Today I wanted to share with you a 12 minute TED talk from Tan Le that succeeded in bringing a tear to my eye – unexpectedly.
This is Tan’s Immigration Story, and the story of generations of women who have fought hard to prove that anything can be done.
Today’s post for The Beauty of Difference series comes to you from Calisha Bennett, the writer behind the poem ‘The Beauty of Difference is…‘, of which she gave me the privilege of sharing with you on 11 October 2011. Calisha is also the creator and blogger at ‘Diamonds of Islam‘.
About Calisha
I am a 26-year-old, Australian born Muslim woman. My father is ‘Aussie’ and my mum is from Christmas Island. My dad embraced Islam when he was 22 and he married my mum not long after. I am happily married and am a home schooling mother of 3 beautiful children aged 8, 4 and 1. I also teach Quran recitation classes, run exercise classes, a teenage youth group and volunteer for different organisations when I can. I like to think of myself as a ‘freethinker’ and I continuously strive to discover the best ways of living life through education, research and taking from the wisdom of others (rather than simply ‘following the masses’).
Passion 
I am passionate about my faith – Islam, and raising awareness of it’s true teachings and dispelling myths and misconceptions that are often portrayed by the media and those with dishonourable agendas. I am also passionate about child raising and holistic education and how important it is that children are raised with the ability to think deeply about things in life rather than living a shallow, materialistic existence. I am passionate about health and wellbeing particularly in our day and times where the majority of people are not aware that the illnesses which are the major causes of death and disease are directly related to our diet and lifestyle. I could go one but I’m passionate about everything in life really!
Difference
I don’t really see myself as ‘different’, as strange as that may sound. I feel as though I belong where I am and am comfortable with who I am and choose to be (whilst still wanting to grow and change for the better). I am however, aware that I may ‘seem’ as different to others because when I go out and I wear my Hijab (hair cover/scarf) people will look at me as being foreign – a migrant perhaps who speaks very little English. So I often feel underestimated. When I go out, I personally feel normal and like any other ‘Aussie’. This is where I grew up, this is my country and being an Australian Muslim is the only identity I’ve ever known and am proud of. So I guess it’s being Muslim that makes me different in Australia.
Experiences
Being part of the Muslim minority in Australia, our community really does cop some harsh racism and ill-treatment. I have heard many negative stories from other Muslims and some much, much more hurtful than my own. I myself have quite a few stories, but I’ll mention a few examples of experiences.
Back in high school, I would be asked so many questions about ‘what I was’, why I wore that thing on my head and often got sarcastic comments that would get on my nerves. There were times in my adult studies where I could feel I wasn’t being included by other class members who were almost ignoring me so I had to really put myself out there and make conversation.
It’s sad to think that people would treat you so differently just because you wear a piece of fabric on your head. I’ve had people yell out at me from their cars while I am walking down the street. They’d yell things like ‘Go back to where you came from!’ or ‘Take that thing off your head!’ or my favourite ‘You terrorist!’ Even until now, when I am walking with my kids it still happens and they have an awful fright. It really upsets me when the kids have to witness or are victims of this type of treatment.
But on a positive note – the lovely, accepting and good-hearted people that I have met always manage to give me hope for the future of society. These are the people you look forward to meeting throughout the day and sharing smiles and conversation with! They make the world a better place!
Knowledge
I really want people to know that just because they don’t understand another person or their culture or faith, it doesn’t they have to be scared of it. Rather they should want to learn more about those who are different in order to appreciate their good points and to better understand others. 
Also I would want more people to question what they are fed by the society, the media and educational institutions. I want others to have a thirst for seeking AUTHENTIC knowledge and information as opposed to propaganda, falsified news reports, inauthentic historical facts, theories being taught as if they are ‘fact’ and so on.
Having an open, free thinking mind is something we should all aspire to attain because only then will we be able to accept the differences of others and be open to seeking the truth about the world we live in. Only with a free mind can we be true to ourselves and become accountable for our lives rather than being so easily influenced to think or live according to what is ‘expected’ and regarded as ‘normal’ to society. I say why settle for being ‘normal’? Rather be EXTRAORDINARY!
Celebrating Difference
By celebrating each other’s differences we will learn to accept one other as individuals and to nurture within ourselves positive character traits such as respect, tolerance, humility, acceptance and more. Being different is what makes our world such an exciting place to live. There are so many places to see, people to meet, foods to taste, cultures to embrace and more!
I think that the dislike of people who are different comes from traits such as pride and arrogance. This is where individuals are so ignorant of the world around them that they feel threatened by anything different and need to take the stance of being of a higher worth than the foreign other. But if they could just come back down to earth and realise they had absolutely no choice or power whatsoever in deciding who or what they would be born into this world as! Reality check! Good morning sunshine!
Words of Wisdom
I love a verse from the Quran in Chapter 13, Verse 28 where Almighty God says:
“Only in the remembrance of God will your heart find peace”.
In times where many are pursuing happiness and peace in temporal pleasures like material wealth, social status, external appearances, intoxicants and other things, I feel that true peace is in recognising and being thankful to the One True Creator of all that exists. Just remembering throughout the day, in good times and bad, that everything you go through is from God, can give you so much strength and calmness to get through the toils of life.
For me, knowing that everything around us has a purpose, from the trees, to water, to animals, to computers, to clothing, to insects, to a simple table – everything we see around us has a purpose. So to know that the highest and most intelligent of creation in this world – we human beings – must have a purpose (submission to God) is a truly liberating and peaceful realisation. By submitting to one God, I feel as though I free myself from slavery or submission to anything/anyone else and that’s why I love Islam so much.
Today’s post in ‘The Beauty of Difference’ series comes to you from the awesomeness that is Lalia Voce – the blogger behind ‘Skank, Rattle and Roll‘. Lalia is part of an amazing bloggers group I’m a member of called ‘Personal Bloggers Are Us’, and immediately struck a chord with me as she shared the grief and pain of losing her Grandma, whom she had a close relationship with, a few years ago (similar to myself).
Lalia has graciously agreed to share her experiences ‘on being different’ with us. Thank you Lalia.
Thank you Janine for including me in your series. Ever since you asked me to participate I have been thinking “what on earth can I contribute to this amazing series?” The stories I’ve read have been so moving and thought-provoking. I don’t feel in the same league with those who have already written here. I guess maybe that’s the point. After all, the series is about differences.
My story starts with a defining moment. It was in 1980 when, at age 14, everything started to change for me. It was literally a moment, sometime before 1:00 am, when I saw the B 52′s for the first time on Saturday Night Live. They were so weird, so different from anything my friends liked listening to, looked so strange and I knew. I knew right then that my life would never be the same. I knew this was something I had to see more of, know more of, hear more of.
At that age, it’s hard to go against everything your friends are doing. But I couldn’t get that music out of my mind. And over the span of a few months there was no going back for me. I slowly went deeper and deeper into the world of new wave and punk rock. I changed my appearance as much as my school would allow. And one by one, my friends dropped me. They didn’t understand the music I was listening to. They didn’t want to understand it or hear it. They didn’t like the look I was starting to have. They were content with being mirror images of each other. Reading the same books, listening to the same music, dressing the same way. I couldn’t do it. I tried, but I couldn’t. I found me. I found me that night trying to stay awake to watch Saturday Night Live.
Before too long I found a whole different group of friends, amazing lifelong friends. We were the freaks. Back in the early 80′s that is what we were known as. Not so much by other kids in school, at least not that I’m aware of, but by other people when we were out. Looking back it seems so silly. But people fear what they don’t know. They judge by what they saw and didn’t care to know the person. We were stared at a lot then, judged and looked down on.
Unfortunate things happened because of those judgments. Small things like name calling or people clutching their children as we walked by like we like we were going to eat them or something. To being seated in the back of restaurants by management so other patrons wouldn’t have to see us. To really horrible things like being chased by 3 cars loads of teenage boys who managed to get my car stopped and then bashed it with baseball bats, breaking out the back window and potentially really hurting my passengers. We were lucky no one was hurt that night. We did nothing but walk into a McDonald’s that night.
People fear what they don’t know. Whether it’s race, sexual orientation, or my stupid ass purple hair and tattoo’s. Yes, it’s 31 years later. But like I said, there was no going back for me. I will always be this person. When you do find yourself, why would you ever go backwards?
Grandma Tat
Nowadays I don’t get as much stink-eye as I did back then. Some – yes. And there are still people who judge and look down on me even though they don’t know or want to know me. If they bothered to get to know me and not make snap judgements they would know I went to Catholic school for 12 years. That I started working at age 16 and paid my way through almost everything I ever did. That I had an amazingly close relationship with my Grandmother up until she passed away 3 years ago. That I took a year out of my life to care for my ailing father. That I love animals, zebras in particular. That I have my own business. None of that matters. What mattered then and matters now is that my hair is purple. I have tattoo’s. I listen to punk rock music. So what! At this point in my life I’m pretty secure in who I am and I like her. I like her a lot. At 45 years old, I think it’s about damn time that I like me!
You may not think that a little thing such as being born with red hair could have so much of an impact on someones life…but it has.
My old best friend and I
As a little girl I’m sure people thought I was cute – with my shock of red hair flaming around my face. That all changed.
I grew older, retreated into my shell, gained freckles and developed pimples. These were combined with splotchy, easily blush-able and burnable skin. I didn’t eat a lot of junk food. I mean, we couldn’t afford it. Plus we lived in the hills, no where near a fast food restaurant. I was still teased and told that I shouldn’t eat so much chocolate, or chips, or pizza (cause my face looked like one – hahahaha – not).
My body – I became an awkward, supposedly ‘pudgy’ teenager. I hated my shape, and the other kids teased me for it. Looking back on photos of myself I was actually slim…just not slim enough. Being made – by the TEACHER – to weigh myself in front of the entire class in year 5 hadn’t helped. I was the 2nd heaviest girl in the class – I have heavy bones! But because the 1st placed girl had a note so as NOT to put her weight on the board, I claimed 1st place…and the teasing that went with it. THAT lasted into high school. The starving myself…well that lasted – on and off – for a long time, followed by excessive exercising, binge eating, and so on.
And then there was my last name – Ripper. As soon as kids could latch onto that they did. Oh – and my first initial, of course, was J…Janine the Stripper, Janine the Ripper, are you related to Jack? And then there were the original ones – ooo what’s that smell…you let off a ripper. Of course, I did what any red-headed girl would do blush…badly.
But that was no way near the flack I copped for my hair. My hair became unruly, and it was still red. How dare I have red hair? I mean – ‘how ugly’. Of course, I couldn’t be seen wearing any colour as every colour ‘clashed’ with red hair. So I wore black, and I was told I looked ‘deathly’ pale. I was told that no boy would ever want to go out with me, and mostly they didn’t (apart from the red-headed boy). I was whispered about on the school bus, just loud enough to be heard…‘the ugly red-headed girl’ – the girls giggled, as did the boys. When the bus braked, and I fell onto the pile of school bags – well, there was more ammo. Yes, I’m a clutz too. So I retreated further into books…
Met at 18
As I got older, I was certain no boy would ever like me, and as I got older still – after being slapped on the ass whilst on the dance floor of a club and laughed at, and followed down the street by men heckling – I threw myself into work, study, getting drunk, and making out with any blind drunk random who would kiss me at the end of the night.
Depression took hold of me – although I didn’t accept that that was what it was at the time. Living in a state with beautiful beaches just seemed cruel. I just couldn’t compare to the blonde, bronzed godesses that surrounded me everywhere I turned. I couldn’t even compare to the ‘alternative’ girls at uni. I was no one, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to get out of this godforsaken country where everywhere I turned I was reminded of my inadequacies.
Singapore was my first trip overseas with my dearest friend Charissa. This was where I found a whole new world. I was told I could be a model there? Men tripped over their feet staring at me. Was I pretty?
Italy was my second trip overseas. 6 weeks backpacking, whilst being sweet talked by Italian stallions, followed into the toilets by a seedy old man in Naples, driven into fits of laughter by a jock from the US, and charmed by a brooding American writer who was the first man I had ever experienced ‘electricity’ with. The trip ended in Paris, where I was made to feel ‘beautiful’.
Searching for myself
As the 6 weeks came to an end I had to return home, where I still did not feel at home. I felt like a foreigner. I didn’t belong, no matter how hard I tried. This was in the midst of an increasing drug culture, and the fact that I didn’t do drugs…well, it was like being at high school again. I was ‘strange’, ‘weird’, I ‘wasn’t interested in anything’. In a nutshell – I was boring. That was the straw that broke the camels back. I chucked in everything and went overseas indefinitely, where I was looked at, loved, charmed, broken and restored. In return I had flirted, smiled, loved, broke-down, and built myself up again. You could say that I found my self.
9 1/2 months later I returned home…sooner than expected, but it was my choice. I was a new person…I was confident! Some people didn’t like it, many that I had worked with before I had left. They didn’t like the new ‘confident‘ me. They definitely didn’t like me sticking up for myself, or the fact that I started achieving things in my career fast. Of course, others loved the new me…and so did I.
What am I trying to say by sharing this with you?
It’s not that looks count for everything. As looks fade.
It’s not that loving someone will solve everything…because it doesn’t.
It could be that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.
Or that in order to love others, you must first love yourself.
It is that childhood bullying scars, and that these scars can last a lifetime.
In the end, through sharing this story, and the others in ‘The Beauty of Difference’ series, I hope to help people see.
Janine plus Vitamin D and a glass of wine
Today’s post in ‘The Beauty of Difference’ series comes to you from Joy Page Manuel, who describes herself as ‘a former academic, currently a blogging mom, aspiring writer, astrophysicist, gazillionaire philanthropist and goddess, and undoubtedly a perpetual dreamer, hopeless romantic, and overanalyzer.’
Find more from Joy on her blog Catharsis!
In mulling over this series The Beauty of Difference, it suddenly occurred to me that all my life, I have felt ‘different’. There was always something that somehow made me feel like I didn’t fit in. Was it always a bad thing?…Perhaps not. Did it make life a little harder for me?…sometimes I think so. But honestly, I don’t think I would have it any other way for it strengthens who I am and paves the way for even more growth.
My Heritage
I am Filipino, born and raised in the Philippines, and though I currently live in the United States and became a US citizen in 2008, I would have to say that my primary sense of identity and consciousness remain very much Filipino. I lived in Metro Manila (the main metropolitan region of the Philippines) until the age of 30 when I had to permanently migrate to the US due to marriage. I come from a Filipino middle-class family which more or less translates to (1) being born and raised a Catholic; (2) valuing education and not obtaining a degree (college or even beyond) was never an option; (3) having parents who subscribe to (more or less) conservative / traditional values; and (4) being quite sheltered from, though never left unaware of, the “harsher face” of my country. You see, being privileged or being an outsider gives you this face…
…or this…
…while there is also this face that should never be ignored, denied or forgotten….
Much like any developing or third-world country, the Philippines has a very uneven development, with the rich getting richer and the poor losing even more hope for a better life every single minute. Though in theory, social mobility is open to everyone, in reality opportunities are very limited for the underprivileged.
Despite the widespread poverty, it always surprises foreigners when they find that almost all Filipinos, regardless of social class, can understand and even speak basic English, at the very least. I guess this is why as far as tourism goes, the Philippines has always been an easy choice for foreigners since communication is very manageable. I would attribute this to our colonization history, which in turn shaped our education institution (among countless other things) and also our mass media. The Philippines is very much exposed to Western ideas, most especially American. You turn on our televisions and you’ll see a lot of American shows being aired. You listen to the radio and you hear a lot of songs by American artists. Hollywood films are extremely popular and sometimes even shown in Manila a day or two ahead of their US opening.
Western books, journals and other reference materials are used in our schools. English is taught in schools and when I was a student, our teachers all spoke and taught in English, save for our Filipino language, Philippine literature and history classes. As part of the Sociology faculty in the university, I taught primarily in English, I guess mainly because it was easier to some extent given that I used reference books written in English. (It would’ve been exceptionally difficult teaching the grand Sociological theories in Filipino although I think that would be very elegant indeed!).
Somehow it cracks me up when some Americans get so surprised with my fluency with the English language. Honestly, when they remark at how well I speak, or that I even speak English, I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted because some of them seem to have a very backward idea about my country. From experience, those whom I’ve heard make such remarks are always those who have not travelled much or have not had any exposure to other cultures.
My (slightly different) Heritage
I can’t talk about my heritage without mentioning that I am what Filipinos label as ‘mestiza’ or having mixed ancestry. My maternal grandfather was American making my mother half-American. As such, I don’t have the typical Asian look which in a way makes me stick out a bit. Living in the Philippines, I would have to say that the most difficult part about my physical difference is that most other Filipinas are petite and I am obviously not. I always felt insecure about my body and never felt comfortable enough with it to tell myself that I am beautiful just as I am. I grew up hating my body shape, my bigger frame, bone structure and the extra weight I carried and convinced myself that unless I can look like everyone else, slim and as close to ‘petite’ as I could get, can anyone really find me attractive and desirable.
As I grew older and a little wiser, I understood that I was not as deviant as I had labeled myself to be and that maybe it’s society’s standards that are skewed and that it’s all relative. I remember thinking “If I lived in the U.S., I would probably be closer to the ‘normal’ size and finally be able to find clothes that fit well”.
Well, I got my wish and ended up migrating. But as with most things in life, something new always comes up and you end up wishing you hadn’t made that previous wish…
After Shape Comes Color
When I first got here to the States to live permanently, I honestly did not anticipate any major difficulties as far as adapting is concerned. Other than missing family and friends, and getting anxious over leaving all that was familiar to me back home, I felt confident that I came from a society that was very much exposed to American culture. I’ve also visited the States before as a tourist so somehow I knew what to expect. I spoke the language and my degrees all translated to the U.S. equivalent so credentials won’t be an issue. Culture shock was not at all in my mind. And really, it never happened to me. Or at least not to the extent or form I had anticipated. What I was not prepared for was the realization that not everyone in America was prepared for me. It was a shock realizing that in these modern and even post-modern times, in a society that prides itself for being open and diverse, racism still exists. And it is very subtle which makes it even more dangerous. Often I think that most racists either don’t know that they are one or won’t admit it, but you’ll see it in their looks, body language and seep through the words they spew.
I feel it when I’m lined up at a store and the cashier is remarkably chatty with every single white person checking out until my turn comes. Even when I say ‘hello’ with a big smile, I get nothing but a cold acknowledgment.
I resented it when I felt dismissed by some mothers in a playgroup I joined a few years ago. It was a huge deal for me given that I am not a very social person and I made so much effort to go out of my shell and be friendly. I forced and trained myself to be the one to approach rather than wait to be approached. I tried to overcome my fear of being in new situations with people unfamiliar to me and attended play dates for both me and my son to meet potential friends. However it did not take long for me to realize that I was not being given a fair chance. Some of the moms just congregated by themselves and I did not see any effort on their part to make me feel included. If anything, I felt like they were just waiting for me to feel uncomfortable so I would leave on my own. I remember one particular play date where the host herself practically ignored me the whole time and when it was time for me and my son to leave her house, she just casually nodded her head, barely even looked at me, and waved her hand in a very dismissive manner as she chatted with another mom from the group.
At that point, I thought, “That’s it. This is just not worth it”. I had joined hoping to make new friends, but instead ended up with the realization that friendships will never be easy for me from this point on because of my ethnicity, because of assumptions certain people make about me just by looking at me. I have not totally given up and still know the value of opening myself to new situations. However, this time I won’t have false hopes and won’t expect too much too quickly from too many people. It is a fact that not everyone is evolved enough, prepared enough for the richness that can be found in diversity.
A Realistic Optimism
There will always be something that would make us feel different and set us apart from the rest. It could be something physical, political, religious, or moral. But uniqueness and the diversity this creates should be celebrated, for amidst diversity is the capacity for tolerance nurtured and deeper enlightenment becomes possible. This is how we can evolve as human beings, able to accept each other for our essences, blind to how we are packaged, shaped and colored. You could be turning away from a potential loyal friend, wise mentor, or the love of your life if you shun anyone that appears different from you. You’ll just never know unless you become open.
Our utopic world, where differences are embraced and equality is genuinely alive, is not quite here yet, so as I had written previously, in the meantime I think it’s best for us to remain realistic and be aware of the continued presence of prejudices, yet doing our best to aim for more evolved minds. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it here again…
Navigate the world knowing that race (still) does matter, but behave like it does not.
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Today’s stunning post in ‘The Beauty of Difference’ series comes to you from Marie Loerzel. Maria is an American living and travelling in Morocco for 2 years with her husband and 4 children. She writes humorous tales of the trials, tribulations and adventures of raising kids in a foreign land at Rock The Kasbah.
Please do check out Marie’s blog – it is inspirational, but I do warn that it may cause a recurrence of the travel bug.
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She is waiting for us. Her face is seasoned with wrinkles from years of the unforgiving Moroccan sun. A powder blue djellaba drapes over her sturdy body. She offers no formalities when she pulls out her needle. She simply points at its destination and I nod in approval. She she readies her instrument and I see it, the stain.
The paste is thick and the times she’s mixed the henna, untold. But the stain it has made on her hands details the story. When she was a young, girls went to school until age 11. By that time she’d learned all a Moroccan girl needed to know. A woman’s education began at home. That’s where they learned their craft, from the generations of women who came before them. Tradition was their tutelage.
Henna, Photo by Marie Nikodem Loerzel
Her back crouched as her deft and nimble hands festooned my daughter’s arm. Flowers and leaves bloom from her syringe. Her art is effortless and organic. My oldest daughter, age 10, sits transfixed. In another time she might have been her apprentice, destined to be marked by what society has chosen for her. Instead, she’s a customer and henna is a evanescent beauty that she will try on like a party dress.
Henna Hands, Photo by Marie Nikodem Loerzel
When the henna woman is finished, I give her a donation. She is too humble to put a price on her work. She accepts it with a silent grace. The paste must sit on the skin untouched for up to two hours. The longer the henna penetrates, the deeper the color and the longer the tatoo will remain. My daughter must be mindful not to smear the delicate design. As it dries her skin begins to itch and the henna delivers a subtle sting. She flakes it off anxiously, happy to see that some of the orange arabesque remains, however faint.
Ember Hands, Photo by Marie Nikodem Loerzel
I wonder what the henna woman dreamed of when she was 10. Did she want to be a dentist or a veterinarian? If she had the choice, would she have chosen to be the henna woman? As I look at my two girls who have the world before them I can’t help but think. What will they choose? Who will they become? I’m grateful to the generations of women who have come before who laid the foundation for my daughters to live their life unstained by society’s expectations of who or what they can be.
If you would like to help girls in the remote High Atlas Mountains of Morocco get an education please visit: http://www.educationforallmorocco.org/
This gallery contains 4 photos.
From this week on I’m opening up Monday’s Photo-day feature on Reflections from a Red Head to other lovers of the art-form, and other budding / up-and-coming uber-talented photographers (Please contact me if you are interested in being featured). This … Continue reading
Emergen IWD Ebook
After a lot of blood, sweat and tears…actually there were no tears from me…the Ebook as a result of the first Emergen Blogging for a Cause event – an International Women’s Day tribute – has been published online.
In case you missed it, March 8 2011 was International Women’s Day, and Emergen – the site I’m the Blogging Coordinator for – hosted its first Blogging for a Cause event with the aim of using the power of blogging to make a difference. As a result of the 30+ posts from young leaders from all over Australia, the idea of an e-book full of the collection began to take shape.
This was my first effort at putting something like this together, and – when combined with starting a new job, maintaining my personal blog, house and relationship – it created many challenges…mostly how much I could possibly fit into one day!
But here we have the finished product, and I’d like to thank the awesomeness that is Alicia Curtis for her guidance, ideas, patience, eye for detail, tweaking, finishing touches and publishing! I swear, this woman has changed my life since I met her mid last year.
So, for a collection of inspiring articles from some amazing young Leaders and up-and-coming Aussie bloggers, check out the ‘Emergen IWD Ebook‘, and feel free to share to your heart’s content with your networks.
This is only the beginning.
Related Articles
I wanted to share with you some posts of some awesome women bloggers I have had the honour to get to know over the last few months, courtesy of the embarkment on my blogging journey.
They have joined us at Emergen in taking up the challenge to ‘Blog for a Cause’ for International Women’s Day, and I wanted to acknowledge their posts by sharing them with you:
Growing up Jenny – Jenny Stamos
I ‘met’ Jenny a few months ago. I forget how…it was possibly a blogging community I joined, or it could be the similar experiences we have had with our battles with depression that brought us together. Our personal blogs can be quite similar. We have now become friends on Facebook, are talking about a possible collaboration and guest posting on each others sites, and about visiting each other. We also lean on each other from afar for support and advise on dealing with depression, and I am thankful to her support in my writing and blogging. Jenny posted today on Strong Women – A tribute to the strong women in her family. This is a post I think many of us can resonate with.
Dani is a fellow member of the TLC Club – a 90 day challenge I joined last month with other fellow bloggers, to ‘tweet, like, comment’ and generally provide support to each other. Dani is also a ‘Mompreneur’ – a word I have only heard the last few months. Dani chose to blog about the following: International Women’s Day – A Tribute to Women Entrepreneurs Who In…
The reason why I am sharing this with you is that I know there are many women entrepreneurs on Emergen, or women that want to be an entrepreneur, and it’s important to learn from others. I think Dani also illustrates that having kids is not an ‘impediment’ to having a successful career, or in seizing the day and creating one for yourself!
I love this blog, and Penelope reminds me of my Nan, my Mum, some friends…it’s amazing just through commenting on each others blogs how this impression can be reached. I want to shout out to Penelope, as she is going through a great deal of upheaval at the moment through moving, etc. and she still took up the challenge to blog for International Women’s Day! Her post is aptly titled ‘Don’t Live Down to Expectations‘.
Hajra and I met via a blogging group on LinkedIn late last year and struck up a friendship. She is one of the reasons I am where I am today. Through her support, advice, tweets, amusing posts to keep me entertained, and so on, I am grateful to her and her participation in this challenge. Hajra’s post is titled ‘Some Special Women…And a Big Sorry and Thank you’ and is a tribute to the women in her life – notably her family.
And then there is Shawn Broussard McNairy, who’s blog Women Living Thru the Unthinkable. We are fairly new acquaintances, but Shawn has chipped in with a short and sweet homage to International Women’s Day.
As the inaugural Emergen Blogging for a Cause day nears, I have butterflies in my stomach due to the anticipation of the brilliance that is to come (no pressure!).
Seriously though, I’m looking forward to it, and I hope you are too!
I know that the topic - International Women’s Day – may not immediately jump out at everyone (especially the men) but i think it’s important to realise that all of us have a part to play on this day.
‘At least one out of every three women around the world has been beaten, coerced into sex, or otherwise abused in her lifetime – with the abuser usually someone known to her’. LEE Jong-Wook, Director-General, World Health Organization.
Therefore I urge you to get involved! And don’t let the anxiety of ‘I’ve never posted before’ or ‘I don’t write well’ get in the way, for:
So please, join us by composing a blog post using the theme ‘International Women’s Day‘ and posting on March 8. We can all then get on board and share the posts via Twitter (#IWD and #Emergen), Facebook, LinkedIn and so on to spread our words and inspire!
‘So make a difference, think globally and act locally.’
For more information about the Emergen Blogging for a Cause – International Women’s Day – check out the event on Facebook at: http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=129221043814551
You can find more information about International Women’s Day at the following link: http://www.internationalwomensday.com/about.asp