On Being A Woman

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.