I read somewhere that as women we have an expiry date.And it’s funny because we often feel like that.I know I do.This idea is probably indirectly and sometimes outrightly shoved upon us by those people…those people who decided that we should all look the same, that we should only eat certain foods and wear certain clothes. Those people who seem to have taken the onus upon themselves to sit in judgement over us and pronounce our womanly value. They decide what you and I are worth. Those people…I don’t know who they are exactly and if I did I would give them a piece of my mind, but maybe you do?
What they say seems to be gospel and so we brandish ourselves with nakedness almost and a desperate plea that somebody will see us, notice us before that dreaded expiry date comes our way and claims our bodies and life. It’s all pathetic really…this belief. There is no expiry date. There is never a time when I stop being a woman, not unless I make the decision.
Womanhood is a never-ending well-spring of beauty and spirit. My womanly heart will beat till the day I die. Like men, women only get wiser and better with age. And so to believe what those people are saying and not saying only works to our detriment.
Being a woman is meant to be a celebration; a celebration of all things nurturing. And if you know anything about nurturing then you’ll know that being a woman is like holding the very soul of life in your hands. We don’t see it that way because we don’t believe it.
Personally, I think that just breaks God’s heart. So, as you chillingly wait for your expiry date, stop for a minute and consider whether you truly want to believe that nonsense.