“Have no fear of perfection – you’ll never reach it.”
“There is nothing rarer, nor more beautiful, than a woman being unapologetically herself; comfortable in her perfect imperfection. To me, that is the true essence of beauty.”
But seriously, why is it proving to be tougher to be a woman each day? I have been and known strong women around me for a long time now; but sadly, being strong we are expected to fend for ourselves, not be vulnerable, not be us. A woman keeps pouring long after the reserves have run dry.
We have worn our armor, let no cracks show but they were there. We wear our armor like a skin for we may get called weak. We keep that armor intact even in front of the ones we love because we think that’s what we need to do. Mostly because we think we need to prove that our very existence matters, that WE matter.
As an Indian feminist, I’m bone-weary of being offended by words around me, when I hesitate to admit that I am not a good driver or a handy person because I fear that it will not only be me who is judged for things I cannot do but my whole gender.
I am scared to admit that I cannot roll that perfect round chappati, because I’ll be judged for something I cannot do but my mother can.
Sometimes, I want to hide from being strong, from the expectation that I never fail, that I have it all together, and that nothing and no one can shake me. From acting like the silencing doesn’t get to me. From always having something to prove to the world about my womanhood.
It’s exhausting to feel like your failures and vulnerabilities are your gender’s failures and vulnerabilities, like other women, will be held accountable for the ways in which you are personally broken, incomplete, and uncertain.
I miss my skin, before I had to put on armor. When I was strong, but I could still be human. When I was brave, but free to make mistakes. When my femaleness wasn’t the fodder for a theological argument. When my womanhood wasn’t a natural flaw. When my value was an incontrovertible truth. When I had nothing to prove.