WHY I HATE BEING A WOMAN

This is the first post of of my “Real and Raw” guest post series. And it’s coming from one of my favorite bloggers, K E Garland. I’ve been getting to know Kathy over the last few months, via our mutual blogs. And she’s just one of those bloggers that I can relate to. Where something she says makes me go, “Yep, yep.” And where her responses to my words make me feel validated and connected. I was secretly hoping she would submit something for this series, but of course, I didn’t want to push. Thankfully, I didn’t have to! And I think we can tell by this topic of “Why I Hate Being A Woman,” we are in for a real and raw treat!

I now give you Kathy’s words and hope you enjoy them as much as I do!

---

BY K E GARLAND

My husband and I have always looked younger than our age. When we were first married at twenty-five and twenty-three, we were carded at the movie theater. The cashier wanted to ensure we were of age to watch an “R” rated film. Cute, right?

As we’ve aged and as I’ve begun to let my gray hair grow freely, I’ve noticed a difference in how people relate to us.

“I thought you were seventeen,” a woman at the homeless shelter said to my husband.

After he showed her his ID, proving he was, indeed, born in 1970, she looked over at me in disbelief. She never asked my age. If she thought he was seventeen, then how old did she think I was, and who did she think I was? His mother? I wanted so badly to yell, this is my husband, and he’s older than I am!

When we buy liquor now, my husband is always carded and accompanied with a “you look great for your age!” I haven’t been carded in years, even prior to the gray hair. Every time he’s complimented, I feel the jealousy rise in my body. No one has said I look great for my age in a while.

And quite honestly, I hate it.

***

As a woman, there’s always some shit to figure out at every phase of life. When I was ten, I began my period. It took years, a few bright red spots on the back of my pants, and many ruined bed sheets to understand menstruation comes every thirty days…or so.

When I was seventeen, I began having sex regularly. It took a combination of pregnancy scares and abortions to understand how menstruation, birth control pills, and women’s bodies work.

When I was twenty-five, I had my first daughter. She was a beautiful caramel-complected baby with brown curly hair, and I was an over forty-pound, ugly mama. I felt as if she’d zapped all the beauty out of me and taken it for herself. Then, I felt guilty for having such a ridiculous thought. Shouldn’t I be happy? Elated? Isn’t motherhood supposed to be this wonderful time? It took a minute to understand that I’d succumbed to a fairy tale. No one told me about excessive weight gain or post-partum depression.

Eventually, life got better. I turned forty and learned how to love my authentic self. It was a beautiful time. I was a walking billboard of self-love quotes and blogging advice. But it was short-lived.

Just when I figured out the period situation, my periods grew irregular. I began perimenopause. Just when I learned to love myself, I had a new insomnia-induced, midlife-self to learn to love.

And I hate it.

***

As women, we sometimes relate to one another in weird ways. For example, when I met one of my husband’s aunts for the first time, she’d asked about my background.

“My mother died when I was sixteen,” I told her.

“Oh no! Who taught you how to cook?” she asked.

That was over two decades ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday. She didn’t ask me how I coped during the most traumatic time in my life. She asked me about how I became domesticated. That’s fascinating. The one thing we’re often praised for—empathy and care—somehow, we’ve also learned to bury.

Christmas 2021, we spent time with a different aunt.

“Do you cook for Christmas?” Auntie asked.

“I do.”

“What’s your favorite dish?” she asked, smiling this time, almost excited to learn more about me.

“Ummm, I don’t have a favorite dish. I cook because I like to eat. If I don’t cook. I don’t eat,” I replied.

She didn’t say anything else.

The conversation baffled me. She could’ve asked about my work; I’m a scholar, with a body of scholarship. She could’ve asked about my writing; I’m a writer, with a body of creative work. She could’ve asked about my passion; I’m a passionate human being, who can discuss a range of social justice issues. Instead, she chose to ask me about cooking food, something that is traditionally associated with women’s work.

And I hate it.

***

My father’s mother was a devoted Catholic. I watched her skitter here and there preparing for service. In my adolescent view, it looked as if she was catering to the priest. I don’t know enough about Catholicism to say what was really happening, but to me, it looked no different than a woman preparing a plate of food for her husband before she sat down to eat her own creation.

My great-grandmother was a devoted Methodist. She attended and participated in church events so much that there is a gold plaque affixed to the pew where she used to sit, commemorating her loyalty. It’s confounding to me that a church to which she was so committed only gave women full clergy rights in 1956; that’s less than one hundred years ago.

My sister was a devoted Muslim. She was one of those people who taught Muslim Girls Training and General Civilization Class (MGG & GCC). MGG and GCC are exactly what they sound like. Girls learn how to cook and clean and stuff. My point is this: one year, she showed her cleavage in a swimsuit vacation social media post. At that point, she was mandated to have a conversation with leadership, who are of course, men. She could not be Muslim anymore until she had this very important conversation about her breasts.

I gave up religion long ago because it’s just not my thing; however, I’m outside of the norm on this issue. Women are more religious than men.

And I hate it.

I hate the obvious patriarchy of churches and synagogues that do not allow women to serve as clergy. I hate religious literature and practices that teach women how they are “supposed to be” in the world.

And I hate that the women I love feel as if they must be a part of religious culture that diminishes them to these roles.

***

With that said, here’s what I’ve learned.

I was born as this woman for a reason, and I don’t need to hate it.

I was born beautiful, and I shall remain beautiful until the day I die. It is not my fault that society has a warped sense of beauty. But it is my responsibility to shift the notion of physical beauty to be more than perky breasts and bright skin. I can do that by being myself. I would never paint a fall leaf green to pretend it was a summer leaf. Similarly, I won’t paint myself a different color to feign a different stage of life.

I was born to be a communicator. That is my gift. I can provide language to myself by using the written word to process life, or I can share it with friends, family, and society by providing words to shift how we function in the world with one another. I am a writer, who can offer a different perspective of life. This is a creative responsibility I take seriously. It is how I return my gift to the world.

I was born to be more than a domesticated being. While there is nothing wrong with cooking, cleaning, child-rearing, or educating, there is something wrong with assigning these tasks to one person simply because they were born female. I am a multi-dimensional being, sans my gender, and due to my gender. Participating in such things is a choice, not a requirement.

I was born a spiritual being. There is nothing a man-made religion can tell me that I cannot determine for myself if I make the time and space to do so.

And so, I’ve learned there is no reason to hate being a woman.

The only work women have to do is to separate the social constructs we’ve learned from our born intuitiveness. That is where our power lies. That is where our strength is.  

ABOUT K E GARLAND

K E Garland is a creative nonfiction writer whose primary goal is to amplify women’s voices and to demarginalize and personalize societal issues regarding women. She personally blogs at kwoted.wordpress.com and maintains a website about menopause and midlife at navigatingthechange.com. Contact her to contribute to Navigating the Change.

THANK YOU FOR READING!

Umm, can you tell why I love her so much!? It’s like she was made to be featured on The Goddess Attainable! So, what did you think of this topic about being a woman? And do you relate to Kathy’s words about being a woman the way I do?! If you love what she wrote, please send her some love and follow her blog.

---

SUBSCRIBE TO MY NEWSLETTER TO RECEIVE EXCLUSIVE, SUBSCRIBER-ONLY GODDESS CONTENT!

---

FOLLOW THE GODDESS ATTAINABLE PODCAST

Become a Patron!

---

VISITY MY ETSY SHOP

---

PHOTO CREDITS

Featured photo by Janosch Diggelmann on Unsplash