International Women's Day

Still Running with the Wolves

Photo by T. Fitch / concept by G. Cornwall, September 2016

I couldn't have been more than seven or eight when I pulled a David Carradine and kung fu kicked the adult front tooth clean out of the mouth of a teenage neighbour boy for sneering at me and telling me I wasn't supposed to be playing in my own fenced-in backyard without a shirt on because I was a girl and girls, after all, were inappropriate at any age if they were found playing, shirtless.

I had already had enough of being made different by others for not doing what was expected of me and not looking as I was expected to look as a girl. Of course, by that age, I had already experienced numerous sexual assaults so I already had a "gloves off" attitude toward males by eight years old. Self-defence was my only recourse in that age of "don't tell" and I felt I would have been blamed and shamed had I told. The one time I did tell as a child, it did not serve me well. Admittedly, my violence toward this particular teenage boy stemmed out of my fear and frustration from previous attacks. He took the result of all of my pent up rage at being ridiculed for something so pure and simple as playing outside with the pleasure of the warmth of the summer sun on my child's chest.

Flash forward almost fifty years. The erosion, the constant wearing away and demeaning of my pure spirit, my strong and good woman's body, the body that still gets the once over on the days I wear my jeans and check shirt rather than one of my dresses or skirts and dare to enter the public restroom, is still happening. It never stopped happening. The barrage of comments and the threat I've been to others through my very existence persists. The insult of my way of being, felt by many males, keeps my existence under constant threat of violence and my behaviour checked for fear of repercussion.

I cannot count the number of times when I identified as a woman who loves women that I was told, "What a waste," the number of times I have told my truth of being flashed, beaten, intimidated and discriminated against and lost out on employment because of how I was born, only to be met with an eye roll or "You need to let go of it," or "Oh, just get over it," never having it acknowledged as unconscionable damage and trauma that needs a federal apology because we have not been treated with the common decency the human rights act should provide. Where is our damn apology let alone compensation for the price we have paid physically, emotionally, spiritually and financially?!

Is it better now?
Yeah, some. Is it perfect? Hell, no. Does it need to be made right with the truths told and heard and an apology made? Damn right it does!

 None of us are less than for the way we are made. We should be held up in our difference and loved for our unique way of seeing without having to mutilate our bodies and spirits to fit in.

Many colourful threads woven together make strong cloth.

Men, if a woman doesn't fit your idea of what a woman should be, get the hell over it. That should be your counselling bill, not hers. Get over your entitlement to every woman's body and way of being. It's 2017. We are neither your chattels nor your puppets. Learn. Grow. Challenge yourselves to be better and to do better.

Women. Do what you do for you. Don't buy into the BS. If we stand together, it will aid our freedom. Your beauty has its strength and truth in your spirit, not in the way you are viewed by men.

You are love, just as you are. You are equal to your power as life-bringers, protectors and teachers. The man behind the curtain with all of the perceived power is a brute, a liar and a coward.

The cost to me for a lack of basic human rights protections has been epic. So don't tell me, "oh, isn't it great now," because: a) it's not that great and b) there needs to be, at minimum, a national apology for the harm done. 

Even the act of writing this is another risk to my well-being and so many people will just say that we should be quiet and hide ourselves so no more bad happens, but it is just not true. Bad things will happen anyway, but healing cannot begin until the truth is spoken, heard and acknowledged by the perpetrators and that means everyone who stands by, unscathed and silent, complicit. 

I believe the stats indicate one in three women are victims of violence; however, I venture that, if one woman is harmed, we are all harmed. If you have been harmed, please reach out to professional resources near you. There are worldwide organizations and local groups run by women for women to assist you. Please do all you can to stay connected and to know that it is not your fault and that you are deserving of love, a life of freedom and respect. 

March 8, 2017 is International Women's Day. #BeBoldForChange. Acknowledging this and using it as a day to learn, expand your views, challenge misogyny and inequality of the sexes (I will not say gender as that is just a social construct made up to enforce inequality). Use it as a launching point. Listen to women who have been harmed and acknowledge it without trying to wipe away the pain with a harmful phrase like "But isn't it better now?" Try using that phrase in your mind when you think of any systemic harm done. We MUST recognize what has come to pass for generations and own it in order to move forward in a good way. 

I hope you will use March 8 as a place from which to step forward in a good way - with recognition of what has happened and the harm it has done, what has changed, what we can do today to make positive change and what we want to do to make the future safer for every girl on her path to a healthy, strong, equal womanhood. 

-Gillian Cornwall, c. March 5, 2017

Respect

Looking for Respect

Photo by Jodi McLean - c. 2014

It's rare as hen's teeth, is respect, particularly when it comes to the interactions between everyday folks. North Americans, in particular, seem to have this wacky idea that famous people deserve adoration and respect, simply because they are famous. 

Don't get me wrong, fame often takes skill in ones field and luck ...sometimes just luck. 

The thing I don't understand is that we won't respect our neighbour who gets up at 5 every morning to go serve breakfast to the homeless then goes to Wild Arc to look after injured wildlife because he smells funny or doesn't have nice clothes or isn't privileged enough to have a post secondary education but we will idolize someone who has a nice voice and a team of people to help them sell a million copies of a song they didn't necessarily write or an actor who moved us in a particular role he or she played. I'm not saying these folks might not deserve respect, but why are we lifting them higher than everyone else?

What the blazes is wrong with us, people? How does a hateful person end up leading a country? There are many other than the "T word" (wont even say his name) around the world who have been horrific leaders over the centuries and generations. 

Why do we not lift one another up rather than tear one another down in fear?

What is it in us that makes us believe that folks are supposed to look and dress a certain way in order to be considered good people or people deserving of our attention, kindness and respect?

If my Grandma were alive, she would be appalled. She came up through life with little. She sat ram rod straight in her chair with pride - and respect for goodness - all the days of her life. At ninety-something she chased a thief from her flat. She was treated poorly as a wife and was a strong and loving mother. She worried for her grandchildren and was proud as heck of each of us. She had disdain for abusive men and refused to fall despite the hurts. 

We need to respect more grandmas. We definitely need to lift up women, the givers of life, and honour them for their abilities and strength, regardless of false fame or lack thereof.

Get a grip people. Don't be led by shiny things; they won't necessarily make you rich. 

Love your mother. Love your mother earth. Respect the givers of life.

Peace.

-Gillian Cornwall, c. January 22, 2017

Oak Bay, Vancouver Island

Gillian Cornwall, c. 2014

Women Power at Christmas

 Evergreens stretching to the light

Parksville, BC

Gillian Cornwall, c. December 2016

Last night I dreamt about someone I used to be with back when I lived in Toronto and Ottawa, Ontario, Canada in the 1980s. That was my longest relationship - probably because we understood the madness we both carried and transported from us and within us as artists in a world that loves money above all else.

In my dream, we were together again only I was me now - 55, menopausal and changed by the PTSD that triggered through the events of this past year; the PTSD that originated from assaults and abuse and for which I've spent thousands in recovery and I have recovered, except that I am muted now, muted in ways that I won't discuss here, but ways that are permanent and have changed the way I go through my life. Maybe one day I'll go into it more - just not here and not now.

So, in this dream I am me now but my girlfriend starts the dream at the same age as when we were together in our late 20s and she gets younger and more healthy as the dream progresses and I age and become more debilitated on the other side - Very strange and kind of Dorian Grey with a twist...

It set me to wondering how that woman from my dream is now. I think she would be around 60 and I have just turned 55. I wonder if she is happy and if she ever thinks of me. I hope she is happy. I think of all the lives I've weaved in and out of and how hard it has been for me to be the kind of partner I have wanted to be because of the crimes that were perpetrated against me and the impact they have had. I think of the women I have loved and how I hope I did not harm them through contact despite having spent decades and tens of thousands on regaining my well-being.

It's Christmas morning and all I can think that any child, any woman, needs more than anything, for Christmas and everyday of her life, is to be safe and powerful, to have her body as her own and to always have the choice to share it on her own terms.

To all the perpetrators of sexual violence, mine and others, stop hurting people. You are sick and violent criminals and you need to stop. To all the people who wield physical, cultural, financial and social power against women, stop. You are damaging the world, the life force and yourselves.

To the people who turn away in feigned ignorance, believing it's best to silently ignore it, stop it. Stand up and say no to sexual violence. We must use all of the positive ways we can to stand together in loving kindness and give with good hearts in ways that feed the mother force of the world.

To that woman back across time that I dreamt of last night, how I hope you are well and happy. How I hope you are well-loved and cared for. How I have this wish for everyone I love and have loved.

On this Christmas morning, my gift to myself and all of you is that I remember and cherish the good and continue to lay down the burden of the hurt put upon me.

To those who have been hurt, I send you love. Please know you are valued and essential to the well-being of the mother force that feeds this world with love and life.

To those who have hurt me: I'm still here. I'm still standing. I am still feeding the world with the mother force of life. I am a woman, worthy of respect and love and you will never destroy what remains of me - a core of pure love fed by the great mother and creator of life.

Light, love, peace, space, time and resource to grow strong - this is my wish to each of you.

Happy holidays.

Gillian Cornwall December 25, 2016.

Dedicated to EM

Crisp, white snow - Over the 'hat - Vancouver Island

Gillian Cornwall, c. December 2016

Spare Change?

The Golden Heart

G. Cornwall, c. 2015

Change? I have a great deal of it and I would have been pleased to have been spared most of it lately. I am not talking post-pub pocket shrapnel here, folks. I mean change, as in: change of job, change of life, change of, well, it feels like just about everything and, like it says in Dylan Thomas' villanelle, "Do not go gentle into that good night", I have not been gentle through much of this life-quake since it began.

The "change of life" aka menopause, came before my change of employment status. I was not fond of having a period - that part is two thumbs up in my books. I am fond of the autonomy I feel as a whole human - I need no-one to complete me.

I am not fond of growing a beard or the incessant hot flashes and sweats which make me look like a junkie coming off of heroin at the most inopportune times, such as business meetings. I am not fond of the near forty pounds I gained nor the horrific effects of gravity. I am not fond of the physical pain and weakness I am fighting off to the best of my ability. I really dislike the way some people do not talk about women's health issues, such as menopause, because some men maybe offended by us having female bodies that bleed and change and do not serve them. 

Women. We do it all. We work, raise our children and serve our families: parents, grandparents, siblings and children. The expectation remains that we will do it all with a certain gentility, obedience and gratitude for our place in the world. We are not expected to stop, rest, be celebrated or revered as the bringers of life and the hand that holds as our kin go, or do not go, gently into that good night...

In April of this year, I was laid off from my position after twenty years of service. I am fifty-four years old.

I have been working since I was about fourteen years old. I was glad of it as it got me out of a household that was, at times, worn and hostile. I started working full-time at nineteen and, with the exception of a couple of bouts of severe illness - once with agoraphobia and once with ulcers and food poisoning at the same time (I would not wish any of these on my most bitter foes) - I have been working ever since. 

Being laid off is as though someone has torn off my front door. My job, my living, is the only thing that gives me a sense of safety from the world outside, from the next assault, the next aggression, the next shaming based on the simple fact of my existence, my identity. It's all I can focus on. My health has been impacted, as well as my lifestyle and my relationships. 

Growing up lesbian was not good for me. This country (and many around the world) allow the abominable oppression, persecution and abuse to happen legally. There has been no apology from my government. No-one cares enough to do anything about the thousands and thousands of lives that were damaged and destroyed by an absence of inclusion in basic human rights for lesbians and gays. Where is the acknowledgement and where are the supports for those who cleared the path for change at the expense of their own comfort and safety? When might I receive my restitution? 

I am aware of the privilege of my race and my economic standing when compared to the world overall or compared to anyone who has been pushed under because of their difference from the white, patriarchal, colonialist monster.  

I am grateful to all of those who have held me up and stood by me to the best of their ability throughout the periods of hardship in my life. I am grateful for each moment of joy and laughter and inclusion I have experienced. I am grateful for the work I have right now and the people with whom I am working - for the huge opportunity I have to learn and do well. 

I am apologetic to those who have stood by me and listened and struggled alongside me, particularly to those of you who have born witness to my fear as so much of my sense of safety blew away in a gust of wind. I'm sorry you saw the worst of me and I hope you will not carry it. 

I am hopeful that I will have more life in which to do better, to share in ways that pull the threads of our lives together to make strong and beautiful cloth. I do hope that the light of truth will shine in social media, when all is not rosy and perfect, as it serves to let others know that they are not alone. We all have good times and bad and we have some sprinkles of light in the darkness and people blocking our light out of their own fear at times. 

To everyone, try to stay here as long as you can for the world is a heaven for us if we look for one star, a point of light in the darkness we all feel at times. Find solace in a leaf dancing earthward from the safety of its branch and think of yourself so. Let your dance across this earth light the way for your brothers and sisters. This concept of good or bad, it can be a matter of perspective. 

Change? It's all we have. It's the only consistent thing. So spare your change; share your change, however it appears to you. Together we are stronger. 

Thanks for reading. 

-Gillian Cornwall, c. October 16, 2016

G. Cornwall, c. 2013

Woman Warrior

My mother and me, when I was six or seven

Photo by: My Dad - Brian Cornwall, c. 1967

I am a woman. I am proud of my woman’s body. I do not identify by gender, rather by my biology. I do not understand the purpose of gender expectations so I do not acknowledge a gender identity. I have been identified with assorted words that mean I don’t fit the sexual orientation mainstream culture. I carry experiences that most of you will never be able to fathom with respect to how I have been treated because of how I look and who I have loved intimately.

I spent decades unable to marry the people I love. Relationships that crossed borders had to end as there was no legal way to remain together in one country. I have been held back from advancement in some jobs and not offered other jobs for which I was perfectly qualified. Others have had their children taken away from them and many of us have been told we weren’t fit parents to adopt. I have been beaten in the streets for how I look or for holding hands or kissing my partner in public. Others have had their families abandon them – ashamed – choosing their religion over their children. I have been abducted and assaulted by taxi drivers when I tried to stay safe by not walking to a bar or home from one because those men knew what I needed to make me “normal.” Shame and fear often kept me from reporting these crimes.

I have been eroded by heteronormative society for decades. Some of us could not cope – some took their lives while others of us struggled with a variety of addictions, seeking any kind of control or relief from pain and isolation. Decades ago there were far fewer opportunities to find counsellors who understood issues facing lesbians. Some of us remain, standing, eroded, exhausted in fact, still trying to be heard and have these wrongs acknowledged, awaiting some sort of help or compensation for horrible acts perpetrated against us. We are weary. We do not need to hear “but isn’t it better now?”

It is better now. We are pleased about that, but it does not take away that which we have experienced. We have suffered greatly though our bodies, our hearts and minds as a result of systemic hate – much of which still exists but has gone underground, leaching up in ways that are more difficult to see or prove. The comments are whispered or couched more carefully. We are still being assaulted and cat-called in the streets by people who are terrified of difference and choose fight over flight – we are women, after all, and popular culture continues to portray us as disposable.

I am here to say, I will not stop pointing at the elephant in the room. I will not stop ensuring people are aware of what has happened and the damage that has been done. I am proud to have survived, unapologetic for the scars I bear. I am a warrior. I am more than the sum of my sexual orientation and the losses and wins I have known because of it. I will not be silenced while I have air to breath and I will not be your token queer to mark that you are "okay with the gay."

My name is Gillian. The name means youthful. I still have joy in my heart and love to give. I am from a family of warriors, of Cornwall and Jay and, while I am the first generation for a long time not to actually go to war in uniform, I have fought, strong and proud, for as long as I can remember. The Cornwall battle cry is said to have been, "La Vie Durante" translated "During Life".

May we all find peace in who we are as individuals; thus, find peace with one another: peace, respect and celebration of difference.

-Gillian Cornwall, c. February 28, 2016

Self Portrait

Gillian Cornwall, c. September 2015