Lately, I’ve put a lot of thought into my love and appreciation for the other women around me. I’ve come to a conclusion. There is something beautiful and magical about having another woman to talk to.
I am not one to espouse women’s solidarity against the metaphorical man; in university I even refused to join the clubs and organizations that were specifically for women. My stomach would churn when I heard a woman I previously respected in engineering or in the sciences talk about how it was ok to feel intimidated by the men around you, it was ok to feel awkward, it was ok to be stared at and it was ok because we women would get through it together. The need for this kind of comraderie was absent from my experience. Since elementary school, my best friends had always been boys. I’d long since become one of the guys and did not feel intimidated or awkward when the boys excluded me or poked fun, I did what any good boy would do and dished it right back out.
For years, I saught to make the personality that would make me fit in with the boys around me and for quite some time it worked. Until I realized that I was incapable of communicating to my friends, collegues, romantic partners and everyone that the one true thing I really needed was to be a woman. To those around me I was not a woman, I was this other word we use to describe women who are not womanly; I was a bitch.
Let’s talk about this word bitch. Continue reading