Sometimes maybe the best thing about being a woman is the way you can hide your worries behind a facial mask and the way you can label your bad days as “hormones” until you start wondering if maybe all these hiding have made you not heard enough - when you raise your hands in class but they aren’t always as high enough, when you leave work an extra five minutes earlier to rush for your sick child and you find in your appraisals that you just aren’t good enough, when you stay a little longer for work instead and miss the pick-up time for your child, catching a glimpse of her eyes as if they’re saying that you‘re not here enough, when you stay home all day with your child wiping the same spills and you wonder if you’re doing enough, when they say that your body isn’t small enough, when your clothes never match enough.

But they will never match anyway because you are one of a kind, and your body will never be small enough because it is home to a big heart and a child you so amazingly bring to this world with all the power it possess, and you didn’t just wipe spills - you also wipe tears and that is life-changing, and you were never late for a work meeting and especially for your child, you were just fixing your cape to do this super-heroic thing of constantly being at two places at one time, and your hands may not seem as high when you raised them in class but they are at the highest place each time they touch the hands of a loved one and spread the power of kindness, like you always do.

Sometimes maybe the best thing about being a woman is the way you can hide your worries behind a facial mask, but only if you remember to always take it off and look at the woman in the mirror and tell her that she is Enough.

P/S: Happy International Women's Day to every woman reading this. Thank you for being you.

The thing about being a woman is that you will always be bombarded with rows of fashion and beauty items the marketers will want you to own, you are spoiled for choice and while that isn’t in any way a catastrophe, you will soon realize that the outfits you choose may come with labels you weren’t prepared to hear - somedays you’re Superwoman, somedays you’re a villain. They will expect you to slay dragons, except that you won’t, you walk around with your hands in your pocket, and they will think you’re hiding your weapon, but the only thing you’ve got is a fist of superpowers better known as love, and when you free your hands up in the air, you will dance with them like you really just don’t care and you will tame the dragon with the stroke of your calloused fingers - the same fingers that stroke your daughter’s hair to sleep at night, the same fingers that swipe the touchscreen of your device as you text your deliverables to your bosses later the same night, the same fingers that sprinkle a little too much salt in your dinner when you can hardly open your eyes, the same fingers that push in the coins for your train fare before you can even see the daylight. These fingers - they know the things you fight for but they do not know the meaning of labels that society will continue to give you, and neither should you.

And while they will tell you to shoot for the stars, never ever let them tell you that your worth is in the weight of those stars you’re carrying, because no matter what you do, and no matter what you carry - grocery bags,

an oversized laptop bag, a child in one hand, a crying child in another,

a squeaky toy to comfort your crying child, a tablet that won’t stop blinking with messages from work, bus fares, extra change, a mop, responsibilities - never ever let them label the weight you’re carrying, because what they cannot measure is your dreams, your love

and the passion in the things that you do, the things that make you the superwoman who’s uniquely YOU.

I didn’t always enjoy motherhood as much as I do this way, under the sun. As I plant my smile somewhere in between my children’s cartwheeling shadows on the sunlit grass today, I am brought back to six years ago when motherhood first greeted me like a rush of huge waves; beautiful in pictures but surprisingly rough. I remember mourning what felt like a loss of freedom somewhere three weeks into the journey of mothering a newborn. I remember wondering why I didn’t instantly enjoy motherhood like in the pictures they painted. I remember wondering if I was going to feel that way forever and if I was ever cut out for this. And I remember, someone telling me that “someday, you will find a phase that becomes your favourite”. Maybe the waves would be a little less rough there, I thought. And those words have never rang truer today, and a couple of other times over the past years, in fact. Because motherhood, like other things in this temporal life, isn’t a constant. And not everyone fits into a cookie-cutter mould of a mother. I may not have found myself in one of those pictures where a mother smiles peacefully into her newborn’s eyes. But I am loving these sunburnt pictures we’ve painted together of us cartwheeling our ways on the grass. I have never enjoyed motherhood as much as I do this way, under the sun. And if you (future me included) find yourself drowning somewhere in between these rough waves of motherhood, remember that “someday, you will find a phase that becomes your favourite”. The waves aren’t any less rough there, but you’ll just find a favourite way to swim.

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