There are many words that I love and have written about, words that move me and imbue me with a feeling or attitude of empowerment; then, there are other words that do the opposite.
One of them, and perhaps the most offensive, is a seemingly benign word that I have used this countless times throughout my life, always aware on some level that it sent a message that I did not wish to send.
When it became difficult to even verbalize the word, I turned my attention to what I was actually saying about myself when I uttered it.
What I am speaking about is the way, without realizing it, so many of us minimize ourselves by offering an excuse for our existence with a pejorative four-letter word: "just.
" Before I was aware of the detrimental way in which I thought of myself, I had a bad habit of apologizing for taking up space better occupied by those who had much more important work to do in life, those who had a purpose here on Earth, who contributed in a way that I did not.
I wasn't conscious of this behavior; I just didn't want to get in the way or detract from those I perceived to be my betters.
Years ago, it was common for me to experience extreme discomfort when introduced to someone new.
"My name is Berta," would invariably be followed by queries as to my "real" name.
Most people would guess that it was Roberta.
Alas, obligated to explain why I was not, in fact, a Roberta, I would invariably reply, "No, it's just Berta.
" I would then explain that Berta is a Spanish name that sounded much prettier if said with a rolled "r," and I would promptly demonstrate.
Oohs and aahs would follow, and there would be a general consensus that the accented version sounded much nicer and was far more acceptable that the Americanized Berta.
In any event, I was "just" Berta for so many years that it's a wonder people didn't begin calling me Just Berta.
On occasion, I would avoid the whole thing by allowing people to think that my real name was Roberta; it seemed easier than going through the whole embarrassing dialogue, yet again.
I wasn't totally aware of the message I was sending, and I certainly was blind to the fact that other people really didn't care what my name was and how it was pronounced in another country; yet for some reason, I continued to call myself Just Berta.
Years later, when I was newly married, the "just" qualifier crept into my life in another form.
The first still existed, and I was, by now, thoroughly accustomed to the introduction ritual; therefore, it took a while before I noticed that I had begun compounding the ways in which I denigrated myself with that ubiquitous four-letter-word.
My new husband was a Madison Avenue executive and comfortable in the cutthroat world of advertising.
The competition and the social climbing were all new to me, and only slightly interesting, since, of course, I had nothing to do with it.
One evening I found myself at my first "business party.
" For the record, had they called it what it really was, I would have stayed home--at least in those days I would have! But, naive Just Me thought it would be fun to dress up and go out and rub some important elbows.
Who knew? Well, in no time I could see that something was amiss.
My husband quickly scurried away from me to do what everyone there had come to do: find the important people and get noticed by them.
Not realizing the rules of engagement, I naively walked up to a few people and introduced myself.
After the Just Berta ritual passed, the little nemesis popped up on quite another level.
"What do you do, Just Berta?" asked the first important man.
"Oh, well, I do a few different things," I proudly announced, and began to rattle off a few of my most impressive achievements up to that point.
I was soon aware that I was looking into eyes that were not so discreetly scanning the room looking for a more impressive person with whom to be seen.
"So you're not in the business?" the poor listener asked.
"Oh, no.
I'm just Domingo's wife.
" And there it was, my new distinction.
And there he went, off to find a person of finer quality.
Years passed and the children came, so we made the decision that I would stay home and raise them.
I felt proud to do so, until my newest appellation gave me pause.
"What have I done?" I used to wonder.
How many of these names would I accumulate in the span of one lifetime? And would the next one be worse than this latest?" Clearly, I was having a hard time understanding who I was and owning that person regardless of what anyone else thought-if anyone else actually thought anything about me! It took time for me to understand that I was pinning the labels on myself and blaming "them" for dismissing me.
Just Me participated in self-abuse and self-loathing because I didn't allow myself to take pride in accomplishments that I deemed valuable.
And why should I? After all, society didn't always support my decision, and other women had a real problem with me.
Worst of all, I didn't support my own decision and announced it to the world every time I called myself a "Just.
" The ultimate "Just," the name that has brought some measure of shame to all who have so labeled themselves, with society's blessing, I might add, is the next one, the one we mumble when asked for a justification for our existence.
How many times have you dreaded admitting that you're Just a Stay-at-Home Mom? Just! I knew the first time I uttered the shameful name that I was being judged, and not favorably, for making the decision to raise my own children.
Let me be clear: I do not believe my choice is the one for everyone, and I am not in the habit of passing judgment on anyone, ever.
My purpose in addressing this issue is to point out that answering to this name is enough to make even the most grounded amongst us dive into a bag of potato chips! Why? Because we know we are more than a name, but we constantly feel the need to justify our decision to stay at home and raise our kids and care for our home.
The thing we don't always realize is that our choice neither diminishes nor defines us.
The truth is that it we have chosen a particular path for a period of time, and it is deeply troubling to me when year after year, woman after woman walks through my door and discredits her contribution to the world admitting, with not a little embarrassment, that she is Just a Stay-at-Home Mom.
It angers me that for more than a decade I have been listening to these women-and many men-recite the lists of all of the important things they accomplished on any particular day, as if rehearsing against the moment they will be asked to account for themselves.
And to be honest, they usually are asked, aren't they? You know, the "So, Honey, what did you do today?" And away we go with our litany of all the important things we did to justify our existence, to prove that we deserve a place amongst all the really productive humans in the world.
When we've wrapped up the recitation, we wait with bated breath, hoping he or she marvels, "Honey, you're amazing.
I don't know how you manage to fit it all in and take care of yourself, as well!" Ah, but we all know that we rarely take care of ourselves, not really.
After all, nobody with "Just" for a first name deserves to be taken care of, does she? Really? As you can imagine, my advice to you is to drop the "Just!" You can do it! Here, listen to me: "My name is Berta.
" "Is that short for Roberta?" "No, it is not.
" "My name is Berta; I am a divorced stay-at-home Mom, and it is my privilege and blessing to have been able to raise my children.
I now counsel other woman and men about nutrition, weight loss, spirituality, yoga, and the healing art of Reiki.
I am many things, but the one thing that I am not, and pledge never to be again, is a "Just.
" Care to join me? Just take the pledge!
One of them, and perhaps the most offensive, is a seemingly benign word that I have used this countless times throughout my life, always aware on some level that it sent a message that I did not wish to send.
When it became difficult to even verbalize the word, I turned my attention to what I was actually saying about myself when I uttered it.
What I am speaking about is the way, without realizing it, so many of us minimize ourselves by offering an excuse for our existence with a pejorative four-letter word: "just.
" Before I was aware of the detrimental way in which I thought of myself, I had a bad habit of apologizing for taking up space better occupied by those who had much more important work to do in life, those who had a purpose here on Earth, who contributed in a way that I did not.
I wasn't conscious of this behavior; I just didn't want to get in the way or detract from those I perceived to be my betters.
Years ago, it was common for me to experience extreme discomfort when introduced to someone new.
"My name is Berta," would invariably be followed by queries as to my "real" name.
Most people would guess that it was Roberta.
Alas, obligated to explain why I was not, in fact, a Roberta, I would invariably reply, "No, it's just Berta.
" I would then explain that Berta is a Spanish name that sounded much prettier if said with a rolled "r," and I would promptly demonstrate.
Oohs and aahs would follow, and there would be a general consensus that the accented version sounded much nicer and was far more acceptable that the Americanized Berta.
In any event, I was "just" Berta for so many years that it's a wonder people didn't begin calling me Just Berta.
On occasion, I would avoid the whole thing by allowing people to think that my real name was Roberta; it seemed easier than going through the whole embarrassing dialogue, yet again.
I wasn't totally aware of the message I was sending, and I certainly was blind to the fact that other people really didn't care what my name was and how it was pronounced in another country; yet for some reason, I continued to call myself Just Berta.
Years later, when I was newly married, the "just" qualifier crept into my life in another form.
The first still existed, and I was, by now, thoroughly accustomed to the introduction ritual; therefore, it took a while before I noticed that I had begun compounding the ways in which I denigrated myself with that ubiquitous four-letter-word.
My new husband was a Madison Avenue executive and comfortable in the cutthroat world of advertising.
The competition and the social climbing were all new to me, and only slightly interesting, since, of course, I had nothing to do with it.
One evening I found myself at my first "business party.
" For the record, had they called it what it really was, I would have stayed home--at least in those days I would have! But, naive Just Me thought it would be fun to dress up and go out and rub some important elbows.
Who knew? Well, in no time I could see that something was amiss.
My husband quickly scurried away from me to do what everyone there had come to do: find the important people and get noticed by them.
Not realizing the rules of engagement, I naively walked up to a few people and introduced myself.
After the Just Berta ritual passed, the little nemesis popped up on quite another level.
"What do you do, Just Berta?" asked the first important man.
"Oh, well, I do a few different things," I proudly announced, and began to rattle off a few of my most impressive achievements up to that point.
I was soon aware that I was looking into eyes that were not so discreetly scanning the room looking for a more impressive person with whom to be seen.
"So you're not in the business?" the poor listener asked.
"Oh, no.
I'm just Domingo's wife.
" And there it was, my new distinction.
And there he went, off to find a person of finer quality.
Years passed and the children came, so we made the decision that I would stay home and raise them.
I felt proud to do so, until my newest appellation gave me pause.
"What have I done?" I used to wonder.
How many of these names would I accumulate in the span of one lifetime? And would the next one be worse than this latest?" Clearly, I was having a hard time understanding who I was and owning that person regardless of what anyone else thought-if anyone else actually thought anything about me! It took time for me to understand that I was pinning the labels on myself and blaming "them" for dismissing me.
Just Me participated in self-abuse and self-loathing because I didn't allow myself to take pride in accomplishments that I deemed valuable.
And why should I? After all, society didn't always support my decision, and other women had a real problem with me.
Worst of all, I didn't support my own decision and announced it to the world every time I called myself a "Just.
" The ultimate "Just," the name that has brought some measure of shame to all who have so labeled themselves, with society's blessing, I might add, is the next one, the one we mumble when asked for a justification for our existence.
How many times have you dreaded admitting that you're Just a Stay-at-Home Mom? Just! I knew the first time I uttered the shameful name that I was being judged, and not favorably, for making the decision to raise my own children.
Let me be clear: I do not believe my choice is the one for everyone, and I am not in the habit of passing judgment on anyone, ever.
My purpose in addressing this issue is to point out that answering to this name is enough to make even the most grounded amongst us dive into a bag of potato chips! Why? Because we know we are more than a name, but we constantly feel the need to justify our decision to stay at home and raise our kids and care for our home.
The thing we don't always realize is that our choice neither diminishes nor defines us.
The truth is that it we have chosen a particular path for a period of time, and it is deeply troubling to me when year after year, woman after woman walks through my door and discredits her contribution to the world admitting, with not a little embarrassment, that she is Just a Stay-at-Home Mom.
It angers me that for more than a decade I have been listening to these women-and many men-recite the lists of all of the important things they accomplished on any particular day, as if rehearsing against the moment they will be asked to account for themselves.
And to be honest, they usually are asked, aren't they? You know, the "So, Honey, what did you do today?" And away we go with our litany of all the important things we did to justify our existence, to prove that we deserve a place amongst all the really productive humans in the world.
When we've wrapped up the recitation, we wait with bated breath, hoping he or she marvels, "Honey, you're amazing.
I don't know how you manage to fit it all in and take care of yourself, as well!" Ah, but we all know that we rarely take care of ourselves, not really.
After all, nobody with "Just" for a first name deserves to be taken care of, does she? Really? As you can imagine, my advice to you is to drop the "Just!" You can do it! Here, listen to me: "My name is Berta.
" "Is that short for Roberta?" "No, it is not.
" "My name is Berta; I am a divorced stay-at-home Mom, and it is my privilege and blessing to have been able to raise my children.
I now counsel other woman and men about nutrition, weight loss, spirituality, yoga, and the healing art of Reiki.
I am many things, but the one thing that I am not, and pledge never to be again, is a "Just.
" Care to join me? Just take the pledge!
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