Maybe I peaked in childhood.
This was a massive problem for me growing up.
Ashamed of being female. Up until I was eleven years old I loved makeup and perfume and I used to play dress up with my mother’s clothes, wear her jewellery and even her makeup when she wasn’t looking. She always knew, of course. Mothers do, don’t they.
When I was eleven, nearly twelve mind, I started developing tiny buds on my chest. I also started gaining a little weight, namely on my behind and thighs. I wore large T-shirts to cover it up and stopped wearing the dresses my mother used to buy me. I hated them with a passion, even though before that age I would chose them myself.
I started wearing jeans and T-shirts to cover up the boobs, and when I started my period, I cried for days. I prayed and prayed and prayed it would go away (thank goodness it didn’t, what a ridiculous thing to pray for!) and I started feeling disgusting.
Physically disgusting, like there was something wrong with me. Sanitary towels were something I hated, I used to stuff them in my mother’s wardrobe as though they had nothing to do with me. I turned my nose up at makeup and I even stopped brushing my hair because my hairbrush was pink. I even developed a manly gait where I would hung up my shoulders and swagger a little, to show that I was tough.
I wanted to be tough and strong. I played all sorts of sports and forced myself to watch football (even though I actually couldn’t care less about the sport) and was really scornful to girls who giggled too loudly or looked too girly. There is nothing wrong with playing sport, of course, but for me it was excessive and sweaty, and a way to prove I was not feminine at all. This lasted until I was about seventeen; all through high school (college in the UK) I wore oversized hoodies and boyish jeans. I would never accessorise and never made any effort with my hair or face.
I looked like a potato, in all honesty. It was beneath me to make anything of my appearance. I suppose even if I had wanted to be boyish I could have at least brushed my hair and chosen nicer looking clothes. I looked like a tramp more than anything.
I was not comfortable in my own body and I hated my boobs.
The thing is, inside and underneath all that I was actually very girly. Once I became more comfortable with being a female I started wearing makeup and girly clothes and enjoying my feminine assets.
I don’t know why I was ashamed before. Thinking back on it, I think that it stemmed from this idea that I had that women were silly and frivolous and weak. I don’t know why I thought that – my mother is an exceptionally strong woman, and she always told me I was beautiful and taught me always to be myself and stand for my rights and the rights of others. My grandmother suffered horrendously at the hands of her ex husband but came out of it with her head high, albeit with a broken heart. She independently bought her own house in the eighties, and worked so hard to make sure her kids got an education at a time when lots of people didn’t really go to university, was a mother and a father to her children (a really tough job) and when she died left behind a strong, empowered legacy.
I still don’t love my own body, but I love dressing it up and wearing nice feminine things. Also I am a great fan of bras and I love my boobs, which is a good thing because they got so much hate before
Have any other females felt this way? Do you know why one would feel this way going through puberty? If you do, please share!
Disclaimer: I am in no way at all saying that females should not or cannot be boyish. Some do and rock it really well, and go them. I am just detailing my personal journey with this issue.
I’m ticked off.
I know, it’s Tuesday morning. Surely I would have more positive things to write about. But no, I’m annoyed, and this is my rant.
So I have a ‘friend’ who I used to be pretty close to up until recently when she stopped returning my calls and texts and was being just plain rude. I didn’t confront her about it because I know she can get lazy with things and plus I secretly knew why.
You see this friend doesn’t like my mother in law or my in laws in general. When she found out I was going to marry D she was incredulous and said, “But isn’t he pious!?”
I admit I laughed in her face because D is anything but pious, not that there is anything wrong with being pious but she knows me and I can’t stand ‘piety’ because ‘piety’ means hypocrisy where we come from. But she didn’t know D like I did, and so was going by what she assumed.
But there you see that’s where it all began. She (let’s call her Madam S) was already judging. She was judging my Significant Other without even knowing him. She reckons my mother in law is judgy and that is why she doesn’t want to associate with her, which is all very well, but now she doesn’t want to associate with me because I am now part of my MIL’s family, so therefore I must be ‘judgy’ by association.
I’m sorry but that just isn’t fair. It’s judgemental to assume somebody is ‘judgy’ without giving that person a chance. She hasn’t given me a single fudging chance. Not one. She assumes things about me, and talks to another ‘friend’ of ours who is also hating on my MIL, about my MIL, and this makes her assume things about me meaning she no longer ‘trusts’ me.
Now my MIL is a lovely, well intentioned lady who always tries to be as good as she can and as kind as she can to others. Sometimes this can be overbearing, and sometimes people can get the wrong end of the stick. I mean, I used to as well. But I’ve lived with her now and I know she only means well. When it gets too much for me I have a little moan and get on with it, because she is my family and the mother of the love of my life. She does care about me, a lot, and is always making sure I am happy and comfortable, which I think is lovely. Others don’t know that, but they are exaggerating things that have happened and are going around saying horrible things which are only falling back on me, because I am now part of that family. Also it is insensitive to talk about others when you really don’t know the full picture. It is inconsiderate and not very wise.
For example when one of our mutual family friends was divorcing her husband, my MIL may have said something along the lines of ‘You should be sure you are making the right decision because of your kids etc’. Now that lady’s daughter is telling Madam S that my MIL ‘blamed’ the divorce on her mother (the lady who is getting divorced). Which isn’t true at all, and a slanderous accusation based on presumption, not fact.
The girls who are saying those things are girls like me, in their twenties; impressionable young ladies who generally like to make mountains out of molehills. Yes, I make mountains out of molehills. I can be selfish sometimes, I can be moany and irritating. I admit it, but I also give people the benefit of the doubt!
Some of them have gone through some rough patches, like parents getting bad divorces and family members having nervous breakdowns, so naturally they will lash out at small things and get the wrong end of the stick.
But this Madam S who used to be one of my best friends is being, I am sorry to say, a little bitch. She KNOWS me. So if she doesn’t want to associate with me purely because of assumption then I am sorry, I have better things to worry about.
I have run after her enough times, suggesting outings for us and inviting her to places and calling her and asking about her health and even telling her a hilarious story about wonky boobs which she replied to but then nothing. Silence. Blank space. Nada. Zilch.
So I am done. I think she needs to grow up.
And if she calls me or texts me you can bet your life I am not replying. I am too hurt, and I think she doesn’t deserve my friendship.
So, dear reader, if you have made it this far, what are your thoughts? Have you had a friend betray you before? How did you deal with it?
“No smarties for baby now.”
“I’m going to have them all.”
“No, Nina! I want smarties!”
“Ok. Give me the phone first.”
A chubby, sticky fist shot out, tightly clutching a mobile phone.
Rain is pleasing, when you are warm and snuggly and it is pattering gently on the skylight window, like a thousand imps running amok. Rain is pleasing when it is accompanied by what you just know is bitter wind, because you can hear it, and because the temperature has suddenly dropped so low this week, but you have a nice hot cuppa tea and the kitchen is sparkling clean because you have scrubbed it down and your parents are having their coffee and it’s all comfy.
Rain is pleasing when the grass is thick and green, and the smells of life and earth are wafting in through your window on a summer’s afternoon. Rain is pleasing when you can hear it tapping on leaves, drip dropping, trick trickling. Rain is pleasing as you watch it smattering down, accompanied by low rumbles of gruff, yet friendly thunder, while your thoughts take you to far off lands, and your mind is void of deadlines.
What isn’t pleasing is water dripping over the edge of your boots, sodden socks and puddles that are growing larger and larger. It’s no fun when your clothes are soggy and your feet are cold and damp, and the wetness seems to have seeped through the very walls of your house, making it smell funny.
Rain is lovely, but not for those who have roof leakage, or are homeless. Rain is tough when the water levels rise and flood your home, ruining your comfort zone. Rain is harsh when it flies in through your broken windows and stings your face, and makes your children cry. Rain is cruel, when it soaks you to the bone, and makes you have to leave your destroyed home to seek somewhere safe and dry.
Rain is water, water is life, therefore rain is life, happiness, growth.
It is also death and misery.
Here is an interesting quote relating to rain:
“Maybe love is like rain. Sometimes gentle, sometimes torrential, flooding, eroding, joyful, steady, filling the earth, collecting in underground springs. When it rains, when we love, life grows. ” – Carol Gilligan
What do you think about rain?