I read the birth story and I feel sick. Who was this person who did that?
J has his prize (our son) and I’m dying every day taking care of him. Why? I hate motherhood, I hate the feminine – the work of it, the self-sacrificing mother who annihilates herself to nurture the next generation. What the fuck is the point of that?
Trusting the feminine? Are you kidding me? My mother had 5 children while her body and mind went uncared for, unrecognized, while she went insane with the unending needs of children and unending torment of her emotions. Her life was shitty: a daily cross to bear. I promised myself and J promised me that we would not have to choose that. I would not have to kill myself like that. My sisters, one by one, fell to that fate: programmed to give up themselves for their husbands for the “supposed to” of having children. Two of them have become obese, one is physically ill. I am physically ill. I did the same thing while I thought I was being so radical. A few years of trail-blazing and then BOOM. House-bound, pregnant, my family accepting me again: finally I was not just living for myself, BEING SO SELFISH.
What am I writing about? The feminine is weak, can’t even stand up to her husband and say “No, I don’t want to have a child, I’m afraid of what it will do to me, I don’t have a body that can hold it, I will die”. Instead, she submitted to THE MAN who knew better about what life should be about: marriage, “a grounded life”, a child. UGH! MAKES ME SICK.
So what have I learned today? That as soon as I feel rage, my girl collapses and takes over. That being the victim is a lot easier than fighting for my power, that I don’t trust women, that I hate being a woman, that I blame the world for my woman-hate. That I took my Dad’s need for me to be a boy and ran with it – ran away from myself as a girl. Rejected being a girl in favor of being a pretend boy…..just call me Pinocchio.
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