The Devastating Beauty of Feminine Rage.

image source

Something about femininity is so hauntingly beautiful. I've been acquainting myself with feminine rage on a more conscious level this year despite feeling it for so many years. Female hysteria was actually quite a fitting name for women in distress back in the day if it wasn't for the negative connotations. I love feminine rage because it is so multi-faceted and layered with so many emotions that manifested into rage. Feminine rage is made up of disappointment, hurt, betrayal, hopelessness, hopefulness, insanity and all the components that are inherent with being a woman pushed to a point where it manifests into pure rage.Nothing about being female is simple and direct when we are expected to adhere to multitudes of expectations and standards built by the patriarchy designed for us to play a role that we will never perfect.

It is completely maddening when you sacrifice parts of yourself in an attempt to feel loved and respected yet no matter how much you give only more will be taken. Growing up, I never felt attractive or desired and so I spent a lot of time losing weight to fit into societal beauty standards because after all, if I was skinny and beautiful surely everyone will love me and want me? Here I am a young woman in her 20s and she is not unattractive. I have feminine curves and a pretty face yet why is it the men I have encountered that showed interest in me never went beyond a couple hours or maybe even a night if they had a guilty conscience. I did it, I've deprived myself enough to be deemed attractive by some. So why is it I still don't feel good enough?

Have a sense of humour, laugh at my jokes even if it's at the expense of your sex. Smile more, aren't you a bundle of joy? Don't be boring, we like girls with a personality but not too much personality because that can come off as frivolous. Be smart so we can hold a conversation but don't be too intelligent where mine feels undermined. Don't be clingy but not too independent where you make us feel useless. Be attractive but not too sexy otherwise I'll have to compete with other men to acquire you as my prize. Pleasure me in the bedroom but only me because if others have had you, then you're used goods with no self respect. I'll take you out for drinks so you'll sleep with me because thats only fair. I'll engage in conversation with you and let you fall into the illusion that I actually care because the few hours I get to use you for pleasure is worth this facade.

I doubt a huge population of men would consciously admit to thinking these things because these are beliefs that the patriarchy has indoctrinated so many men with. This isn't a criticism on individual character but a criticism on the system that has instilled these beliefs in men that so many operate like this on a very subconscious level. While I fully believe 'not all men' and that it is only 'some', unfortunately, I have only encountered the ''some' so far.

I am filled with feminine rage. This rage comes from the men that keeps disappointing me. The ones that disguises their true intentions by luring me in with false niceties and humoured conversation as a sacrifice for of a night of pleasure. The ones I will never be good enough for no matter how many societal boxes I tick. The ones who made me go on the brink of insanity by invalidating how I felt and making me question everything about myself. I should be feeling hopeless and at times I certainly do, yet I still have hope that I will be proven wrong and that there are decent men out there that respect women and cherish them without the hidden undertones of strange attachments or resentments towards their mother. It is that very hope that when proven differently time and time again, this deep seething hurt spreads all over my being only for the hope to bounce back like a sponge that has only ever absorbed pain.

Maybe my life was just tragically void of quality men and my experiences has led to this high level of disillusionment but one thing is certain. Being a woman is absolutely maddening. Yet even in the depths of my sadness and emptiness, I find something so devastatingly beautiful about the range and complexities that comes with the pains of being a woman.

Nicole