I looked up and around, women all so efficiently coordinated to get the job done. Living in a small apartment in Puebla, my four aunts worked, did chores, and took care of their children, all single mothers, except one, who never left her room. I saw women walking in and out, one side led to the kitchen and the other led to a comal bigger than my 6 year old self, where flames blazed as if it’s purpose was to eat the hands that flipped the freshly made tortillas. What a bravery I thought, as I slowly bit into a tortilla watching in amazement.
I looked around; we were traveling in a van full of men for what seemed to be days. My mother’s legs carried a bump that occupied my pillow space. I became angry, but my mother looked into my eyes and hugged me, reassuring me that her love for me would never end. Finally, we arrived in a house full of tough, tall, big belly men. And as we settled in a room a young woman entered. Her tears endlessly fell, my mother hugged her as if she were me, and my 7-year-old self watched them as I slowly faded into sleep. Our field trip came to an end, or so I thought. We arrived at my aunt’s house, but we were soon told we needed to move out. I looked up worried, but my mom described a beautiful place to look forward to, which made me forget that when I looked around, we were sleeping on someone’s kitchen floor.
I looked up, we were smiling, chatting, and laughing. I held her hand, strolling in our new neighborhood where we finally had a room to call ours. I looked around and then back, suddenly I was several feet away from my mom, my eyes locked onto her figure. He was hurting her. I entered a state of shock. I wanted to tell him to stop, to scream, to punch him and kick him, but my body and voice felt as if it had been tied and threatened by fear. All I could hear was my mother’s yelling, asking for help. Her gray handbag refused to let go of her arm, and her hand refused to let go of the stroller. I clicked back into reality when he started running away. I ran towards my mom in need of a hug, I was scared and confused but she reassured me like always.
The time came where I no longer looked up, but instead I looked at myself and then around. “Critical theories emphasize the role broad cultural institutions and norms play in the construction and maintenance of gender” (DeFrancisco, Victoria and Catherine), these played a big part in who I thought I was supposed to be and who I wanted to be seen as. I was trying to understand who I was through society’s norms. In relation to my gender this happened when I became a girlfriend, I saw other traditional examples of what women did towards their loved one, and I tried to imitate. I was not aware of my gender experiences until now, and not because my grandfather recently pointed at my “inadequate” decision as a woman to cut my hair, but because I now understand my past experiences.
Gender roles assign an expectative to a specific gender or sex (Sonja K. Foss). All my aunts defied traditional gender roles. One of them never left her room because she silently grieved her boyfriend’s death. The bravery of my aunts to dip their hands in fire and rescue a tortilla is nothing more than a womanly role to many. The young woman my mom consoled, was crying because she had just experienced a man being stabbed. My long field trip wasn’t just another vacation, but it was when I crossed the border. I can now see the resilience and power of my mother, to withstand the heat in the car, and my complaints of this bump, that ended up being my sister. I learned that we needed to move soon after arriving in the U.S because my uncle had physically abused my aunt. My mother’s strength to confront someone significantly taller in front of her children, and still not break down just to give me reassurance is unbelievable.
All my life I saw women as a representation of strength and power. My ideas of what it means to be a woman were psychologically built, “psychoanalytic theories call attention to how unconscious thoughts and memories influence a person’s identity, actions and beliefs” (DeFrancisco, Victoria and Catherine). My gendered experience was additionally intersectional, my culture, social class and immigration status had to do with my gendered experience. My current beliefs were triggered by early childhood experience. I have learned that if I indeed viewed women and men as equal, I would not mind letting go of this gender binary system. A gender binary system is made of two socially constructed categories, (one who is always more powerful). The history and challenges women face carry a heavy weight, getting rid of this binary system in my mind means invalidating the power and strength of a woman. I have recognized, upheld, and feel proud of women’s success because of their unique and difficult challenges, but because I have not experienced an identity formation of a man or know of their unique challenges, I devalue them unconsciously. As I spoke with communication professor Whitney, she stated that gender is not meant to be completely abolished but rather other definitions are supposed to be implemented so that we eliminate this binary system. But because of the social learning theory, which is the idea that gender is a learned behavior constructed by the analyzing of others (DeFrancisco, Victoria and Catherine), and that gender is a performance as stated by Judith Butler, I believe that the behavior associated with each gender will always be problematic. Remembering gender by history and unique challenges in effort to eliminate it might be more successful, but of course I will have to educate myself further to make such claims. I know that as humans our experiences are both powerful and meaningful. I cannot highlight the power of a woman (despite their everyday discrimination and challenges) without recognizing the depression and silence men go through because society’s norms (critical/cultural structure). If I think of people as humans with complex experiences, I can better understand the foundation of identity formation.