holiday. My super creative teacher mom created our costumes for us when we were tiny. She had a knack for looking at a collection of unrelated items and whipping them up into something worthy of a night of trick-or-treating. As we got older, the costume designs became our responsibility. We didn't live in a walkable neighborhood, so she drove us around our small town to friends', teachers', and church members' houses so we could fill up our orange plastic pumpkins and pillow cases.

Grandma and Grandpa's house was always our last stop of the night. Every year it was the same: we shouted "trick-or-treat" at their door, and Grandpa, while wearing his prismatic glasses that looked like crazy bloodshot eyes, threw the door open and pulled us inside. They saved the full-size candy bars for us and our cousins. And never one to let a holiday pass without presents for her grandchildren, my Grandma stacked Halloween presents wrapped in tissue paper and curly ribbon against their television set. We always acted surprised, but we knew we would be wearing new pajamas that night after we sorted our candy and negotiated the high stakes trades.

The night ended with Halloween tv specials. As we got older, the tv specials became darker and scarier. My taste in Halloween programming morphed quickly from Linus in the pumpkin patch to vampires, Frankenstein's monster, mummies, zombies and werewolves. Give me a fantasy mythology-steeped monster, and I would research their origins and why their mythology persisted into modern times. 

I know, I know. I was a strange child. Chucky, Jason, Freddy, Michael Myers and Leatherface never did anything for me. I found them and the predictable plots laughable. 

Whether it was the vampire's psycho-sexual pull or the monthly moodiness of the murderous werewolf (was he actually a she?), I was hooked by their fantastical mythology and how they existed across cultures. And as I poured over their origin stories, one thing really stood out to me: they all suffered from "too-ness." 

Vampires have an eating disorder. They're too obsessive about blood and the exploitation of others. Mummies and zombies are too invincible and too fixated on living to realize they are dead. Frankenstein's monster is too needy. His motivation is connection and relationship. Once he realizes he will never have those things, he seeks revenge against his creator. The werewolf archetype is too wild; he struggles against his own raw, untamed energies.

Too-ness.

Sometimes I conjure up the image of a Menopause Monster. She'd be covered in slick skin that steams only between the hours of 12:00 and 3:00 am. She'd thrash around violently, throwing off her clothing, before rampaging throughout the sleeping unsuspecting town in a murderous rage in search of relief...or revenge.

Too-ness. 

Recently, I was cleaning out a closet in my office. I call it my office because it sounds impressive and professional, but really, it is a dark, one-windowed cave of a room that has become a holding place for all of the stuff I can't throw out. 

I found my old journal. It still seethed with adolescent angst. At fifteen, I was an earnest poet who raged against parental injustice and jerk boyfriends. Ten pages in, there is a poem entitled "Too." I won't subject you to that poem in this blogpost, but at an early age, I was already aware that I was considered extra, and not in a good way. 

I have many women friends with "Too-ness." I've collected them throughout the years, attracted by our sameness and empathetic of our shared struggles. When you're a woman who doesn't fit into mainstream society's view of femininity, it's not uncommon to find yourself weighed down by labels of mythological proportions. They're piled on our backs by society-at-large, the media, spouses, lovers, co-workers, bosses, family members, and friends. 

"schiz·o·phre·ni·a noun: schizophrenia: a serious mental condition of a type involving a breakdown in the relation between thought, emotion, and behavior, leading to faulty perception, inappropriate actions and feelings, withdrawal from reality and personal relationships into fantasy and delusion and a sense of mental fragmentation."                                                                                                                                                                                                                            -Oxford Dictionary    

America's schizophrenic expectations of women are daunting. Have a successful career, but not too successful or you'll never get a man. Have children and be the perfect mother, but don't you dare expect spousal help or financial support while you engage in full-time parenting. And for godsake, you better bounce back and keep your figure after you give birth, but don't be too sexy or you're asking for it. 

And the one that really gets me the most is: Vote, but don't be political. Politics aren't ladylike. The women in politics show us that opinions, power and femininity don't mix. 

How many times do we witness metaphorical witch hunts in the media? A woman in power dares to have an opinion, to speak out, to make a decision that is unpopular or risky, or to react in justified anger, and she is labeled unstable, hormonal, cunt, bitch or fucking bitch (source). And as women, we sometimes take part in the hunt. We remain silent or engage in the "swim-a-witch" dialogue ourselves. I'm not proposing that we blindly follow anyone in power because we share the same gender. 

However, if we ask ourselves the question, "Would I be reacting this strongly to what this person is saying or doing if a man were saying or doing it?" we might suspend our judgement long enough to investigate more.  

Just recently, Danny Masterson's rape trial ended with conviction and sentencing. I loved "That 70s Show," so I've been following this story since the accusations were made. I know that reading the comments on social media posts will suck out my soul and make me lose all hope for humanity, but I couldn't help myself. I read the comments on an article about Masterson's conviction:

"How can anyone take the rape claims serious? It's been years."

and

           "His girlfriend? Seriously? A little rough sex, and           she cries, 'Rape!'" 

These are just two examples. There were too many like these to count...a lot of them, including these two, were written by women. I'm not saying that women should have each other's backs simply because we share a gender, but do we have to be so quick to pick up a rock for the ritual stoning? Instead, might we educate ourselves on the nature and consequences of sexual trauma in order to gain understanding? 

Too-ness. 

One of my earliest memories of too-ness involve my mom and my former husband. My mom was a wonderful person, complex and dimensional. She raised two daughters with warrior-like temperaments, but she was a product of her generation. My marriage had hit a wall. My husband and I were both in school. He was finishing his undergraduate degree after two airforce enlistments, and I was finishing my master's degree. He had begun to compare himself to me. At first, his comments were more about his own insecurities, but it didn't take long for them to change.  

"Everything's always so easy for you. It must be nice to have easier coursework."

"No, I don't have time for date night. I'm in school full time, and I have to work tonight. One of us has to study."

Despite the fact that I was working full time, in graduate school part time and supporting us financially, I had become "too much." I tried talking to my mom about my concerns because I didn't know what to do. I seldom aired my dirty laundry with my parents, but the fighting was ramping up, and he was downright toxic any time I experienced a success in my work or school life. 

My mom suggested I tone down my successes in order to make him feel more secure. I balked.

We separated a year later. We divorced a year after that. 

I chose my Too-ness over my husband. I'd rather accept  my own untamed nature than fight with his expectations.

If you're a woman who recognizes her own "Too-ness", I know you understand me when I say that I found I had more in common with werewolves than with my own mother and husband. 

I'll look for you on the next full moon.

P.S. You can read more of Tracy's musings at https://medium.com/@traceryw.