I'd Like To Address This Mess

I was going to save my case study on Meg the Stallion till the summer, but alas, the universe had other plans. This past weekend I went home, a trip I already was holding my breath on.. I was bracing myself for my dad’s strange commentary and the overall weight that is being the eldest sister. And I almost made it out, until Sunday afternoon sitting with a couple close family friends and my sisters, unbeknownst to me, the 5 of us entered the battle royale once the discussion of Drake came up. For those that don’t know or won’t read this till years later, I’m sure Drake will still be sitting in boiling water and this reference will be relevant. He was at war with like 20 people, and for some reason during this recap discussion of his exchanges, Megan the Stallion was brought up. Please don’t make me go through what happened to her, I only have your attention for so long. But the gist being she’s outspoken, she’s sexually expressive, and she was shot in the foot by rapper Torey Lanez.

 I think you can guess where this is going.

 It was determined by one of my family friends, a man in the room, that Megan is messy, and this ladies and gentlemen, who am I kidding, no man is reading this, this ladies is where all hell broke loose.

The double standard of Megan being messy and why was she messy? Turned into a 3 on 1 debate about the standards of women in the industry. An industry that none of us of 9-5ers are in might I add. And at first it seems funny, in fact for a moment it was, until I realized I was debating to be heard and of the two men in the room, both had the privilege to debate for fun. Now of the two, one was very vocal, and the other was quiet and recording. I’m not sure which response was more deafening. Horror began to sink in when I realized just how far off someone who knew me so intimately was from my viewpoint. Every erosion of words that escaped his lips stabbed me, but I didn’t feel the result of it until hours later. “She’s Disgusting” “You all are sensitive” “She’s for the team” “She put herself in these situations.” We were unrecognizable to say the least, all the while being recorded for purposes of  humiliation. And I gave in, I put on a show, I spoke my view down, but our argument wasn’t being recorded because the points my sisters and I made were valid, it was being recorded because we were the punch line to the jokes. The saddest thing of all, I wasn’t even defending Meg the millionaire with an amazing ass, I was defending me.

Now I don’t have an OnlyFans or a budding rap career, but I am a woman. A woman who is open, vocal, who has been misjudged, taken advantage of and for granted.

Normally I probably would let this go, pick another topic to write about entirely, but I’m at the part of my Saturn return where I’m full of rage.

Sojourner Truth once asked, “Ain’t I woman?” The question really should be “Why would I ever want to be a woman? Why would anyone?”

 I’m fed up really.

 As women, we live in a world where we have to stomach the bare minimum. Be a version of perfection for those who are anything but.

Give, give, give. Take, take, take.

Being a woman is one of the hardest experiences on this planet. And in this case, Sojourner’s very powerful question, has left me with a counter, “what does it mean to be a woman?”

I have always lived my life knowing, I could be anyone I want, and now I just simply want to be someone that’s free to be myself. What a conundrum. And how can I? My options to obtain that feel so limited in a world where fairness is not a consideration. I have to look a certain way, act a certain way, conduct myself a certain way, appease a certain way, nurture in a certain way, think a certain way. I have to be her. But she can’t have much. I mean her options are limited. She is given all of the responsibility and none of the grace.

You can rape her and she’ll be the whore.

 

You can abuse her and she’ll be to blame.

 

You can impregnate her and she’ll be at fault.

 

You don’t think much of her, so when she thinks for herself, she’s not thinking enough. At least not to you anyway.

Why would anyone want to be a woman?

Allies? We all have a few of those.  Bending together, that rhetoric that there are like minded individuals all stepping up. Sometimes it feels like the only thing we have in common is the need to protect one another. A trauma bond of being the oppressed in this world, until we have to choose between ourselves and each other because compromising is just simpler when you’re exhausted. It’s not so much what I’m compromising on, but who I’m compromising with: Women conditioned to compete or look the other way entirely because let’s be honest, it’s easier to be out of touch. Men who are silent out of fear or worse to be entertained. Men who over speak to prove their point. Men who don’t like women anyway, so they don’t even enter the conversation.

While I’m on the subject, I wonder what it’s like to be a man, to be privileged, praised, and prioritized despite your imperfections. A man is never the prize though. If that’s any consolation. That’s the thing about being a woman, we are put in such a box to think we are caged instead of the true gift we are.  It must not be much better to be a man, to have the world at your fingertips and still be willing to squander real love if it keeps the next man empowered. I know how I sound, I guess it’s not helping my case against the Angry Black Woman trope, and I don’t hate all men (this also isn’t the part where I say that I have male friends, how can I be sexist? ) I do love them, well I love love, and experiencing people. But to live in a world you love that doesn’t feel like it loves you back.. it’s an unspoken rejection.

“But this is the world we live in” they’ll say.

“I don’t make the rules” they’ll exclaim!

Or worse they’ll watch you squirm in discomfort with a slight grin of amusement.

Have you ever read The Giving Tree? Of course you have it’s like the classy Green Eggs and Ham. A literary rite of passage. In this life, I have felt like the tree giving and giving and giving, while people take and take and take (I won’t even begin to point out the obvious that’s it’s a man taking from said tree repeatedly) in the book the tree is never angry, and sure it’s because it’s a tree, but a part of me believes she didn’t have time, before she knew it there was nothing of her left. I guess I never realized how angry I felt about how difficult it is to just be myself, until I sat in that room to argue with someone I love, over someone I don’t even know, on behalf of myself. Or any woman who has had it hard enough without the weight of being continuously judged. I’m not saying it’s easier for men either. Though there literally is a song titled “It’s a Man’s World.” There are expectations put on them, in fact if you ask the other guy who has the recording I think I mention that during my rebuttal. But I left that debate looking at two people I considered family differently. They left and went about their day. It would have been nice to feel protected or at the very least understood when I’ve lacked that so much in my life. Much like the tree I’ve done most of the protecting and providing, without much in return. Maybe that’s why I was meant to be a woman, but it doesn’t mean I don’t long to have someone lighten the load.

I always knew I didn’t fit in this world, not fully, and for the longest I just wanted to be accepted, to receive the unconditional love I have given. The real question is who have I been expecting this from. Who is accepting me? Or protecting me?

Is it the woman who wants what she thinks I have?

 Is it the woman who is removed for her own mental safety?

 Is it the man who won’t defend me?

 Is it the man who would rather win than love me?

 Is it the man who doesn’t even know what love is?

And it’s no disrespect, many of these people are familiar faces, showing me variations of relationships that I do have the capacity to encompass. But I am drained, and I think it’s time a lot of people have a lot less access to me. Like that tree I am close to my stump. I’ve got to decide at what cost do I want the conditional normalcy, protection, and acceptance I say I yearn for.  How long do I have to sit at a table and smile cause you’re dating my sister, or sleeping with my friend, or hell paying for the dinner that I was invited too, if it means I must keep contorting myself to fit a mold, I was never meant to set in.

Life shouldn’t feel like a job, and my love and respect shouldn’t be an expectation in a scenario that feels like an obligation on my end. And I get it, I should be zen, love all, but what if my highest self says it’s okay to be angry so I can decide that I don’t want to sit in this for the rest of my life. I’m tired, and it takes a lot for me to get tired, I can walk for miles when I look at it as one foot in front of the other. But now I’ve looked back and like Lot’s wife I realize I am a pillar of salt in a sea of sand.

I don’t want to burn down the patriarchy, I’d be harming people I care about, and I’m not a feminist cause I don’t really know who defines that group. I just don’t want to be a part of any of it, I don’t want to be a part of the conversation, because I simply have nothing more to say. I’m just at this point where I am experiencing life for myself, not for the plot, or survival mode, or cause I’m hoping to receive something from those who are unable to give.

For the first time, I’m just here to be here. It’s both the most selfish and selfless thing I can do. Then again being human? Well, that’s the messiest thing you can be.