“I am both war and woman and you can not stop me.” – Nikita Gill, with no help from Me
Reader, perhaps the most important thing college has taught me thus far pertains not to acting techniques or three-point lighting (neither of which, I admit, do I fully understand), but who I am and what I value. And though such journeys extend for the duration of time between our first and last breaths – thankfully so, how tedious would a life be if a person had gained mastery of self at the ripe age of twenty-one? – I feel magnificently grateful to have been presented with the exquisite world of the female experience so very early on.
To pen the particulars of womanhood would be impossible, for it is defined not by its concrete nature but by its diversity, and I am sure there are a plethora of others far more equipped to give words to their thoughts on the subject than I. However, the female experience having been present at the front of my mind often of late, and it being Women’s History Month, I have resolved to do my best in writing this piece, and I hope you, Reader, will forgive my crude endeavor to establish what is nuanced in both essence and practice.
As it was spoken by Ms. Gill, to be both war and woman implies that war is inherently unwomanly – hard, masculine, violent. Reader, I do not think this is so. To put those words together – war and woman – affords a new connotation to the former, as well as to latter. Unprompted, a person may not think to connect the two concepts – war and women, and much less so womanhood. But though it may be intuitive to assume these words inherently juxtapose one another, when the two are united as both comparison and compliment, one begins to understand the ways in which battle is tinged with femininity, and womanliness as an unyielding force. More nuanced still, to fully embody the manifestation of “woman” necessitates that all qualities of a said woman are thus incorporated in the identity of womanliness, and therefore that war, being a part of the one who encapsulates womanhood, is thus yet another facet of its entity.
Reader, the female experience can not be interpreted any singular way, nor defined by any explicated articles, because it has a different value to each to whom it belongs, and the breadth of life to be lived contained within this one word, these five letters, – “woman” – is far too great to warrant an all-encompassing definition. Such a conclusion then begs the question – if a body lacks unification, can it truly be considered an altogether element? Are we not most accustomed to grouping like beings by what they share, rather than opposing objects by what they do not?
On my honour, Reader, I do not mean to paint such an incongruous picture as the one I know I do – you must believe me when I say I am as lost in the weeds of understanding womanhood as you must be, reading my attempt at giving structure to something which is inherently without. And yet, even as I cite the female experience as being one categorized by its individuality, and therefore unable to be categorized at all, I now present to you the idea that though what I have spoken already remains true, there is but one facet of the female experience of which all partake, and this is its celebration.
Reader, I do not pretend that to be a woman demands constant celebration – there are undoubtedly those whose sex does them a disservice, and even within our own ranks is prejudice stronger against some. What I speak of, instead, is not a war on women, but the unreleased war that exists within each.
I have always thought that masculinity is a concept rooted in fear, but femininity finds its strength in love. It is in the relish of being a woman, and the magnitude of not only opportunity, but determination, as to how a person may construct their lives within the context of that word, that gives life to the female experience. Though throughout history the roles of women have shifted across eras and nations, the unwavering allegiance to themselves and the changeability of destiny with which women have operated for eons is an awe-inspiring celebration of resilience, grace, intellect, and sensitivity. To exist within a playing field that has only very recently opened itself to contenders of a newly-recognized classification (and still bars itself from some), and to find not only success, but to redefine how success is determined in the eyes of the gamemakers and all those who study to be tacticians in years to come, is a celebration. Such a feat is a celebration of life, struggle, defeat, triumph, and everything beautiful and tragic that exists between.
The female experience is Malibu Barbie, made for girls but imagined for men, with more accolades than any living person can claim. It is the flexibility and power of Misty Copeland’s penche. It is viral TikTok sounds and the aspiration of twenty-somethings to be a “girl’s girl.” It is Kate Middleton and Meghan Markle pitted against one another while their husbands incur little criticism. It is exhaustion and unending energy. It is sitting on the floor together, shouting with support when a friend has put a particular amount of effort into her appearance, teasing and crying and understanding without words. It is hair bows and combat boots and hot cheetos and inked skin and hair caught in lip gloss. It is picture angles and buttered noodles and fear foods and self care and love in every one of its forms. It is giggling. It is pink. It is sipping a fruity little drink because she absolutely abhors whiskey. It is pride in what we are taught to smother. It is reclaiming what has been taken, and acknowledging what is not meant to be said. It is desire and sensuality and elegance and confusion and magnificence and heartbreak. It is outrage and intrigue. It is never enough. It is accepting softness, fragility, courage, and greatness as integral parts which can not exist alone. It is beauty and ugliness in one imperfect package. It is the community that allows one the freedom to enjoy, love, and find peace. It is the silliest and most serious of life.
All this can be true at once, most darling Reader, because such is the very nature of what it describes. Womanhood may be defined by what it is not as well as it may be defined by what it is not. For any other entity, I would decry such a statement as antithetical and ridiculous, but because I seek to explain my paltry understanding of womanhood, I beg of you to follow my insufficient words to the idea they poorly describe: that there is no way to understand the female experience except by virtue of accepting it is everything that has ever come to be, and simultaneously born of a singular vital force.
May you face whatever wars you meet as a woman.
Love,
Lettie Anne
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