Ask me about being a woman.
I will tell you that it’s a celebration, an exultation. This is what I believed. Women in their big women’s outfits always appeared like god-like creatures to me. They seemed so right in the world. I was in awe. of the magnitude & depth of their hearts. of the magic & healing in their hands. And when they came together, the laughter that filled rooms could not be imprisoned by the walls & stories of love & sorrow crystalized in the air, an ever present well always to be returned to from that moment onwards. This is what I believed.
The thought of growing up into one of those god-like creatures rarely occurred me. Until one day I woke up & I had big women’s shoes & big women’s outfits. There was no training, no schooling. She just showed up & I had to open the door & let her in. She said she was like moonbeams. She said she was like September. I didn’t believe her.
I tried to harness her. I tried to hammer her into shape, into the woman the world builds statues to.
The world’s take on woman is ridiculous, we all know & agree. And yet it is effective. When no one is looking save for that feminine creature with doe eyes staring back in the mirror, we apply the world’s standards to ourselves. We rub it in like sand paper, bruising ourselves like there is no tomorrow. I’ve done it countless times. I’ve felt worthless before, to the point where I’m not sure of the woman I’m supposed to be supporting & rooting for.
Becoming a woman has taught me that the enemy of my shame is my friend. She is like moonbeams & September. Ethereal. Whimsical. Fresh. Illuminating. Lush. Like a song strung with divine cords, delicate but yet raw, sturdy of heart & powerful. There is no designating corners around where her worth must be found. It does not sit in-between her legs or breasts or eyes. She is not just skin & hair. Even if you plucked her apart limb by limb, you will not find her worth there.
Her most striking loveliness is in how she expresses her heart, how the stuff that lives inside of her seeps through her smile, eyes, hands & feet moving her to be who she is. The sum of all the parts of her making love together, curving in, blending.
She is worth personified.
September is for new beginnings. Whether it be spring in Melbourne or autumn in Chicago, it is a start of a new season. She is as brave as she is vulnerable, running her course with dedication, exposed & tender. She reminds me of woman.
Womanhood is not something you arrive at, complete with a glorious entry, epiphanies & all. No, it is something you are & are constantly becoming. Part of feeling like a woman is knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that you are.
So to all of you women, mothers, sisters, grandmothers, aunts, god-mothers & friends whose hearts & stories are connected across sand & time, may this September be magical in what it brings to your door. May you be healthy & beautiful. whole & complete. You & all the men who love you.