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.