There Are Times Where I Wish I Was Not A Woman: Vent About The Effects of Gender Norms.

There are times where I wish, for a moment, that I had not been born a woman. Not because I believe that men hold a special power to them -that makes them invincible to the pains of this world- not because I believe I would never have to work another day in my life, but because I would truly be able to exist without pushing the boundaries of gender by just existing.

     I yearn for a day where I don’t have to plead with somebody to understand why I could not want children. What, a woman with no paternal instincts? Why not have a child anyways, see if they develop? Why not wait until I find the right man, and see if he changes my mind? 

     It’s harder for them to understand that I don’t crave love. Sure, I crave the closeness of a friend, and I’ve achieved those bonds with people I would give my life for- but I don’t daydream of my wedding, I don’t lay awake wishing I had somebody in my arms. I don’t believe in soulmates, I believe my soul is complete, one piece, and eventually I’ll find somebody who goes well with me, but they will not complete me. I’m whole on my own, and I’ve always known this.

     I wish that my name was more unisex sometimes. Would I sell more of my horror novels, if they were tricked into believing I’m a man? Would they trust my abilities more if they didn’t think of shirtless irish men and the usual novels we’re told women specialize in?

     I wonder if my leadership would be praised, instead of deemed disruptive? Would I be spoken over less, trusted more, would people hang over my words instead of questioning every suggestion? 

     Yet, a part of me enjoys the benefits, the things I am ashamed to admit. I carefully apply my makeup, I shave my legs, I pamper and polish my hair because being a woman also means I am powerful for all the wrong reasons. I’m tall, fit, white, blue eyed, and I’m privileged because of it. I suffer less than other women who only see the weaknesses rather than the benefits of being a woman. Yet, sometimes I wonder whether I’m being taken seriously, or if I’m being respected because I fulfill standards of shallow beauty. 

     I don’t want to be an object of admiration, a token ‘one of the guys’, a cute girl that won’t shut up but is nice to look at, a centerpiece for the office. I don’t want my differentiation from the stereotypes of femininity to make me ‘special, a radical feminist, a woman who doesn’t know her place.’ I want to exist without breaking the glass ceiling, without being deemed ‘different from the other girls.’ 

     I guess what I’m saying is that I don’t regret being a woman, I regret that choosing to be as I am, liking what I like, dressing as I want, enters me into a fight against gender norms that I never wanted to enter in the first place. The same goes for men, as they have their own battles, but I am speaking as a woman because I wouldn’t know the battles a man holds, the same as he would not know what it is like to be me. 

     Someday I hope that gender doesn’t place us into preconceived boxes, that appearance isn’t what makes and breaks relationships, that pretty people don’t get treated better or worse. But until then, I have my space to write my feelings and share them with those who think the same or are willing to grace me with their listening ear (reading eye in this case.) 

     Sorry that today’s post didn’t have to do with writing, but I want to feel like I’m not pretending to be more put together and professional than I am. I want to connect with my readers and become a real person in their eyes, instead of another person online that they’ll forget in a minute. I don’t want to be an influencer, but I want to be more than a face behind a screen who’s afraid to share her thoughts in case she loses her audience. 

That said, thanks for reading, and I’ll catch you on the flipside. Do you relate with my post, male or female? Feel free to share your experiences in the comments below, and have a good rest of your day.