Why I dare to call myself a spinster (by Donna Ward)
Welcome to The Single Supplement, a newsletter exploring the highs and lows of the single experience. This newsletter relies on the support of paying subscribers. If you enjoy this newsletter, please consider subscribing! I’ve been waiting a while to share today’s offering with you. It’s by Donna Ward, an Australian writer, editor and publisher who speaks and writes both on being single and also being childless. Her first book She I Dare Not Name: A spinster's meditations on life is out in the UK on Thursday. I’m honoured to be able to celebrate the UK launch in The Single Supplement today! I was kindly sent a copy of the book which I’m really enjoying so far. It’s beautifully written. I love how it’s not just a memoir, and a moving on at that, but also a call to action or manifesto even. I also love that she rightly points out that feminism forgets single women which is to the detriment of all women. I’ve been thinking about this for some time and am going to put pen to paper and share my thoughts soon. I hope you enjoy today’s newsletter and will consider buying Donna’s book. You can pre-order it now. Paying subscribers, watch out for an exclusive email tomorrow with some extra wisdom from Donna and what I’ve been listening to this week. Don’t forget to subscribe if you don’t already so you don’t miss out! Have a good week, Nicola Twitter: @Nicola_Slawson | Instagram: @Nicola_Slawson Why I dare to call myself a spinsterBy Donna Ward Mid-winter. Melbourne. I’m in a café with my friend. She is a book designer and I have written a book. A whole book. Seventy-eight thousand words—not that I’m counting. I want my friend to open it, see her name in it, but she can’t get past the title. She I Dare Not Name: A Spinster’s Meditations on Life. She shudders slightly and whispers, Spinster. I know images are flashing through her. She looks up and says, Such a powerful word. I realise my title is braver than I. When I set out to write the book I was single, the word, spinster, an archaic synonym, hated, discarded for the stigma stuck to it. I was single, not particularly proud, but a legitimate woman. Half way through my reading and research I discovered my life didn’t resemble that of any single person I knew. In my late thirties I lived a continent away from my family. Dad, already dead, and Mum gravely ill, I confronted the prospect I was not on track for a family of my own. I would never sit at the head of a long garden table, piled with festive food, and miscellaneous children sneaking cake and sips of wine. There would be no handy son or son-in-law to fix things around my house for free, no relief from the single supplement, no family rebate or tax deductions, no dedicated family member to help me navigate old age. And I found friendship was put on hold, interrupted in the wake of family making. Bolted to my path, I stood before a towering igneous cliff graffitied with questions. Will I be a single parent? How do I parent another woman’s children if I love their father and he loves me? Will I manage on a single income in a dual income economy—a woman’s income at that? Back in the 1990s, I didn’t see the questions at the top. And they were beyond imagination. Will I manage extensive periodic lockdowns where I am unable to share the weight of this solitary life among friends? Who will call the ambulance if I am feint and coughing blood? And what, if food is rationed, what, when the floods and fires come? There is a myth which fogs the minds of politicians, social planners, and ordinary people—being single is a transitional state. Bachelor or bachelorette, divorcee or separated will find their person. Even a widow can couple again, and a single parent, by choice or otherwise, can partner. The pea soup nature of this fog is clear when we remember that the myth spins a belief that, by the very lack of any relationship or parental status, those who never couple and or have children are unlovable and incapable of love. They are an irrelevant minority of the psychologically damaged, socially defiant, or sexually deviant. Little wonder they are absent from policy making, let alone pandemic and disaster planning. Among the querulous questions on that cliff was a sentence. The personal is political. The title Shulamith Firestone gave Carol Hanisch’s essay in, Notes from the Second Year: Women’s Liberation (1970). ‘…personal problems are political problems,’ Hanisch wrote. ‘There are no personal solutions at this time. There is only collective action for a collective solution.’ Feminism paved the way for me to vote, be educated, earn a living, refuse inappropriate or, quite frankly, inadequate offers of coupling, decide against having children I couldn’t raise alone. But feminist scholarship, shrouded in pea soup, barely sees my life. It says nothing on managing solitude and the stigma of a life lived alone—the invisibility of it. Feminist rhetoric assumes that to be woman is to be mother, that solitude is glorious, that all women have careers not jobs, and careers satisfy for a lifetime. Feminism assumes there is no problem in search of a solution here. But, I live this life, and others live it too. Our personal is political. I want to burn-off that fog, engender a visceral awareness of this life. I want people to shudder. So I dare call myself, spinster, to differentiate this life from others, expose our collective problems, summon solidarity and, above all, beckon change. Donna Ward is the publisher at Inkerman & Blunt. She founded indigo, the journal of Western Australian creative writing. Her prose can be found in respected journals and anthologies nationally, internationally and online. Now retired, she has past lives as a psychotherapist and social worker. She worked in her own private practice, in welfare management and social policy development. She, I Dare Not Name: A Spinster's Meditations on Life, is Donna's first book. Follow her on Facebook and Instagram and check out her website here. Things you should check out
Words I love
– Grace Jones in her autobiography, I'll Never Write My Memoirs (Thanks to Charmaine for posting this in the Facebook group.) About meFor those who don’t know, I’m Nicola Slawson, a freelance journalist who lives in Shropshire, UK. If you particularly liked this edition, you can buy me a coffee, here’s the link to my Ko-Fi page. Follow me on Instagram and Twitter. Did someone forward The Single Supplement to you? Sign up here. You’re on the free list for The Single Supplement. For the full experience, become a paying subscriber. |
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