I Am Woman

Some days I am reminded that I am a woman; for instance, when my nephew stretches his little arms up to be held, and I reach down to bring him close to me. Something inside me as old as time tells me how to hold him, how to comfort him, how to love him. I wrap the child up in my arms and hold his hand in mine, pressed against my chest, swaying slightly. When he lays his head on my shoulder, and I lay my face against his forehead, something feels so perfectly natural, that I can imagine no better feeling. On those days, I am so thankful to be a woman.

Some days I am reminded that I am a woman; for instance, when I am in the company of a man, and our attention is focused on one another. He unlocks and opens my car door for me and makes sure my limbs, fingers, and clothes are clear of the door before closing it. He walks next to me and places his hand on my lower back as he leads me through a crowd. He hugs me and I am engulfed in his arms, swallowed by his embrace. He holds my face in his hands while he kisses me. He makes me feel small, but at the same time, safe. On those days, I am so thankful to be a woman.

Some days I am reminded that I am a woman; for instance, when I have a special occasion to get dressed up for. I can spend weeks preparing for it, shopping for a new outfit, toiling away in the gym to get toned, laying out in the sun to get tanned. I can get my nails done and my hair done. I can pamper myself with crèmes and lotions and perfume. I can slip into a perfectly fitted dress and pull my hair up with clips decorated in jewels, pulling strands of hair out to fall in curls around my face. I can wear earrings and necklaces and bracelets and rings. I can slip freshly manicured toes into high heeled shoes. I can bring all the details of my femininity together for one important night, such that all the details and lines and curves flow together into one graceful, feminine picture of a woman. On those days, I am so thankful to be a woman.

Some days I am reminded that I am a woman; for instance, when I feel as if I’ve been kicked in the abdomen by a mule, and the pain goes straight through me to my lower back, and then shoots upward to my head. I find myself with no patience, feeling as if it’s completely unfair that I have to work for a living. Tears stream down my face for no reason whatsoever, ruining my makeup and turning my eyes red. I get angry at the fact that I’m crying, and the last person to speak to me before I started crying becomes the recipient of my fury. If I’m single, I am convinced that I’ll be single forever. If I’m not single, I am convinced that my boyfriend/husband no longer loves me because of the tone in his voice or his poor choice of words that day. I want nothing more than for someone to bring me a handful of Advil, a carton of ice cream, and a trashy tabloid magazine while I lie on my couch feeling sorry for myself. Then I will eat the entire carton of ice cream while I flip through the tabloid, hating all those bitches for being skinny. On those days, I think being a woman must be a cruel joke God played on me… or ongoing payment for that extra rib.

I Am Woman. Hear Me Roar…

(…and please forgive me for anything I might say or do for the next 48 to 72 hours.)

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1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. hawleywood40
    Jun 08, 2011 @ 15:46:10

    So very timely for me today – so glad I found this post!

    Reply

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