To be, or not to be, a woman?

I watched a video on the TikyTok this morning. This amazing person explained their shift and internal understanding to self-awareness. They are they. They are not a woman. They are non-binary.

I’ve struggled with this topic.

And let me be perfectly clear. I am bisexual. despite the new terminology, I have always found myself drawn to a person for who they are and not what puzzle pieces they’ve got.

I am also very supportive of humans being humans in this crazy world. If it doesn’t hurt another person, it shouldn’t be an issue what a person identifies as or who they choose to love. And hurting your ego doesn’t count.

Now my struggle lies with my own self- awareness as a woman, as a female in this very stereotypically driven world. As a woman we are expected to be this that or another. In this video, this person explains that they did not fit in these boxes expected of a woman. Their journey led them to a non-binary identification.

I’ve been on a missing-memory-lane train, and given my brain’s jumbledness where many memories seem to be going away faster than I can deal with them, I’m still trying to heal the mess.

When I was in school, I started wearing clothes from the boys section. I played football. I was more tomboy as it was called in the 90s. At some point, I only wore dresses to church and only because I wasn’t allowed in certain rooms of the church to count the offerings for the day if I wasn’t in a dress. And that is a whole different train track for a different day.

I’m still working through it all, but I remember not feeling pretty enough in a dress. I went to schools in a city predominantly white. There were very few people with my skin tone or body shape.

I was thick for my age and the weight on the scale in front of the whole football team was in the top four. Of boys. I was also the shortest. I liked breaking the barriers. I liked being a strong girl. I was raised to not let any man bring me down, but that weight thing never left me.

Well, mentally, I was struggling. I didn’t look the same as other girls in the cute tops and tight jeans. I hadn’t noticed I was a different skin color until I was called the N word in 2nd grade. I told the teacher and I got in trouble because … I created a commotion in front of the class, said the principle. I should haven’t brought it up in such a loud way 🙄 and they wonder why I have authority figure issues. Okay, this is only one of the many reasons, but the pattern will show if stick with me long enough.

I vaguely remember my aunt braiding my hair, I was all dressed up in a beautiful dress. I mean I loved it. I felt gorgeous. I walked out of the house and our little neighbor was in awe. I was complimented and I felt like the most beautiful girl in the world, but I don’t remember why I remember feeling different by the end of the day. I don’t remember much after walking out of the house.

Little moments come to mind where my beautiful moments were rejected by people at school. People at church. People in the world. People are just mean.

It wasn’t until high school that I found myself more confused. I came out as bisexual in my history class, the lgbt community (it had less letter back then) was very unkind as inclusive as they claimed to be. My boyfriend at the time kissed my best friend on the dance floor in front of the whole school. I got my stuff from his car and walked home. He called later and she was at his house in the background. She didn’t call.

Two things. I thought it was a weight thing that I didn’t date much. She was bigger than me. Then I struggled thinking it was a sex thing, because I didn’t put out which somehow tied into the fact that I wasn’t woman enough. Even as I studied my menstrual cycle at a young age. I hope I still have the book – if I ever get my stuff back and it’s not ruined.

I didn’t take into consideration that she craved men’s attention due to her lack of a father figure and he was, and still is, a narcissist who habitually cheated on his partners, including his now wife (also while she was pregnant both times including with my exbestie). But that’s all another story.

Funny enough, one of my friends called to check up on me that night after I left the dance. We had dated in middle school. He and a friend of ours were on a three way call while we were still together. They thought I hung up. They were seeing each other behind my back. Things got stupid at school and it required a mediator, because that’s how they did things. It was an adult.

They put all three of us in a room. I tried to explain my end of the situation and that they were asshats about it all and yet I was being too emotional. The mediator sided with them and said something to the fact that I needed to grow thicker skin. Again, I didn’t feel heard. There was no acknowledgment that they were asshats or that what I was feeling was valid.

Now, I’m no Saint. I could be a crappy person. I responded to situations out of emotion, out of hurt, out of feeling betrayed.

I had a boy ask me out and when we went to school the next day, he denied it. He had done this to me twice. My excitement was diminished overtime to the point where I accepted the attention of anyone even if I didn’t like them at first. I kind of just went with it.

I figured I was lucky enough to turn an eye, whosever eye, and just said yes. It wasn’t fair and it was surprising I held on to my virginity through high school 😆

I joke now, but that was whole other ball of wax.

I dated a guy at my work. I didn’t find him attractive. He wasn’t even on my radar, but he asked me out. I was honest with him, I was pregnant at the time. Oddly, that made him want me more. On our first date, he asked to be exclusive…boyfriend and girlfriend.

I lost the baby and shortly after, things went sideways. It was a difficult relationship with a racist family. At one point, he said he had drunken sex with a friend of ours. She called to apologize. I somehow forgave him and we kept dating. After we finally ended it, he claims he said that just so I’d end our relationship 🤦🏾‍♀️ I’m sure that tells you more about him.

Take into consideration how people handle tragedy, how they handle a crisis, how they handle a miscarriage, how they handle brain surgery. They’ll show their ass. But I pray to know the right people are there before the bad comes.

The stories of asshats continue, but so much of it wrapped around that box of feminine. To be a female, this is all that shaped my very distorted view. I wasn’t woman enough if I couldn’t do all these things, if I couldn’t wear these clothes, if I couldn’t sexual satisfy in this way, if I couldn’t keep a man, if couldn’t be a woman that didn’t get cheated on.

I started to feel replaceable. I did what I could to avoid it, but I was replaced. I couldn’t be woman enough.

Well, if we’ve learned anything, their response is their own. I let their shittiness create that box of what a woman should be. I let all those people lay those bricks of my foundation in life. I let them adjust my focus, lock down my heart. I let them wound me and I never properly tended to that wound. I put gauze over it. Layer after layer, thinking this one will fix it. This person can tend to my wounds.

And then another wound as the other wounds deepened and my faith became a losing battle. If you’ve read my other posts, you know some of the other things that have shaped that box that is supposed to be what a woman is, and maybe you can relate.

So, I don’t blame people for finding freedom in changing the terms. I understand why they identify differently now than when they were born. At the core for most, there is a lot of damage.

Interestingly enough, I always found myself wanting to be a girl that broke the mold. I liked to work on cars. I liked to lift weights. I liked going to car shows. I liked playing football. I mean, I jumped into many of my interests to appease those around me, but I liked a lot of the things that most girls didn’t like. Now, whether I was good at it or not is a different story and may be another thing to walk through later. But that box of things that girls are supposed to like, a lot of that wasn’t for me.

Grant it, most of those things were because I didn’t feel like I could make it look good. I wasn’t the mold at which those things were shaped for, and the world let me know that every day.

But the world is so much bigger. There are better people. And while finding your tribe seems all well and good, if you’ve got that vibe, they’ll find you.

Can you imagine what kind of vibes I’ve been putting out? All the asshats and how I let that be what’s drawn to me?

Who are you bringing into your life?

And what are you allowing to mess with your frequency?

The fuel you are putting into your wellness will directly effect the vibe you’re putting out there. You may not see it yet, but look around you. Look inwards.

Let’s fix the mess.

Be grateful.

Be patient.

Work on your fuel.

Work on your wellness.