At first glance,
the biological basis and physiological perspective of being a woman includes
several criteria to go off of. Having female genitalia, two x chromosomes,
producing estrogen, containing the ability to bare children, etc. However, if
you base being a woman solely on these factors, this then poses many questions
related to transgender male to female sex changes. To women who decide they are
truly men. Is physicality the only factor? In my opinion, sex characteristics
may be how the world separates the two, since identifying genders has become
very confusing in today’s world. But being a woman entails much more than what
the body is up to!
What one must
remember is women are HUMANS. They have the same desires, needs, and wants as
anyone else. Hunger, thirst, sex, belonging, urination, and yes, even
defecation! Just because society portrays women as dainty, does not mean that
women are not the same as any other organism. In today’s society, women are
confronted with a long list of dirty laundry. Women are “supposed to” be
successful, yet somehow this mysterious wage gap still exists, with men earning
12.5 more cents in the work place. Women are supposed to become mothers who
focus solely on their children but when they want to stay at home with those
children, are then told to go back to work right away. Yet the minute they do,
people shake their head in disdain at the fact that they left the children in
the care of someone else so soon. Women are supposed to be thin as rails,
finding the time to spend hours at the gym and squelching the need for
sustenance, denying their innate appetite for food. And good food at that. Not
just celery and mustard. But yet they are to be strong enough to deal with all
life throws at them. They are supposed to be beautiful, but not vain,
virgin-like, yet please our lovers in bed with our endless sexual passion. We
are to stand up for ourselves and share our opinions effortlessly, yet clearly
women are to be seen…not heard. We must fight against all abuse, yet we are told
to be submissive creatures.
Confused
yet? I know I sure am! Why the double standard? What is the true woman supposed
to do? Who is she supposed to be? What encompasses this female
person?
The fact of
the matter is, the woman defines this. Each one is different. Not one is the
same. Yes, we may have some similar qualities: boobs, butts, and hips.
Menstruation. Hormones. But this is not entirely all what makes us who we are.
When I think of what ‘woman’ means…one word comes to mind for myself. Fighter,
Fighting stereotypes, fighting men, fighting each other, fighting media’s
portrayal of our bodies and roles in society, fighting tradition, and often, we
fight ourselves. We fight what we truly want deep down in ourselves. We allow
other people to taint our minds of what we are to be and then direct us to
behave, act, live a certain way which is counter-intuitive to who we are meant
to be. The classic ought to be syndrome. I out to be successful, thin,
beautiful, motherly, clean, orderly, contained. But says who? The truth is, you
can’t box us in, you can’t define us. It would be a terrible injustice to do so.
Because then we would not only be unable to explore ourselves, we would also be
cut off from reaching our full potentials. Because as writer Laurel Thatcher
Ulrich states, “Well-behaved women seldom make history. “We can do whatever we
want. The sky is the limit. We are the only thing stopping ourselves. Women are
creations, just like men. Each individual and unique. There may be a socially
constructed and generally acceptable mold out there that others try to fit women
into. But that mold is first, constricting. Second it is unattainable and
unrealistic. Lastly, it is deadly to the spiritual, mental, emotional, and
sometimes even physical realm of the female person. Rules are meant to be bent.
And molds are meant to be broken. And I for one, broke the mold of what a woman
“should” be. And I am better for it.
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Would I be considered a woman in other countries? Most likely, I think I would
pass! I fit all the ‘legal’ definitions of being female. However, would I WANT
to be a woman in some other countries? In various places, including Africa,
Thailand, and even our own U.S., oppression, sex trafficking and slavers, rape
and sexual abuse, female genital mutilation, complete covering of women’s’
bodies in clothing and other demeaning practices women are put through occur. As
I reflect upon what it means to me to be WOMAN, I reminisce back to when I was a
little squirt. The first time I truly realized that I was, in fact, a female was
thanks to my little brothers. I helped raise them like any big sister does,
which included punching them in the face, hitting them in the lip, and
occasionally kicking them in the nether regions, which produced quite an
exorbitant amount of pain for them! I didn’t really understand why they would
cripple over in pain when we were quite little, but as we got older, as most
little kids do, we would play the “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours”
game. And I definitely did not have whatever they had that could cause them this
great discomfort. It was no big deal though. Until I hit about ten and was at a
sleepover with friends at our mentor’s cabin and one of the girls got her period
for the first time. I basically thought the world was ending and she was going
to die from hemorrhaging out from between her legs! When I got home and started
hyperventilating from anxiety, my mother sat me down, handed me an American girl
body book and told me to read it. Boom. Sex talk. Right there. Then when I hit
the lucky age of 12 I got my period for the first time and begged my mother not
to tell my dad (which she did anyways) and she cried for joy and I cried in pain
and it was grand. Accept puberty. No. Puberty was NOT grand. I went from running
around being fine with whatever I ate and wore to suddenly having boobs and hips
and stuff jiggling in places I didn’t want it to. I shot up to my current height
of 5 feet 8 inches…at 10 or 11. It was rough. I thought being a woman was going
to be like becoming a miniature version of my mom. Make dinner, keep the house
clean while teaching us kids, love on my dad while still being able to work out
all the time and still look
presentable. Then after 25 years of marriage it all came to a halt. They got
divorced. And I found out how unhappy she had really been. The connection with
my father was gone. Her passion for life was squelched, her needs and desires
overlooked. And I realized my idea of what a woman is was a far cry from the
perfect little motherly princess society tells us we have to be. I love being a
woman. I have always known I was female. And not just because I didn’t have a
penis. But because I knew deep down I was happiest watching my grandma put on
her makeup in the morning. Smelling her perfume. Twirling around in a black
leotard in the living room of my childhood home. Hanging out with my girlfriends
and matchmaking. Having sleepovers, eating junk, and endlessly fantasizing about
our boy crushes. Dreaming in my heart about maybe…one day getting married and
becoming a mother. Because I knew in my heart from a young age that being a
woman was something special. Not because of anything in particular. Lord knows
there are definitely moments I wish I could pee standing up and could get ripped
like THAT. Sure, I went through a Tom boy stage…but it consisted of literally
wearing a shirt that said Tomboy on it, four wheeling in the mud, and giving my
dad the evilest stink eye I could when he would call me his girly girl. I have
never questioned who I am- a woman. That is who I am. Yes, it comes with boobs
and a butt, hips and thighs which I can’t erase. It comes with a menstrual
cycle, raging hormones, weird cravings, the need to shave, and all that jazz…but
it also comes with love. With the ability to comfort. To carry a child someday,
if that is what God’s intent is. For so long I tried to squelch my female-ness.
For years I have battled anorexia. I wanted a body that was curve-less.
Flawless. Didn’t jiggle. Didn’t touch. Skin and bone is what I shot for. And
that is what I got. I also go lanugo, amenorrhea. I was cold all the time. I
couldn’t do anything I wanted to do because my family was so concerned my heart
would stop at any strenuous exertion. It was hell. I was weak and frail. Because
I thought that is what women were supposed to me. Submissive. TINY. Iridescent.
I learned that is not who I am. I am strong. I am loud. I give my opinion and I
don’t care who disagrees. I am fierce and in the words of Katy Perry, “You’re
gonna hear me roar!” OK…maybe not. But being a woman to me means a whole lot
more than wearing dresses and bearing children. And I learned that it is ok to
be me…slowly but surely. I have expected perfection...what I got was human. For
a while I lost touch with who I was, but when found myself again I was astounded
to find that she wasn't all bad. Flaws and all...I am what I am~
