Women’s Greatest War

Today I feel sad. Deeply sad, not in a depressing way but sad in a connected way. I feel sad for the women in the world who spend their time being mean to other women. I feel sad that there is constant verbal abuse towards women about women by women and behind other women’s backs. I don’t understand this. This is not a life designed to keep women at war. This is a life – our own – and we all have our own shit to fight for, within ourselves not amongst ourselves.

Is this war we insist on something built-in inside us? Something we can’t control? I’m calling bullshit. Bull-fucken-shit it’s out of our control! We own the rights to our thoughts, to our filters and to our trashy potty mouths! What’s even more disturbing is listening to our beautiful daughters doing the same thing in the playground. The playground at Kindy where the four year old girls tell another little girl that she cant play with them because she’s not pretty like them. You wonder how they can be so mean and judgmental but then you turn to listen to the mirrored conversations of their thirty something mothers under the verandah…

So is it built-in or do we learn this behaviour from our own mothers and the women around us? The distasteful looks, the judgements, the comparisons. The nastiness about other women while they are not even there only to smile and be polite when they walk through the door. The lack of compassion they show for what other women may be going through. The lack of sincerity when they speak. The falsity in their voices. The judgement on bodies, wardrobes and choices in life. Do we consider this the norm? This is how you be a woman? Is this all the substance we have, that we are?

I find it terribly sad that women degrade other women so easily. That they put other women down. But isn’t it a reflection of their own insecurities? Isn’t it an ego boosting statement while the insecure sheep nod and smile? Isn’t it the narcissist polishing their perfection knob? And I feel sad knowing at times in my life I have participated. Deeply participated… I feel sad that I know that it was my insecurities, the driving force, behind my own cruelty. I feel sad that I didn’t change my filter sooner.

War

It’s like so many women are looking for a fight but avoiding confrontation at all costs. It’s like engaging in war, a war without a cause and the fight only involves trying to get people on your side but you can’t remember the reason why you starting warring in the first place. What are we fighting for? What does the winner receive besides an ego that is bigger, an ego that is placed on a pedestal, an ego that is worshipped but truly unloved. You can’t love a faked ego like you can love a real woman. Women against women is the ugliest war I have ever seen. It is based on nastiness, judgement and as many casualties as possible.

I don’t believe we should all live in harmony, hold hands and dance in koombahya but I do believe we can acknowledge when someone is not in tune with our song and just leave it at that. There is a woman in my life who drives me completely nuts and I am now fine with that. We have a history that I used to draw upon when I choose to feel a need to justify my disconnect towards her. But our history is just a story. A story that has been told for so long that I (and my therapist) have decided it is now finished. End of the final chapter. Book closed. She is, realistically, just not my cup of tea and that is totally OK. We don’t have to get along with everyone but we don’t have to bring those who we don’t ‘get’ down. If they are on a pedestal whether you put them there or not is no concern to you. The pedestal is imaginary. We are all born equal – society differentiates us.

So I do feel sad. A sadness that is connected to other women’s sadness. The victims and the narcissists. I feel sad that we can’t just all get along or be ok not to get along and agree on what is best for ourselves. That we can’t just accept, support, stop trying so hard and be real. Be open heartedly really fucken real.

Being real is awesome. Being real is authentic. Being real gives you clarity. Being real means being you and fuck me but there isn’t anybody else out there like YOU! Celebrate that! Celebrate that we are all different and that we don’t have to conform to fashion, size, success. We don’t have to be like any other woman but we can certainly pat them on the back and say “Well done Sista!”

Some of us are business entrepreneurs, working hard to climb a corporate ladder – I fucking salute your dedication, sacrifices and hard work. Some of us are successful mothers who keep our kids alive, in fact we breed the next generation, we feed them occasionally, maintain the house they trash and drink shitloads of coffee to keep up with it all – hey that’s me, I’m a fucken successful mother! Some of us are health freaks and live for raw food, wheatgrass shots and naked yoga – bless you thats great but vaginal discharge scares me! Some of us grow armpit hair, colour it and plait it all pretty like – not my thing but hey whatever floats your boat and yay for you being al-natural! We are all superbly different, seeking different things in our lives, defining successful via different means. We live and breathe for our own unique reasons and guess what??

THAT IS TOTALLY FUCKEN OK! OK?!!!

Warw

One Love DRK xxx