To be a woman is to ‘this’… to be a woman is to ‘that’… blah blah blah. The age old question of “What really makes a woman a woman?” gets me every time. I could go on and on for hours about it. There’s this Margaret Atwood quote I’ve had circulating my notes app for a while, and I feel like it is an awesome place to start this post.

“Even pretending you aren’t catering to male fantasies is a male fantasy: pretending you’re unseen, pretending you have a life of your own, that you can wash your feet and comb your hair unconscious of the ever-present watcher peering through the keyhole in your own head, if nowhere else. You are a woman with a man inside watching a woman. You are your own voyeur.” – Margaret Atwood, The Robber Bride.

This is one of those quotes that itches my brain. It has stuck with me from the first time I read it, and I’ve come back to it over and over again trying to understand. I don’t like it. I don’t know if I believe all of it. I just know it makes me think way too hard. But I also think it is far too painfully true in a way.

You can call me a raging feminist or whatever else choice words you might have. This one is for all of my fellow girls, my Mother, and for the handful of men who maybe read what I have to say.

In my opinion, (that of an almost 21-year-old woman), it is quite the hassle to be a woman. Aside from all the unnecessary things that consume our daily life because of our anatomy, I have seen and learned how hard it is to be a woman. Argue with me all day long. It’s undeniably pretty fucking hard. And I think what bothers me the most about it all is this silly little thing called ‘the male fantasy’.

Growing up, my main female guidance was from my Mom. I didn’t have any grandparents, and I was the only girl cousin on both sides of my family. My Mom is the best female role model I could have been blessed with having, but that doesn’t eliminate the fact I wish I had more than just my Mom growing up. I thought it would make my life ‘better’ if I had a grandmother, girl cousins, or maybe even a sister like most of my friends did. What I know now is, I didn’t need any crazy amount of women in my life to help me learn any sooner that being a woman is really fucking difficult.

I experienced a lot of bullying from boys growing up. I was considered a female Flat Stanley. That should cover that section of my life pretty well. I was also a little bit late to the start of what one could call the ‘girlhood party’. I got my period later than most of my friends and I was wearing Justice tank tops with the built-in bra until 10th grade. When I got to high school, as expected, life shifted and so did my perspective.

The moment I realized I wasn’t just living for myself was something that punched me right in the gut. I was dressing, preforming, living, all for some imagine male audience. This was mainly my senior year and into college. Not everything in my life catered to this idea of some male spectator watching and approving on my every move. But undeniably, there was a lot that did. I’m not sure how relatable this is so far, but I know it is for me, and maybe I’m hitting a sore spot for some of you too.

Some of the best things I’ve mustered up when self-reflecting about this and considering Ms. Atwood’s quote are surely things most teenage girls can relate to. Have you ever kept your makeup on late at night to Snapchat a boy who’s left you on delivered for hours? Have you ever made sure to reposition your body or clean up your hair when standing at the bar in case a guy saw you? Have you ever given yourself massive razor burn because you had to make sure you shaved before going-out?- just in case obviously. I’ve done it all- guilty as charged.

I’ve always looked up to the women in and out of my life who seemed ‘untouchable’. The definition of what made them untouchable changes from success to personality to mannerism- all of that. I’ve thought of myself as what Atwood described as the woman pretending to be unseen and living my own life. I think I am a woman of that sort.

The hard truth of what I’ve realized is all those days and nights I thought I was enjoying my single, hard-to-get lifestyle, I was really just trying to hide my cravings for attention. I think sometimes the lack of attention I received in comparison to some of my friends and peers (or I guess the attention I thought I lacked- I’m not really sure) just ate me alive. I genuinely accounted for what I imagined myself looking like to a stupid boy in the dark and dim bar when it came to my appearance. How stupid and silly is that?

Again, this is an entire dump of my thoughts and feelings. It might not all make any sense. I usually never do- only to myself.

Living for the male gaze is a suffocating thing. I hope it isn’t like that. I don’t want to imagine myself through the lens of a man. It’s everywhere whether we want to acknowledge it or not.

Take the pressure off. Live for you.

xoxo

Caroline