Maybe I Really Am Just A Girl

pretty_girl_blowing_a_kiss_0515-1001-2117-0217_SMU

As a young woman, it feels like I spend most of my time trying to prove myself. Professionally, socially and intellectually. There will always be the snigger at my frequent use of the word “like”, or jabs at my giggly personality.

No-one ever bought it; me being smart. The saddest part is that even I didn’t. I could bore you to tears with tales of being patronized and belittled by authority figures since childhood, but I would be here all day.

It’s a Friday morning. I’m very proud of myself because for the first time in possible six months, I have risen from my slumber in good time before work. I go to the bathroom, set my phone face down on the window sill, and play aloud the American tones of one of my favourite YouTube vloggers.

I look in the mirror, and feel embarrassment at what I see. It suddenly dawns on me how damaged and worn I look. The skin beneath one of my eyes appears to be sun bleached white. The patch beneath the opposite eye is dark and speckled. Blackheads cover my bulbous nose, and my chin and forehead are dotted with bulging acne. One set of eyelashes are also bleached almost entirely white.

Horrified, it dawns on me that I have been showing up at work looking exactly like this for the past nine months. Waking up with ten minutes to go, throwing on some jeans and runners, and giving a quick brush to my yellow and crooked teeth.

What must people think of me?! And how do I change? I can diet. Try and rid my excess fat to be taken more seriously. But, wait. Maybe then I’ll be just a girl. I cringe at the mere thought. Imagine that… being just a girl! Ditsy, devoid of any personality traits, there merely to be eye candy when the intelligent men get bored from all of their intelligent men things. I shudder at the thought.

I have to pick one… be physically ugly but be quirky and intelligent… or be physically attractive but be boring and superficial. Since I have always fallen into the former by default, I can’t imagine suddenly trying to change to the latter.

Still though, I think, as I stare desperately at the worn and plain woman staring back at me in the mirror, I can’t go on like this.

As my brain tries to think of a solution to this tough call, my hands take action. I grab a tube of beige goo from the window sill, unscrew the cap, and smear it all over my face. Next is sneezy powder, before black paint is applied to my eyelids and lashes. I draw on some new lips with a red crayon. Now, at least I’m slightly more presentable.

I’ve some time to kill before work this morning. For the first time in forever I try to wear something different. Something that takes the attention away from my round belly and thundering thighs. Leggings? A long top?

Work feels different today. I am a walking doll! Maybe this paint and goo works to be taken more seriously, after all. I’m even referred to as a doll. All day, in fact. “All dolled up” was the term used, I believe. Doors are held open for me, and remarks are made about a fictitious “hot date” I will be attending later on tonight.

“Fair play to you!” one smiles. Should I feel proud? Should I feel accomplished that I’ve finally done what I was supposed to do, and apply the goo and paint to be a proper girl?

Another greets me with an arm squeeze, which takes me aback. I don’t know this person very well, and personal contact with people I hardly know feels uncomfortable. I feel this, inside, but the crayon lips force a smile nonetheless.

All my life, I have been taught to ridicule and dislike fellow women. I’ve been taught to see them as inferior intellectually, yet as a threat in terms of male attention. Blonde pretty girls are mean and stupid. Don’t be friends with them. They won’t amount to anything, anyway. Probably just be a trophy wife to some businessman. Isn’t it great to use your body to get places?! At least have some self respect.

Or, do I? Now that I’ve sold myself out to the goo and paint, am I still me? Awkward, loud, opinionated me? She might have smothered, beneath that gunk. I’m too scared to use it again, in case I lose her forever.

 

Advertisements

Finding Myself

I don’t know about you, but I have found it very difficult finding myself in this world. I’ve always wanted to share my opinions, but I feel that obstacles have always presented themselves…

I was born to very liberal, modern parents. They always encouraged me as a child, saying I could do anything I wanted to do. Early on in my childhood, I really believed it too. I had such confidence in myself. I was loud, boisterous and outspoken. My parents never hushed me, but other grownups found me irritating and poorly behaved. This instantly led me to believe that children should be seen and not heard. And slowly, as I grew older, I began silencing and shrinking myself more and more.

My childhood friends knew me as being crazy. I naturally have a pretty excitable personality and it was more intense during my childhood. I am not in contact with my childhood friends to this day, but I can only assume they would recall me as being crazy or eccentric and most definitely not opinionated or passionate.

That’s not to say I wasn’t. Even as a child, I was passionate and opinionated… in my mind. I became so extremely closeted in own beliefs that I felt embarrassed even trying to debate with someone or even go against a popular opinion.

I began to shrink more and more throughout my primary education. My perception throughout primary school was that being opinionated was a very negative trait to possess. My teachers rewarded classroom obedience, not talkativeness.

At 12, the free spirit I once was had more or less vanished into thin air. I remained quiet, cripplingly under-confident and entirely obedient to social and gender norms throughout secondary school.

But inside, I wanted to scream. I experienced examples of daily prejudice and regular instances of discrimination throughout secondary school, both by fellow students and occasionally, from teachers.

I will always remember the anger I felt towards teenage boys who would use gay as a way to insult their friends. I will always remember the pretentious, macho exterior presented by teenage boys, the pompous and sexist attitudes expressed by them. I will always remember how atheism was forbidden and even punishable in secondary school; how Catholicism was integrated into all aspects of our school activities and subjects.

Ultimately, and here’s the part that broke my teenage heart, I will always remember how each and every one of us in secondary school were assigned the same narrow box to live in, and the same narrow rules to live by.

At 17, I thankfully graduated secondary school and respectfully kissed goodbye to a damaging, restrictive and confidence-crippling institution.

I soon began to learn that who I had been taught to be in secondary school would get me virtually nowhere in the real world. A path of self discovery lay before me. I would have to learn eventually how to be a civilized, respectable member of society. But how could I do this? What was my life purpose? At 17, I was filled with so many questions but I had yet to find any answers.

I first began to gradually reject social and gender norms. I didn’t want to be seen as weak because I was a girl. So I tried to be seen as strong. I began helping more people and showing compassion. I also finally learned how to stand up for myself, approaching 18 years old. I didn’t want to be seen as stupid, so I decided to go to college but this time study something I wanted to study. My secondary school academic performance was, overall, rather bleak.

I felt like there was something wrong with my brain in secondary school. A lack of interest combined with sheer boredom resulted in quite poor performance; particularly in my junior cycle. I was treated like there was something wrong with my brain, too. School encourages a system of putting people into boxes. I was horrendous at Maths, so I was deemed to have a learning difficulty. I was then treated differently by teachers and members of staff as a consequence.

I’ve come to realize that the term “learning difficulty” can cause irreversible harm to a young person. When a student struggles, they are examined and labeled a word and thus identified by that word. How can we expect the youths of Ireland to become confident, well-spoken, functioning members of society if we segregate them as being smart or stupid in school?

I had to unlearn the labels assigned to me after I graduated. Nearly five years later, I have completed my self healing process. I now reject the term “learning difficulty”. Instead, I choose to openly tell others (if brought up in conversation) that I struggle with the concept of numbers and spacial awareness. Additionally, I have extreme issues with organization and am prone to anxiety as a result to stress brought on by poor organization.

This is me. These are my shortcomings, but they do not make me “unable”. They do not cause me to suffer from a “learning difficulty”. They do not cause me unmanageable difficulty in day-to-day tasks. At 21, I can say that I am an active, functioning member of society. I will not be a label. I will not fit into a box of gender or social expectation. I will not be defined by what people call me, or what people see when they look at me. I will not be defined by the way I laugh. I will not be determined by who I used to be in the past, I will be determined by how I show myself in the present.

At 21, I am also aware that I still have a lot to learn. And I openly embrace my future experiences and lifelong lessons.

I have only begun to truly regain confidence in my opinions in recent months. In school, I was always shut down. But now, I can express myself freely without being segregated or labeled as a result.

I’m still finding myself, more and more every single day. But every day I notice something new. I notice a different form of inequality. I become aware of our failed education system, when I witness the intolerance and ignorance of young people regarding social issues. Homophobia, trans-phobia, racism, racist stereotypes, casual sexism, rape, victim blaming, etc.

Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t see the point in sending our children to public school at all from age 5-17 or 18; if we release them into the world as ignorant, intolerant or simply dismissive. What’s the point? I’d rather my child understands and rejects inequality and oppression instead of know how to do Algebra or cite a Yeats poem.

But maybe that’s just me. And who knows? Maybe that opinion will change. Because I am always progressing, changing and developing my mind. I’ve come a long way, but I’m still finding myself after all… I think we all are, ’till the day we die…

Aisling Kelleher