Mirror Mirror

Sometimes I hate things feminine. Hate them.

As a result, I hate myself.

I will not let misogyny win. I will not devalue what is feminine.

Sometimes I admire feminine traits, especially if they are in men. That biological incident somehow makes whatever formerly despised role or characteristic better. Like the Samoans who believe men are better at doing women’s tasks simply because they is male and laugh at the thought of women doing men’s tasks. Men who cry are very attractive. Women who cry… well, what do you expect?

I will love myself. I am good at finding patterns in numbers and in words. I can grasp abstract concepts in physics and in emotional conversations. Both are important. I will not let my fascination with biochemical processes push out my interest in the personal lives of the people around me. Ha, I just did it with my word choices: fascination is read as more potent than interest.

I will fight my inward misogynist not by proving I am as good as any man, but by loving myself. Damn, that is harder.

Sometimes when I’m feeling stupid and incapable I remind myself of that Math & Science award or that time my Organic Chem prof gave me a chocolate bar for getting his impossible question. Why don’t I remind myself of the drama award? Why do I have to rely on outward approval to remind myself that I can think?

I am trying to look in a mirror and say, “I love you. You are worthwhile.” I can’t.

My throat gets thick.  No words come out. I feel panicky.

I want to punch something. Run away. Scream. Why is this so flipping hard.

I still can’t say it.

I will keep trying.

Update: I said it!  I challenge you to do the same.

3 thoughts on “Mirror Mirror

  1. The Wise Fool says:

    Thank you for sharing such a deeply personal side of yourself. Your strength is inspirational. Virtual HUG.

  2. ... Zoe ~ says:

    During my puberty years I use to have a dream on a regular basis. In the dream, I was male on the bottom, female up top. Freud would have a hayday with that one. I once told a friend about that dream and she said, ”Oh honey, everyone has those kinds of dreams when they are teens!” I’ve never met anyone who has admitted that to me yet, so everyone must be keeping a secret. 😉

    Anyway, I’d wake up just so angry that I wasn’t a boy. I don’t recall any thoughts about sexuality attached to these dreams. It had more to do with gender. I was an athletic girl, even through puberty more of a slender male frame than a big buxumy round frame. Sports was my life. What I do remember though about my penis-envy, if you could call it that, was the desire to have the power that I saw men having in my world. The way to be taken seriously was by having a penis. I felt that my “girlness” was “less-than” and that ticked me off. I wanted to be seen, to be taken seriously, to belong . . . and the more I looked around and the older I grew the more who I was, as a woman didn’t measure up. (Keep in mind, not a small thing either- as I was born-again at age 13, we were all Eve’s. Another arrow at the heart of one’s femininity.)

    I can’t say that I hated my femininity as much as I desired it. If I couldn’t have the penis so that I didn’t have to worry about my anaemic femininity, then couldn’t I at least have a reasonable set of boobs so at first glance people would know that I’m a girl!

    • prairienymph says:

      Although I did not have that *exact* dream I can relate so much to what you say. (Although I must say having large breasts while breastfeeding has cured me of wanting a buxomy frame.) I desired a powerful femininity and the definition of feminine I was indoctrinated with meant powerful or even assertive was an oxymoron.

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