My home has been women-only for about half a year now. My mom’s ex husband moved out and it was just her and I until we offered our basement to a friend and her daughter. We space four generations: a teen, me in my late twenties, my friend in her forties and my mom in her fifties.
I would call it peace. I would call it power.
My brother said it hurt his feelings.
On the weekend after canadian colonial invasion and animal sacrifice day (“thanks””giving”), we had some company for a turkey dinner. My mom’s brother and his wife, and my brother and sister came over. At the dinner table, my uncle got so rattled that the pepper wasn’t coming out of the shaker that he slammed the shaker on the table (twice) right in front of his wife’s plate (never his, you see. It’s not his problem, it’s her. Ours.)
My friend’s daughter is a vegetarian like me and she chose not to be in the house while the animal was roasting all day. Good thing. My brother, gynergy vampire #1 in my life and my mom’s too, was staying for a few days and there was a lack of communication with my friend. We had talked about protecting the home and maintaining it as a safe space for women. We hadn’t communicated with her that apparently my brother was exempted from this rule (how did we miss it?).
The only disagreement that has ever happened in the house has been because of male presence.
My friend spoke with my mother, as the matriarch, and wasn’t hesitant to explain to my brother as well as he’d overheard. My brother had a lot of feelings all over the place about not being implicitly trusted for absolutely no reason in a house full of victims seeking refuge from male violence.
My brother was the first one to not believe me when I exposed my mom’s husband as a child molester.
My brother was the first one to call me a whore after I was loaded and someone he knew tried to fuck with me.
My brother was the first to expose me to woman hating, the first to make me hate myself, the first to put himself first over me and then guilt me for identifying that behaviour.
My brother, who soooo isn’t a misogynist.
Women have a right to create spaces for themselves that men cannot invade. In fact, I believe that women leaving male-enforced isolation and banding together is what will save the planet and humankind. I don’t really care if men benefit from us taking well-deserved control, but I guess some women do care, so that should make them feel better.
But men don’t want to benefit from the new way, because the benefits from the old way include so many more orgasms and rape and progeny and free labour.
They might act as though they really don’t like being called pussies or whine about how unfair it is that they can’t walk behind a woman at night without invoking a genetic and social fear of rape and murder in her. But in reality, most of them don’t actually care, because they really like the whole rape thing.
My friend said that since moving in with us, she’s felt security in the first time in her life. She is newly awakened to the depths of patriarchy as the original destroyer. As a Dianic witch in a very male subscene, she was so influenced by men that they were able to convince her that class was the major divide. But even impoverished men pay for rape.
We were talking last night and she said something about still wanting to pursue men for sex from time to time (not in our home) and I said, Well, as long as you are gaining some sort of energy from them for yourself, which I assume you have to be.
She didn’t say anything. I think she has been so used to (used by) male presence that they haven’t let her think even for a moment what it would be like to not fuck them. That that could ever even be an option.
The farther I am from men, the more I see. I draw my sisters near to me. I’ll fight for them even as men have them fight me. I demand peace and power, respite and sanctuary.