Women. Lady, female, girl, lassie, hen…
Being born into a family full of different feminine energy, I was fortunate. But as a young lassie I felt somehow that I didn’t match up. I was secondary and doomed to the kitchen. A place I hated because all the action happened in the living room, (so I thought). My chores reminded me of the burden of being female. I tried to rebel against it by being the best Tomboy I could.
Poor Tom? I wonder where that terminology comes from? I digress.
I climbed trees, played cars with neighbour, Mark, I played in the mud, I always wanted to be Tarzan, not Jane. So I invented a sidekick for that tale of the jungle and he had to be Male. I interpreted the world of women as being inferior. Men’s bars, while the wimmen sat outside with the noisy, demanding, kids, were the sanctuary for the men, where who knows what type of executive decisions they came up with while drinking their draughts. I knew that I wouldn’t be allowed in and it infuriated my child mind. I wanted to know ‘why’? Why am I less than, why do I not get choices, why is my view not as important?
As a teenager I rebelled in my obedient way. I did my chores, I learned the workings of the kitchen, apart from the stove. Mum was in charge of that, and that wasn’t because she enjoyed it as such, I think it was purely economical and turns out she was magical in ways of money management. She made a thinning envelope of weekly wages stretch out to cover the needs of a large brood in a marvelous way, that only now am I truly appreciating. My rebellion saw me only ever wear dresses as my school uniform and never anywhere else. Looking back it was possibly also a self consciousness of feeling exposed as I hated my skinny body. How sad us teenagers go through this body loathing.
My Matric dance outfit was a tuxedo my mum sewed for me, and it suited (argh pun) me, at the time. I was proud of my uniqueness but I still hated the perceived weaknesses of my femininity. How wrong I turned out to be. In denying my feminine side, I allowed my power to be diluted. I couldn’t match the two words ‘strength and women ‘.
Yet, us humans are a balance of both. Masculine and feminine, yin and yang. Sometimes it tilts in favour depending on my mood, but I am realising just how strong a silent voice can be. How strength is asking for help ( no matter the gender) when it is necessary. How admitting my weaknesses to another, in fact, makes me stronger. Acceptance of my mistakes and admitting them, possibly even asking for pardon, makes both aspects inside stronger. Choosing myself when the easy option would be to remain in the status quo is a quiet strength, I never knew I had.
Life is filled with marvelous wimmen, and it is also filled with magnificent men. Isn’t this blue planet an awesome place to have fun in this human form?
Praise be to the wimmen, carriers of the future generation.. Praise be to this wimmen, who chose not to have a child. In my own feminine wisdom I had the power to make that choice.