THE CONFUSING WOMAN; one woman’s struggle to breathe...
Once upon a time, in a land not too far away, lived a very confusing woman. This woman in many ways existed fearless, because what dominated her more than any of the many valid fears she had, was the utter terror and fear of fear itself; the fear of giving into fear and allowing that to dictate her path. This woman lived her life in refusal of letting the bad guys win. Because, in this game, this game of life and freedom of choice, she refused to lose...
Unlike any of the other princesses you might have read about in other fairy tales, this woman was not awaiting rescue. She was not your classic damsel in distress, weakened by the patriarchal imperative for her to be lesser, be submissive. Be demure. Be there purely for the purpose of the male gaze. She was not a beautiful delicate flower, wishing to be observed and admired for her aesthetic beauty.
She was emboldened by the pressures she felt upon her, from all around her, to lie still and submit to fear. To submit to her victimhood, cos in this land, to varying degrees, all women were victims of their own womanhood.
This woman, not the most classically beautiful of women, attracted the attentions of many many men, all throughout her life. In this land, this was seen to be a sign of success for a woman.
To be viewed as attractive and desired. But our anti princess had felt the sting of what it was to be fetishised, exoticised and fantasised about her whole life and did not find it particularly flattering.
She did not find the rape of her physical body a compliment. She did not find the attempts at the rape of her mind particularly a sign of her success as a woman either. But rather than hide. Curtail herself for fear of being a target, for the attentions of the type of men that wished to do her harm, she decided, to just be and express herself, in line with how she felt deep down.
She was a woman you see, NOT a girl. And part of her womanhood was a sense of autonomous and deep searing connectedness and sexuality. Many women felt that these were not appropriate or safe items to be displayed
on the sleeves of their souls, for fear of predators and general abusive and disrespectful men. The types of men that she too had been on the receiving end of at various points in her life...
Unfortunately, many men could not distinguish between a woman wearing her inner sexuality on her sleeve (as a sign of power and autonomy) and a woman laying herself out open and bare for the sake of receiving that precious male gaze...and it was a battle she constantly fought, both internally and externally;
Should i wear my new beautiful skirt out in public? I know i look very sexy, in that standardised, patriarchal fuckability way in it, what message am i giving out by doing so? Will i be asking for it if i then get catcalled, inappropriately flirted with, touched without my consent, treated like a sex object or raped?
These are the internal dialogues our princess has when getting ready to go out and face the world. A world which constantly bombards her with messages, telling her that a woman’s sexuality should be seen and not heard, that it should be performed for an audience (not as a form of self expression) and that this ‘audience’ not only dictates how she performs it but also can take her off stage at any point,
simply to put her in her place - remind her that she is there for the purposes of their enjoyment.
Fortunately, this princess learned a long time ago, that these were not messages that she had any time for. And that no matter how many times members of that social audience attempted to knock her off her self made stage, she would get back up and own it again... she always opted to wear that skirt.
To put on those heels if she felt like it, to not shave her legs when and if the mood took her, to wear clothes seen as inappropriate to her size, shape, age, to dance wild and free and unashamed when the mood struck her and to laugh loud, lionly and free in the face of the fear all of her life’s abuses had attempted to inspire in her...
The moral to this story, is simple. Whoever you are, whoever your oppressor may be, DO NOT LET THE FUCKERS WIN. Do not give in to fear. In anyway you are able to, own your right to your mind and instincts and expressions and use that power to crush those who stand in the way of equality and freedom.
The end
