When you define a woman. Or let a woman define herself. Which part of her do we truly refer to.
Because there’s very many layers to her existence.. many modes of functioning and multiple realities she deals with.
There’s – of course – the aspirational reality that any self identifying woman would have. The reality that she may not ever realize her ambitions because she has always put others ahead of herself. But plug away at the daily anyway; in the belief that applying her whole self to the task at hand was everyday heroism at its best.
There’s the grounding reality that she is Co-existing in a universe that makes her feel that she needs to please them in order to have a social safety net in case her parents die or her spouse deserts her.
There’s the constant nagging irritant that if only society afforded her a little more safety, and a little less misogyny- she could afford to be more assertive, and less pretty, in order to get by without a male to push her envelope.
It goes without saying that there’s the limitation of being too smart and too assertive to attract a male – which even if she did – she shouldn’t frighten away by being too strong or steadfast because that threatens men. If she was too submissive then men took the sex they wanted and left her without emotional support. If they shared emotional support , they expected sex. So the trick was to need neither sex nor emotional support so one never need be too much – or too little – for a man.
This is of course of relevance when the man she poured her heart and soul into tries to break her apart after a decade of marriage because she wasn’t willing to submit her pay check at his altar.
The conflicting realities of having to be an individual enough, to keep the highly competitive job and manage her own home and bring to order her own psyche… yet be vulnerable and dependent enough to not alienate every member of the family that she once needed so badly. So they don’t feel forgotten in the aftermath of the pass of the dark night. So that the sparkling and unforgiving sheen of a perfectly manicured personality doesn’t make her seem cold and unreachable to her own family. So that her child can see her crack under the strain of it all to develop empathy. So that her parents can see her choose them – again and again. So that she can still have community even if she had a broken family.
In the midst of this prismatic existence, she decides that staying healthy is a priority. So if she is smart enough – she would have stacked enough books to keep her thoughts even in the lonely evenings. Prepared enough playlists to run when the tired mind runs in circles when deadlines loom. Cut away the sugars and oils so she doesn’t destroy her body as she attempts to handle stress without needing a man or a mom to help. If she’s smart – she would have hidden away a little book to scribble her thoughts in when she has too little peace to paint. If she’s lucky – she would still have one friend who isn’t too shallow or too married or too threatened to hear from her. And if she’s determined – she might even workout at a gymnasium patronised by the bulk she found threatening.
At the end of this multiverse of realities; if she still can – she might have a moment to glimpse … the tiny glimmer of ‘her’ … hidden between the varied facets she presents in turn.. that is watching and absorbing all this from somewhere inside.. still gasping at white daisies.. bursting into song for no reason.. and smiling at the color orange.
