ideal and lesser: a manifesto.

I'm told that I can be terrifying. 

Most of the time, this amuses me and also makes me a little proud, and a little self-conscious, in equal parts. I like knowing that people see me as assertive, and I've found that some people just naturally consider an assertive nature "terrifying" (oh, well). I like exercising my leadership skills, which include listening to and supporting people. I strive for mild, unless the situation calls for fierce. Generally, I balance it all well. Except for when I don't. 

__________

There's something about people doing terrible things to you which prompts a reevaluation of your relationship with yourself. When someone treats you badly, you become aware that, aside from the pain and resulting anger resulting from mistreatment, there is a real sense of injustice involved. Some of it is tied up in the inevitable why would this happen to me? kinds of questions, but in a way, your sense of injustice at mistreatment is a pretty accurate barometer with regard to your self-relationship: your sense of injustice at having been mistreated is directly linked to your sense of personal worth. 

Sometimes, you may find that your sense of offense is linked to an inflated view of your own worth. 

Sometimes, you may find that you've been figuratively beating the hell out of yourself, but didn't realize how wrong it was until someone started figuratively doing it for you. 

Figuratively. 

So as I continue to process the (figurative) puke-inducing horror-fest that was 2012, I had an epiphany. Not a big whoooa kind of epiphany - more the kind where I'm left thinking why in the world did it take me so long to give myself this permission? 

I, as a woman, have denied myself a fully-developed sense of worth. I have allowed myself to shoulder the burden of other peoples' expectations, limitations, narrow perceptions. Guilt has been my bedfellow. Shame sings songs at me. My eyes are too small. My hands are not pretty. I'm too fat. My hair is impossible. There's that one tooth. That would look terrible on me. And that, and that, and that. I have to be perfect at what I do, or I'm otherwise worthless. Tell as little as possible about yourself, because once the questions start, how could you ever explain? I can't be cutesy. I hate myself. I'm too complicated, and not in a humble-brag kind of way. Who would ever want me. I don't fit with these people, or these people, or these people. 

Do you hear all that crap? How does that crap get into someone's head? I wasn't born with it, that's for sure.

And I - as a woman who was sexually abused in childhood, who was sexually assaulted as an adult, who was programmed with all kinds of ideas about her body as a child, and is now subject to seemingly nonstop onslaughts against her physique as an adult, from religious institutions which claim I should fill a lesser role than that of a man, to secular media and advertising which profits from cultivating dissatisfaction and perceived shortcomings, to a dating culture which is just filthy with shallow self-centeredness - I am issuing a manifesto. Right now. Listen up. 

I am tired of allowing myself to shoulder blame for the fact that I'm not seen as anywhere near "ideal." 

I am not a fat chick; I am not aw, she's so pretty, if only; if I weighed one hundred and five pounds, I would not be dang, she's hot, holla holla holla, I can ha yo numba. 

I am incredible. I am the best friend you've ever had, whether we're friends or not. I am smart as hell - quick, and witty, and I can read you like a book within the first five minutes of our meeting. Whatever happens, I want what's best for you. My brain is fantastic, and sometimes really dumb-nerdy, but always fascinating, and I am downright sexy for it. 

I am far from perfect, as I also have a horrible temper (lately), and am impatient, and I'm prone to abandoning everything on a whim to take on ridiculous projects, and I'm a perfectionist, and I hate to be interrupted, and my room is always a mess, and, lately, I procrastinate like I'll finish this sentence tomorrow. 

But. 

I am fantastic, and gorgeous, and quality. I am made up of all the qualities that last. 

I am a vital agent in this world, a force behind which good, strong, lasting things come about - not a blight, a trophy, or a potential trophy.

I don't fit in a crappy culture. 

Any man on earth would be lucky to have me, were it a goal. 

And I don't apologize for knowing it.

And I'm tired of downplaying it. 

And if that's "terrifying," then live in fear. 

Because all the stupid rules that apply to situations with these kinds of expectations? I reject them outright. 

You are not allowed to define my worth. 

Yes, you. Right there, sitting in your chair. You. 

I don't care whether I know you or not, whether I love you, or respect you, or have ever met you, or will ever meet you. I don't care if you're a teacher, friend, peer, acquaintance. 

You are not allowed conflate my value as a person with what you make of my sexual appeal.  

You are not allowed to evaluate my worth via my sexual behavior. 

You are not allowed to think less of me as a person because I do not meet your standards of what is acceptable. And if you choose to do so, you may expect me to willfully not play long. 

You are not allowed to impose standards of "acceptable" on me which are related only to what you can see with your eyes. You may hold those standards if you must, but when your disgust crosses my threshold, you and I are gonna scrap. Count on it. Because how dare you reduce all the incredible that I am to that. Who do you think you are? 

You are not allowed to dictate my perceived potential via my gender. And I have a reached a point where I am absolutely finished with quiet politeness over the issue; I am no longer willing to assume that a person who perpetuates inequality has good intentions. I don't care what your intentions are.  

You are not allowed to expect any of your attitudes to affect my happiness or worth. 

From today forward, I will continue striving to be a better person, every day, but I will never again penalize myself for my not meeting shallow expectations set up by - by who? Who even says that I have to adopt an air of apology or inferiority (or else risk being known as A Bitch) for not meeting some arbitrary standard with no origin? Who sets up these kinds of rules? Who demands that I know my place? 

I know these things as truth, more now than ever before. 

And if I tell you that I know these things, maybe you can know them for yourself, too. 

And my nieces, in seeing me walk replete in the knowledge of my worth, can see my permission to know it for themselves. 

I would love it if they could see you know it, too, reader. Man or woman. Whoever you are. 

Because, you see, this is more than just a Lisa Is Pissy On Her Own Behalf kind of thing. I am helping to raise three tiny forces of nature who take no crap because they're unaware of the crap that's out there, and are unaware that they are, culturally, expected to take it. They are charmed little watercolor crystalline sparklers, and they are growing up in a world full of industries that profit from their personal unhappiness, a world full of little boys growing into men who learn to be charming, so that they can use their insight to prey on women for cheap thrills, instead of vulnerable in ways which create true intimacy - a world which narrows the definition of "beauty" to tits, ass, cheap fame, and vapidity. 

You should know that if you are reading this as a person or industry who is party to any of these sins committed against humanity, men and, in particular, women - it is a personal thing, for me. Not just because I am a woman, but because when I gather my girls close, and we chitchat about days, or play science games, or read stories, or laugh at toe humor, and I know that they will lead lives far away from my arms, for years to come, these incredible little world-changers - your sins are personal. You commit them against my girls, and all girls, and boys, as well; you stack the deck against babies who have never considered concepts of "lesser" based on criteria that does. not. matter. 



If you play by these rules, you unleash a lion. Today, and every day. 

Live in fear.