What does it take to be a Woman? The Power In Saying "NO"

Hello Friend,‍

‍What does it take to be a woman? Sometimes… I don’t want to think about it. Because everything that is included in being a woman is, well... everything all at once (yes, that is a movie title 😉).

I wander around my house, mulling about. Staring at the piles of toys scattered in each section of my home, ignoring the pull to gather it all up and put it away. Grabbing a half eaten muffin off the counter and shoving it in my mouth. Chewing in contemplation – that not only one but all 3 of my children had a full out meltdown before getting out the door at 8:15 this morning.

The haircut that my middle son won’t dare step outside the house with. The haircut, the first public haircut after our lives were flipped over and shaken out countless times for the last 3 years. The haircut where I chased my 6-year-old son around the salon and held him on my lap in the red salon chair. The nervous sweat dripping down my arms, the smell of nervous filling my nostrils as my son thrashes around and yells at the top of his lungs. Teddy sits in the chair opposite smiling and sucking on a lolly pop. Because he has played witness to this countless times in his tiny life span, and floats through with an ease I will never know. How did I think a haircut would feel normal to my son? He hasn’t been here since he was 3. After I have been half-ass taming his mop for more than half his life. This hot headed, stubborn, sweet child that is that holds exact replicated temperament to me as a child. Why the fuck did I do that and think it would work out? Too far gone now. Move on. Some things are beyond our control. Embarrassment no longer holds power over me. Like it did, before I had them.

Here she is. Labelled as “Mother” and “Wife”. Knowing what she “should” do. Tame the beasts. The ringleader to a never ending circus. Where the days amalgamate together, the days where she doesn’t know if she will be shovelling elephant shit, be attacked by the bear or having her hands almost taken off by the lion. The audience yells at her to: clean her home, make 3 delicious meals a day, have a career, teach these children, wear the perfect hair, have a round yet fit physique, have ravenous perfect sex with her partner, attend all the things, take the kids to their countless events, wave and smile like everything is always OKAY. It’s not. Not always. There are days where she can meet these unmaintainable expectations.

I blink my eyes coming back to my kitchen.

Today is not that day.

I chew on my muffin. Look down at my leggings with the holes and the paint, the leggings I’ve worn since the birth of my first child, because nothing beats cotton. I throw my hood over the my head of my oversized sweater, loving the comfort that it gives me. I slip on my moccasins and walk over the crumbs. Vacuuming seems like sweeping sand at the beach. I don’t want to do it. All of it. Maybe tomorrow.

Maybe my next book should be titled: “I’m so fucking tired”. Check out our blog!

Feel like chatting? Hit reply anytime!

Get our free “Pages that move you forward” workbook

‍