<![CDATA[femmeruthless - Ruthless behind the Femme]]>Tue, 01 Mar 2016 22:49:57 -0800Weebly<![CDATA[Femme Ruthless - Sounds Painful, Wot is it? ]]>Mon, 28 Mar 2011 07:00:00 GMThttp://www.femmeruthless.com/ruthless-behind-the-femme/first-postNo, it's not a feminine hygiene product.  It's not a Fembot Assasin's Kit.  It doesn't have anything to do with the Indigo Girls or castrating men.  It isn't an OPI nail shade either (sadly).  Not at all.  

Femme Ruthless was a term I coined years ago while e-bantering about with my gorgeous astrologer and close friend, Mystic Medusa aka the Golden Venus.  Trying to make ourselves feel better we ended up conceptualizing attitudes to the state of shite parts of our lives seemed to have fallen into at the time.  Hence, the commitment to being chaste vis a vis the absence of anyone viable (read employed, not on drugs, human, sane) tempting us to break that fast was called Noveau Chaste courtesy of Mystic.  Primordial female rage channeled er..in some fashion became Femme Ruthless. 
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Brooke Shaden: A Storm to Move Mountains
At that point, I was in Kill Mode, and trying desperately to manage what comes of Being a Woman.  That already sounds loaded and it is.  Being a Woman, as in dealing with centuries of hard-wired expectations of women as the default moral compass, purveyor of all that is Good while trying to live my humanity - which I wondered why I suddenly didn't seem to deserve.  I was in a terrible relationship I'd unsuccessfully attempted to quit several times.  And it landed me in the unenviable position of having been victimized by the ex, possum crawling through a slow and confused recovery while under constant fire from a mixture of angered opinions, pity and fear from the nearest and dearest.
Fear, since I'd come to embody a situation no one ever really thinks could happen to them, or anyone they knew.  Like it or not, my being the poster child of abuse at all sorts of levels, deception, betrayals, you name it, made the reality too close for comfort and peeps had a mighty reaction.  Like is it catching?  Is there a cure?  Will losing limbs help??  The problem was at the end of the day, no one else could go through it for me. 

So as well intended as those opinions were, they also carried the brunt of expectation.  Everybody wanted the relief of a conclusion.  For that matter so did I.  But being in the eye of the storm didn't make for neatly wrapped decisions, not while I was running around literally picking up my guts after they'd been strewn all over the place.  I avoided people I loved to shield myself from the inadvertent blow back their anger created since the perpetrator was happily absent.  It was akin to being spit out by a tornado and being asked why I'd let it happen.  
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The time for THAT story isn't now but it was too much and I snapped, finally deciding I was going Limbic or Bust.  In short, I suffer, I decide, I get up, I fall down, I have to do what I have to do.  I chose to OWN all of it.  And I accepted that everything that happened would forever be part of me.  I had to welcome whoever I was going to become while going through a decidedly shapeless, insidiously painful and beat-ass ugly stage. 

THAT ownership is what I came to call Femme Ruthless.
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It means, Trust Yourself.  Know what you can know, learn what you don't, feel your way through and take all of it in.  Cry if you need to even if it means you have to do it for three months straight, but don't let that cast a shadow over the belief that one day you'll stop crying and finally unfurl yourself out of a fetal position.  Cause you're just going to have to, you WILL get bored of your own sorrow eventually.  It means take the best of what's being given you, say thank you, and leave the parts that aren't of any use.  Say Stop, say Go.  Change your mind with the aim of understanding it.  And know that the terrain out there is better navigated by knowing the terrain of your own mind, heart and soul.  

It means YOUR intuition is not a myth.  And you don't owe anyone a damn press release or state of the self address every five minutes when the shit hits the fan.  Conserve your energy, you'll need it.  There's strength to be mined from your weakest moments and your faultiest traits.  And that there is nothing better to claim in the entire world but Yourself.  I don't mean that in a "you're worthy of a spa day" kind of way.  

I mean that in the bottom-of-your-world-dropping, stomach churning self-reconciling kind of way, when you stare at the mirror and whisper half-crazed, "oh my god, I can't believe this is who I am" and you realize you can no longer indulge in the security of a rampant Black and White syndrome because everything you are is decidedly gray at that moment.  However insane the implications, you also know running away isn't the answer.  

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So you look hard at yourself, riveted with shame and fascination, you'd look away like countless times you've done before but you just can't, not this time.  This time, you love who you see, even if you hate parts of it.   That woman in the mirror, she finally FEELS real, because everything that led up to that moment has stripped you of every pretense.  You're no longer an idea of yourself, you just..are.  

Colette once wrote that to be strong is to be made of woman.  I'm sure I'm paraphrasing loosely.  But in thinking about that term, "femme ruthless" coined so haphazardly one day, I realized it had come to symbolize that fibrous strength we all possess in native form which life forces us to mill, kiln or forge into something more substantial.  Sometimes so substantial it scares people.  Yet also so paradoxical since it's fortitude seems to lay in its compassion.  

I see it as the kind of strength we've all paid so dearly for that it has a natural largess for others.  And while being decidedly feminine, it isn't there to create opposition against the masculine but to engender wholeness.   I like to think of it as a necessary revolt against limiting ideas we have about ourselves and the distance we make when we step away from our own presence.  I guess I think of it as coming home. 
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