Author: pinkjanie

  • People Understand My Fear of Dogs. Why Not My Fear of Men?

    People Understand My Fear of Dogs. Why Not My Fear of Men?

    Some people will tell you they are terrified of dogs. Most people say it is an irrational fear, but many times the person who is terrified of dogs has been bitten, mauled, or had other traumatic experiences with them. They may have even done the inner work to tolerate dogs, be around other people’s dogs, and sometimes even have a dog of their own.

    That pretty much describes my relationship with men.

    Just like with dogs, I am extremely cautious. I do not give my heart or my trust easily. I am always aware of their presence and always on guard. For much of my life, I treated relationships with men the way I felt I had been treated by them: transactional.

    The man who gave me life and his wife abandoned me. I was sexually assaulted by a man. Pretty much every man I have loved has abused me in one way or another.

    I have heard of the mythical “good man.” I have read stories. I have seen movies. But I have never personally known a man of that caliber.

    I have done a lot of inner work to change my perspective. I understand and respect the place men have in this world. They protect women and children. They build incredible structures, create businesses, invent, innovate, mentor, repair, and maintain the things society depends on. At the same time, they also make up the overwhelming majority of those who commit rape, theft, and murder. They have led nations to greatness and they have led nations into ruin. Much of America’s best and worst can be traced back to men.

    Today I can usually see men as individuals, but that did not come naturally. That ability came through years of self help books, reflection, and God.

    What has always been difficult for me is feeling like society expects women to love and accept men while minimizing the harm many women have experienced. We are expected to overlook abuse, excuse bad behavior, and celebrate men for doing the bare minimum.

    I see examples of this all the time. When a man steps up to help care for his aging parents, he is often praised endlessly. Yet many times it is his wife carrying the emotional, physical, and day to day burden while he receives the recognition. His job is treated as the reason he cannot do more, even though he would have been working either way. My whole life I have watched women quietly carry impossible loads.

    My grandmother, who raised me, cared for my dad’s wife as she died from cancer because it was something he could not do since he had to “work.” Later, I watched that same grandmother care for her own husband until he died from a preventable disease fueled by years of his own choices.

    In my own marriage, one of the biggest struggles has simply been receiving basic respect as a human. I have spent years trying to humanize myself, forcing him to see me as a person instead of someone whose purpose is to meet someone else’s needs. The reminder has to be constant. Not one topic that is uncomfortable goes without having to enforce the idea of respect. Why?! It is exhausting to always fight to be recognized as a human, as a wife.

    But I also know bitterness is not where I want to live.

    The work I have done has not erased what happened to me, but it has kept those experiences from defining every person I meet. I still believe people are responsible for their own choices. I still believe character matters more than gender. And while I may never stop being on guard, I hope the world keeps producing men who earn trust instead of demanding it, who lead with humility instead of entitlement, who can be accountable for their mistakes, and who leave the next generation of women with stories very different from mine.

    That is the kind of progress worth believing in.

  • The Price of Expression

    The Price of Expression

    One of my favorite forms of expression is photography. I am not the type who will join a photography group and hang out with like-minded photographers (because honestly, we are probably not like-minded), and I am not the type who will sell my photography at a craft show. It is the type of hobby that is mine, for me. I have noticed the first thing people say when they see my photos is “You should sell these!” and I am willing to bet that I can make more money off a gamble that those same people will never buy a print from me. Plus, why ruin something so fun by monetizing it? And why is it that in my country this is the first thought that crosses people’s minds? Why can’t they just enjoy the art without the thought of money crossing their minds?

    Mayfly at 1x Life Size
    Mayfly at 1x Lifesize * Canon mpe lens, Photo Stacked 10 photos

    Let’s rewind; my first creative job was at what was once Sears in their photo department. I was the photographer and salesperson, and I worked off commissions. This was back in the late 90s when getting a job was as easy as showing up, shaking the manager’s hand, and being hired on the spot. Yes, that really happened, and that was the norm for me. I was proud of this job; it paid $9.50 per hour plus commissions, and I did not have a high school diploma yet. The part that broke me, however, was the sales. I was rather decent at it. A key moment in that job was when I sold several packages to a young family who had no money and ended up maxing out 2 different credit cards just to pay the bill. That is when it hit me…. This is dirty. This young family had nothing, and I was convincing enough to drive them into debt for a few pieces of paper on a cheap pine frame. That month huge layoffs were made with the exception of the 2 best salespeople (one of whom was me). My manager was let go, and it became the wild, wild west. The other salesgirl that was left with me immediately wanted to assume the managerial role, while I wanted to wait until corporate gave us a notice. The following week I was left solo running in circles, camera to sales, while the other salesgirl spent her work shifts talking on the phone with her boyfriend (this was before cell phones, mind you; she was taking up the work lines). I turned around to ask her for help, and she said, “you are doing great; I will help out after lunch (it was 11 a.m.)”, I laid my badge down on the desk and said, “The studio is yours; I resign.” – I walked out on her and the studio and what was at one time my dream job.

    Floral at 3x Life Size
    Inside a floral at 3x lifesize * Canon mpe photo staked 5 photos

    The way I was introduced to the business of photography was gruesome and part of the reason I have such a strong reaction when people suggest I monetize my hobbies. It is ironic that the first introduction into the business of photography was an exercise in coercion. I was young, working my dream job at a studio, watching young families sacrifice their financial future and stability for a few prints of their children. It made me sick. The most terrifying part was that I had the power to convince people to buy things they did not need and couldn’t afford. When I walked out, I did not only walk out on my chatty co-worker or a retail job; I walked out on the absence of my own creative work. I did not touch a camera again for ten years… It took a long time to see my camera as a tool for creativity and self-expression rather than monetization. So when people see a product rather than an expression, I get thrown back into that very uncomfortable place in my life.

    Once again my expression through the lens is being threatened, and things are changing. Not by choice this time, but because of my age. Every macro photo session is painful for my bone-on-bone arthritis knees and my joints in my hands. Everything fucking hurts after a session. The hours I spend crouched down in kinked positions to get to that perfect angle. The physical toll it takes on me makes me question if this is a hobby worth continuing. It feels like a “use it or lose it in reverse”: the more I try and keep it, the more my body breaks down in the process. Macro photography in particular is becoming closer to extinct for me, as it is the most demanding physically. I don’t know how many years I have left where I can physically tolerate this. Some days I feel like I am running at my physical cap, and I have to rest for a few days after. Maybe that is another reason why I refuse to monetize this. Why would anyone want to look back on these images and remember a transaction? I want to look back on these images and remember a beautiful yet painful moment where I was the only person in the world who saw a tiny alien-looking creature that lives there and for a moment, capture him as he is without needing to convince anyone of his value.

    Firefly at 3x
    Lightbug 2x life size * canon mpe photostacked 10 photos

  • The pilot

    The pilot

    My first entry in the public diary that will be free from social media’s grasp on our creative writings, thoughts, etc.

    Where should I start? I know! Let’s talk about why I used an endangered bird as my cover photo (a photo taken by yours truly). This diary is a deliberate act of digital conservation of human authenticity and creativity away from the corporate-optimized content that is shoved down our throats on social media. Nothing here is optimized for anyone but myself. Blogs, just like the whooping crane, are on the endangered list; both are on the brink of extinction. I believe that both must be preserved.

    My mission is to preserve the wilderness of human expression that is being lost to social media filters, content farms filled with corporate advertising, and users being forced to use “brand-safe” language that is owned and dictated by corporate entities. Every voice on social media is expected to look and act the same: no rough edges, no contradictions, and no soul. The whooping crane is a non-conforming species. It requires very specific needs, and it demands its own space. It won’t thrive in crowded cities or marshes filled with common, adaptable birds. It needs a space that has not been capitalized, torn down, overcrowded, paved, or drained.

    Pink Nest Diaries is my own personal protected wetland. I am building and maintaining a personal refuge where I can be a cursing Christian, a wife, a mother, a gardener, a friend, and an artist without being told to ‘optimize’ for better engagement. Like the crane who needs it’s own spot to hunt, mate, and raise its young in peace, I need a specific quiet space to create, think, and exist.

    This isn’t just a blog; it is about the preservation of the individual. The individual has lost the ability to think for themselves due to the constant scrolling of the same content over and over, tailored to their own echo chamber. Well, I am drawing the digital line. Will I use social media? Yes, but it will look very different from how I used it before. If you too believe in the conservation of the human mind, your own mind, I suggest you consider the same. Social media can keep their endless scrolling addictive metrics, but I am going to be busy here in MY refuge, in the tall grasses, doing it the hard way. Yes, that makes me an endangered species, but as for me, I will refuse to go extinct.