I like to think of myself as an easy going, laid back women. Girl. Women. Girl. I’m 29, so I probably should start referring to myself as a women. Doom.
I’m clearly not laid back about my age. But that’s another story.
Where was I?
Oh, right. Yes.
I’m a female. And with that, comes all sorts of.. yuk. I mean, being a female isn’t the worst thing in the world. You can sometimes play on it – by getting men to carry heavy things for you, or flirt your way to a free drink. Then there’s the dresses and long hair and makeup. All the fun stuff!
Truth is, there’s something really strong willed about me. Something really stubborn. Something so powerful and.. so raging, that I often think of it as a different entity to me entirely.
It’s like having a little monster following me around. Imagine a little stubby thing, all loud and angry at the world. Ready to pounce from behind, grabbing my neck with it’s clammy hands while I try to act normal within the world.
This, my friends, is how I see emotion.
It’s how I see expressing my feelings.
So what I do is, I hit this little critter in the balls, I kick him in the shins until he cries like a little baby. Then I point and laugh and I laugh so much that I cry too.
Then I can’t stop and this is where things get really confusing..
Girls are crazy. Girls have PMT. Girls are irrational and needy and neurotic self-centred and mental.
I’m sure you’ve heard it all before – this idea that women are driven by emotion, that they’re unable to be objective and are fickle.
This is why I don’t like to express myself too much.
It works out well for me most of the time, but there are sometimes that it can cause me problems.
Sometimes, people are dicks. I’ve known many dicks in my life – friends, work colleagues, family members, boys and so on.
These are the people that do things that hurt you, embarrassing you, make you feel stupid. They make you feel insecure, small, worthless and downtrodden. They’re all so nonchalant and whatever about it.
I’m no victim here – we’ve all been here at some point in our lives.
Like being 5 years old and invited to a friends house to sleep over. Only to find out they invited 4 other girls before you and you were the last resort.
Or like when you were a teenager and your friend said she couldn’t go shopping with you and then you found it it’s because she got a better offer.
Or like when that guy stopped talking to you for the prettier girl or you got taken out of the year 7 hockey team and replaced by someone else.
These are the times that test us – that can break us. How we handle our shit is sometimes a great indicator of our strength, courage, confidence and how well we know ourselves.
There’s always that voice in the back of my head, telling me to hold it in, to pick my battles, to refrain, back up, retreat. Leave it. Let it go.
To not express.
Our of fear of being labelled a nut job, of being over-sensitive or not being able to take a joke.
There’s such a fine line between speaking your mind when your upset and being someone who over-reacts.
There’s such a fine line between being honest and being a bitch.
There’s such a fine line between being hurt and being too emotional.
There’s such a fine line between being understanding and letting someone walk over you.
There’s such a fine line between keeping your cool and being too weak to defend yourself.
I look at myself sometimes, all hurt and disappointed and wonder – will we ever win?
Are you afraid to express yourself?