You know, I’m just kinda over it. Women talk to me about shit. Cos I’m honest. Open. Brave. Possibly because I was born without the ability to moderate my own privacy.
I was taught in recovery that I am only as sick as my secrets. I took this to heart. It worked for me.
But I hear other women’s stories (even from the other side of the world), and they mirror my own.
And it makes me angry.
Cos throughout history, the living experience of women is anywhere from problematic to excrutiating.
Because across the world, women work and love and hurt over the same shit.
I’m open-minded enough to frequently hope that I wrong. Merely biggoted. Overly influenced by my own small experience.
But time and again, as I share and I listen, I’m dismayed.
Goddess, please please let me raise a good son. A good man.
Capable of loving. And of being loved.
How am I supposed to do this, with my own experience of life, and a surprising lack of contrary evidence?
Apart from the occasional annoyed male expressing his irritation to me with blatant misogyny.
FFS, all I want is for one of you to prove me wrong…!!!
Not even necessarily in my own life.
Just let me see you love your partner. Love your kids. Love your family.
Alter my world view.