Hiii (in Ross Geller’s sad voice/Sadness from Inside Out’s voice and posture)
We have an uninvited guest today, a black cloud that will not leave me alone. So, what better way is there to talk it down through my blog?
I sit here with the weight of a familiar companion creeping into the corners of my mind. Shame. A powerful force, yet so often silent and insidious in its presence. Today, I find myself grappling with the shame of simply being who I am as a woman.
In a world that constantly bombards us with expectations and ideals, it’s easy to lose sight of our own worth and authenticity, I think. As women, we’re often held to impossible standards of beauty, success, and femininity. We’re told to be strong but not too assertive, confident but not arrogant, ambitious but not intimidating. (Insert America Ferrera’s Barbie speech here). But seriously, It’s a dizzying maze of contradictions, and it’s been leaving me feeling like I’m constantly falling short.
I don’t know what is right and what is not. My whole life I’ve been raised by an extremely independent woman who, in this modern-day life, I’ve come to realize has also been a radical feminist before feminism was cool. (Happy Mother’s Day to my grandma). She instilled in me the value of independence and self-reliance, teaching me never to depend on a man. Never let a man define you, she’d say. And while I cherish these lessons, I can’t help but feel a tug towards a different aspect of femininity, one that embraces vulnerability and interdependence.
My mom, to me, is the epitome of femininity. (Happy Mother’s Day to my Mama). The way I watched her take care of herself and carry herself as a lady my whole life has altered my perception on so many levels. Although, she too, is extremely independent. After all, she also was raised by her mother (my grandmother), we would often get into arguments about appearance; how “unfeminine” I am. My teenage years were filled with “straighten your hair”, “wear dresses!” “put lenses on! You can’t leave the house with your glasses!” (fun fact: we still fight about my glasses). But she knows when to act feminine and when to unleash masculine force when necessary.
I, on the other hand, am lost between the two. You see, growing up, I genuinely thought that being “strong” is something to pride myself on. But today, it’s biting me in the oop, because vulnerability to me has become a shameful emotion. The same way my brother was told not to cry because he’s a “man”, I was told never to cry because I’m “strong”.
A couple of months ago I was sitting with 3 incredible women one night and the conversation took us to our school days. We all went to different schools, our ages range between 28-36, but the common factor is that we all grew up in the same school system.
In Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, there were specific schools (all girls schools, btw) with popular principals, and the conversation led us to examine the impact of these ideals on our personal identities. The women we grew up learning from all seemed to embody extreme feminism, advocating for hyper-independence and rejecting any notion of reliance on men. Yet, despite that, today, we all find ourselves single and struggling to reconcile our beliefs with our desires for real connection.
Why am I here today? What got me to write about this?
I woke up today with a heavy weight of shame after a night where I allowed myself to be vulnerable. Last night I expressed a thought that I have been playing with for a while. I want a man. I don’t want to be alone merely because I’m trying to prove the idea that I am my own woman; I carry myself just fine. I am self-sufficient, I am capable, but I also crave the presence of the masculine with me.
In my world, hyper-independence and self-sufficiency are celebrated, making it easy to feel conflicted when admitting the desire for a man. I believe that I have proven time and again that I can carry myself with grace and navigate life’s challenges on my own. But amidst all this self-assurance, there exists a longing for more than just me. (This is me justifying again, “dang” it).
My attempt on making this post is a yearning for liberation from these self(&society)-imposed expectations that had been weighing me down. I want to know that desiring a partner does not diminish my independence; it could simply add another layer to the complexity of who I am. It’s not about relinquishing my power or losing my sense of self; it’s about surrendering to the idea that vulnerability can coexist with strength. To recognize my own human need for connection, support, and love.
“Stop the cringe, accept the love.” That is my message to you and me.
This is a super long post, yet I still have so much to add.
But I will release you, my lovelies.
And Happy Mother’s Day to all women.
Men, your time will come.
XOXO
Conflicted and yapping FFB
Full-Fat Blah 
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