the exceptional woman

I often think about what happens to the woman who does it all. each of us have been conditioned to be her, to want to be her. we must stretch ourselves thin, pray we won't break (at least not publicly), but we are not elastic, we are skin and bones and flesh and blood. skin will sear, bones will break, flesh will congeal, blood will boil.

I have to actively choose to not be her. I don't want to be exceptional by another's definition, by their expectations, by their lack of boundaries, but it is alluring. it becomes easier with time, but I have not perfected it. has anyone, really?

I think about the women who sacrifice greatly for their men. why must we grind ourselves down into a meek paste? who are you proving yourself to, and why? why must we seek the approval of others so deeply? is it worth it? it never is, but we do it just the same.

I think about the woman who's husband is verbally abusive, but she always makes an excuse. she sticks through the muck he flings at her in attempt to appear "strong" to those she shares her stories with, and romantic to those who only know the glittering surface.

I think about the woman whose life gets flipped upside-down, expectations sitting interstellar. she cannot make her own boundaries, and then sets ablaze anyone who can.

I think about the woman whose figure alters at the whims of her beau's ever-changing, fetishized interests. she loses the opportunity to fall in love with and embrace herself, in hopes that he will love and embrace her. he won't.

it makes me sad. it's a pitiful existence. I'm not saying anything new. I'm not saying I'm above it all. this isn't a moral judgement. but these things are always worth reflecting on, and critically considering in each of our lives.