Every Woman
Happy Women’s History Month!
There’s a lot to celebrate in March: my inner circle’s successes, the greater world’s progress, and the mere existence of dresses with pockets.
Despite our wins, there is still fear embedded in dark sidewalks and side streets. I am never confident I will make it home from the TTC, and, even when I do, there’s a nagging concern that my friends are being attacked somewhere out of sight.
Then, of course, there are The Questions - when will you have kids, get married, change your name…- and The Pressures - be skinny, not that skinny, love your body no matter what, avoid wrinkles, grey hairs, and any odour that doesn’t belong in a candle.. - but life, as a whole, is better for us than our predecessors.
The modern woman has lived through the witch pop-star hunts and trials of the 2000s, the #MeToo movement, and the emergence, fall, and re-birth of low-rise jeans. We have persevered and become freer, kinder, and more empathetic to our sisters.
And yet, freedom comes with its own never-ending analysis of choice:
Am I doing it right?
Am I enjoying my body too much? Not enough?
Is it hypocritical to cheer on plus-size activists while still hating my body?
Am I taking advantage of every opportunity in my career? Is my gender still a factor?
Can I be outwardly sexy and still respected? (I don’t mean theoretically. In practice, right now, on my timeline as a regular, everyday person - can I post a thirst trap without consequence?)
Am I calling out the right wrongdoers? Am I enough of a feminist if I let stuff slide?
When I am victimized, how do I heal and still fight for justice? Why does being a “survivor” make me feel the weakest I have ever felt? Why is it still embarrassing to share, even when I cherish other people’s stories?
Where do the fit-fluencers, new age bimbos, and #girlbosses put these emotions? Do they have them? Will a skinny tea heal me?
Am I navigating all of it in the right timeline to be a mom?
Each day, I’m asking myself: Can I be every woman?
Trying to be everything, everywhere, all at once.
I do not notice the men in my life with the same apprehensive demeanours.
I rang in March on a typical work call. A pushy salesman commandeered the meeting, telling me I was making a huge mistake for not spending money on an app he hasn’t yet launched.
“I know a guy,” he told me, “who’s very close with Katy Perry. He thinks she’ll love the idea, so that’s another billion fans on the platform.”
It was a bold statement and an extreme extrapolation. I would’ve laughed if I wasn’t so surprised at the gumption.
Over 100 people read my articles each week, which is 100x more than this man’s current user base. I have, quite possibly, an equal degree of separation from Katy Perry if I looked hard enough.
Yet, I think this blog has no mass appeal. Which one of us is making the worse assumption?
“Get back to me when you have the concrete numbers,” I said, and he scoffed.
“You’re making a mistake,” he reiterated.
I didn’t bother to share that the mistake was taking his call in the first place. I kept it cordial and got off the call with a sense that his tantrum-style approach has probably worked before - likely on the so-called friend of Katy Perry.
I would never be so bold. My deals are made with a soft touch, and a healthy dose of fear. I need my clients to like me.
The cavalier way this man was willing to interrupt and agitate the conversation foreign. He has clearly never considered if his diet was disrespectful toward the body-positivity movement. He has never contemplated the ethics of siding with Jennifer Anniston or Angelina Jolie. One wrong choice will not dissolve his understanding of self.
He doesn’t live in the world as though he is a burden.
My nature state
Recently I came across this quote by Courtney Martin
We are the girls with anxiety disorders, filled appointment books, five-year plans. We take ourselves very, very seriously. We are the peacemakers, the do-gooders, the givers, the savers. We are on time, overly prepared, well read, and witty, intellectually curious, always moving… We pride ourselves on getting as little sleep as possible and thrive on self-deprivation. We drink coffee, a lot of it. We are on birth control, Prozac, and multivitamins… We are relentless, judgmental with ourselves, and forgiving to others. We never want to be as passive-aggressive as our mothers, never want to marry men as uninspired as our fathers…
We are the daughters of the feminists who said, “You can be anything,” and we heard, “You have to be everything.”
Say it louder for the people in the back!
En masse, we’ve adopted the need to prove ourselves.
I justify every bit of time I spend and every choice I make. I shout from the rooftops that I am a valid woman. I am worthy of love, success, and respect because of all the hard work I am doing. I am yelling at myself that I can be the one to have it all.
Somehow, it’s not convincing. If I’m the judge of my own worthiness, I don’t think I’ll ever measure up.
Instead, I’m stressed and grappling with how to maintain the various contradicting hobbies in my schedule. It’s as though they counteract each other, and rather than pride in my ability to do so many different things, I feel like I’m not measuring up to any.
In trying to be every woman, I am losing my conviction.
A phrase Mark and I have started saying is this: You can have anything you want, but you can’t have everything you want.
So, this Women’s History Month, I am declaring that I’m not every woman. It isn’t all in me.
Some things should be left to Whitney because the rest of us need to breathe.
