Glory Box

This girl? She fucking rocks. She’s smart, funny, successful and insightful. Last week, she blogged about what it means to be a woman. I loved her post, and I got into one of those “post in the comment section” grooves, so for once in my blogging life, I’m actually going to trackback and add my own thoughts instead of hogging broadband on her site.

Her summation: “Lay awake one night and finally come to terms with the fact that being a woman isn’t about being everything to everyone. It’s simply about being whatever you want to be, unstoppably, and nothing more.”

I respectfully but heartily disagree.

My journey as a woman started early. So very early. At the tender age of ten, I started developing a body that I was in no way prepared to deal with. So I didn’t. I wore baggy clothes and ate and admired boys from afar and dreamed of the day when I would have one to hold hands with.

I watched my Mom sacrifice a large chunk of her femininity for her career. When I finally found a boy to hold my hand, I wanted nothing to do with ambition or drive or the corporate life, because to me that meant ignoring my feminine side, my maternal instinct, my domestic prowess. I watched my Dad mourn this loss in my mother, saw him needing and wanting not a housewife, but a three-dimensional woman- one who could pursue her interests and still motivate him to pursue her.

So I learned to cook, I learned to bake, I cleaned and nurtured and drifted from one meaningless job to another. A good job meant that the pay was decent and I had time to do crossword puzzles on the clock.

At twenty, I said forever with a smile upon my face. I became a wife, and I embraced it. I loved being a wife, being a soft place for my husband to land, cooking pot roast and folding laundry and chasing him around the house on a Sunday afternoon.

Somewhere in all of that, I took less time with my clothes, with my hair, with my friends, with myself, with my body. It probably coincided with the development of my serious corporate career. I was reminded at a few points that I was a beautiful woman failing to present her best self to the world. This would be one of many things that led to the demise of my marriage. To my credit, when a side of you is not properly appreciated, you tend to neglect it.

Now, at thirty years old? I realize that the true gift of womanhood is the ability to be all things to all people.

I’m a hell of a business woman. I bake a mean-ass pie, from scratch. I wear my shit-kickers when provoked. My touch is tender. I fill out a dress like no one’s business. I can care for children, plants, animals and people with love and appreciation, but not at the expense of taking care of myself. I fill my own bucket up first, and when my level of self-care runs down past the “fill” line, I attend to my own needs until it’s full again.

I’m driven, ambitious, immersed in corporate life. Yet I dream of being barefoot and pregnant, of bringing new life into the world. I’m tough as nails and soft as silk. I can bait my own hook, with live worms, but I know how to let a man open a door for me. I love my friends, and I hope that I do well by them, but I also know when to make my own decisions and play my own game. Cooking a good meal is one of my favorite things to do. So is working up an appetite, if you know what I mean.

What I’m looking for now is a man who can appreciate the entire package, who has true and deep admiration for my success, my drive, my strength and independence. Because he knows that beyond that power, I’m painting my toenails, wearing lacy lingerie, checking in on my family, kvetching with my friends  and working on a new chicken recipe. He realizes that I will accept nothing less from this life than having it all: an incredible job, an education, good hair, cleavage sweaters, fresh flowers, domestic bliss, nights out on the town, babies, writing, gardening and mind blowing sex.

He will applaud my efforts, he will be able to handle me, in all my intensity, and will never, ever, ever let me forget that silky softness. He’ll honor it, cherish it, treasure it and be proud to have a woman who doesn’t settle for being pigeonholed by society and  strives for perfection. Even if she misses the mark sometimes.

Being a woman doesn’t mean that we have to do it all. It means we get to. I love being a woman, and I love constantly striving for that perfect balance of honoring all the parts of myself that together make me who I am.