She
is a woman
Hear
me out
Listen
to these stories
About
everyday women
And
think a bit.
Be
proud
Because
although we face these issues
We
are strong
And
we’ve come a long way
And
we can.
-Thank
you-
Anna
She
is a woman. Once a month, she is reminded that she is a woman. She becomes
bloated. Her cramps are torture. When she cries at a movie, she is told that
her PMS is acting up and that she needs to get over it. PMS. PMS. PMS. She is
made to think that her period makes her weak. So she becomes emotional. She
becomes irritable. And she blames it on her pre-menstrual syndrome. Her
boyfriend tries not to say anything stupid. Her friends are wary. But all women
are emotional, so it’s ok. She’s just PMSing like every other girl on the
planet. God, isn’t that annoying. Aren’t girls annoying sometimes. Their
hormones are acting up again. Can’t they just get over it and be tough like
men? She thinks about it one day. Why is she sad? Why does she feel emotional?
Because that’s what she’s supposed to feel. Her period makes her weak. But this
doesn’t make sense. This means that all women are weak. But we aren’t, are we?
She smiles. She takes a Midol for her cramps and she goes to the gym to work
out. She watches a movie with her friends and cries, not because of PMS, but
because everyone cries at the dog dying. She refrains from certain activities
but otherwise lives her life like normal. She handles her week-long episode
with grace. Because she does it every month. Because we all do it every month.
We are tough, and what doesn’t kill us will always make us stronger. This
includes her period. It’s not a weakness. She is a woman.
She is a woman. Every day she wakes up at 6:00 AM to get
breakfast on the table for her kids. Before anything, she drinks a cup of
coffee before even beginning to think about the day ahead of her. She reaches
into the cupboard and grabs the old Washington D.C. mug that her daughter
brought her from some leadership conference. She pours the black coffee into
the mug and immediately begins to gulp it down. It’s 7:00 and the kids haven’t
woken up yet. She groans, going to each of their rooms and waking them up one
by one. They come down to eat breakfast, then rush off to school, barely
catching the bus. She cleans up the breakfast dishes. She goes to the grocery store,
with her long list of supplies and all of her coupons ready, because she’s here
to do business. As she waits in the same long line as she waits in every week,
she glances at the magazines. Looks like the university she attended has added
a new international studies department, sending students all over the world.
She probably could have done something like that. She buys her groceries. She
returns home to an empty house and begins to clean it. Mondays are bathroom
days. After eating lunch, she sits down with a good book and gets lost in it,
in her own world. She snaps back to reality when the phone rings. It’s the
blood bank, and they ask her to donate blood. She donates blood, and then
decides to stop by Pier One to see what they have in stock. The woman at the
counter has seen her before and begins a conversation, in which the question is
asked: “Where do you work?” She doesn’t like this question. “I work at home,”
she replies confidently. The girl now seems somewhat less interested, and gives
a little smile. She leaves the store. She goes home to prepare dinner,
exhausted, feet hurting, and wanting to sit down. Her kids come home, telling
stories of what happened in school. She hands a letter to her daughter, a
letter from a college she applied to. The daughter opens it nervously, looking
to her mom for guidance. And when she opens it, the look of glee and her warm
embrace remind her why she chose to stay home as a mother. Because now her
daughter might not have to. She smiles and celebrates with her kids. Sure, she
could have been a CEO of a company. But nothing compares to the relationship
she has with her children. And she chose her family. To her kids, she is a hero.
She is a woman.
She is a woman. On a Friday
night, she gets dressed with her sorority sisters to go out and hit the frats.
They put on their black miniskirts, high heels and their big earrings, looking
good and feeling ready to have a fun night of dancing. They go. They take
shots. They laugh and they dance. She catches the eye of a guy across the dance
floor. He looks her up and down, liking what he sees. He approaches her,
dancing with her back to him. She’s still having fun. He brings her a blue
drink. She hesitates, but decides to drink it. Her friends are with her. She is
safe. But things become different. The dancing becomes dirtier. She sees the
other girls, looking at her and raising their eyebrows. She starts to worry. Am
I being a slut? But things become dizzy. He begins to kiss her neck. And after
that…she doesn’t remember a thing. She wakes up the next morning, alone in a
bed in a room she doesn’t recognize. She is scared. She tries to find her
phone, with no luck. Her clothes are nowhere to be found. She finds a random
shirt and pair of shorts and runs out of the building as fast as she can. She
was at the same fraternity. As she walks back home across campus, afraid and
confused, a group of prospective students walks by, staring at her. The boys smile.
She thinks she might throw up. She goes home and immediately showers. Later
they tell her that showering was a mistake. She hurts. She aches. What happened
that night? As the day goes on, she realizes what happened. She feels disgusted
with herself. Why did I allow myself to drink that much? Why did I dress like
that? Why did I dance with him? I can’t believe I did that. She feels guilty
and depressed. She blames herself for what happened. She doesn’t talk to
anyone. She says nothing. She sees him on campus. He winks at her. She feels
like puking. She can’t talk. They will blame her. Finally she tells one of her
friends. Her friend is shocked and angry. How could he do that to her? Maybe it
wasn’t her fault. With some support, she tries to press charges. She tries. And
tries. And tries. But to no avail. There is no physical evidence. She was
intoxicated. Who knows what happened? She knows what happened. She is without
luck. But this does not stop her. That night was not her fault. She did not
consent. There are a million ways to say no but only one way to say yes. She
gets up the courage and she tells people what happened. And they listen. And
they stand by her. She no longer feels alone. She can fight this with her
fellow women. One night of a man’s selfishness cannot ruin her self-esteem or
her life. She holds her head up high. She’s strong. She is a woman.
She is a woman. She
goes to work in the morning. The parking spot which has been hers for the past
five years is taken up by a shiny black BMW. She groans. She walks in the
building. All the young men in their entry-level jobs look her up and down,
saying their usual sneers. She goes to her office. The project she has been
working on for the past few months is all ready on her desk. Today, she will
show it to her boss. She will get the promotion. She goes early to prepare for
the meeting. “You ready, Jackie?” says one of the board members, an older man
named Bill. Her name is not Jackie. She smiles, nodding. He laughs, making her
feel the need to laugh nervously too. She needs to impress these people. In
come the other members, talking amongst themselves. She stands alone at the
front of the room, waiting for them to stop talking. “Excuse me,” she says. No
one hears her, and the sound of their voices begins to ring in her head.
“Excuse me,” she says again, a little louder this time. Nothing. She begins to
sweat. Her heart is pounding. “EXCUSE ME!” That’s it. Every male face looks up
at her, surprised, as if they had no idea she was ever there. Her boss tells
her that a lady in an office should never shout like that. She pretends to
agree with him and apologizes, and begins her presentation. She has been
practicing for months. She is prepared to answer any question thrown at her. She
knows every part down to a tee. She projects well, she flows well, and she is
effective. The whole time, she looks at the back wall instead of at the men
sitting around the conference room. When she is finished, she smiles and lets
out a big sigh of relief. She is going to get the promotion. Then she looks at
the board members. Some are looking out the window. Some are doodling in their
notebooks. Some have their eyes closed. The smile fades from her face. “Does
anyone have any questions?” Not one of them looks her in the eye. “No, Jackie,
that’ll be fine,” says her boss. She sits down at her seat, confused. The next
turn goes to the new young man from New York, who gives a five minute speech
about the same topic, telling jokes to impress the bosses. At the end of his
talk, the board members cheer and laugh. She sinks in her seat. She is not
getting the promotion. Later she gathers the courage to confront her boss.
Before she can say a word, he asks her to get him a cup of coffee, cream and
two sugars. Frustrated, she does so. She then asks why she did not get the
promotion. He tells her that he prefers her to be where she is at right now in
her workplace. “But Jackie…maybe if you would have tried a little harder to,
you know, please the guys, smiled at them a little more, put on a little more
makeup, maybe that promotion would have been yours.” At this moment, she quits
her job. If her employer can’t see her worth, then he is not worth it. As a
woman she has to work twice as hard to prove herself. And it’s not fair. But
she doesn’t need this job. She takes her skills and expertise elsewhere, and
makes herself truly useful in the world. Because she works hard. Because she is
worth it. Because she matters just as much as any man in her workplace. She is
a woman.
She is a woman. She goes to the beauty salon. All she wants
is to get her nails done. She walks in and sits down at one of the booths. “I’m
sorry…” says one of the women. “You can’t sit there.” She doesn’t understand.
Why can’t she sit there? She looks around the salon. And everyone is staring at
her. But she can’t understand why. She asks where there is room for her.
Another woman tells her that maybe she better go shopping for bigger clothes
before trying to fix her nails. Her heart sinks. She looks at all the women.
She knows immediately what they are thinking. She is pregnant. It was an
accident. And he left her, only after giving her a black eye. Alone. How is she
supposed to buy new clothes if she can’t even pay her rent? Here they are,
these women from the outskirts of the city, dressed in brand name clothing and
wearing pearl earrings. Legs covered, of course. Judging her. She looks down at
her own body. Her shirt is too small, she knows. Her growing belly makes her
belly button piercing show. Her high heels come from Good Will. She is wearing
shorts that don’t cover her bruised legs. She looks back at the other women,
who now avoid her eye contact. All she wants is to get her nails done. She
walks through the wave of Chanel perfume and Coach bags and sits down in an
empty seat. One of the workers is nice enough to attend to her. But she can still
feel the wrath of the ladies, feel their eyes staring at her. Feel their
eyebrows raise. Feel their whispers in each other’s ears. Someone utters the
word “trash.” She almost begins to cry. She doesn’t belong here. She shouldn’t
have come. But the woman working on her nails tells her not to worry and gives
her a smile. This smile is enough to encourage her to stay. To keep going. To
go to other salons. To wear whatever she wants. To show off her pregnant belly.
To wear as much makeup as her heart desires. Because she has the right to wear
whatever she wants. Because she can. Because she won’t be affected by the
criticisms of her fellow women. Because she loves herself. Because they’re not
the ones who have to deal with a big pregnant belly. Because she’s a fighter.
She is a woman.
We should be treated equally
So let’s support one another
So that these stories like this don’t happen
anymore J
Thank you for reading
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