Listening to the morning news, I heard that the women of Chechnya are being oppressed by the form of Islam advocated by its current leader. Women and girls must wear head coverings in government offices and schools. “They think that women should stay at home. We are being forced back into the middle ages,” I heard the translator say, speaking for an anonymous woman in Chechnya.

At one time in my life, this would have raised my hackles. As an adolescent in the women’s lib movement of the early 70s, women’s rights became part of my internal system of beliefs. I believed that society should encourage its women as it does its men, to fulfill their potential and follow their dreams. I still believe society should allow both sexes choices of career and spouse and parenthood.

Yet what the idealists won’t tell you, is that when you make those choices, you cannot fathom their consequences down the line. The choice of career may put limits on where you can live. The choice of spouse may put limits on your leisure activities. The choice of parenthood may put limits on your body. And those limits are the “nice” ones.

Aren’t these limits bad? Don’t they stifle the potential of the woman? Aren’t they a violation of women’s rights?

No. These are choices the woman has made for herself. Not made by society. Not made by some government-sponsored religion. Not made by her parents. Choices of her own.

So my young female friends, stand up for your rights and the rights of your women counterparts in other countries. I will stand with you. But just remember: we’re fighting for the freedom to make same choices that men have. That’s all. You’re not fighting for the freedom from the consequences of the choices you will make. We’re fighting to be able to say in middle age, as the men do, “I made these choices myself.” And truly understand what their mid-life crises are all about.

We keep an old-fashioned paper calendar on the fridge, to keep track of all the various appointments and events for this little family of three. When I flipped the page over to October, I felt like I had reached base camp at Mount Everest. Few squares were blank. I remember thinking, “If I can make it to the end of October without keeling over, that will be something.”

Well, I made it.

Two conventions, various doctor’s appointments, training classes, church meetings, the dedication and consecration of our new church, an excellent neighborhood concert, a yummy anniversary dinner, a draft deanery website design and implementation, pumpkin carving, vampire costume assembly, on top of the usual piano lessons, karate lessons, ortho appointments, haircuts, trips to the pool, commutes to the office, loads of laundry, bill payments, bread baking…all my regular chores.

It was great to visit with friends at their Halloween party tonight, and then hang out on the front porch in the beautiful fall evening, handing out candy to the 150 or so kids who came by.

This middle-aged working mother had made it.

Quite a trick. Quite a treat. Happy Halloween indeed.

“I was wronged!”

Injustice on a personal level, between two people, is particularly painful. Your psyche screams “Foul! That shouldn’t have happened!” But it did happen.

Your natural response is to tell somebody. You talk to a friend, or several friends, as you work through your pain. You choose people who can really appreciate your feelings and sympathize.

This sharing is helpful. You can work through the anguish, and discuss your options for action. You can begin to heal. That’s how it’s supposed to work.

The problem is, injustice is Conflict. And Conflict is News. And News will spread, rippling out from person to person. The News will be remembered, long after you have healed, and hopefully reconciled with the transgressor. Insights about the larger context of the situation, the intent of the other person, or your share of the blame, are not News. Neither is the reconciliation. While you may relay the happy news to your original confidants, the injustice lingers on in the minds of the sympathizers Out There who heard the News, breeding ill will towards the original transgressor.

So what can we do? How can we stop this?

First, if you’re sharing an injustice, ask for confidentiality. And after sharing and empathy, listen carefully to the ideas from your friends. Look for ideas that give you a path to reconciliation, not just retaliation. Listening, really listening, is very hard. When you’re in pain, hearing anything other than sympathy is difficult, but listen anyway.

Second, if you’re hearing about a personal injustice, don’t spread the News. Don’t put two and two together and make a five-alarm fire. If you want to share the News, do what any good reporter will do. Get the details. Get both sides of the story. Follow-up and see if things have improved since the original transgression. Is it still the same News?

I’ve witnessed personal injustice. I’ve experienced personal injustice and shared my pain with friends. And I’ve watched a report of a personal injustice be fanned into a wildfire. I’ll bet you can say the same.

The bad news is, there’s probably not much we can do about witnessing or experiencing injustice. It’s just Life. The good news is, if we try, we can create firebreaks around it.

I love going to conferences. I can never tell in advance how much of the information will actually be relevant and timely, but I enjoy hearing new ideas from effective speakers. Their energy sparks my imagination, and sometimes a phrase or factoid will stick. Like this one, quoted by Dr. Izzy Justice yesterday:

A negative experience will stay with you physiologically for four hours.

It’s an average number, and there are probably a couple of inches of footnote in some professional journal somewhere, but still, four hours?

It seemed high. But then I remembered times at work when something really got to me, and I could feel that physical effect for a long while after the incident. If it happened after lunch, the commute home was going to be affected for sure. Close to quitting time, relaxing in the evening was going to require extra effort.

To me, knowing that four-hour effect is motivating. I try to be even-tempered, to be appreciative, and to be supportive with my colleagues in difficult situations. I don’t always succeed. Knowing the consequences of failure in tangible terms — a four-hour physiological hangover for my colleague — motivates me to try a little harder.

The devil in me says that the researchers who proved this little fact were in cahoots with the Southern mamas trying to raise their little girls to be “sweet, kind, and good.” But the angel on the other shoulder just smiles, and tells me that Mama was right.

Driving through the fog is an act of faith. When you’re familiar with the road, it doesn’t take much faith. You have to slow down a bit, and be prepared in case of sudden brake lights. But when the fog is thick, and you’re not sure of the way, it can be stressful and scary. It takes much more faith. Faith in your reflexes, faith in the drivers ahead of you, faith in the navigator that sent you down this road. Stopping isn’t an option. The driver behind you may not see your brake lights in time.

Life is full of foggy places. Slow down and be more cautious, but keep moving forward. Follow the road, trust yourself and the people around you, and listen to the voice of that Navigator inside you. Just have faith, and you’ll get there.