I wrote this in the bathtub in under 10 minutes. The words spilled out of my mind onto the notes in my iPhone. Sometimes, when you have truths dying to be set free, it’s like that. So here goes.
We can heal the trauma that came with our DNA, intertwined with all the other predispositions. Both a burden and the gift of resiliency.
We are the generation that isn’t defined by whether we are wife material, how well we can cook and clean, our pretty appearance or agreeable demeanor.
No longer a slave to our mothers’ lack of self-esteem, it’s hereditary like my blue eyes and high cheekbones. We are worthy and no longer need permission to be enough.
I remember wondering why my curfew was early or my check-ins frequent when my brother didn’t do the same. It seems like the concern should have been boys’ behavior, but boys will be boys, so lock your daughters up.
It still didn’t protect me.
I refuse to accept my daughters’ stories will be the same, another link in an endless chain of abuse and shame where they waste time to undo what was taken. Come take this DNA, this is no rite of passage.
Come out from the dark and wield your sword, for Woman, you are your knight in shining armor that you have been waiting for. Lock arms with your sisters and burn their castles to ashes.
I am strong as the mountain that doesn’t shake when the rest of Earth gives way as the skies tumble.
I am soft as the gentle breeze that hits your leg as it dangles outside your sheets as you sleep.
I am powerful as the tide that shapes the shorelines and unforgivingly wears down even the sharpest of rocks.
And so are you.
Our voices started as a quiver and now grow strong as a quake, paved by the way of so many before us who couldn’t speak, but now we only have to open our mouths and scream.
So scream and shake.
For your mother. Your mother’s mother. And every single daughter.
A reckoning awaits.