How I Felt Watching Shauna Skin a Rabbit On Her Kitchen Counter

Watching the show Yellowjackets inspired me to break some rules

In early July, I caught COVID and spent six days in my basement completely isolated from my family. The situation fell somewhere in between a relaxing stay at a Hilton Garden Inn and a voluntary commitment to a mental health facility.

Needless to say, I had some time away from my kids to watch TV.

Perhaps Yellowjackets wasn’t the best series to binge watch while hiding in a dark basement shivering with a fever, but it sure felt good at the time.

In case you haven’t watched this Showtime series, it consists of a star-studded cast of 40-something women having flashbacks to the time their high school soccer team was in a plane crash and they had to survive in the wilderness by forming cannibalistic clans.

Watching this show about cannibalistic teenagers was far better than spending time with my own kids.

The character who resonated most with me was played by Melanie Lynskey. Lynskey is an indie gem whose niche is playing clever, slightly lost women who get a little reckless finding their way.

Her character in Yellowjackets doesn’t disappoint.

Shauna is a tired homemaker who married young and never lived up to her potential. She is stuck in a boring life while coming to terms with this wild thing that happened in her past (namely, the cannibalism).

In a brilliant scene, she gets so fed up with the rabbits nibbling at her garden that one day she slams one over the head with a shovel, skins it with her bare hands on her kitchen counter, and secretly serves it to her family in a stew that night.

Watching that scene reminded me that there is something so thrilling about seeing an unhappy woman get a little reckless to find her way.

This “reckless woman” image is true of so many female protagonists. We see this in everyone from Betty Draper to Lady Chatterly.

I channeled this image when I wrote a satirical portrayal of Mrs. Berenstain Bear going out one night and rejecting her role as a complacent homemaker. You can read the story of her wild transformation here.

All of these women were carrying the weight of expectations for women and motherhood, and they decided to blow things up in their own way.

When I was a young girl, I never pictured a life where I would need to break free from anything. My life wouldn’t be like my grandmother’s, who was forced by TWA Airlines to quit her flight attendant job when she married.

I didn’t expect to live like my own mother either, who burned a bra once in the 1970’s but still thinks it’s unbecoming to wear a skirt without pantyhose.

But then motherhood arrived for me, and I realized I wasn’t as free as I thought. I soon felt the weight of so many expectations.

These weren’t imposed by religion or conservative values. My constraints are practical.

In order to raise my family, I must provide a stable home.

In order to provide a stable home, I must earn an income in a stable job.

In order to earn an income in a stable job, I cannot run off to the Costa Rican rainforest for months at a time just because I feel like it. There are bills to pay, and children to tuck into bed.

Since becoming a mother in 2015, I have only done one big reckless thing.

My husband and I opened our marriage in 2020, and I slept with several men who weren’t my husband. Those few months of sexual freedom were my time to break free from the drudgery.

I felt lighter, less constrained. I was on a mission to live life boldly again, and Led Zeppelin was my soundtrack.

But that freedom ended badly over two years ago now, and I am back to the drudgery. My children are older and more difficult to manage. We are desperately figuring out ADHD medication for our son with special needs.

My husband and I attend weekly couples therapy sessions that are mostly useful but also kind of pointless.

So when I saw Shauna skin that rabbit on her kitchen counter, it made me feel something.

It made me think about what my rabbit might look like now. What is the thing I would do if I could stop following all the rules, if I could throw caution to the wind?

It’s not enough just to stay out too late with friends every once in a while. That’s not really the kind of wild I’m talking about. I could get another tattoo, but as Rachel Marsh predicted I’d probably just end up with one of these.

And I don’t think murder or cannibalism are anywhere up there on my list of fun thrills.

In my dream version of this reckless abandon, I am constantly in motion. Perhaps I have dropped everything to travel like I did in my 20’s, traipsing around foreign cities on my own.

My clothes are loose-fitting and sleek, and I have few possessions to weigh me down.

Perhaps I have a lover, but one who doesn’t expect anything from me. I have no obligations, no calendar. I am free.

And then this dream version slams me right back into the harsh reality of motherhood: I am constrained because I care.

I will not run off to a European city on my own with no return ticket, because I want to be here with my children when they wake up in the morning. I will not leave my home to have a passionate affair, because I couldn’t handle what that would do to my family.

When recklessness hurts others, it’s much less appealing.

So I tell myself I must be satisfied with the milder version of skinning a rabbit with my bare hands.

Maybe my version of breaking the rules is saying no more frequently.

Maybe it’s taking a day off work to read in my bed even when I’m not sick.

Maybe it’s deciding to create as much as I can, to come back to writing and art and all the things I had tossed aside to focus on the practical.

Perhaps the reckless woman inside of me is the one I am right this moment, staying up far past my bedtime to type words onto a computer screen. It’s not work someone else is asking of me, and it’s surely not anything dictated by my kids or husband.

This space is all mine, and I feel a little more free here.

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