As any woman born into a man’s world, I had to learn its linear ways. For representing just half of the world’s population, men’s ways surely had overtaken the world. And yes, matriarchal societies exist but represent only 0.062% of the world’s population. Not even 0.1%.
Before I learned to think on my own, I had deeply assimilated that being strong and tough is a must to be successful. If you try hard enough – you can do and become anything and anyone. If you don’t achieve something – it is solely your fault. I believed those internalized mantras for some time. For thirty years, to be exact, until I discovered other ways – ways of womanhood, cyclical ways.
When it all began
I was born in a country that doesn’t exist anymore, in the ex-Soviet Union, in the eastern part of Siberia (yes, it was cold), where I spent my childhood and adolescence.
My parents, both archers, met in the early eighties, got married and had my brother, me, and one more boy. Even though I was born as a girl, nevertheless, the notion of my gender didn’t come to me till later in life, when I was seven years old.
Both athletes, they were quite competitive, and the importance of winning, a sense of rivalry, and the fear of failure, my brother and I learned way before we knew about self-love and the art of compassion, and I wish we would know those first.
They taught us a linear goal-oriented mindset; they often said that if we tried hard enough – we could do anything we proposed. I believed that at first but in just several years, I would find out for myself otherwise.
We learned that discipline and effort determined our success while feeling too much was a big no-no. Little did I know that discipline is a useful skill, but not a lifestyle, and it is not a success I would be longing for in my life, but inner fulfillment and feeling whole.
My mother taught me eight words: “You Have To, You Can, and You Will.” “Anything you want, you can do,” she used to say. She wanted those words to be my magic charm, and for many years, I believed that I could and would, and I indeed accomplished so much.
Nevertheless, after some time. that motivational quote transformed into a sentence meaning that I had to finish whatever I started regardless of how unhappy I would become on the way. I never heard that quitting sometimes could be a right and good thing to do.
As a child, all I wanted was to feel safe and loved. I wanted to be fed and held, feel the warm breath and her calm heartbeat, and maybe hear her sing. All I wanted was to be wrapped in a soft blanket of love and acceptance and to be mothered and loved. Unconditionally.
I liked things to be simple. Words such as “productive”, “effort”, and “deadlines” didn’t exist for me. I was me, a genderless child, not searching for approval at all.
When I was six, our mother got pregnant and when she gave birth to my baby brother, I became the middle sister, a girl, and was no longer a genderless child. It was around that age when I noticed a change in the way I was talked to. Year after year my mother was teaching me women’s skills: I was expected to know how to serve, tend, care for, and entertain. I had to learn helplessness, pretend to be weak, and conceal my capacities too. I had to learn to be grateful to boys: for help that I could live without and for attention, even unwanted.
It seemed that as me and my brothers grew up, the list of my house chores grew with me while my brothers kept on playing games. At the end of my childhood, I wished I had been born as a boy: they were encouraged to have much more fun while I was taught to be of their service. Then, for the first time, I felt a feminist in me: I longed for equality of chances and rewards and felt angry with the girl’s unfair treatment before I knew all the words.
I started to hate fairy tales. Cinderella was the one that I despised the most. For me, it was not a story of hope, the prince, and true love but a tale of domestic slavery normalized for too many girls. I know that the tale was reflection of medieval age, but I wondered why those stories we still valued in the modern world.
By the time I reached puberty, I already knew skills girls should know, and when my period came at thirteen, it was the final revelation of a simple truth: now, I could not escape the destiny of being a woman, and contrary to what my parents taught me during childhood, I could not do it all. In fact, now, as a woman, I had way fewer coulds and plenty of shoulds.
Reaching Menarche
I remember quite well the day I menstruated for the first time. It was a regular weekend, and I was practicing piano lessons alone in my room. I think I practiced D minor and hated all the minors, by the way. I was sitting on a cushioned chair when suddenly I felt warm “Plop!” in my underwear. I thought I peed myself, but it was different. It came naturally, without effort, not a sting.
I lowered my eyes to peek inside right in time to see dark red blood landing on my briefs. My clothes and the cushion pillow were ruined. I called my mom. She briefly cheered me and rushed to give me a pad.
My mom and I were the only menstruating women in our family of five. Very few things were said about what period was, and close to nothing on what phases of the cycle were and what they meant for me and my physical and emotional health.
My mother knew little herself and could not teach me much. Her mother never talked about it, and period-related silent shame transcended from their generation to mine. Bloody days meant I was not pregnant, and days around ovulation were risky times – that was all I learned. So little I knew about the cycle when I first bled, and even less about the impact each phase had on my daily life.
Later, already on my own, I kept on searching for information on cycles. The articles I read were limited and quite depressing: medical terms and hormone levels, fibroids, clots, pain and more pain, PMS, PMDD. This subject seemed too complex to understand, control, or influence in any way for the next forty years or so. Powerless and lost – that was how I felt before the heart of my womanhood.
While my periods were establishing their rhythm, I closely observed my mother. Her periods were excruciating due to underlying medical conditions that never had been treated. With a myoma of the size of an olive, endometriosis, and multiple fibroids her periods were heavy and torturous since I can recall. I remember her in tears from pain on days of monthly bleeding, crawling her way to the bed with a hot water bag. Later, she told me how defeated and humiliated she felt during her menstruation and how she blamed herself for losing in a bloody game.
As for me, I was blessed with what is called period-related “mood swings”, PMS, or premenstrual syndrome, even though I wasn’t familiar with that expression yet. My temper became more volatile, and I never stayed in one emotional state for too long: I was eating, then overeating; too social, then not enough. I would go from crying to smiling, obsessing with my to-do lists, to staying behind closed doors crying over my ex.
As for physical aches, compared to my mother, there were almost none besides a pulling ache in my lower stomach and raw tearing pain inside of my vagina, a sensation hard to describe.
To avoid being judged for mood swings, I learned how to self-gaslight. I learned to tell myself that I was dramatic and overreacting. I adopted a ‘fix it’ mindset and wished to find a magic pill to cure the way I felt – to be less moody, less me, as I thought I was too much.
I learned to laugh at mood swings jokes and to make ones myself. I became part of the mood swings stigma formed by women and men. And I was making that stigma stronger with each “I am sorry for having mood swings.”
How To Be a Good Girl
By the age of fourteen, I realized that my life would keep turning around my gender role for the rest of my life, and I must behave as I was taught at home, school, and beyond.
I adored my school. It taught me the power of teamwork, nourished my curiosity for the world, and taught me to care for the environment long before it became mainstream. And it taught yeses and noes of boys’ and girls’ gender roles, Those lessons were not even subtle: too many times I felt like I was being groomed and tamed to be docile and to obey.
When I was fifteen, girls had to attend the sewing and baking class while boys were working with tools. Next year, we were encouraged to take a typewriting class while boys learned how to drive. Later, there was one class I will never forget; it was held for both genders at once. It was a safety class given by a middle-aged man about how to handle rape, and it was directed to girls as future victims of men. As not if but when.
To the girls as victims of rape, the instructor was giving advice that sounded cliché: “Aim for the balls and scream ‘Fire!’ At the end, he joked and said: “If your abuser is stronger than you and you do not have a chance to escape, just lay back and try to enjoy…”
I remember I almost threw up. I was told to lay back with joy on my face while a man raped me, leaving bruises and wounds, leaving traumas behind, destroying my sense of self.
I was told to pretend to be OK with the inevitable act of rape because it was nothing I could do about it. I was told to pretend to be OK as if I allowed it to happen. As if I wanted it to happen and even looked forward to it. Maybe I was expected to compliment a rapist on his performance too, but the lecturer did not say.
That phrase, intended to sound like a joke, once again highlighted the essence of the man-centered world into which I was born.
Sadly, not once during the class did the instructor address boys. It seemed like there was no intention to educate them at all on dealing with sexual urges, on a ‘no violence’ standpoint, on impulse control, or the legal consequences of rape. The boys, almost young men, only giggled. I believe they felt uncomfortable too, but no one spoke up. Maybe there were classes for boys as victims of something too, but I never heard of it then.
It was heartbreaking to realize that girls and women are condemned to live from the perspective of man’s convenience while pretending to be OK. “Just lay back and try to enjoy….”
*Quick detour
Yet, it wasn’t always like that. Once in history, women were goddesses and queens, warriors, and priests, not limited to a household and defined only by men.
Together, women and men shared the world, needing and helping each other, and together we thrived. But, once resources began to pile up, women were sent inside, their independence was taken away, and the idea of a homey wife became appealing to men worldwide.
The man-made world took over, and the balance of feminine and masculine was broken. Much of the feminine was overlooked, while the masculine was universally praised.
Women’s voices were taken away for generations to come. When women warriors, traders, and queens would appear and rise again, it was deemed as an outstanding exception, not a rule in the world governed by man.
Over four hundred generations of men cheering for men, rooting for men, and celebrating men shaped our perspective on what is right and wrong, convenient or not. Women had no chance to share their voice, not because they did not have one, but because they were hushed from public life, weren’t taught to write, inaudible to all, with silent beauty left.
It was men who decided what was good and evil. On things, they knew so well and on things they thought they knew, like women’s joy and health. Maybe it was assumed that women had the same needs as men or that we do not have needs at all; now, it is hard to know.
Internilizing misogyny
While my school was instructing me on how to be a good victim of rape, I learned to fear man’s bad moods. Soon enough life taught me that the best way to avoid a man’s bad mood was to live in sexist and misogynist ways. Internalized misogyny kept many women safe for a long time, but times are different now, and when it feels safe day after day, I forget to live in sexist and misogynist ways.
Learned misogyny is to think that man’s ways are the only righteous ways and that men have the right to more.
Learned misogyny is to justify men’s cruelty and to believe that the reason for men’s problems – is women.
Learned misogyny is to think that sons mean more than daughters.
Learned misogyny is to believe that I have nothing to offer and that man will fix it all.
Learned misogyny is to feel grateful for being chosen by a man and feel bad selecting a man.
Learned misogyny is to think it is good to sacrifice part of myself under a romantic veil.
Learned misogyny is to wonder if I am the wife- or not wife-material.
Learned misogyny is to think that I deserve a man’s bad mood.
Learned misogyny is to fear losing a man for telling my personal truth and to think that having an opinion makes me less pretty for them.
Learned misogyny is to think of myself as a precious reward and to fear not pleasing a man.
Learned misogyny is to feel bad for thinking that my pleasure and happiness are important too.
Learned misogyny is to develop a man-oriented taste and to live life out of man’s convenience and joy.
Learned misogyny is to evaluate my looks, accomplishments, and deepest hopes by the opinions of men.
Learned misogyny is to praise self-betrayal for men’s sake in big and little things.
Learned misogyny is faking smiles and laughing at jokes that hurt.
Learned misogyny is to think that problems will go away once I had a man.
Learned misogyny is to think that feeling too much is no bueno and that my feelings are mostly BS.
Learned misogyny is also to say how sorry I am for being a woman and having mood swings.
Finally, learned misogyny is to pass the same ideas to our sisters and daughters for the convenience of men.