Stray hairs jut out of my brow,
My nails are unpolished,
My fingers and hands are winter chapped.
Dead ends adorn my head
As my frazzled curls go untamed too.
Acid washed jeans, literally, cover my lower bodice
While an over-sized t-shirt is sported up top.
This lack of primping hints to my disinterest in fashion
and American societal norms on “beauty”.
My feet sport hiking boots,
revealing my love of nature and outdoor activities.
A lab coat reveals my profession and an interest in science.
I carry a pumping bag instead of a purse.
The only jewelry I wear is an engagement ring and wedding band,
which I’d remove if my darling husband agreed to tattoos as a symbol of lifetime commitment.
I rarely cook,
I don’t separate my laundry…I just wash it all in cold water (except for cloth diapers).
I can’t sew, stitch, or hem.
My Facebook page is littered with articles on feminism, religion, and parenting.
I’m an extroverted, opinionated individual.
I like hikes, home repairs, and dirt.
Sparkles, glitter, the color pink, and gems annoy me.
I don’t like celebrity magazines.
Shopping for clothes or shoes, if for myself not my daughter, stresses me out.
I hate shopping. I don’t keep up with the latest trends.
I do like dancing, crafts, and theatre.
I like animals, country music, and travel.
At birth, I had a vagina. Today, I still do. Through it, I gave birth to my daughter.
I’m pretty certain my interests didn’t determine my gender, God and DNA did that.
Gender roles should stop. My interests in science, nature, and home repairs don’t make me less of a girl. My dislike of pink, sparkles, purses, or jewelry don’t lessen my girlishness. When did an interest in fashion and “being pretty” become the ultimate goal, the defining pinnacle of womanhood? I disagree with this notion and am frustrated when it is perpetuated by friends and family. All this pigeonholing has done is leave women even more ashamed of their bodies, not grateful for their other, far more important, attributes, and struggling to prove they are worth more than their aesthetic accouterments and/or alterations. This classification has only resulted in staring at oneself in the endless vanity mirror.
As for me and my house we will serve the Lord, how he has made us and instilled our passions, not in the constructs of acceptable societal norms on what is “girly” or “boyish” (which changes about as quickly as the tides might I add). *See pink used to be a boy color*