Category: Women


You are beautiful.

(Author’s note: I started thinking about “words mean things,” and was paging through some other historical stuff, and ended up here.  Where here is, I am not sure.  But we will see.)

She said it to me, over and over, in more languages than either of us really had.  But we played at it, finding new words to use to say the same things.  You are beautiful.  I love you.  Words just foreign enough to be a little work, but close enough to our native tongues that we understood what was intended, immediately.

You are beautiful.  When we met, I was bald and reactionary and touchy and thought I knew a lot about being a dyke in a world that makes assumptions about what women are and what they want and need.  Now it’s years later, and I am bald (again), reactionary and touchy (still) and I think a lot less of what I think I know.  But I can still hear her voice, that first night.  You are beautiful.  I love that you dared.  May I?

And so we circled around each other, for months, and eventually came together.  Then apart, then together again, and now… Now we are somewhere very else.

But still.

You are beautiful.  Nothing changes that.

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Dear Uterus,

These letters used to be funny.  I’d write them to you a few times a year, when I had a particularly bad period, and all my friends would get a kick out of Motley the Weird Feminist writing letters to her uterus as though she were trying to resolve an ongoing issue with a somewhat deranged and out of control roommate who was, simultaneously, completely intimate and totally unavailable for in-person discourse.

They are not funny anymore.  You have gone from a vaguely anthropomorphized internal organ who wore the costume of a fractious roommate to an active threat to my health, my quality of life, and perhaps (though this is a long odds shot) my life itself.  You have also become the sole focus of my rage at the process I am going through to try and get you the fuck out of my life, just as I would evict or extract any other influence so obviously painful, toxic, and unabatedly harmful.

I can’t scream at the CRNs, ARNPs, regular old RNs, MDs, MAs, PAs of MDs, or any other person with a chunk of alphabet stuck behind their name, because exhibiting the slightest emotion gets me another speech about being “high strung” and making “rash decisions” and sets back my quest to get you the hell out of my life and my body.  I am too young not to want you, you see, and too childless.  Undoubtedly, no matter what pain I am in, or how long my resolve has held thus far, I will wake up one day and go “CHILDREN! YES! WHAT A BRILLIANT IDEA! WHY DID NO ONE EVER TELL ME I COULD HAVE THOSE?!?” And then, if I don’t have YOU, magical Uterus, I will not be able to give birth to these creatures that apparently I will develop this sudden burning and irrevocable need for.  My own life will mean nothing if I don’t have you, Uterus, to make me a whole and complete woman by permitting me to pass along the genetic code that is so bad that it makes the self same medical professionals incredulous when I relate my medical history.

And so, Uterus, because you are part of a larger system that has become obviously and thoroughly out of balance, the same system that controls my hormone levels and emotional balance, I must remain calm and rational and utterly dispassionate in the face of a completely external system that is determined that I am, still and always, too young and too flighty to make decisions about what I do and do not want to do with my life.  You understand, I think, why I might want a scapegoat on this one.  So I will aim all the rage I cannot express to them at you, because you cannot deny me anything more than you already have, you cannot fuck me any harder than you are already doing, and I cannot declare war on you any more thoroughly than I have already done.

Bring it, fucker.  Because I am, and I will continue to do so.  If I have to be a cold, totally disconnected, totally implacable stone wall to get you gone, then that’s what I will be.  I will not keep paying the cost to keep you.  So fucking bring it, and we will see who wins.

I want women.

I want women in my life and in the world who are not afraid to eat and think and fuck.

I am tired, tired, tired of seeing and hearing and reading messages that communicate to women I love and women I just know and women I will never meet and don’t even know exist that they should be afraid to be smart and talk about it, afraid to enjoy their food, afraid to enjoy their bodies.  I am tired of it, it makes me stabby, and it makes me want to climb billboards with a knife, a gascan, and a lighter.

But I won’t, because I can set fire to the women I know with words.

Do you know that you can eat, and no one else goes hungry because of it?  When you order at a restaurant, if you order what you want, instead of what is cheap or what someone else wants you to order, no one else is going to go hungry.  It is just as okay for you to take seconds at home as it is for your husband, your brother, your father, your son.  You deserve food as much as anyone else, you deserve to eat good things that make you happy until you are satisfied, not just until it no longer hurts.

Do you know that you can think, and no one is endangered by it? Your brain is a mighty thing, and should be used at every opportunity.  Being witty and having things to say in conversation is not being catty, overbearing, bitchy, or on the rag, just because you’re a woman.  Yes, you can still be all of those things – but not just because you dared think of something to say, and speak it.  Your thoughts are as good as other people’s, and sometimes better.  Your brain is your best asset in life, and if you don’t use it, it’s going to atrophy.  I am afraid for you, because you have been made afraid to think.  Please, please, don’t be afraid to wonder and question and speak up.  It’s the only thing that will save you from being a puppet.

I want women who are not afraid to fuck.  Your vagina is not a spring – it is not going to wear out after a certain number of compressions.  It’s not going to rot off just because you exposed it to another human being.  I promise!  It’s not a bargaining chip, a gold bar, a fruit from the Tree of Awesome that you have to exchange for something of immense value, otherwise you’re getting gypped.  It’s a part of your body designed to bring you joy, and to help you make babies if you want them.  Use it!  Use it willingly and joyfully and wisely – choose your partners according to standards YOU set (see, here we’re back to thinking again), engage with them on YOUR terms, and then fuck however much YOU want to fuck!  It’s fun!  It’s awesome and fantastic and gooey and messy and gleeful!  Really, you should try it.  And try it.  And then try it a different way, because it might be fun!  But don’t let anybody else tell you how to try it, because it’s YOUR vagina, and you get to use it or not use it however you like.

Corollary: if you don’t *want* to fuck, don’t.  If you have never, ever had the desire to have any kind of sex and you’re an asexual creature who simply has no desires in that direction, that’s a choice too, and a personally valid one that I encourage you to make, if it makes you happy!  Again – YOUR vagina.  The “please go fuck” bit is based on the fact that every woman I have ever met (bar none) with whom I have had a conversation about not having sex is currently not having sex because either 1) she is afraid to leave or open up a relationship with a partner to whom she is not currently sexually attracted or 2) she is afraid of the consequences of having sex.  This excludes 3) women who are not actually women because they are girls who are underage.

I want women who are not afraid to eat and think and fuck.  I want the women and men around them not to make them afraid to eat and think and fuck – by action, implication, word, deed, propaganda, or any other fucking thing.  I want women who are happy and whole and who make decisions based on confidence and joy and a sense of purpose.  I want the world to be full of them, because I think that would be a world I would be happier living in.  Go make a woman in your world joyful and confident today – you will be happier if you do.

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