Thursday, January 19, 2012

The Plight of the Superwoman

Everyone has that friend. The one who's doing it all with very little sweat, tears or fanfare. The one with all their stuff together, ducks in a row, and they just make it all look so easy you wonder why you couldn't do it. We all know that superwoman, and some of us are that superwoman.

I've been the "superwoman" friend as long as I could remember having friends. I was the one with the assignment done the week it was assigned (or pulled an A from thin air an hour before class). I was the one with all the relationship answers, despite lacking my own relationship to test it out in. I was the one with the quiet, modest plan in life to be a super glamorous, highly respected high school English teacher, simply because, of all the things I could do, molding young people's minds was the one that stuck out the most.

I am a superwoman. Not by choice, rather by circumstance so I am often tired and under-appreciated, or rather feel that way because I don't take time to rest and appreciate myself. The plight of the superwoman is in her quiet nature; because she is so sure and steady, people take her minute motions and gestures for granted, and as such, she starts to take herself for granted. 

I am a superwoman. When everyone leans on me I am a rock, I never falter. If they ask me the same question a thousand times my answer never changes. On my own, in the quiet between the dark and the dawn I have to still my own waters, be my own rock not because there's no one who will listen, but often those people who listen will somehow always turn the conversations back on themselves, or spout cliche'd -isms they've read on plaques and bumper stickers that never fully fit me. I have to find my own mold, in the quiet when I should be sleeping, I often find myself sorting through feelings, thinking or daydreaming of a day when I'll no longer be tired, when life will fall into place.

 I'm a superwoman, but I'm still a woman. I find I crave the things that used to scare me so. I don't know how to get out there to go get those things I really want, but have recognized my issues and am taking very small and short steps before making a running leap into the unknown. I'm insecure about my body and sometimes wonder if I'm unattractive to men my age as so few of them approach me. Wonder if now, like in middle and high school, my wit and advanced state of mind has me in the minority yet again. 

I'm a woman. I think a lot before I do anything. I work really hard and sleep a lot less. I'm always writing and creating things in my mind. I still like to color with Crayons and listen to offensive rap music in the same hour I'll listen to jazz and alternative. I cook barefoot while listening to soul music. I cry, sometimes for no reason but often compose myself in a few minutes. I sing love songs when I'm sad, and rock out when I clean. I'm complex and quiet, a tough combination, but my heart is full of love and care, just waiting for someone who'll care to listen to it's soft beating.

I'm a woman. I happen to do super things. And so, I'm a superwoman. I'm proud. I'm exhausted, but I'm so proud of me it rings vibrantly with energy enough to keep me going. That's more than a lot of women, super or otherwise, can say. And for now, it's more than enough.  

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