My Femininity
My history is that I was a tomboy for most of my young life; preferring male friendships & hobbies/jobs that are male dominated. Motherhood allowed me to surrender to my femininity & it was a beautiful time to really begin to unfurl. I learned that I love getting my nails done & wearing sexy shoes, along with beautiful dresses. I love to walk into a room & be received as a woman. I appreciate a gentleman with a leading heart.
I know that my initial aversion to the feminine came from my own origin story, so this isn’t some in depth evaluation of femininity vs masculinity as a whole. No. Mine, I’m certain, came from not trusting women because, growing up, the woman in my life was not someone I could trust. She fed me to the wolves & walked away. My dad & brother were the only people I could depend on. My brother, even by the age of 7, was already my protector. My dad was & is a source of love & wisdom. Additionally, having been sexualized so young, I gravitated towards clothes that hid my body so I dressed “like a hoodlum”, as my dad called it.
Once I began the work to heal my Mother Wound, I began to embrace my femininity, & feminine relationships, in a way I’d never been able to before. I began to create a life that represents my deepest love for myself, so I began to trust myself, which is to say that I began to trust others. (In other words, many times, we say we don’t trust people as a whole, but that just means we don’t trust ourselves to recognize who is trustworthy.)
So here I am, in love with my feminine nature & still reveling in my masculine interests as well. This weekend, for instance, I spent much of it around men. Men of character, to be clear, & perhaps that in itself is a surrender for me as a woman because, around such men, I don’t have to worry. I’m surrounded by protectors; by men that open doors, know how to shoot or fight. They see women - including me - as gentler. They see me, whether we’re smoking a cigar & having a drink, or talking about guns, & what they see is still a woman that they respect & would rise to protect if need be. In my male circles, I am literally often the most well protected woman in the room, just by nature of the type of men I call friends.
I know that perhaps people see me & see someone that is a little rough around the edges. It’s possible I subconsciously created that for myself because maybe I thought that if I looked tough, no one would try to take advantage of me again. That’s not to say I do any of the things I do for that purpose. I truly enjoy all my hobbies, but it’s possible that the inner-machinations of my mind manifested a me that represents Strength. As a woman though, I will tell you, I’d rather be nurturing than be strong. Allow me to clarify; I am both. But to have a partner that is the protector, because he’s shown that’s who he is, is PERMISSION for a woman to rest in that protection, & allow her instead to be the nurturer. It’s not a static state of being. Sometimes, around other men, I have to be in charge because I don’t trust their leadership because THEY don’t trust their leadership. &, of course, with my children, I am a fierce protector always. As I travel, I am my own protector & feel confident in my ability to stay safe.
As a side note, & thought I just had, it must be really difficult for strong men to be strong all the time. They don’t really get that choice, do they? How do THEY rest? I think that’s why these men want women that bring them peace. I digress.
When I embraced my femininity all those years ago, it was a lovely season of discovery. Now, having embraced it AND also valuing my masculine interests - dancing shamelessly & respectively between the two, I feel more whole, though often misunderstood. I love being a woman; I love my softness, my giving nature, my serving heart & living poetically, romantically even, through my own eyes. I love leaving the smokey coils of a cigar for the fiery nakedness of my own skin. I dance here, in these edges of strength & surrender because it’s a wonderful spot to be completely & utterly me.
