Archives for posts with tag: respect
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Can We Not, Please?

February 12, 2026 //
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I get to the halfway point of this predawn trail walk a bit out of breath, feet, ankles and knees aching from my needlessly aggressive stride. I stop, grateful for the convenient bench. I remind myself to breathe, to exhale, to relax, and too refrain from allowing other people’s drama to camp out in my head rent free.

… Let it go, I remind myself…

I have no idea what woke the household. I thought my Traveling Partner woke me as he got up, more specifically one single cough woke me. I rolled over and went back to sleep. Some time later, I woke again. It sounded like my beloved was really having a rough time, and struggling to breathe. I got up and dressed, surprised to find the hall bathroom occupied as I left the bedroom. The Anxious Adventurer was up, too. Very strange – he’s rarely up so early. I use the other bathroom, and before I finish getting ready for the day, I hear my Traveling Partner’s raised voice, swearing, frustrated and angry over not being able to breathe, and then an assortment of slammed doors.

To avoid becoming triggered and then having to deal with that shit all day, I depart quickly, wishing my beloved a good day as I exit. I’m still deeply irritated at the lack of consideration and the disrespect in the door slamming, but haven’t yet addressed it directly with the household; I’m still seething and I would prefer to approach things clearheaded. Later.

“Now” is mine. It’s peaceful and quiet on the trail this morning. The setting moon was an amber sliver, curved and beautiful, gone from view now. The night sky is dark. My tinnitus is loud in my ears, but the world seems quiet. It is an illusion, of course. Human primates haven’t figured out peace as a species. We slam doors and yell, we drop bombs and commit genocides, we murder people over the language they speak, the god they worship, or the color of their skin. Human beings know little of peace. We tend to put more effort into being angry. It’s a shame. We could do better.

We could start small, perhaps… stop yelling, stop slamming doors, stop taking a tone of righteous anger, and instead take a fucking breath and a step back to gain perspective. Stop feeding our inner demons. Engage each other in a reasonable measured tone. Ask clarifying questions. Assume positive intent. Behave with decorum, because it is a choice and we have the will to be the person we most want to be. I say it… but my words are unlikely to change your behavior. You’re walking your own path, same as I am walking mine. So… I’ll work on that, myself, because it matters to me. I too need practice. I’m very human.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, sitting here in the darkness. I reclaim my peace. Feels good. The work day stretches ahead of me, soon enough but not now. I pull my attention back to this moment right here. It’s a chilly morning, but above freezing, and I’m warmly dressed. My fingers are cold, from writing. I’m not concerned; I’ll warm up when I resume walking.

I sit awhile with my thoughts. This bit of solitude each morning is a big piece of my self-care. It is too cold for camping (for me) just yet, and I’ve been feeling seriously “over” dealing with people, lately. Like, at all. I could use a few days alone with my pastels, disconnected from my devices. I sigh to myself. I’d love those few days to be at home, but it doesn’t seem likely, or even reasonable under current circumstances. G’damn, though, we’re going on six years in this little house and I’ve never been alone in my own home for more than a few hours. I breathe in deeply, and exhale slowly, thoroughly, letting go of my resentment with my breath. It’s not personal, just circumstances. I let it go. I have these solitary mornings, and they go a long way toward meeting this need for solitude.

I’ve got a three day weekend ahead… maybe I’ll do something with that? I chuckle to myself. Like the roses and herbs in my garden, I find myself behaving as though Spring is imminent. It probably isn’t. Still, I’m glad I spent time in the garden after work yesterday, pruning and weeding. I didn’t get a lot done, but it was soul-satisfying work. The days are getting longer, and the afternoons are warm enough to comfortably work outside, when it isn’t raining. It’s enough.

I sigh again, mildly vexed by this headache that seems to have become a constant companion over the past 13 years now. I swallow my morning medication, dry, and look down the trail. Nautical dawn arrives, and enough light to see the skyline and horizon, and make out the trail without a headlamp. I stretch and get ready to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, Frustration, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, War and News of War, winter, women, Words

Sleep

February 9, 2026 //
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My sleep used to be much worse than it is these days. I’m certain the CPAP machine helps (although wearing the mask and the experience of continuous positive air pressure are somewhat unpleasant and took getting used to). Sometimes my sleep is still of poor quality for one reason or another. Sometimes it’s just not enough sleep to feel rested. Sometimes I’m plagued by nightmares. This morning I’m faced with insufficient sleep of poor quality, due to interruptions (noise mostly).

I reliably wake up ridiculously early. Generally at 04:30, probably a lasting byproduct of early mornings in the military, construction, and long commutes for morning shifts of various sort. It requires days of leisure time without an alarm being set to boost my chance at “sleeping in”, and I rarely do. When my Traveling Partner and I were developing our friendship, he had encouraged me to take control of one factor I definitely could control to improve how much sleep I got; my bedtime. He suggested I go to bed earlier, based on when I wake and how much sleep I need (back then I was often up until midnight or later, still up early). It was advice that made a lot of difference for me. I go to bed pretty early as a result, rarely later than 21:00. (He has said, now and then, that he’d enjoy my company and would like me to stay up later, but not only do I still wake up early, I also deal often with interrupted sleep. Going to bed early is my only reliable chance at enough rest.)

Why am I on about sleep and sleep quality this morning? I didn’t sleep well last night, and didn’t get enough rest for the day ahead. It’s occupying my thoughts.

This morning I’m tired. So tired. It was after 21:00 before I went to sleep last night. I woke around 01:50, got up to pee and went back to bed, eventually falling sleep again. Sometime shortly after three, my Traveling Partner woke me. He couldn’t sleep, and was having difficulty breathing. He goes to the living room, wakeful and irritable. I try to return to sleep. Not much success. Every time I start to drift off, another noise wakes me, again. A cough. My partner trying to clear his throat or his sinuses.  The scrape of a chair along the floor. His frustration and sometimes panic feel palpable.

I definitely need more than four and a half hours of sleep, and I keep trying. I’m startled from a sound-but-too-brief moment of sleep by a firm hand knocking at the Anxious Adventurer’s adjacent bedroom door, and my partner’s irritated inquiry. I groan quietly and turn over and try sleep once more.

I drifted in and out of a restless sleep from the time my Traveling Partner woke me until the clock read 05:00 a couple hours later. My head aches. My eyeballs feel gritty and dry. I want literally nothing to do with other people, at all. At least not right now. I dress and leave the house. I don’t feel like walking, either. I just want to be alone with my irritation for awhile. I swing through a local coffee chain for too many shots of espresso over ice, black. Fuck Monday. I’m so not ready for this.

My Traveling Partner had returned to bed as I was leaving for the morning. I hope he gets back to sleep and gets some healthy rest. I get no second chances on a work day. I sigh to myself. It’s not his fault he’s having difficulty sleeping (or breathing).

I’ve set clear healthy reasonable boundaries about my sleep and not waking me if I’m sleeping, unless I’ve asked to be wakened (which I almost never do; I know how to use an alarm clock). I respect the sleep of others. Somehow I have still found myself in partnerships in which my partner(s) have found some justification for waking me, under one circumstance or another (and in some past relationships often). There’s rarely any sort of actual emergency that requires my attention, more that someone “wants a word” or to ask a question, or share a complaint. This frustrates the shit out of me, because it’s already difficult enough to get the rest I need.

Where caregiving or real emergencies are concerned, of course I roll my ass out of bed and do the needful without complaint. Everything else, I try to look past my fatigue and irritation to understand what is going on that might push a person to undermine someone else’s very necessary rest, and I try to be a compassionate and understanding partner, family member, or friend. This morning I’m having to fight through more annoyance than usual; I stayed up later last night to hang out with my Traveling Partner awhile longer, and I’m paying for it with lack of sleep. It feels “unfair”, but it isn’t really about that, and it’s definitely not personal. I made a choice. Just damned annoying that this is the outcome.

… I’m so fucking tired…

It’s been many days since I slept deeply through the night and woke feeling rested. I remind myself that it could be worse. I once endured more than a decade of sleep so poor I counted it a good night if I got even two hours of unbroken sleep, and rarely slept more than four hours total in a night. This is not that.

A new day will dawn. We can begin again.

I sit quietly at a local trailhead, listening to rain tapping the roof of my Traveling Partner’s truck. It’s comfortable and warm, and I am alone with my thoughts and my coffee. I definitely don’t feel like dealing with people right now. I’m tired, headachey, and irritable. Unfit for company. It’s too early for work. I don’t feel like walking.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, and focus on sorting myself out to face the day ahead. Soon enough I’ll have to begin again. I’ll do my best. It will have to be enough.

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Categories breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, health, Healthy Living, meditation, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, The Art of Being, The Big 5, winter, women

Relatively Speaking

February 4, 2026 //
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It’s nice to find a moment of beauty in trying times. I took a picture of a lovely sunrise moment the other day. Yesterday? The day before? It does nothing to capture the context, an empty fallow field, not suited to sports or play, uneven and treacherous to walk, with a well-used “fitness trail” wrapping around it like a muddy ribbon. In full daylight, it’s not an especially beautiful or enticing location. This picture though? A beautiful sunrise, captured to inspire me far longer than standing there in person in some other moment could.

Is it a beautiful sunrise, or an unkempt empty lot?

Reality is what it is, but what we each understand reality to be is very much a completely other thing, mostly made up in our heads. We’re each having our own experience. We understand the world filtered through the lens of our own experience and whatever useful perspective we may have adopted (or been trained upon) over a lifetime. Human primates appear to be creatures capable of reason, and great depth of understanding…but we’re also shortsighted, emotional, and prone to self-delusion. We use words carelessly (and sometimes aggressively) and we walk away from a great many interactions with a very different understanding of what was said than others involved.

I had a powerful reminder of how easily human communication goes quite wrong in spite of good intentions. I recently asked the Anxious Adventurer to share his “move out plan” with us, hoping to have a better idea of his hoped for timing, target dates for various commonplace milestones in any move, and knowledge of his general plan and how far along he is with all of it. This felt very routine to me; we’re looking at an April move, most likely, and that puts things in the upcoming 90 days.

… Communication is complicated…

The Anxious Adventurer misunderstood me to mean “get the fuck out as soon as possible and tell me how you are going to do that”, although I don’t think my words or tone suggested that. I can only imagine the stress that caused him! I didn’t notice how my request hit him. My Traveling Partner spotted something amiss, but it wasn’t clear what. The Anxious Adventurer, a “millennial” by generation, kept his feelings to himself, and struggled alone without asking any clarifying questions. Obviously less than ideal all around. Hopefully an educational experience for each of us.

Once the miscommunication was revealed, we sorted it out and talked over the basic plan. I guess the short lesson is use your words with care and clarity, ask questions, and make a point of defining terms and assessing the quality of a shared understanding. Like that picture of a lovely sunrise looking out across an unkempt empty field strewn with obstacles and litter, what we think we understand may not be all there is to know – or even accurate to circumstances. Fact checking, testing assumptions, and asking clarifying questions are basic communication. As I said, communication – good communication – can be complicated. Certainly it requires practice.

…It does tend to begin with speaking the fuck up when clarity and shared understanding are lost…

(Sometimes we just don’t know we didn’t understand, or failed to communicate clearly.)

I sigh to myself, sitting at my halfway point on a local trail shortly before daybreak. I enjoy writing in the stillness and quiet before the day begins. A new day feels filled with promise and hope. I savor this quiet moment before a new work day gets going. I sit with my thoughts awhile. The work day will come soon enough. This moment here, now, is mine.

I breathe, exhale, and relax, watching the waning moon slowly setting. I’ll begin again a little later.

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Categories Allegories, Anxiety, breathe, Free Will, Logic & Reason, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, The Big 5, winter, Words

In a Jam

January 11, 2026 //
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It was raspberry jam, as I recall…

The jar was almost empty, and it had gotten shoved to the back of the refridgerator. The lid was cranked down on that jar so tightly that it could not be opened easily, and stayed firmly closed in spite of various attempts. Putting jam on a biscuit should not be this difficult for anyone. Frustration built quickly; this was the third, possibly fourth idea for a sweet bite in the evening, after dinner, and where the others failed due to lack of some ingredient, this was failing over… a jam jar. There didn’t appear to be any other jam in the house, either (although it would later turn out that tiny holiday jams were available, too, they were not cold, and they were not visually obvious to someone who did not know they were there). Cupboards slammed. Tempers flared. An evening’s pleasant quiet was broken.

…This wasn’t about the jam. That’s where it got tricky, actually, this was about the lack of consideration for someone expecting to be cared for, lack of accommodation of known disabilities, and lack of awareness. That’s what the anger was about.

Sometimes it’s really difficult to keep the needs of other people clearly in mind. Consideration is one of the toughest of my relationship values; it forces me out of my head and demands that I be present, aware of others, and considering our shared (and individual) needs more or less continuously. That jam jar didn’t get shoved into the back of the refridgerator intentionally; it was a thoughtless act. The last person to close that jar probably didn’t crank that lid down like that deliberately, which ultimately required considerable effort to get that jar open, they likely were not even thinking about what they were doing in that moment. As the jam got used, no one thought to put it on the grocery list, and so we ran out, resulting in a minimal portion of jam remaining, in a jar that couldn’t be opened by the woman with arthritis in her thumbs (or my Traveling Partner), barely enough to amount to a serving, difficult to get at it in the first place, and the result was hurt feelings, frustration, and seething anger when it was clear that other members of the household were simply not getting what the fuss was about. What the reaction excessive? Yeah, probably. Almost certainly. Here’s the thing, though; everyone in the house is aware of familiar with each other’s disabilities. The expectation – and it has been made explicit (we’ve talked about it as a family a lot) – is that we are each considering those limitations, and accounting for them in our daily actions. That didn’t happen, and it derailed a lovely evening as a result.

Eventually, things settled into a more harmonious state. The jam got restocked when I next went shopping, and reminders were given all around to put things on the shopping list when the last of anything is opened (rather than waiting for it to run out completely – maybe that wasn’t clear enough, previously). Room was made on a shelf in the refridgerator door to hold the currently-open jar of jam, for easier access. Steps were taken to put things right. It’s important that this jam over jam isn’t misunderstood, though – because it wasn’t about the jam. It was about the lack of consideration, the lack of care, and the implied disrespect involved in those, and if that isn’t clear it is very likely that some similar jam over something other than jam may erupt at some future time and place for all the same reasons.

…Hell, I’ve thoughtlessly set myself up for failure in a very similar way, simply by not paying attention to what I was doing in the moment, and dealing with the consequences of my own lack of consideration, later…

I have sometimes been accused of being “overly considerate” (no kidding, some people will find reason to criticize anything, even things that work in their favor). I don’t happen to agree; I manage to persist in sometimes failing to consider some important detail, implying I am as yet still not sufficiently considerate enough of the time. I keep practicing. It’s not the easiest thing to open a refridgerator to put away groceries, and while doing so consider whether each item is where the person most likely to want it will easily find it and be able to reach it. It’s not the easiest thing to tidy up with an eye on the next person to use that thing – or that space. It requires presence, and awareness. It may require clarifying questions (“Hey, if I put the jam here on this shelf, can you reach that?”). It will surely require me to step outside myself and try to see things from the perspective of some other person. Doing this well begins with Theory of Mind, and it’s rather unfortunate that a great many adults fail to use the full measure of their capacity to understand someone else’s experience or perspective, resulting in a lot of chaos, heartache, frustration, and anger.

We are each having our own experience. We each follow our own path. We each understand words based on our own internal dictionary, and tend to reflect on our experiences through the lens of…our own experiences. Although we are “all in this together”, humanity’s shared journey is being taken by individuals who not only don’t read minds, they barely understand their own sometimes, and there is no “user’s guide”. It’s a puzzle. I keep practicing.

I sip my coffee on a quiet Sunday morning. The rest of the house sleeps. I’m astonished that I managed to wake up, wash my face and brush my teeth, make coffee and then move things around in my studio/office space to comfortably write at my computer, while I wake up. This feels like a major win. I’m fortunate that my sinuses feel pretty clear, and I didn’t wake with a cough. Am I finally really over the recent bout of flu? Well that “only” took four weeks – I’m grateful it wasn’t worse.

I sip my coffee and think about jam. Funny, this whole jam over jam was days ago. It stuck with me because I continued to turn it over in my head. The conversation. The emotions. The underlying factual details. The interwoven relationships and the expectation-setting. The actions, reactions, and over-reactions. The course-correction, and careful mending of hurt feelings. It felt to me like there was a lot more to learn from this than the obvious lesson, which initially seemed to be “put shit on the grocery list before it completely runs out”, but I knew it was more nuanced than that, and I kept thinking it over. I woke this morning, thinking about jam – and also thimble cookies, and raspberry bars, and coffee cakes with a jam swirl in the middle, and biscuits fresh from the oven, warm and ready for jam. I chuckle to myself wondering if thoughts of delicious baked goods are the cognitive reward for “doing my homework”? lol

I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a lovely Sunday morning. I’m ready to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Frustration, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Moments, Parables, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, winter, Words

Dealing With My Anger

January 6, 2026 //
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Wakened unexpectedly by my Traveling Partner, who is having his own experience, I sat up to get my bearings. Stress, and sounds of a cupboard or door banging in another room. I don’t deal well with this sort of disturbance, most especially when I’m pulled from a deep sleep to deal with it. My temper flares. Not productive or useful. I breathe, exhale, and… get dressed. I get my work gear together, throw on a warm sweater and a warm cardigan over that. It’s a cold morning. I’m not yet up to long walks in freezing temperatures after being sick for weeks. Coffee? That’ll do.

I get my shit together before I find my way to doing or saying something out of anger that would be an unpleasant escalation. It’s too early for that shit. G’damn I’m so tired. Coffee, solitude, and some time writing sounds a lot better. I wish my Traveling Partner well and express hopes that he gets the rest he needs, as I head out into the darkness of a cold winter morning.

…I can’t say I have any particular fondness for Starbucks as a business, or even as a purveyor of coffee, I mean, it’s fine. Chain coffee. I’m fucking grateful this morning, though; they’re open. It’s damned early, and there aren’t many places open with indoor seating and hot coffee at this hour. We happen to have a Starbucks that is open at 04:30. Handy. Coffee, a table, an internet connection – and a woman with some time on her hands who needs to get her emotions sorted out without disturbing anyone else. This will do.

My friend, the Author, is coming for a visit later this month. It’ll be good to talk things over with him. He has so much perspective and lived experience. I think about other friends I can share with, talk things over with, get insights from, and just feel heard on subjects that I know I struggle with; my anger, healthy relationships, and boundary-setting. I send an email to my therapist asking to make an appointment, and whether he might have an opening this week? Sleep is important; my Traveling Partner needs it to heal and be well. I also need it, to recover from illness, to maintain emotional balance, to age gently, to be well… all needs that human beings share. We all need sleep. We don’t all get it easily. I find myself seething over it, and I know that taking action from a place of emotion can result in poor decision-making. So, I sit with my coffee and my anger, wondering what the actual fuck I can do with this emotional bullshit to create order from chaos?

Emotions are not actually “bullshit”. They are an important part of who and what we are as human beings. We have shared needs as primates and as mammals, and even as thinking reasoning creatures – but we’re each having our own experience. It’s regrettably easy to view the world entirely through the lens of our own experience, taking this or that personally, lashing out at perceived slights or hurts without pausing to consider the context, or to fact-check impressions. Emotions are useful – they give us a lot of information about the way in which our circumstances and values intersect. They tell other people where they fit in our world, too. Relationships are rarely held together by reason or logical thought. More commonly, they are built on an emotional foundation, and shared experience. And when that goes sour? What then? I frown to myself, feeling stressed and insecure in my closest relationship. This has been my longest… we’re going on 16 years. That’s 3 years more than the next longest. Where does this path lead?

I sip my coffee and reflect on life and love, and struggle and choices. Love is wonderful stuff – but I don’t find it “easy”. I’ve got issues (maybe we all do?), and I’m not an easy fit for cohabitation. Relationships take real work. Loving someone doesn’t seem to make that any easier, though I often find myself thinking that is somehow “should”. (Reality does not care how I think things “should be”. lol I chuckle to myself and some of my anger dissipates.) G’damn I’m going to be tired by the end of the damned day, though; I really needed the sleep I almost got. The thought makes my anger flare up again. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Fucking hell this human journey is messy, indirect, poorly mapped, and frankly it feels too damned easy to get lost on a path that looks clear on a sunny day, but is obscured in the fog. (It’s a metaphor.)

I think about my “Big Five” relationship values, again: respect, consideration, reciprocity, compassion, and openness, and this morning I find myself wondering how many of these my beloved Traveling Partner truly shares with me…? Maybe his values are different. I sigh to myself over my coffee. It’s difficult to ascertain how much of the emotion of the moment is coloring my thinking. Maybe a lot, that’s very human. Wisdom gained through painful experience and mistakes over time have taught me that it is best to reflect long, and let moments be moments. I sip my coffee grateful for the warmth of the cup in my hand, the shelter of a bustling retail space around me, and the wisdom to let moments pass. I catch myself wondering, though, what is on the path ahead.

Another breath, another moment. My headache is fueled by my lack of deep rest. My backache is worsened by the cold damp weather. My mood is not improved by the vapid pop music in the background – songs of lust and heartbreak, sung to the tune of a forgotten advertising jingle. Sometimes life is surreal to the point of seeming almost profound or insightful, without improving my perspective. Why so many breakup songs? Because breaking up is a thing human primates do, and we are singers of songs and tellers of tales, eh?

The world spins on madly… I keep drinking my coffee, hoping for that moment when clarity arrives and settles the day. Maybe. I get an unexpected text from my therapist directly to my phone, instead of the reply to my email I expected later. Something about my phrasing got his attention, and he replies by text directly to me. He has an opening tomorrow, if I can do a virtual appointment I can make the timing work. I gratefully accept; there are definitely some things I avoid burdening friends with. We’ve all got our shit to get through, right? I’m not trying to make anyone carry a heavier load, I just need to talk about some things, in real words, with a real person who really knows me. I’ve been seeing my therapist (off and on these days), since 2013. It makes sense to keep (and deepen) the relationships we have that work – whether friends, family, colleagues, lovers, or therapists.

There’s no “coded language” here. I’m just one human primate dealing with baggage, and the lasting chaos and damage of relationships that most certainly did not “work”, but left behind a lot of wreckage, and weirdness, and moments of temper or sorrow to manage. Our past relationships, and the trauma or hurts that resulted, create portions of the foundation on which our present and future relationships rest. This complicates things like perspective, boundary-setting, perceptions, assumptions, and whether or how we react in some moment. The way out is through, they say. (Who exactly are “they”? How many ways out have “they” explored in a practical way? Was what they were going through relevant to my experience at all?) I sigh to myself. People are complicated. Each having their own experience. Each walking their own path. Each using a subtly different “dictionary”, while also likely to be assuming those definitions are universally shared – and often without being watchful for variances that lead to miscommunication. Fucking hell, why is communication so hard? I frown at my coffee, head pounding. Some questions don’t have useful answers.

…”What do you want? Will it help you become the person you most want to be?” my mind whispers to me from the shadows…

I sit with my thoughts, waiting, wondering, and annoyed by the background music. Perspective reminds me things could be so much worse. Experience tells me this relationship is generally pretty good, and fairly healthy. We’re still humans being human. It’s messy sometimes. Disappointing sometimes. Aggravating sometimes. It’s also rewarding, joyful, enriching, uplifting, and encouraging… maybe just not this morning, right now, in this moment? Human. I sigh to myself, hoping my Traveling Partner gets back to sleep and gets some of the rest he needs, even though I won’t. Not this morning. Another sigh, and I finish my coffee. It’s time to begin again.

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Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, health, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women
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