Today I cleaned the kitchen. I worked out. I graded a little and planned some. I watched tv. I walked the dogs. I fed them. I did some work on the zine. I list this guilt-free, content in the tasks accomplished.
This was not always me, however; I was not always fulfilled by tending to my needs alone. I used to think my job was to make sure the people in my family were tended to, first. If my mom was lonely, I cancelled plans to keep her company. If my brother had a show, I dropped studying for an exam to go see him perform; dutifully went, jet-lagged, late nights into early mornings. If a friend was sick, I took off work or school and stayed with her.
This is how we raise our girls: praise them for care-taking and call them selfish, for putting their needs and desires above others’. And our women. They have to do it all: work full time, raise children, care for the family, clean, cook, look unfazed, with a full face of make-up. When we cannot do this, we beat ourselves up for not being a good mother or daughter or sister or friend or worker.
For decades, I was praised for being that person who was always there, making everyone feel comfortable and light. I was praised by the men and women in my life for never picking me and condemned when I did pick me, called selfish over and over again. My work was for others and if it wasn’t for others, if I put my foot down and chose me, I drowned in guilt. Spiraling into a blob of self-hatred and accusations that I was not doing the right thing.
This internalized oppression runs deep and can rise at any moment, if I don’t root myself in believing that I am worthy, my work is important. I am a priority. Getting here meant evaluating the systems that I was surrounded by and assessing how they slowly brainwashed me into believing that care-taking is my purpose as a woman. Time and experience, though, help me recognize and see through the brainwashing. I am overwhelmed and frustrated by the experience of my friends when I see them take care of the children because their husband is working and they don’t feel the right to ask because they are not bringing in money or the same amount of money as their partners or because the children ask for mom first and so they just do, do, and do never asking for support, never taking enough of a break, never letting their children see that actually these powerful as fuck women are human and have limitations.
For me, for them, for us. I have learned to say no. No. No. It is not an organic word that slides off my tongue. It is a precise word. One that Rosa Parks used when asserting her right to sit in the front of the bus. One that allows me to put myself first. No is a word of inaction and yet, it is a word that defines action. When I use it, there is a firmness inside, a strength that says, I will not accept your prescription of womanhood.
This issue, A Woman’s Labor, is just that. A vehicle that fights the absurd definition of a woman. A woman’s labor is not to have it all; it is to feel supported. Supported by her partner, supported by her work place, supported by her family, supported by her country. A woman’s labor is one that is respected, valued, and compensated adequately by the people in her life, her place of work, and her country.
Today I cleaned the kitchen. I worked out. I graded a little and planned some. I watched tv. I walked the dogs. I fed them. I did some work on the zine. A day of labor. For me.
I am incredibly proud, as always, of the writing in this issue and hope you don’t just read it, but find some ways to take action and move our nation forward in civil rights. This issue is dedicated to Breonna Taylor, a woman who labored for her dreams and was murdered before she reached them.
Good Little Girls Zine was founded to lift up the voices of women through intersectional writing. We share stories, shit, that women think, but don’t often write about. We stand with the Black Lives Matter Movement. We acknowledge that our systems need fixing and believe that like Rosa Parks said when asked to go to the back of the bus, “no”, is a complete sentence. No we will not be silent when even one of our sisters and/or brothers is unjustly murdered. No, we will not look the other way. No, we will not make excuses. Please support the following organizations in honor of Good Little Girls.
I am currently fundraising for the Minnesota Freedom Fund with the goal of $4000 by July 12th this year.
If you are able to donate, please do here:
East of the River Mutual Aid Fund: Mutual aid fund organized by Black Lives Matter DC to provide material support during COVID-19, including hygiene kits and sack lunches.
Baltimore Action Legal Team: Bail fund and legal relief for the city of Baltimore, with a focus on black activists.
Richmond Community Bail Fund: Community group dedicated to freeing jailed individuals in Richmond who can’t make bail.
LGBTQ Fund : Bail fund providing relief to jailed LGBTQ people in 15 states and counting.
Unicorn Riot: Nonprofit media collective dedicated to exposing the root causes of social, economic, and environmental issues.
George Floyd Memorial Fund: The official GoFundMe to support the Floyd family.
Black Visions Collective: Minnesota-based black, trans, and queer-led organization committed to dismantling systems of oppression and violence.
Reclaim the Block: Coalition that advocates for and invests in community-led safety initiatives in Minneapolis neighborhoods.
Sonia Chintha
Sonia Chintha is an Indian American writer who lives in the Washington DC area. She blogs, writes poetry, and fiction. She is also an English teacher who believes that our experiences teach us more than any test. She is the founder and co-editor of Good Little Girls.
