I was born to be a heart breaker

When I was five, romance didn’t exist for boys, it did exist for me. “She’s going to break hearts one day,” people said, speaking about me over my head. I smiled, because that is something little girls are supposed to be pleased to hear.

At eight, I stopped wearing dresses because I couldn’t turn cartwheels in them. “A tomboy,” somebody said about me, over my head, as if I couldn’t hear them. I told them “But I don’t want to be a boy,” and they laughed. “We know, sweetness.” I said, “I’m not sweet. I’m serious,” and they laughed again. “You’re cute,” they said. I smiled at that, because that’s something little girls are supposed to be pleased to hear.

At nine, I had too many friends that were boys. “I don’t like it,” my parents would say, standing in the kitchen. But I didn’t understand it. “Your body is going to start changing soon, and I don’t want those boys looking at you. I don’t like it,” they’d repeat. We moved away that summer. I lost everybody.

At thirteen, my best guy friend wrestled me to the ground and covered me in kisses no matter how much I asked him to stop it. “It’s supposed to be like this,” he kept repeating, “stop struggling.” He told me I was pretty and lovely and that boys and girls can’t be friends. He told me to stop being mad at him, that girls are supposed to be pleased about these things.

The same winter, I was catcalled for the first time in my life. I jumped when the car pulled up by my side. They said “baby” over my head as if I wasn’t who they were discussing. I didn’t smile about it. I had to sit down to stop myself from vomiting and crying.

When I was fifteen, most of my friends were boys. My best friend told me he was in love with me. He told me I was breaking his heart. He said if I didn’t love him back, he’d have nothing to live for anymore. The story with the rest of them is all the same. Either they left me or they thought they fell in love with the idea of somebody I wasn’t.

At nineteen, I had only girl friends. They were gentle, and different, and walked me through things. They held my hand when classes got too loud for me, and it meant friendship. They kissed me on the cheeks when I was crying, and it meant friendship. They slept next to me and it was friendship in the way I wasn’t used to. I was used to “stop being a tease,” to “why are you doing this to me.” This was just friendship, and it was excellent.

At twenty, I had friends who were boys again, because boys are supposed to be old enough to see me as a person. One day while we were drunk, I asked one of them why they wouldn’t just say my name. He laughed. He said, “God, you’re going to hate me when I explain.” He said that they’d all formed an agreement behind my back that none of them would fuck me. If I was going to be one of the bros, I couldn’t be a girl to them. I could only be seen as a boy if I wanted to be their friend. All of this said while staring at a point over my head. He tried to kiss me at the end. When I pushed him away, he said, “Sorry,” took a breath, “but if I start seeing you as a girl, I’m gonna try to kiss you again.”

I said, “I don’t want to be a boy, though,” and he laughed again.

He said, “I know, sweetie.”

The summers when I was sad - and I was sad categorically - I tried reaching out. When I turned to the boys, all I heard was, “don’t cut, you’re beautiful,” “don’t kill yourself, you’re so pretty,” “think of the scars, sweetie,” “when you cut yourself, I’m the one who starts bleeding.” I didn’t smile, although I think girls are supposed to be pleased to hear these things. I didn’t know how to say: "I don’t feel beautiful, and even if i did, what I’m doing to myself has nothing to do with you, or what I look like, or how fuckable I am to you." Instead I told them I was fine, and fixed, and nothing bad was happening.

And so at twenty-five, I am sick of boys who are “nice” or are “not like other boys” or are offended when I don’t immediately trust their intentions. I have been hurt over and over again. I have been judged based not on who I am, but whether or not they can get me to sleep with them. I only talk to small handful of my guy friends and the rest I lost because of whether or not I chose to fuck them.

At the same time, I kept most of my girl friends. Even though I have dated a few of them it never impacted our relationships. Even girls who are gay know that being friends doesn’t mean I owe them. Even if we did date, I can still feel comfortable getting drinks with the girls I love. They still hold my eyes when I talk to them.

I've been called a dyke, a lesbian, a man-hater. I think of the men who hurt me, who have spoken over my head, who have given me their full opinion even though I never asked for it. I was hated by basically everyone. I was sad and lonely so often thought I’d never feel happy again. I have been called a slut by boys that don't understand that who I choose to sleep with is just that: my choice.

I’m not sorry. I love so many people, and many boys are wonderful and charming and excellent. I’m not sorry I flinch away from a friendship. I’m not sorry that I will be cold or unaffectionate or scared of getting too close. I'm not sorry if you imagine I'm something I'm not. I'm not sorry if you ask for something that I won't give you.

It’s just that, since I was five, I was told I was born to break hearts.

I hate children

Let me clarify: I hate the culture of children.

It’s not really children, per se. Granted, I’m not fond of them being around, I don’t want one in my house or very often in my immediate presence. I especially don’t like it if I have to watch one that can’t even talk coherently let alone understand what I’m saying. But all this is because I have no patience and no strong maternal instincts to speak of.

If I’m out in public somewhere and a child looks at me, I will smile at it. If I see a video or gif of a child doing something adorable, I might share it. I don’t actively go out of my way to upset children or even discuss them with most people.

But I hate, with all my being, the culture that surrounds the concept of children.

There’s an overwhelming societal expectation of a person that they must not only have children (usually multiple), but that they must desperately want children, often to the exclusion of all else. It’s tied very much into the notion that everyone is supposed to get married and promptly produce offspring and put themselves neatly into heteronormative traditional gender roles so as to be a good adult and a “productive member of society.” Indeed, the mere presence of breasts and a presumed uterus is indicative that a person’s worth is whether or not they reproduce.

And it’s this idea that infests every conversation about health or future or family. It’s this concept that makes those of us who do not want children (especially biologically) have to constantly brace ourselves for potential arguments when we talk about any of these things.

It’s the reason I had to switch doctors when my first one kept insisting that “the ideal” was for me to “remain a virgin until marriage and then marry a virgin before having children.” It’s the reason people with vaginas require checkups for “reproductive health” to make sure everything is “functioning correctly for reproduction” instead of just to make sure things don’t hurt/aren’t infected/need attention. It’s the reason we see language used like “baby-making” for sex with no stated reproductive intent. Why the term “biological clock” is still exclusively used in regards to reproduction. And why there is an over-emphasis on pregnancy and reproduction language in sex (“baby goo,” “baby batter,” “gonna make a baby in you,” etc.). It’s why there’s still so much debate over who gets a say in pregnancy, why pregnancy is still terrifyingly often referred to as a punishment or as a means to control those with a uterus. It’s the reason why family, friends, and even strangers feel completely within their rights to ask you about your reproductive plans, to make you justify all of your life choices to them at a moment’s notice, to question your thoughts and beliefs as if they know you better than you do yourself.

It’s the reason why the questions are so intensive when someone asks for lasting birth control. It’s the reasons why we are told over and over the rate of regret, the success stories of people who changed their minds, the horror stories of those who didn’t. It’s the reason why, when you state that you have a “phobia of pregnancy” in the hope that it will make people stop asking you without making you explain yourself or justify your feelings for the umpteenth time, the only advice you get is, “Well, that needs to be fixed before anything else.” It’s the reason why “because I don’t want children” isn’t enough. It’s the reason why adoption is never seen as an option because “you’ll want some of your own someday.” It’s the reason why people put such value on “extending the family line” and "continuing the family name.”

It’s the reason I have to say I hate children for people to  simply stop questioning me. It’s the reason I have to monitor my conversations with certain people because they’ll say, “Ah, see, you do like kids!!” It’s the reason parts of my dysphoria kick in hard when I see the sort of things mentioned above. Because, unless something happens to remove or damage a uterus, it is not only expected, but demanded of you to know why you’re refusing “the most precious gift on Earth,” “your womanly duty,” “the greatest love you’ll ever know,” and so forth.

It’s the reason why “I hate children” is rolled off my tongue more and more until finally people just stop talking.

But I don’t hate children.

I hate the culture of children.

I hate the misogyny that surrounds pregnancy.

Most of all, I hate the people who perpetuate this culture, who deny someone else the right to say they don’t want to be part of it, who threaten to make them part of it.

But, you know, it’s so much easier to just say I hate children.

I refuse to juggle anymore

When I picture my future, I am definitely barefoot but I’m not pregnant or in the kitchen. I’m on a beach in Rio, thanks to all the money I’ve made. And I spend only on myself, because I don’t have any children.

I legitimately thought I’d never encountered sexism until my favorite manager told me my ability to lead, organize, and inspire would make me a great mom one day. Which almost sounds like a compliment until you realize he would have never told John in the cubicle next to me that his persuasive manner would be just perfect for organizing an army of greasy toddlers into a minivan.

I’m sure that manager didn’t mean I can’t have a career too — I can have it all! But I can’t. I can have pieces of everything like samples from a buffet table but I cannot have it — completely, totally, unequivocally — all. I guess what I’m saying is, nobody would ever suggest to John in the cubicle next to me that if he wants a career it means that he’ll have to juggle.

Save it, I know. I’m too young to make all these decisions about marriage and children. But the way I see it, at least my decision is reversible. Nothing against women my age who are raring to go in the procreation game — all I’m saying is that keeping something alive besides myself is a terrifying prospect.

Side note: they are women. Not ‘girls’. Every time someone refers to the 21 year old guy I’m with as a young man, and me as a girl, it makes me want to cry like a… well, to use the trite term, girl.

But what does that even mean? Cry like a girl, throw like a girl, throw a filter on your selfie like a girl. Accept unsolicited comments on your appearance like a girl, be simultaneously alluring, but not a slut, and modest, but not a prude like a girl, be daintily dipping your toe in like a girl even when your body is screaming for you to run and jump and scream and break shit and be in a bad mood without being told by perfect strangers to smile like a girl.

Why do I have to juggle? I’m not a clown, and I’m not a housewife, and I won’t throw my career in the air to catch my Swiffer.

I’m pressured into looking flawless at all times, which includes a gym routine. But then if I wear makeup at the gym, I’m an object of ridicule by other women and men alike.

I’m expected to be flattered when strangers catcall or make unprompted comments on my appearance. But then if I do actually follow up with a guy hitting on me, I’m easy. You’re a bitch if you keep walking, staring straight ahead, and you’re also a bitch if you say something rude back. But you’re a whore if you respond favorably.

Speaking up in the office? Sit down, bossypants. Let the man with leadership abilities say it. Not speaking up in the office? You make the best coffee, sweetie, and your ass looks great in that pencil skirt.

Having a vast knowledge of a team, their stats, and the history going back before they won the Cup? You're obviously trying too hard, maybe just chill and enjoy the game. Smiling and cheering politely at the game? You're only there because you're boyfriend is a hockey fan but damn do you look cute in that jersey (but maybe you should get the women's pink jersey next time).

So guys like a girl who can slam down a burger and milkshake but also has the body of a vegan marathon runner; who knows every player’s stats on each team but not in a way that makes the guy feel like you know more than them; that isn’t expecting them to pay for everything but doesn’t make her career, the only way she can pay for things, the focal point of her life.

I’m a really crappy juggler, so I’m throwing all the pins in the air and going to Rio. 

Feminists hate patriarchy. We do not hate you.

So you hate feminists. They're trying to ruin society and make your life impossible. Do you really understand what a feminist is? Do you realize how dismantling the patriarchy is for the benefit of everyone? Well, let me try to explain it to you...

Feminists do not want you to lose custody of your children. The assumption that women are naturally better caregivers is part of patriarchy.

Feminists do not like commercials in which bumbling dads mess up the laundry and competent wives have to bustle in and fix it. The assumption that women are naturally better housekeepers is part of patriarchy.

Feminists do not want you to have to make alimony payments. Alimony is set up to combat the fact that women have been historically expected to prioritize domestic duties over professional goals, thus minimizing their earning potential if their “traditional” marriages end. The assumption that wives should make babies instead of money is part of patriarchy.

Feminists do not want anyone to get raped in prison. Permissiveness and jokes about prison rape are part of rape culture, which is part of patriarchy.

Feminists do not want anyone to be falsely accused of rape. False rape accusations discredit rape victims, which reinforces rape culture, which is part of patriarchy.

Feminists do not want you to be lonely and we do not hate “nice guys.” This idea that women are after a "tough guy" is patriarchy. The idea that certain people are inherently more valuable than other people because of superficial physical attributes is part of patriarchy.

Feminists do not want you to have to pay for dinner. We want the opportunity to achieve financial success on par with men in any field we choose (and are qualified for), and the fact that we currently don’t is part of patriarchy. The idea that men should coddle and provide for women, and purchase their affections in romantic contexts, is condescending and damaging. And also part of patriarchy.

Feminists do not want you to be maimed or killed in industrial accidents, or toil in coal mines while we do cushy secretarial work and various yarn-themed activities. The fact that women have long been shut out of dangerous industrial jobs (by men, by the way) is part of patriarchy.

Feminists do not want you to commit suicide. Any pressures and expectations that lower the quality of life of any gender are part of patriarchy. The fact that depression is characterized as an effeminate weakness, making men less likely to seek treatment, is part of patriarchy.

Feminists do not want you to be viewed with suspicion when you take your child to the park (men frequently insist that this is a serious issue, so I will take them at their word). The assumption that men are insatiable sexual animals, combined with the idea that it’s unnatural for men to care for children, is part of patriarchy.

Feminists do not want you to be drafted and then die in a war while we stay home and iron. The idea that women are too weak to fight or too delicate to function in a military setting is part of patriarchy.

Feminists do not want women to escape prosecution on legitimate domestic violence charges, nor do we want men to be ridiculed for being raped or abused. The idea that women are naturally gentle and compliant and that victimhood is inherently feminine is part of patriarchy.

Feminists hate patriarchy. We do not hate you.

If you really care about those issues as passionately as you say you do, you should be thanking feminists. Feminism is a social movement actively dedicated to dismantling every single one of them. The fact that you blame feminists—your allies—for problems against which they have been struggling for decades suggests that supporting men isn’t nearly as important to you as resenting women.

We care about your problems a lot. Could you try caring about ours?

My body is not my own

Whenever a photo of a young, teenage me resurfaces, I can’t help but be floored by how… thin I was. That’s what strikes me first. And I believe it’s probably because at that time, I always thought I was 5-10 lbs away from being at an even remotely acceptable weight. I still wonder who made me believe that “fat” is a label that makes you less of a person, that it’s the one adjective you do not want to be. The answer is nobody really, but everybody at the same time.

I realized that whether or not I was “fat” was a predominant concern of mine, because I had nothing else to justify to myself that I was worth anything more. So I looked to other people and their overwhelmingly enthusiastic comments on my appearance and accepted that as validity of my whole being.

Though this was years ago, I still see women who forcefully, sometimes violently and often bitterly carve themselves back into the perfect teenage bodies they did or didn’t have when their womanly shapes are burgeoning through. And while the better part of me wonders why, my good sense understands exactly. And sometimes I still am that woman, or rather, sometimes I still am that 13-year-old girl, and what that girl did in those days was assign ownership of her body to the people who would judge it. The same thing I still see grown women doing now.

I let the compliments and feelings of love and appreciation for my physical appearance compile and create for me a resting ground on which I knew I could always rely. But that wasn’t enough, because it was built from other people. People who could (and would) retract their doting comments of approval just as quickly as they dished them out. This is the core of instability, my friends. It was that part of myself in which I took pride and ownership, but it was not mine at all. I didn’t love myself for who I was, I loved myself for who I was because other people would love it.

I realized that I was in a place where I would spend forever asking the people I was dating “will you love me if I’m 300 lbs?” and I would spend forever at the whim of the dress that didn’t fit and the legislation that didn’t seem fair and the comments that made me feel whole because they made me believe that on the outside, I was worthy of that feeling. I would spend forever believing that my body would never be mine, rather, something to be adjusted for the sake of other people’s opinions. Opinions, I realized, that were rooted in their own sense of self-deprecation. Not because they were that invested in me.

It was only years and flurries of pant size fluctuation, months of self-loathing and days upon days of searching for the cure to my incessant need to be beautiful in other people’s eyes that a very important truth dawned on me. The problem wasn’t what other people would say or do or believe, it was what I interpreted from those words and actions and thoughts. The problem was me all along.

And so now here I am. An adult woman, defiantly redefining herself each day, moving farther and farther away from unhealthy mindsets and toxic opinions, but who still can’t help but wonder how many girls still believe that their bodies won’t ever be theirs. And it’s one of those things in which no words that I can offer can really heal, because it’s the journey that will save you from it.

So wherever you are on that long, twisty road, reader who made it this far down because something in this struck a chord with you, I hope you realize what I realized far too late in the game. That acceptance is usually not something that arrives in bits and pieces. It sweeps through you when it’s present, it creates avenues where there were road blocks and understanding where there was frustration. Find it in you, dig it out from under the shit pile the world threw on it and let it infiltrate everything. That’s where we dawn on a life that doesn’t require other people to approve of it, and where we’ll all meet eventually, the day we realize that it’s in judging other people that we intoxicate ourselves.

What does it mean to be a woman?

Being a woman is difficult. Guys like to joke about the fact that it would be nice to have boobs in order to get stuff, but I don't think they really get it.

Being a woman means getting paid less than a man for doing the same job. Or doing the same job better. Being a woman means accepting the fact that you will get passed over for jobs because of your gender. It means accepting the fact that some women in the office will not like you because you are "competition" (regardless of whether or not you're actually in a relationship). Being a woman means people will expect you to wear certain clothes. Being a woman means people deciding whether or not your clothing is too tight or revealing. Because obviously men have no control over their urges. 

Being a woman means listening to people catcall as you walk from your car to a restaurant. Being a woman means you have to accept these "compliments" or you're a frigid bitch. Being a woman means you have to sleep with a man after he buys you dinner a certain number of times or you're "leading him on". Being a woman means it was your fault for getting raped. Being a woman means you are responsible for a man's happiness because he has done a number of nice gestures. Being a woman means your goal in life is not a career but children otherwise you're selfish. 

Being a woman means you ave to look like the models you see in commercials (even though the models don't look like that). Being a woman means you have to spend hundreds of dollars on makeup and cream and sprays in order to look acceptable. Being a woman means being held to unattainable beauty standards.Being a woman means you are only allowed to sleep with a certain number of men or you're a slut or a prude. Being a woman means you want marriage (to a man) and children. Being a woman means you need to have curves, but not too many. Being a woman mean being afraid of being too skinny. Being a woman means fearing natural things like aging because then we aren't valued. Being a woman means you need to rid yourself of body hair. Except your eyelashes and the hair on your head.

Being a woman means fearing large numbers, whether it is your age, weight or dress size. Being a woman means being afraid to call yourself a feminist. Being a woman means faking it even if he isn't doing it for you. Being a woman means not being able to tell him he isn't doing it because you can't hurt his ego. Being a woman means accepting if you're in a toxic relationship, you have to act just so or its your fault for staying. Being a woman means acting dumb.

Being a woman means using your body in order to get free meals and drinks. Being a woman means men acting like these are not real issues that happen every day. Being a woman means not being able to tell people that you were raped because it was your fault. Being a woman means you're pushing back women's rights if you want the "traditional" life of being a mother. Being a woman means not being able to make the decision of whether or not you want to have something growing inside of you. Being a woman means accepting that politicians have a right to make decisions for your body.

Being a woman means labeled as "crazy" simply having the audacity of breaking up with a man. Being a woman means you're emotional and not to be trusted. Being a woman means you're obviously PMSing every single time you're upset. Being a woman means you have to change if you want a relationship to work. Being a woman means not being allowed to someone on a date because that would be too forward. Being a woman means being shamed by your own body. Being a woman means remembering that "girls don't count". Being a woman means being bisexual is just a phase, a way to grab attention.

But you're right, being a woman is obviously all about how easy life is "because you have boobs".