An American Girl Summer

8/11/2023

Dear Diary,

I finally saw the Barbie movie this week! Mom giggled so much throughout the whole thing. She kept pointing out all the old dolls she had as a kid—she even had Allan! It was so cute to watch her enjoying herself. She really related to the mother being pushed away by the teenage daughter, which made me feel bad. She told me she always wanted a Troll doll growing up, but her mother wouldn’t get her one. I’m going to buy her a vintage one for Christmas.

So much of the movie resonated with me. I especially loved that it highlights the lie we were told as kids that women are equal now. Barbie discovering that things aren't perfect in the real world is exactly how it feels to grow up and realize that misogyny is far from a thing of the past. It's a small thing, but dressing up in pink with my mother and sisters and watching Margot Robbie dismantle Ryan Gosling's patriarchy felt like a little act of feminist rebellion.

Sister #4 is going forward with her divorce. She seems so unhappy, and I don’t know how to help her. I’m glad that she still has the freedom to leave a marriage that isn’t right for her. A certain group seems to be turning its focus to no fault divorce, spouting rhetoric about how women shouldn’t be able to leave their husbands unless cheating is involved. It makes me sick to think of all the women already trapped in marriages they can’t escape, unable to leave for safety or financial or any multitude of other reasons. And now they want to legally trap us. We aren’t people to them, just objects to be owned and controlled.

I’m still unemployed. It’s absolutely terrifying. I’m blowing through my savings so quickly. What will I do when the money runs out? Two graduate degrees, and some places are offering $14/hour? I’m starting to wonder if it’s possible to live comfortably in this country.

8/17/2023

Dear Diary,

Sister #5 is pregnant, and she doesn’t want to be. And our state banned abortion two weeks ago. And then her car broke down. Talk about terrible timing. I’m so angry and scared. She doesn’t want Mom to know. I’m the only one she’s told, and I feel overwhelmed with the responsibility of helping her get out of state care with limited funds and no transportation. This is so unfair. We aren’t human beings to the men in power. The guy who knocked her up is a big fan of Andrew Tate. I keep telling her not to let these MRA a**holes have access to her body, but I suppose some lessons come with age. God knows I slept with my share of misogynists at twenty-three.

I spent the day calling clinics in Illinois, asking for the soonest available appointment. My sister thinks she’s seven weeks along, which only gives us a few weeks to find a provider if she wants to get the pill rather than the procedure. She’s throwing up constantly. I wish I could do more to help her. I just keep telling her to hang in there. It makes me so angry that she can’t just go to the Planned Parenthood down the street from us. Only a month ago, she could have. I told Mom that this would happen, way back in 2016. I told her Roe would be overturned. She said that would never happen. And then she voted for Donald Trump.

I didn’t get tickets for the second leg of the Eras Tour. I had twelve people register, and not a single one of us got a sale code. I’m really bummed about that, but I can still tailgate outside the stadium. I got to go once during the first leg, and I’m grateful for the incredible experience. Maybe if I get a good job, I’ll be able to afford one of those insanely priced, behind the stage resale tickets.

8/26/2023

Dear Diary,

Sister #5 got her abortion. She finally told Mom, who immediately canceled her plans, took a day off work, and offered to drive us to the clinic. On our way out of our autocratic state and into one that actually treats women like human beings, a large billboard warned us that abortion is a sin.

Fuck whoever put up that billboard. As if my little sister wasn’t already traumatized and terrified enough. But they don’t care about her. They don’t care about her life.

The abortion clinic had such stringent security. I’m glad that those measures are in place to keep the patients and healthcare workers safe, but I’m enraged that such precautions are necessary. When we arrived at Planned Parenthood, they informed us that only one person could go in with my sister. Mom stayed with her while I explored Chicago on my own. I read Invisible Women at the pier while I waited. It seemed fitting. Did you know that 40% of American women return to work just two weeks after giving birth? And people wonder why I’ll never have kids. At least not in this country.

When we got back to my sister’s apartment, one of her best friends was there. She had cleaned the place from top to bottom and bought my sister a bunch of supplies for her bathroom and kitchen. I don’t think I’ve ever known a friendship like that. Mom and I had just been telling her that she needs to get better friends. I’ve never eaten my words so quickly.

I stayed with Sister #5 for a couple of days while the pills took effect. She bled like crazy and was in a lot of pain. I did what I could for her, making her food, bringing her medicine, ordering a heating pad for her. We watched Gone Girl and National Treasure. I truly feel so honored to have been the only sister she told. My goal has always been to be a safe space for the women in my life, and I feel like this is a sign that I’m doing something right. She said that she knew I wouldn’t judge her, that I would do everything I could to help her. That warms my heart more than she could possibly know.

Mom said she wondered if my sister would have ever even told her about the pregnancy if the car hadn’t broken down. The truth is that I don’t think she would have. I think Mom is starting to see how some of her ideologies make her somewhat unapproachable. She keeps asking what would happen to a less privileged girl in my sister’s position. She would become a mother long before she was ready to, that’s what would happen. But I bet Mom will still vote red in 2024. She was the first person to ever teach me anti-feminism, the person who taught me to hate and distrust other women.

There’s a grief to that that grows ever more pronounced as I become more confident in my own activism. I envy all the girls whose mothers taught them to celebrate their womanhood. It’s so hard to reconcile my love for her as my mother with my frustration at her beliefs. But, to her credit, she showed up for Sister #5. Mom has the most important parenting quality, I think—she loves and supports her kids unconditionally, even if she’s disappointed in them. She dropped everything to get us to that clinic, and she brought us groceries and medicine afterward. She isn’t a perfect parent, but she is a great one.

I keep thinking about my nieces. I have five now, all under the age of five. The youngest two were born after the Dobbs decision. Since birth, they have had fewer rights than I had when I was born. I’m so afraid for them, especially with all of them growing up in red states. I will never have children. How could I possibly risk bringing a little girl into this fascist hellscape?

I wonder if this is what it means to be an American woman.

9/19/2023

Dear Diary,

I read my favorite book this week, as I do this time every year. It brings me comfort, this small annual ritual. It’s a children’s book intended for fifth graders, but even two decades after the first time I read it, it never fails to make me happy.

I got to have an amazing conversation with Sisters #1, #2, and #3 over the weekend. They’re our half-sisters, and I’ve been trying to connect with them more. I wish the younger girls would make a similar effort, but the age gap between them makes it hard. I had no idea that Dad never paid a dime of child support. Sister #2 said that their mom didn’t want to have to deal with him, so she didn’t ask for payments. I can’t blame her in the slightest. I wish Mom had gotten out like his first wife did.

I think I might have found my biological mother! She’s friends with Mom on Facebook, and she’s been heart-liking posts about me for years. That’s so crazy to me—that this biological parent I only learned about a few years ago may have been following along with my life, supporting me from a distance. I wish I could ask Mom, but her infertility is such a sensitive topic for her.

I’m so excited to be able to see the Eras Tour movie with the whole family. I wanted to be able to take everybody to a concert, but this is so much cheaper! They don’t have to be Swifties, but maybe they’ll stop being unnecessarily critical of Taylor Swift once they see the magic that is this tour. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part. I hate to see so much internalized misogyny from so many of the women in my family. They learned it from Mom. She keeps insisting that she doesn’t hate Taylor Swift, but her comments over the years are ingrained in my brain. She’s only pretending to be supportive now because her new husband thinks Taylor is insanely talented. For his birthday, he asked me to give him a list of Taylor songs that show off her lyricism and an explanation of why I chose them. I really appreciate the effort he’s making to connect with me over something I care about. I wish Mom would ask for a list. I always feel like I’m being obnoxious when I send her songs I think she might like.

Guess what, Diary—I think I’ve got my dream job! I should know within the next week or so. I've made it through two interviews and have a final interview with the CEO of the company next week. How nerve wracking. Little old me, sitting down with a bigshot CEO. His assistant told me not to be intimidated, but how can I not be intimidated by someone with a multimillion-dollar company and homes all over the country? I would sell my left arm for this job. The salary is better than I ever could have imagined, the benefits are amazing, and the company takes work-life balance very seriously. Everyone who works there raves about it, and they had such nice things to say about their bosses. Please please please please please let me get this job.

Autumn is almost here, and I hate it. Everybody else seems to love it, but to me fall is a precursor to the inevitable depression that accompanies cold weather. I couldn’t care less about Halloween or pumpkin spice. I wish summer could last forever. It’s warm and green and sunny. It’s the only time of year I’m truly happy. Or as close to it as a chronically depressed gal can get, I suppose.

But the end of this summer feels particularly significant.

This was the summer of Barbie. The summer of Taylor Swift and Beyonce concerts, of unemployment and uncertainty. This was the summer of abortion bans and abortion trips, of friendship bracelets and girl dinners. A summer of sisterhood and feminism, of empathizing with my mother while hating what she taught me and resolving to do better.

And I wonder if all of this is what it is to be an American woman. A “Cruel Summer,” indeed.