I recently finished three different books which took place in different times and different parts of the world. However, they all had something in common that bothered me and got me thinking. Perhaps you are familiar with these novels:

Tess of the D’Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy

Snow Flower and the Secret Fan by Lisa See

In the Time of the Butterflies by Julia Alvarez

In all three of these novels, women suffered greatly. I can just hear all the sarcastic “but don’t women suffer in all great novels?” But, it’s more than just the fact that they suffer. They suffer at the hands of men and societies dominated by men with questionable ideas of right and wrong.

Now guys, don’t get all up in arms about that last sentence. I swear I don’t think all men are bad. I think that men, as well as women, for so long have also been unconscious victims of societal pressures. Men are expected to act a certain way and do certain things and believe certain things. And often times, not adhering to the rules of other men would get them into trouble or hurt or killed or draw unwanted attention to the women in their lives.

I am not a feminazi. I am married and I love to serve my husband and dote on my son. I love to cook and bake and keep a clean house. My husband helps with all the housework and I once had to fight my own thoughts of “but that’s my job.” Some might attribute that to society’s definition of how men and women should behave. But I rather enjoy pleasing the males in my home. And I also think that true independence and equality for women means a woman can choose to become a mother and housewife or a single CEO without anyone thinking less of her.  I choose to be a mother, wife, writer, dreamer, and aspiring interior designer. I choose to work and attend school. Admittedly, this means the house isn’t always spotless or the dinners always hot and ready. But I have a husband who loves, helps, and supports me, and for that I am thankful.

I also don’t have a dirt poor family with too many mouths to feed. I didn’t have to work hard as a teenager to support my family. I don’t have bound feet or in-laws that work me like a slave. My marriage wasn’t arranged and my husband doesn’t beat me. He loves and accepts me for all that I am. I don’t have to worry about him being hauled away by soldiers or the government taking our land and home (well….another subject). I haven’t lost any children or witnessed so much death. My mother didn’t treat me as just a worthless daughter or tell me that “only through pain would I have beauty.” I don’t have to worry about speaking out against the government or spies sitting under my window. I live a good life.

A lot of the women in these novels did not have a good life. They had some happiness. But in the end, there was so much tragedy.

Because this is just a lowly blog, I can’t give these three novels their just due. What I really wanted to get at is that I hope all you women and girls out there know your own worth and beauty. I hope you know your life is yours and you should choose as you see fit. You do not belong to anyone. You are not property or a toy or a “worthless branch.” You are not a slave. You have the right to speak up, speak out, and be heard. You deserve love, respect, and recognition. And I hope that as women, we can reach out to and support each other.

I hope that one day women will not suffer at the hands of brutal men, moral hypocrisy, or tyrannical societies and governments.

You are all ladies, flowers, and Mariposas.

Here is a poem I want to share with you. It is sad, I know. But I hope we can all be treasure hunters and find those jewels and let them shine in all their glory.

Pirate

You never just open a door-

you pull on it with brute strength

until it cries, gives in, and lets you through.

And it watches with sad eyes

as you discover the secret it tried to protect

from your plundering hands.

Then you yank on the door again-

it howls like the wind over stormy seas

as you slam it shut to hide the secret,

so no one can get their greedy fingers

on what is yours, only yours.

And the secret is a treasure chest

filled with long forgotten jewels

covered in dust and sorrow.

You will never take the jewels

out of that dark box-

they would shine too brightly

and catch someone’s wandering eye.

You tell the chest, with its diamonds

formed from ages of oppressive heat

and overwhelming pressure,

that it is filled with useless junk

no one else would ever want.

And the chest secretly dreams of being discovered

by a treasure hunter with a map and a heart.

A bruised, bloody X marks the spot.