On being a woman, weak, and weepy.
Jul. 24th, 2009 05:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sorcyressI hate crying.
I hate it more than many many things, and what I hate most of all is crying out of frustration, or over something stupid, or for no damn reason at all. I hate it because it makes me feel small, and weak. I hate it because it means I'm living a stereotype I want to avoid, that of the feeble, dainty female, who needs to be protected, and coddled, and helped along. She's not strong enough to do it herself --better let someone else take over.
Yesterday, I went shopping with mom. Part of this was a lovely trip to the bra shop, so I can actually have more than two bras that fit me well and I enjoy wearing. Sitting in the dressing room, trying on a cute little 34A -just my size!
And the cups are too damn big for my tits! I don't even know how it happened, just all of a sudden I'm sitting alone in the fitting room, trying not to sob loud enough so that someone actually hears. It's really *really* stupid --I love having small tits, it saves me a world and a half of trouble-- but it's just the defeat of wearing the smallest bra in the store, and having it gape. I know I ain't ever gonna be big and curvy and beautiful, but c'mon gods. That's just mean.
It wasn't more than a couple seconds, barely enough tears to wet my cheeks. I pull myself together, get over it, take a few deep breaths until the mirror shows a pale enough countenance to play normal. I continue shopping, the event passed, but somewhere, deep in the back of my mind, I have taken a slap to the face.
Because I was crying. Over a fucking piece of *clothing*. Because I am a woman, because I am weepy, and because I am weak. That metaphorical slap trails off to join all the hundreds of thousands of minor slaps and taunts and jeers that have collected over the years in the back of my mind, a collection of laughter over how little strength I actually possess.
It's every time I drop something, or run into something, or trip over something. It's every "slow down or you'll hurt yourself", every "take a deep breath and relax". It's frustration at being lonely, being stupid, being lost and unlovable and painfully painfully insecure, and it's frustration at being so easily frustrated, and so unable to change.
It's techno fandom thinkin' I can't move baseplates for the pipe and drape. It's Target sending me away to "go get something you *can* lift -like pillows!" It's every single customer, male or female, who doesn't think I can when I offer to carry something big and heavy out to their car for them, and tells me as much. Why the fuck would I offer if I couldn't carry it, asshole?!
It's being weak, and crying at that weakness, because I'm just so tired of it. And every time I cry over something stupid, I hear society's evil little voice in the back of my mind. "Aww, look at the stupid little girl, someone better go help her."
(I cannot *stand* being helped. I'm too stubborn and prideful to ask, but more than that, it's the fact that *I'm* the one who's supposed to be doing the helping! But this is another essay)
Society laughs at me, and files me away as just another stupid weak female. Can't help you move, she's not strong enough to lift the boxes. Oh look, it's a sad part of a movie, guess we better pass the tissues! Society sees me, and judges me, and judges my entire damn gender along with me, and it sucks. I'm tired of living up to my gender stereotype.
Sorry if this is incoherent. I kinda feel like I'm about to cry.
~Sor
MOOP!
I hate it more than many many things, and what I hate most of all is crying out of frustration, or over something stupid, or for no damn reason at all. I hate it because it makes me feel small, and weak. I hate it because it means I'm living a stereotype I want to avoid, that of the feeble, dainty female, who needs to be protected, and coddled, and helped along. She's not strong enough to do it herself --better let someone else take over.
Yesterday, I went shopping with mom. Part of this was a lovely trip to the bra shop, so I can actually have more than two bras that fit me well and I enjoy wearing. Sitting in the dressing room, trying on a cute little 34A -just my size!
And the cups are too damn big for my tits! I don't even know how it happened, just all of a sudden I'm sitting alone in the fitting room, trying not to sob loud enough so that someone actually hears. It's really *really* stupid --I love having small tits, it saves me a world and a half of trouble-- but it's just the defeat of wearing the smallest bra in the store, and having it gape. I know I ain't ever gonna be big and curvy and beautiful, but c'mon gods. That's just mean.
It wasn't more than a couple seconds, barely enough tears to wet my cheeks. I pull myself together, get over it, take a few deep breaths until the mirror shows a pale enough countenance to play normal. I continue shopping, the event passed, but somewhere, deep in the back of my mind, I have taken a slap to the face.
Because I was crying. Over a fucking piece of *clothing*. Because I am a woman, because I am weepy, and because I am weak. That metaphorical slap trails off to join all the hundreds of thousands of minor slaps and taunts and jeers that have collected over the years in the back of my mind, a collection of laughter over how little strength I actually possess.
It's every time I drop something, or run into something, or trip over something. It's every "slow down or you'll hurt yourself", every "take a deep breath and relax". It's frustration at being lonely, being stupid, being lost and unlovable and painfully painfully insecure, and it's frustration at being so easily frustrated, and so unable to change.
It's techno fandom thinkin' I can't move baseplates for the pipe and drape. It's Target sending me away to "go get something you *can* lift -like pillows!" It's every single customer, male or female, who doesn't think I can when I offer to carry something big and heavy out to their car for them, and tells me as much. Why the fuck would I offer if I couldn't carry it, asshole?!
It's being weak, and crying at that weakness, because I'm just so tired of it. And every time I cry over something stupid, I hear society's evil little voice in the back of my mind. "Aww, look at the stupid little girl, someone better go help her."
(I cannot *stand* being helped. I'm too stubborn and prideful to ask, but more than that, it's the fact that *I'm* the one who's supposed to be doing the helping! But this is another essay)
Society laughs at me, and files me away as just another stupid weak female. Can't help you move, she's not strong enough to lift the boxes. Oh look, it's a sad part of a movie, guess we better pass the tissues! Society sees me, and judges me, and judges my entire damn gender along with me, and it sucks. I'm tired of living up to my gender stereotype.
Sorry if this is incoherent. I kinda feel like I'm about to cry.
~Sor
MOOP!
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no subject
on 2009-07-25 01:16 am (UTC)For me it was a coping mechanism around my parents' divorce - I cut myself off from sharing emotions, chose to express almost nothing, and gradually got to a point where even internally with myself my emotions didn't matter. At that time I rarely recognized feeling emotions, and could override most of them if I chose to.
During that time I also went from being outgoing, social, and adventurous to being very self-contained and rather isolated. When you don't react normally, don't express regular emotions (positive and negative)... people find it hard to relate to you. I was the strange one, though I successfully kept myself safe.
At present I have been gradually reconnecting to my emotions and dealing with the messes that result. Someday I hope to have bits of both in play when I want them - some mix of being able to tune the emotions, feel & accept them, or set them aside as needed. May take me a while, but would be well worth it.
no subject
on 2009-07-25 01:54 am (UTC)This is me now.
Only I'm the opposite of unemotional.
I'm one of those goddamned heart-on-my-sleeve types.
It's why I WANT to be cold and emotionless and feel nothing. Those people don't hurt. I want to feel that way. It seems so much more free than being trapped in irrationality.
I'm aware it's black-and-white thinking. However, all the troubles I've ever had in my life are related to my emotions. Get rid of them, and the pain stops... right?
no subject
on 2009-07-25 03:43 am (UTC)Not so's you'd notice, no.
no subject
on 2009-07-25 02:32 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-07-25 04:23 pm (UTC)Actually, the pain didn't exactly stop. A default state of 'blah' isn't quite the same as a default state of 'content'.
I am, of course, not living your life; your pain could well be worse than mine ever was, or your valuation may differ, but I hope you'll take my unsolicited advice in the spirit it's intended.
no subject
on 2009-07-25 08:40 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-07-25 04:35 am (UTC)God, this is *so* the story of my life. Except that I've always been this way and I can't seem to figure out how to turn my emotions on to start relating to people.