the thoughts of a proud feminist killjoy

I am a woman, a stereotype, a cliché. How must I act? What must I wear? The eternal struggle of being 'ladylike' seems as punishing as ever. 

As I made my way out of my mother's womb and entered this unbecoming world, I carried with me what some might refer to as a manual. I wasn't aware of this at the time, but it soon became apparent to me when I received my first instruction at the age of six. Good girls don't sit with their legs wide apart. I questioned it. I demanded a reasoning, an explanation from my mother and received none whatsoever. "Because you're a girl", "this is just the way it is". I blindly obeyed. Mother knows best. 

At the age of fifteen, I watched with utter disbelief as my school refused to offer me a place in the football team. I was the only girl from my class who had openly wanted to participate, and the boys said I couldn't play with them because I was a girl. I couldn't fathom what part my gender played in determining my value as an athlete. I didn't argue, however. That's not very ladylike, is it? 

When I was thirteen, I didn't shy away from leadership roles. I had thoughts and opinions and I wasn't afraid to share them with the world. My teachers failed to see the entrepreneurial qualities that came naturally to me, and instead labeled me as 'bossy'. They failed to recognize the bravery, the strength I acquired and reduced me to one negative connotation. The qualities that nudged my male counterparts towards praise and celebration, were the same qualities I was being shunned for. 

Throughout my eighteen years of existence, I've been taught nothing but how to chip off my rough edges and polish my surface. Shiny and new, that's how they wanted me. That's how they wanted us. Sit up straight, they said. Why? Because we're girls, of course. Speak softly, not too loud. You are a girl, after all. You are allowed an opinion, as long as they coincide with the rules set forth by society. You are allowed to choose what to wear, as long as you don't upset the feeble mindset of the people around you. The unanimous race towards womanhood; unavoidable and unpleasant. How much longer are we expected to put up with this tyranny? To what extent must we continue to lose sense of who we are to become who we must be? 

I have had enough of these labels, these barriers. I refuse to bruise and bleed in the process of fitting through the contour cut out for me, for us. I refuse to eviscerate pieces of me till I am hollow in order to resemble what you, society, require me to be. 

I am damaged, a little rough around the edges. I am difficult to stereotype. I find beauty in the authenticity of people. If you want to fit me into a box, I am sorry to disappoint you. I will speak my mind. I will stand for what I believe in. I will be loud, I will be bold, I will be beautiful. This is what makes me who I am. This is what differentiates me from your labels, your confinements. This is what makes me unique. I am a woman, not a category.