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Each day as I drive down a certain highway in my hometown, I see a sign advertising in bold black letters, “Girls! Girls! Girls!” As I watched a pseudo-news program on television last night, it featured ‘the sexiest Halloween costumes for women’ and showed a video-gone-viral of a young woman receiving over 100 catcalls just walking down the street. When I opened up CNN’s website just now, the featured headline read, “Women Sold, Raped, Enslaved by ISIS.”

No matter where I look, it looks really bad to be a female.

Maybe it’s because I’m the mother of a little girl who is rapidly growing older, or maybe it’s just because I am growing older myself, but day by day I am increasingly saddened at just what it means to be a female in 2014. Sure, we have the right to vote, and yes, the glass ceiling has begun to crack and shatter, but in many ways it still dangerous and/or a liability to be a female.

Every day at the high school where I teach, I see young ladies violating the dress code and displaying their bodies in a way that makes me cringe. Their tops are low-cut, their shorts are unbelievably short, and their skinny jeans are impossibly skinny. Those 15 year old girls probably don’t understand, but the way they display their bodies says a lot about the way they feel. And the feeling that most of them seem to feel is this: “I am my appearance. My self is my looks.” Maybe, for some of them, they just dress like their friends, but maybe, just maybe, they have learned that even in 2014,  in much of the world, a young lady is the sum of her parts. And those parts need to be shown.

I am not – hear me, please – blaming these girls. I am blaming us – our society. We collectively have allowed females to be ‘less-than.’ We have reduced them to parts and demanded that those parts appear a certain way. We have caused a girl’s worth to be dependent on so many things other than who she really is – the person inside with a heart and intelligence.

I have realized that in many ways, and in many places, girls are a commodity. They are still treated as though they are inferior to males, and they still are fighting for equality. I know that I, personally, have felt this way. I have felt ‘less-than’ simply because I am a female, and I have been told that I cannot do what males can do – even though I am more qualified and would likely do quite well.

When will this end, and how? I wish I knew. The scary thing is I’m not convinced that it will. Seeing females merely as sex objects and pawns in a man’s world has become so ingrained in our culture that a perspective shift will not come easily. Especially as long as we females who know better don’t do better. If we continue to allow ourselves to be demeaned and discriminated against, nothing will change. If we don’t fight for ourselves – and our daughters – no one will.

I want to be able to tell my little girl that she can do anything – and mean it. I don’t want there to be businesses in my hometown where men can pay – in any capacity – for women and their services. I don’t want her gender to essentially be a disability that prevents her from achieving her dreams. I want her to see a world that so far hasn’t existed: a world where being a female is more positive than negative.

Image courtesy of http://www.lettherebeneon.com/?page_id=892

It’s 2:47 on a Friday, this one being a teacher workday. I am sitting down, in my recliner, at home. As we speak, there are still a bunch of teachers at my school logging hours, planning for next week and doing the myriads of unending tasks that teachers have to do. But I’m not there. I’m home.

We were given permission to leave today at 2:15 since we spent an evening at school a few weeks ago for Open House. I had permission to leave – yet I feel guilty. This, my friends, is the real life of a teacher. We never don’t feel guilty about something.

I feel guilty because I was the only person walking out the door at 2:15. The parking lot was still full, and my own to-do list wasn’t finished. My supply cabinet really needed to be reorganized, and the nonfiction unit I’m doing soon still needs some work. My bookshelves are dusty, and I should have emailed that parent. Ugh – yep. I probably should have stayed later.

But I didn’t. I chose to come home to my elementary-school-aged children and spend some time with them. (I’m a rebel, aren’t I?) I chose to try to turn my school brain off for a little while and not be driven mad by the ever-increasing demands placed on me – us – including the new requirements we learned about in the meeting this morning. I chose to go out for lunch with my friends, and I chose to leave today as soon as I could. And I’m trying to be ok with that.

But you know why it’s hard to be ok with that? Because teachers are constantly judged, and the criticism is loud and stinging. We are judged by parents – “My child has never made a C before, so you must be the problem.” We are judged by other teachers – “Ew, I never teach that story. The kids think it’s so boring.” We are judged by administrators – “Mrs. X was at school even though she was sick. Let’s all try to be like Mrs. X.” And please don’t forget the community – “Kids today can’t read and write. I just don’t know what’s going on in that school.” From every direction, teachers are judged, but the harshest judgments are those that come from ourselves.

Yes, we teachers know that we have a million eyes on us. We know that there is nothing more important than influencing the life of a child, so the million eyes have a right to be on us. That’s fair. But the brightest spotlight we feel is the one we turn on ourselves. On the whole, teachers are a group of perfectionists. You might not be able to tell by looking at some of our desks, but we want to do things right. We want to be on the cutting edge of research and technology, and we want to be the teacher that a high school senior remembers fondly. We feel like crying when a lesson bombs, and we hurt when our kids just can’t get it. We have file cabinets full of old lessons, but we create new ones every year so they’ll be just right. We look in others’ classrooms as we walk down the halls, and we feel insufficient because of what we see. We peek at the study guide left in the copier, and we groan inwardly when we realize ours is not nearly as good.

We are constantly judged – but the worst judgments are our own. They bring a guilt that feels inescapable. On a daily basis, I might feel badly about any (or all) of the following:
* I can’t get to school before 7:15 because of having to take my own kids to school. That teacher gets here every morning at 6:30 when the building opens.
* I forgot to make these copies yesterday afternoon, so now I have 46 seconds before the bell rings to get them run off.
* That bulletin board has been up since August. It really needs to be changed.
* The 72 essays I collected three days ago haven’t been graded, and both kids and parents are checking Parent Portal to see if the grades are there. They aren’t.
* Having to say, “We don’t have enough time to finish this story in class, so you guys will have to finish it on your own tonight. I know – I’m sorry. But there’s not enough time.”
* That student from 4th period last year was arrested last night.
* The technology I was awarded through a grant is probably wonderful – but I haven’t had enough time to learn to use it well yet.
* Student X doesn’t have access to the internet at home, and no one in his family was willing to take him to the library. His paper, therefore, isn’t typed. Which was a requirement.
* I forgot to show the school news. Again.
* This poetry packet I need to copy is 15 pages. I know that’s a lot of paper, but the poems in our textbook are really bad…

It just goes on and on. In the course of one class, I feel so inadequate to meet the demands of every student. There are kids with learning disabilities, kids who barely speak English, kids whose baby sister is fighting cancer, kids who have no high school graduates in their families, kids who have no books on a bookshelf at home, kids who did not get enough to eat today, kids who cannot afford the supplies they come without, kids with struggles I can tell are there but cannot figure out… The education system has evolved to hold teachers accountable for students and their performances, and believe me, we feel accountable. I feel responsible for things I cannot change and cannot control, and it leads to a feeling of all-consuming guilt most days. We teachers never don’t feel guilty.

Part of learning to be a teacher is learning to live with the guilt. It’s understanding that at the end of the day, if we’ve done all we can do – academically and otherwise – then we can go home and be satisfied with our day’s work. It’s realizing that we can’t change everything for a child. It’s understanding that no matter how hard we work – or how late we stay – there will always be someone doing more or working later. Part of being a good teacher is going in your classroom, closing the door, teaching your heart out, and then going home to recharge. Part of being a good teacher is getting out of the school and being just you. Even with a little guilt following you as you leave.

Now that we’re back in the swing of school and I feel like I’ve gotten to know my 9th graders well, there are some things I have encountered that disturb me. A lot. (One of which is the way they all use the word ‘alot.’ It’s two words, people. A. Lot. But I digress.)

I pride myself on being a tough teacher. If a student makes an A in my class, it’s because he or she has earned it. I don’t give A’s just for showing up – students earn A’s when they complete and master assignments. What disturbs me, this semester more than any other, perhaps, is how many of my students expect those A’s just for showing up. The first few quizzes, tests, and homework assignments threw them for the proverbial loop. There were many grades far below par, and there were many confused students and parents. There was a confused teacher, too. If the answers aren’t right, then I must mark them wrong, right? If the assignment is only halfway completed, then it cannot earn more than a 50 percent, right?

Yes, my expectations are high, and no, I don’t apologize for it. But what has been on my mind lately is simply this: are my expectations really that much higher than my students have known? Is completing an assignment fully and accurately really such an anomaly? Have attempts without mastery been acceptable in the past?

Don’t get me wrong – I know that high school is a whole new ballgame for kids. The pace is faster, the classes are longer, and the load is heavier. Understandable. But the expectations – shouldn’t they be similar? The demand for responsibility – shouldn’t it be comparable?

A friend of mine teaches across the hall from me, and she had a student ask if they got to have “Free Friday.” Her response: “I’m sorry – what? You get free Saturday and Sunday. We have work to do.”

Free Friday? Is there really such a thing? Are there teachers somewhere who have fewer standards  to teach and lower expectations from their administration? How can this exist?

My mind is always blown when I give back the first test, students see a low grade, and the question is posed, “When can I retake this?” I try very hard to control myself when I answer, “Never. You didn’t take the notes, you failed to turn in the homework, and you didn’t come in for extra help.” I sincerely don’t understand, and I need someone to explain this one to me. Is retaking tests standard practice now? Is getting a second chance when you did zero work the first time somehow helping children succeed? I would argue vehemently that giving multiple chances after initial laziness only perpetuates laziness. Why should a child study or work hard the first time if there’s going to be a second? (Of course, there is a difference for a child with a diagnosed learning disability. That’s a very different conversation.)

Likewise, “Ketchup” Days leave me dazed and confused as well – at least for high school. My students have 5 days after an excused absence to make up any work missed. After 5 days, the missing work becomes a zero, and they are not given the opportunity to “ketchup” no matter how cute the graphic on a red folder is. After 5 days, we have moved light years ahead, and failure to complete missed work becomes a responsibility issue. I fear we are teaching learned helplessness. My take on the issue is very black and white – the missing work was in the folder, you knew the procedure, so your failure to complete the work is a you problem. Case closed.

We are doing students – future adults – no favors by giving them a zillion chances to complete work well and completely. We are teaching them no life skills when we allow them to get away with anything less than the best they can give.

The best thing happened during a conversation the other day with a student. She shared with me that she had fun in last year’s class. The teacher was cool and let them use their phones all the time, but now she realizes how little she actually learned and how far behind she is as a result. She wishes her teacher had taught and demanded more. Isn’t that the point of education? To teach people what they didn’t even know they didn’t know?

I desperately want to be remembered by my students as someone who challenged them daily, teaching them how to think deeply and act responsibly. I want them to look back on freshman English and think, “Man. I really earned that A.”

Dear Jennie,

Today you’re well-rested, having just returned from a relaxing getaway with your incredible husband. The new school year is looming and you’re feeling a little stressed, beginning to make lists of all that must be done. But the stress you’re feeling now is nothing compared to how you’ll feel next Sunday night, when you know that 75 students will be entering your classroom the next day expecting great things of you. The stress will be even greater as you begin to prepare them for the high-stakes testing that will determine so much of their future – and yours. The anxiety will mount, the exhaustion will set in, and around February of this year, you’ll begin to grumble. So I’m writing to you now, before all of it starts, to remind you that the stress, anxiety, and exhaustion are all a privilege. Really, they are.

You see, Jennie, how have you forgotten? You’ve traveled to other countries where education isn’t a given. You have seen with your own eyes children carrying their own chairs to a makeshift classroom in a tin building well over 100 degrees.

You have seen their kitchen, empty but for a few small bags of beans and a jug of oil. You have heard the school leaders say that the kerosene is almost gone and there is no money for more.

You have listened to lessons being taught in another language to children who have to pay to be there.

You have snuggled with a student who had never seen you before but held on for dear life.

You have seen students smiling just at the chance to be at school. You have seen classrooms that are not Pinterest-inspired but are instead – and more importantly – freedom-providing.

So, Jennie, when education in America seems overwhelming both to you as a teacher and to your children as students, remember that it’s education in America! It is not held under a bridge, it is not dangerous for your daughter to attend, and it is not financially impossible. 

Is it perfect? Of course not. But compared to what you’ve seen and where you’ve been, Jennie, it’s a dream come true. A dream that even today, non-American children are chasing by illegally riding trains into this country. A dream that today, in 2014, little girls around the world don’t have to opportunity to pursue. A dream that today, most people take for granted. Don’t be one of them, Jennie. Don’t be a grumbler. Don’t fall into the trap that only complains about education in America. Be a part of making it better. And be a person who remembers just how incredible it really is.

My side of the family is in a sweet baby frenzy right now, with my younger sister having just delivered her very own 8 lb 14 oz daughter. Born in the wee hours of the morning, sweet Emma has enchanted us all and ended a 7 year baby drought. We are all awash in pacifiers and swaddling and worries of when she last pooped. Babies make us crazy, don’t they? (Side note – those 8 lbs 14 oz and my sister’s tale of delivery made me thankful for my own unexpected C-sections. They weren’t what I wanted, but neither is pushing out an 8 lb 14 oz baby, thank you very much! She’s my new hero.)

As I’ve seen us all fall head over heels in love with this brand new person, it has occurred to me that the love we first feel when we see our newborns is nothing compared with the love that develops as we get to know them as people. The love we feel when we hear our newborns cry and when we nestle them for the first time is powerful and automatic, a connection so strong that we would immediately fight to the death for them. We think that we are as in love with them as we will ever be, but we are wrong. We think we love them now, but that love intensifies and changes as they do.

So I’d like to say to my baby sister as she is loving on her baby, you think you love her now, but just wait.

Just wait until that helpless newborn smiles at you for the first time (and not from gas.) Wait until she locks eyes with you and smiles that toothless grin because she knows that it’s you. Just wait. You think you love her now.

Wait until she cries for you and cannot – will not – be soothed by anyone else. Wait until only Mommy will suffice. Your heart will swell knowing that she really does know her Mommy. Wait and see.

Wait until she reaches out with her fat-roll ridden arms, saying, “Carry you, Mommy,” needing the safe arms of her mother. You think you love her now.

Just wait until she says in that squeaky 2-year old voice, “I wuv you, too.” You will melt every time you hear it and secretly hope that she never learns to pronounce her L’s.

Wait until you walk her into the first day of kindergarten, her hair in pigtails and your heart in your throat. Wait until you walk back to your car, crying the ugly cry because she’s so big and you’re so sad and you know nothing will ever be the same. Wait until she runs back into your arms and tells you about her friends and shows you her papers. You think you love her now. Just wait.

Wait until she begins to hide notes for you written in her own handwriting. “I love Mommy” painstakingly penned in crayon is more priceless than any Picasso in a museum. Wait until you pull out the shoe box containing all of her notes and have tears rolling down your cheeks because you remember feeling her kick in your belly. Wait and see.

Wait until you watch her do something she really fears for the first time, like riding a big-girl bike or diving into a pool. When she falls and fears but tries it again, your pride in her tenacity will add another dimension to your love for her. You think you love her now.

Wait until you’re sick or have a headache and she shows genuine concern, asking, “Are you okay, Mommy?” Your love for her big heart will overwhelm you, and you will have faith that she’ll be an amazing woman one day. You just think you love her now.

Wait until she begins to say her own prayers, saying things like, “I’m thankful for all of that, God, but mostly for you.” You think you love her now.

Wait until her baby teeth fall out and too-large teeth grow in and her legs are long and gangly. You will wonder where your baby went, but you’ll catch a glimpse when you least expect it, and it will make you catch your breath. Just wait.

Just wait until she confesses a fear to you, that she won’t get a reward M&M in computer lab because she’s not the first to finish her work. Your own tears will well and you’ll want to fight over M&Ms and you will love her so fiercely it hurts. You think you love her now.

We think we love them now, but the truth is that we will love them more – and differently – tomorrow. A mother’s love for her child is a dynamic, always-evolving, never-lessening creature. It is a love that no one can prepare you for, and it is a love that transcends even horrible-birth stories. It is a love from God himself, and it is a love only surpassed by Him. We just think we love them now.

I needed a break from the world.

Life was chaotic, I was overwhelmed, and the constant barrage of perfect pictures of everyone else’s world was about to do me in. So I did the 21st century version of squirreling myself away from society for a while – I logged off.

I didn’t blog; I didn’t read blogs. I swore off Facebook, and I shunned Twitter. I gave myself a time-out from the nonstop updates that stole my minutes and brought out my envy.

It was glorious.

And now that I’ve allowed myself some social media again, I almost wish I hadn’t. Perhaps it’s just my personality type, but I’ve come to realize how few contributions social media actually make for me personally.

Sure, I can see what people I went to high school with are up to (and goodness gracious, that’s more than I needed to know), and I can learn quickly who just got engaged or took a pregnancy test, and yes, I don’t know how we lived without knowing who was at the gym or seeing a picture of their meals, but truly – does the information we’re obsessed with posting and fanatical about reading enrich our lives? Does it make us better people, or does it just make us voyeurs? Does it make us more satisfied, or does it just make us compare?

I know what it does for me, and it often isn’t pretty.

Now, I’m not saying that social media can’t be useful. Certainly it can. It promotes some good causes, reconnects old friends, and (sometimes) encourages us. But if we were to draw up a list of pros and cons, I’m afraid the cons would win every time – at least for me. And in an age where time is so limited and people are already so disconnected, allowing social media to consume such a large part of our lives is unproductive and isolating. And I don’t think anyone can argue that it doesn’t consume a lot of time. Nearly everyone I know checks their social media multiple times a day. Don’t believe me? Go to any restaurant and just watch the people dining. They can’t eat an entire meal without checking who has updated Facebook or taking selfies to show the world they were on a date (enough already!). We no longer know how to be; we must also do.

What it all boils down to for me is this quote from Roosevelt – “Comparison is the thief of joy.” Every single time I get on social media – and maybe it’s just me – I compare what I say/do/look like/wear/write with everyone else. I don’t want to, and goodness knows I don’t try to, but it just happens. Most people post the highlights of their lives (although we all have those ‘friends’ who post the negatives that should really remain private), so seeing the highlights can wrongly make us believe that their lives are all highlights. News flash – they aren’t. Social media has become, for many, just the grown-up way of bragging about the good and concealing the bad.

My sabbatical revealed to me that I can live without Facebook. Twitter isn’t a necessity, and even though I enjoy keeping up with strangers’ lives via blogs, I don’t have to. I did not suffer in the least from not knowing the ins and outs of others’ days. I managed just fine without poring over entries of 140 characters. I spent more time reading and less time with my nose buried in my phone. Life felt calmer, and I honestly felt less anxiety. Maybe it was imagined and just a placebo effect, or maybe there was really a connection. Whatever the case, I learned something valuable. Less computer, more living. You should try it sometime.

As a teacher, this is how I envision myself.

I’d like to think that, like an Olympic torch bearer, I am beckoning all hopefuls to follow the flame as I dutifully lead them to the place of dream-realization.

Unfortunately, this is a more realistic picture.

When I went into this profession, I honestly believed that I would be the teacher to make a difference. I would inspire adolescents to love learning, and they would look back on their education and hallowedly speak my name as The One who made all the difference.

Nobody told me that the reality would be slightly different, with me admonishing the same 14 year old three days in a row for failing to bring a pencil, or that I would slump in my chair at the final bell wondering just why I thought I was cut out for this. Nobody explained that the kid in all black would cry out for attention in ways I had never seen. Nobody said that my heart would break when my student’s mother died while he was in my class.

Teaching, in case you don’t know, is not always leading a charge with a flame. It is pulling your charges towards a pinprick of light. It is not always inspiring; it is often excruciating.

So often, when the classroom clears and all that’s left are long-forgotten, tooth-marked pencils, I feel defeated. More often than not, I leave the space where I thought I would make miracles and feel like I’ve just made a mess.

Today was one of those days. I know I explained the same concept 452 times in 452 ways, then had 452 questions from 452 students. It was (she says hyperbolically) exhausting. I looked back at the beautiful but now ragged lesson plan book, questioning where I made the mistake. Should there have been more differentiation? Would a group activity have been more effective? Surely there was a video that could have been a help.

The fault, I always assume, is my own.

This job gets hard when we forget that we’re dealing with people. People who have free will, varying interests, and unpredictable behavior. People who can’t always see that the now of a classroom affects the future of a life.

Just in case you ever want to ruin the morning of a perfectly good snow day, all you have to do is this:

1. Wake your seven year old daughter (who went to bed later than she should have the previous night) and inform her that she has a dentist appointment.

2. Attempt to dress said seven year old daughter as she thrashes about and wails, “But I just wanna go back to sleeeeeppp!”

3. Then wake your eight year old son and tell him he has to tag along to the dentist – repeating what you said one more time, louder, so he can hear you over the dramatic protests from the room across the hall.

4. Drive to the dentist, through the snow, wishing you were back home in your warm bed.

5. Pretend to be happy at the dentist’s office when the receptionist asks you to update paperwork. Think, “It’s not personal. Insurance requirements. Grin and bear it.”

6. Enthusiastically usher your increasingly-nervous daughter to the back where the poor hygienist is waiting and has no idea what she is about to face.

7. Hold your precious second-born as tears well up in her eyes at the announcement that all six-year molars are in and “it’s time for sealants.”

8. Half-lead, half-drag her to the even backer-back, because sealants apparently require a different hygienist and room.

9. Drape your body across that daughter and physically hold her down as the poor, unsuspecting hygienist begins to wish she had called in sick..

10. Ask the Lord why he gave an octopus eight arms and a mother just two because dear Jesus this physical restraint would be a whole lot easier with another hand or four.

11. Look up at the hygienist with a look of pity and pleading as the strongest seven year old you’ve ever met renders you powerless in matters of restraint.

12. Send that dear, precious, stubborn, and dramatic daughter to the bathroom to get herself together and dry those tears because Mommy has had enough and you are NOT making another appointment to do this another day!

13. Compose yourself as the hygienist goes to get reinforcements. Conclude that you will never go to the dentist again. Decide that teeth are highly overrated.

14. Smile as a snuffling girl tentatively makes her way back to the torturous chair. Speak soothing words of encouragement like, “It’s not going to hurt at all. Mommy had this done when she was a little girl! All she’s going to do is paint your teeth with princess paint.”

15. Realize that your words are not making one iota of difference.

16. Attempt restraint one more time.

17. Give up. Listen as the dentist and hygienist say, “We’ll just try this another day. It’s not worth her having such a bad experience at the dentist.”

18. Think, but don’t say, “Her?! What about me?!’

19. Walk, defeated, to the check-out counter.

20. Accept the appointment card for another appointment that you swore you would not make. Load both children back in the car and curse anyone who says that snow days are fun.

This is not a feminist post. Yes, I believe that women should be paid the same as men for performing the same jobs. I believe women should become more interested in the STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, Math) fields (and I just spent nearly an entire class period talking with my 9th graders about this issue). I would love to see a female become President, and I would readily admit that many women I know are much more intellectual than many men I know. But a feminist? I wouldn’t lump myself in that category.

I believe that if a woman wants to forego a career and remain home with her children, then not only can she, but she should. I would without hesitation say that the greatest part of my own life takes place after the hours I am paid, when I am home with my children. I am forever grateful for the women in previous generations who have made it possible for me to participate as a first-rate citizen in society doing things like, oh – I don’t know, voting and getting a job. A feminist, though? Probably not.

That being said, I’d like to take a minute to share my thoughts on a disturbing trend via celebrities in our culture. What is it, you ask? Simply this. The depiction of women as nothing more than sexual objects to be flaunted, dissected, and plastered on every screen available. It’s so disheartening. The worst part, though, is that many are doing it to themselves. For attention. And ratings. And record sales.

Case in point – Beyonce at the Grammys. (Allow me to say right here that I did not watch this awards show. I was probably reading a book or grading papers or doing some other nerdy thing that I, in typical Jennie fashion, would do on a Sunday night. However. I have seen numerous replays and articles and dissertations on the subject since then, hence my incredible amount of knowledge on the event. Ahem.)

Beyonce is an incredibly talented and incredibly beautiful woman. She is the type of woman who makes awkward females like me resolve to take singing lessons and do more lunges. She’s just pretty awesome. But instead of using her talent to leverage more respect and prestige for the females of the world, she chose to flaunt around in black lingerie, nothing left to the imagination, while her husband sang a song making light of an incident of domestic abuse. Why? For the ratings? For the shock value? I feel like her actions (and those of many other celebs who just want attention) are undoing the hard work it took for the women of previous generations to garner equality and respect for women. We are, it seems, sliding back down the slope towards sexual objects, and it scares me for the world my seven year old daughter will live in.

I saw an interview with Beyonce where she explained where the idea came from for the performance. A strip club. She said that she was with her husband at this strip club and wished that she could do that for her man. Well, then. My thoughts are that she could have – at home. In private. Not in a music video, and certainly not on a stage. She says that she doesn’t “at all have any shame about being sexual.” To that, I say good. You shouldn’t. God make us as sexual beings – but that sexuality is to be shared with a spouse, not with the world on an awards show.

(For the sake of argument, let me say that I am not, as a Christian, condemning Beyonce for acting like an unbeliever. That is to be expected. If she does not follow Christ, then I will not hold her to Christ’s standards. My concern is with her actions as a female in 2014 and the implications for our society as a whole.)

I don’t want to slam Beyonce but to question why she – and other females – feel that being intelligent and articulate and talented is not enough. I’m sure in their field it’s partially because of the pressure. Looks and weight and hairstyles are constantly critiqued. Joan Rivers will torment you mercilessly on her show if your red carpet look is not flawless. I get that. It must be incredibly difficult.

I guess my point here is that we females are our own worst enemies. We want equality and respect and opportunity – but then some of us sabotage it all to get a guy’s attention or a greater rating or higher sales. And it’s not just celebrities. I know of a female who is quite intelligent and successful, but turns into a silly coquette whenever she is around men. It drives me nuts. I just want women to be ok with being intelligent. Why do we feel the need to overcompensate for our intellect with tight clothing and high-pitched giggles and batting eyelashes? As my Mama has been known to say, I will knock my daughter into next week if I ever catch her acting like that. If we want to be respected, we must act worthy of respect.

Celebrity or commoner, we women need to metaphorically link arms and remind this world that we are more than just pretty faces. Our worth is not just found in the swing of our hips and the clothing we fill out. We are talented. We are smart. And we will not stand for the trend of degradation that is so prevalent today.