I’m really not like other girls.
I’m not like other women.
No, really.
Let me explain:
I’m open with my emotions
I’m incredibly sensitive. I cry rather easily, and when I do I often find myself the target of another woman’s repressed rage. Especially in the workplace, where displays of emotion are viewed as weak or manipulative, no one wants to appear fragile by association.
Sure, some women will admit to crying in the bathroom or in their car on break. But it’s with the expectation that they emerge with dried eyes, a new coat of mascara, and a big smile in under four minutes.
I, on the other hand, don’t hide my tears. Mostly because I can’t control them while my boss is screaming in my face, demanding to know why I need time off next Friday.
I’m pretty vain
I was once out with friends when I decided to whip out my compact mirror and fix a few strands of hair.
“Ugh, why do girls always do that,” said one of my friends, mimicking my action.
It’s rare that I can glimpse my reflection without a dose of commentary from a stranger:
“Oh, honey. You look fine.” Thank you, lady from bathroom stall number three.
“Hey, I need to fix my hair too!” A bald dude mocking my hair check. So original.
Women are expected to be kempt at all times, but we can’t show we actually care about our appearance.
If I take a second glance at myself the vanity police are there to keep my ego in check, in which case I’m facing jail time and a mountain of unpaid fines.
I don’t put myself last
I can never relate to stories of women who are worn down and exhausted from putting the needs of others before their own.
I mean, if someone I know is clearly unwell, I’ll reach out and I see if there’s anything I can do, within my capacity.
If a friend happens to ask me for help or advice now and then, I’m more than happy to assist.
Otherwise, and perhaps this is just the lunar aquarium in me, I leave people alone.
When I read about this culture of women who are stretched far too thin I start to wonder if there’s something wrong with me. Am I that uncaring and selfish? Do I lack a certain nurturing, feminine instinct?
Or maybe my friends and family are just…self sufficient.
I get along with other women
I’m not the type of woman who is “only friends with guys.”
Like most women, I’ve had my share of “girl drama,” including bouts with passive aggression, social isolation, and the odd mean girl.
But none of my girl friends have ever whined about holding my coat for a second because it was a “girl’s jacket.”
My friends, wherever they fall on the gender identity spectrum, are multifaceted and diverse. And I can tell you I’ve never made a connection by way of internalized misogyny.
I’m just out here, at times defying whatever it is a strong, empowered woman is supposed to look like. And when I find myself making comparisons to other women I can find myself feeling alienated and not enough.
But in the end I bring what’s uniquely me and mine to the table, whether that’s my strong listening skills, my sense of humor or just napkins and paper plates.
But never raisin potato salad.
