I Am Ovaries, Hear Me Roar

My apologies to Helen Reddy for abusing the title of her 1970s hit. But way back when, in the early 19th century, ovaries defined the woman.

The term of art was “ovarian determinism.” Women were seen as a womb and their ovarian hormones as the cause for fainting and hysteria – a common diagnosis in those days (never mind that the corset was literally taking our breath away). The remedy: the rest cure, which basically meant women were shut away in their houses and beds for fear they were too fragile to be a part of society.

We have the male-dominated medical profession of the same era to thank for this health care insight. Up until that time, women played a dominant role as healers (think midwifery). Then men took over the medical profession and claimed their ways were better for women and children, and women were banned from the medical profession.

This phenomenon was written about in an early work of feminist literature by Charlotte Perkins Gilman titled The Yellow Wallpaper (a short and good Wikipedia read via the link). The gist of it: A woman confined to her bedroom by her husband to recover from hysteria goes mad (no shortage of irony there).

I wish I could file this nugget in the “look how far we’ve come” drawer. But then I recall the ignoramus on the Sexism Sells video who stated that we should be worried about a woman in the White House because of PMS and moods swings, and I know that some men (dare I say many) still fear – rather than revere – the female organs that put them on this earth in the first place.

If I sound a little perturbed, don’t blame me, it’s my ovaries roaring. It must be that wisdom born of pain that Helen was singing about.