Not long ago, my very lovely friend Liz asked me if I would write something to finish the sentence "It's hard being a woman_____________..." Her mom leads a women's ministry at church and wanted different perspectives. And Liz made it adorably clear to me that she just wanted to know what I thought, that it always helped her to read my words. An entire country and decade apart from where our friendship connection began, and she still cares that much about what I have to say...
How could I not complete that sentence with that kind of loving audience? Well, for weeks I didn't. I couldn't think of just one thing, and I didn't feel as though I thought of enough. So finally one evening I stopped thinking so damn much and I wrote. The following is what ended up being formed from the confusing map that is sometimes my mind.
It’s hard being a woman because it often isn’t hard at all. Because we think it’s supposed to be; because for many generations and decades it was so much more difficult. Because there are countless definitions and expectations and cultures and personal philosophies and we are created to care about those things more than we care about our own happiness. Even the most confident and independent amongst us feels responsible for the message we send, the sometimes silent mentoring we provide, the kind of example we set to our daughters, nieces, friends, and mothers, and the amount we can get done in a given day.
As a gender, a collective, we tend to just show up. We come to the committee meetings and baby showers and the school board elections. We run businesses or campaigns or assist someone else in their efforts to do so. We raise kids and get our hearts broken, and make dinner for our friend who is going through a crisis, all while finishing a college degree.
Far too frequently we place our own spirits on a bookshelf, vowing to come back to us when our work is done.
But our work is never done. We’re Atlas, and we have no Hercules to hand off the world to, even for a moment. So the only reprieve we can hope for is some sort of strong belief system. A place to send our prayers where we can allow ourselves moments of reflection. Hopefully we learn we aren’t selfish to wish for a good night’s sleep, a long, uninterrupted bath, and unexpected kindnesses.
As women, we can both find and become human angels who are trustworthy enough to share another’s fears, exhaustion, silliness, and intellect with. We need other women far more than most of us learn to admit until we’ve alienated all our truest friends and it’s nearly too late to become the open, loving, light-filled woman we want to be. If we’re lucky enough—or enlightened enough—we figure this out early, and put half as much energy into our friendships as we do into our daily obligations. The day we stop saying “We need to get together for dinner” and actually do it is the day we become our own best friends. The moment we realize that staying at home and deep conditioning our hair instead of going to four different functions, all the while wishing we were on our couch, is the day we’ve learned to really rest.
It’s hard to fight our own worst critic, to allow others to help us through our darkest times, and to cry openly. When we can resolve those three emotional conflicts, we’re on our way to becoming a force to be reckoned with; not feminist nor submissive, but simply female.
We are curves and shine and freckles and dark, porcelain skin. Long and short hair, makeup or completely natural. We have to love the effort another woman makes to look us in the eyes and smile without judgment as much as we hate the cruelty we innately know how to inflict on each other.
It’s hard being a woman because we typically want to help. To show up to things we are out of time for, unprepared for, or uninvited to. We are supposed to be grateful for all the doors now open to us, for the pioneer women who suffered first, but as soon as we are, we encounter someone whose culture expects submission, and then we sometimes stop pushing as hard or moving forward with ambition. We find ourselves grateful for what we DO have, because at least we have our vote, our lives, and our voices. But our voice SHOULD be heard equally. This does not make us less feminine; this does not take away from the beautiful men’s place in our lives.
It just makes us as God would have us, and that is loved and respected and heard.
It’s hard to be a woman who wants more than anything to be everything and nothing like her mother. To put herself first, but somehow offer all she did to us. It’s been impossible until now and perhaps it still is. And I think that’s the most difficult part—we’ll live our entire time here on earth trying to be as many things to as many people as is humanly possible. In the process we may never learn who we really are, what we love to do, the things and space we actually need, and the hidden talents we’ve left unnoticed until we’re finally lonely enough to try something new just for ourselves.
The challenge is to break the cycle of being selfless to the point of smug, giving until there’s nothing there to receive, and not liking ourselves as much as we like the idea of being needed by others. The idea is to be a whole person—whatever that means for you—who can stand alone in faith. To acknowledge that we don’t have to carry the weight of the world, we just have to keep showing up when we can, and to say “No, thank you” when it’s time for us to rest.
It’s hard not because of what the world tells us we are, or reminds us we aren’t. The biggest obstacle is inside of us, and until we can allow ourselves and each other a break, we will remain slaves to our own unreachable expectations of perfection.
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