Not that much of a woman maybe

Am I a woman? Ursula Le Guin claims that women were just invented and there were several attempts at doing so.

I look like a woman. I own a bra, though I got rid of as many of those as I could. I started a mutiny against bras. I enjoy my freedom of letting my breasts be free. My only regret is that them being free is sometimes perceived as an invitation to a sexual affair. But it isn’t. It’s just me enjoying a feeling of gravity and a full breath. And the aesthetics too.

Photo by Manuel Meurisse on Unsplash

I have an hourglass figure. Though it causes more trouble for me. I can rarely find trousers I wouldn’t need to take in. I can see an inconsistency here — why everyone is so hyped about the thin waist and juicy hips but rarely do they make clothes for that type? Are we just supposed to go around in a bikini?

I have a womanly face and hands. And I do get attention from men. But does it all make me a woman? I didn’t give birth. And I am in my 30ies. I was married but I also asked for a divorce. It was quite painful and I felt ashamed for doing it. As if from now on I’m “that woman who is divorced”. What’s wrong with her? Does she deserve pity? Oh, poor thing.

So I don’t have a “simple woman happiness”. The happiness when you incubate a human being cause that’s your purpose. Disregarding all of the hormone things and that you have to stop your career. And become so dependent. And then you are in depression with sore nipples, lack of sleep going through hell with a partner who might support you or might not.

After all, he is in a position where he can go sleep in the other room or hang out with friends. But not you. And money thing. And that he does a real job and you’re just looking after a completely vulnerable dependent creature that will literally die without you.

I was thinking the other day about what I want. I said that I wanted to find a great guy and marry him, build a nest and have a child. And all I felt was a shallow chest. Empty. I kinda want it but not now. Maybe someday. But now when I think of it it’s as if I’m supposed to be wanting it but that’s not something that my body reacts to. I don’t get the warm feeling inside when I’m thinking of it. My chest doesn’t expand. I don’t smile when I imagine it.

What do I want then? I want to write. I want to sit on the beach somewhere very warm, looking at the sea, writing down my thoughts, doing some research, helping people develop, eating juicy fruits, and then maybe there is a man nearby. But not as the first priority. Is it ok for a woman? Is it too selfish?

Photo by Raph Howald on Unsplash

Not that much of a woman maybe.

Does being a woman mean craving for attention? All make-up and high heels? Dozens of shoes? Does it involve manipulating men? Living at their expense? Does it mean being dependent on men? Being weak and all subtle?

Then I’m a shit of a woman.

Then am I a man?

I make my own decisions, people used to tell me I have balls. I am intelligent and educated. I have a good career. I earn more than many men who consider themselves “successful providers” do. I do intimidate people with my path, my skills, and shit.

Do I want to intimidate someone? — hell no. Why do I do it then? Because I act the way I feel acting, being myself. I have the guts to do things. I moved to another country, alone, having a divorce, and having changed a job. This shit scares many men but I did it. I dare to say what I think. And to act. To change things. That’s also something manly. Or is it?

I do have hair everywhere. Laser epilation was one of the best decisions I made, so now I’m less a man than before. I also have high testosterone. And a look that could kill. Though it didn’t actually kill anyone. Otherwise, I would make an effort to see Lukashenko and Putin.

Who do I feel myself?

Photo by Bruno van der Kraan on Unsplash

But what about my internal feeling? I considered myself more of a man. I never knew how “to be a woman”. Though I knew what brings pain to people around me about being a man. I have always been with my teeth clenched and my fists tights. Ready to fight. To bite someone’s dick off if they offend me. To hit, with a word, if people are mean to me. Never actually hit anyone. Outside the boxing class at least. I did feel that strength in me, hostility maybe. Like a scared kitten who runs away at any loud sound and is kinda always ready to bite.

I knew I have to be a woman. Maybe even want to be one. I remember a family friend told me when I was 10-is that now as I’m becoming a woman I have to learn to cook. Apparently, that and the good looks are the most important traits of a woman. I didn’t come with instructions. And the art of being a woman seems to have been lost somewhere around the second world war in my family. Same as the art of being a man.

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Crazy about helping people to grow. Bringing psychology to the workplace by example and through practice. Founded a learning course for Scrum Masters at Godel.

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Diana Grishel

Diana Grishel

Crazy about helping people to grow. Bringing psychology to the workplace by example and through practice. Founded a learning course for Scrum Masters at Godel.

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