Stand up for Women, even Homeless Women

Stand up for Women

Maya Angelou says that when one woman stands up for herself, she stands up for all women a little. I firmly believe that.

In telling our stories, I want to stand up for my mom and myself, and all women. My mom was not evil or bad. Nor was she less than or someone to be looked down upon. Part of her was sick. And there were whole, huge parts of her that were wonderful, healing, and loving. Though she was homeless and needed help, her life was not without value. I think I have done so much in my life and yet I haven’t even lived as long as she did.

She had every excuse to be a serial killer as far as I’m concerned, given her past. At least to be a hateful, violent, mean person in every way. She became violent at moments and times but that is not who she was the majority of her life or who she taught me to be.

In standing up for myself, I think it’s so important to learn what we can and cannot do for others, even – or maybe ESPECIALLY – those we love. If I let her in too much, my mom would destroy me, unintentional as it may be. She was doing things that I did not want to be part of and had to separate myself from in some strong ways.

I’ve heard it said that alcoholics have only three possible outcomes if they do not get sober: jail, insanity, or death. In my experience this is true, and sometimes more than one of those outcomes happens.

I struggle to this day with whether or not my mom could have recovered had she wanted to
badly enough. I know for sure that she could not have stopped drinking without help. I know that because of my own personal experience with it. But then, why not get help? What is it that happens for some folks that they do choose to get help to stop drinking and some don’t? Is it something I don’t understand by the grace of God?

Homelessness

I want people to understand that my mom is not some anomaly. She is the result of what we all do, and she is you and me. I think so many people walk by that person on the street. They walk by and they are wearing their Blahniks with their Chanel glasses and Wang slip dresses and they look at the person in the street. They feel only separation, not community. Not unity. Not oneness. Not love. Certainly, they think, they are nothing like this person. Certainly this person is not at all like anyone in my family. But how do they know? It’s a nice convenience to believe that nothing like this could ever happen to us, that certainly this person must have deserved what came to them. That if they only were to “get a job” or “get a life” as they themselves had, they would not be in that situation. Although that person in the street has made certain choices, I can promise that the person in the Blahniks is not wearing because they are a better person. We have all made choices. It’s ok to wear Blahniks. It’s ok to live on the street. It’s ok to recognize a certain degree of differences, consequences, and choices. But what takes more insight and recognition and courage and honesty than that is to realize that I got where I am partially because I’ve had certain advantages and gifts that not everyone had, and I have played a part in the perpetration of all of society’s ills, and I have a responsibility to my fellow human whether I own the block or live in its gutter.