Blood & the Moon - Being a Woman

I grew up knowing I was smart. And I was confident that intelligence would help me succeed. I emulated the successful people I saw. The men seemed to have it the most together.

I spent so long trying to be a man, to live in a man's world, to achieve, to exceed, to have linear goals, that the process of going towards being a woman reminded me of how messy womanhood is.

How messy life is. How messy this body is, I bleed. Monthly. Like the moon. Sometimes light, sometimes dark, sometimes blood red.

The breasts that I tried so hard to make smaller, rounder, once they were engorged with food, they leaked, they even squirted. Then they teardropped with the weight of fluid. They didn’t go back up as far when the fluid wasn’t needed, when it receded. Where does it go?

My belly, which I tried so hard to get flat, even when I had starved myself to 100 pounds, always had a roundness to it. And my butt never cooperated. Never fit into men’s jeans.

My scent would send some guys running toward me who couldn’t get enough, and others running away in disgust. Same smell. Same body. And the wetness that I was told was too wet, and to stop, to pull back, get drier. I don't think that's possible. Not for a woman anyway.

My brain was attached to all this mess. My beautiful intelligence couldn’t negate the rest of it. And the lesson I’m learning now is that it shouldn’t have to. A brain needs a body. I am learning to live in that messy, imperfect space. No matter how smart I was, I was still a woman. I am still a woman.

And the boundaries I’m setting begin with: you don't get my brain without accepting my body. Starting with my own self acceptance on this matter. (pun intended)

Period. (pun also intended)