And for once I was SuperMom

Sunday, June 18, 2017

Wonder Woman

There's a buzz going on the internet these days.  About the movie Wonder Woman.  I've seen so many posts, read so many blogs about women saying they cried during the movie, felt relieved during the movie, or felt like tearing down walls after the movie.
I went to see it with my husband on Father's Day.  He made the comment that he started feeling good about himself that he was so advanced to go see a movie about a woman on Father's Day, his pick, but then he corrected himself, 'wait, it's just a movie.'
And that's the beauty of this movie, that it's just a superhero movie.
With a female protagonist.

I may have been prepped for my reaction with all the blogs that I read, but I did cry.  Was it relief?  Yes.  Was it pride?  Yes.  Was it connection?  Yes.
Did my heart recognize Diana's anger at the end of the movie?  Yes.  I've felt that angry, and never watched a woman on screen get so angry, without being depicted as crazy.  And it set me free.  We all get angry.  Watching a woman get so angry was terribly cathartic.
Representation Matters.
I've seen the hashtag and thought it to be true.  I watched the movie and felt it to be true.  This is why men are so confident.  They see men in movies do these amazing things.  Women don't get those depictions.  We don't see ourselves in superhero movies.

What I was most surprised at though, was my relief at watching the characters Hippolyta and Antiope.
I have three children.  I'm in my thirties.  I see the clock ticking.  I see my skin changing.  This aging thing is happening.  No matter how much kale I eat or how many miles I run, it's happening.  I will get older and my body will change.  I've come into my love of fitness and chosen to pursue a career in fitness later in the game.  I keep questioning myself.  Am I too old for this?  Is this for the young?  Am I silly for doing all these burpees?

There was one particular scene where the camera shot hit down on Antiope's shoulder and you could see the sun damage on her skin.  Not makeupped away, so she was more sexually appealing.  In fact they'd added a scar to her shoulder.  I recognized that skin.  It looked more like my own, than Diana's. Years of beach days, hiking, running, and just living life have freckled my shoulders.  I've no intention of hiding inside for the remainder of my years, so I'm sure that they'll only get more spotty.  When I saw that shoulder on Robin Wright, I saw my own.  Or my shoulder to come.  And I cried.  I felt tears release down my face.  Because here was a woman who looked like me in a role that was relevant.  She was not pushed to the side as someone's mother or wife.  She was a general.  Making decisions.  Training women. She was not boxed into relationship with a man or defined by her relationship with a man or relevant because of her relationship with a man.  She was her own.  She was relevant.
As we age women get pushed to the side.  If you are to believe Hollywood once we become no longer sexually attractive to men, because we had the audacity to age or give birth, we become irrelevant.  We no longer count.  Yet men get to continue.  How many movies have I sat through where I was confused by all the older white men on screen?  So many.  Too many.
And here were two women in their fifties, in control.  Still at the helm of life.

So am I silly for pursuing a career in fitness in my thirties?  No.
It ain't over yet.

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