If you ever get the idea that it is the responsibility of raped, battered, mentally/physically/sexually abused and violated women to help, educate, mend or heal men who rape, abuse, violate boundaries and get off from the pain, subjugation and degradation of women I suggest you take that thought and burn it till nothing is left, not even ash. Many women already do so much in the fight for their right to something they already should have an unconditional right to, and many women do feel the pressure to educate and try to heal men who are a danger to them. Do not reinforce this pressure. Put the responsibility where it belongs. Stop forgiving men for the hurt they cause. Stop making excuses for them. Start caring about women who suffer.
The biggest problem with this boy
is that he doesn’t seem to believe
that he’s beautiful.
This is a problem, of course,
because he knocks the wind out of you
every time he so much as looks at you
and you can’t help but think
that if he understood his own radiance
he would never touch you
Pepi Sonuga (left) and Michelle Hurd (right) as Lacey and Linda
Emery on Ash vs. Evil Dead (2015)
Synopsis: Ash has spent the last 30 years avoiding
responsibility, maturity and the terrors of the Evil Dead until a Deadite
plague threatens to destroy all of mankind and Ash becomes mankind’s only hope.
Series created by Ivan Raimi, Sam Raimi, and Tom Spezialy
I have lived my life reading books about these incredible women doing incredible things- but lately I’ve realized the impacts of the women in some of my most recent reads that have really changed my life and they have taken a special place in my heart because of it.
Feyre Archeron, Nesta Archeron, Mor- A Court of Mist and Fury Aelin Ashryver, Mannon, Elide Lochan, Hell ALL of the Thirteen- Throne of Glass Series Nina Zenik, Inej Gafa- Six of Crows Laia and Helene- An Ember in the Ashes
All of my life, I have wanted to be a strong woman- If I am being perfectly honest, I wanted to be a warrior. With armor, and a sword, wiping the blood off my face with a shirt sleeve, I’ve felt that warrior woman in my soul. Stirring when I raged at life, when I fought with family, when I went about my life, and my whole life I did not know how to reconcile that piece of me with the expectations of a woman today, what people want girls to be- small, soft, demure, all made up, and quiet, because that was so different than anything I wanted for myself. I wanted a fight and I wanted to be respected and fearsome and fierce and brave and strong as hell. I wanted to be a force of nature, you know? I was never interested in what my mother tried to tell me about getting boys to like me- I’ll never forget what she said “They aren’t looking for someone to fight, love, they are looking for someone to save.” she smiled and touched my hair. I never understood what she meant, because I was always looking for a fight- even when I was younger I knew that there was a certain kind of intimacy in a fight. Not with fists, but the struggle- the fight of life, of just having to be- it was all a fight, and I never wanted to be saved- all I ever wanted was someone to fight next to me.
So I did what most girls did that were not interested in that girly mold they try to shove us all into- I became a “tom-boy”, hated everything that was normally associated with girls and put on cons, combat pants and too big t-shirts. I shudder today to think of middle school me- and high school rolled around and my mother screamed and begged me to at least put some make up on, still I resisted. In my wisdom, I though that accepting those pieces of girldom that were thrust at me would lessen me- would lessen that warrior in myself, and I thought that jeans, and flannels and mens t-shirts and beanies were better gear than anything else. Makeup didn’t make me a warrior, dresses definitely didn’t make me a warrior, I was weaker and less because of those things. So I never wore a dress willingly, or put on makeup for anything other than family holidays or party’s- always only when it was expected of me.
I’m twenty two now- and I have read hundreds, if not more, of books where badass warrior women are the main character- but up until the books that I have read in the past few years those warrior women that I loved were never allowed to just be women. It was always things like, they had to pretend to be boys so they could train, they were women but they were so masculine (all cargo pants and slick-backed hair), used only for love interests, then to be stripped of their warrior status once a man came to care for them- they were never allowed to be women once they became warriors. Just like I had never allowed myself to be a woman- never allowed myself to enjoy the fact that I was a girl, that I was, in fact, a woman.
Then these characters came along, all of these women, even Mannon and her Thirteen, are WOMEN who are warriors. They allow themselves to be feminine and soft and beautiful but then they are also more than able to kill a man on a moments notice. They are smart and fierce and beautiful and vicious- their femininity does not take away from the fact that they are WARRIORS. That they will all step onto a killing field, and fight, and rage, and triumph, and then they wash the caked on dirt and blood out of their hair- step into a dress and dance with a man that loves them and fought beside them. And to have that man not think less of her because she picked up a dress instead of fighting gear- and for that woman to not have to pick between the fight and being a woman because she is already inherently both and there is no one without the other and one is not lesser because of the other. And to have someone love that woman, Love her and not want to save her- but want to fight beside her?
It has changed my life. These women have changed my life.
And the fact that I, a twenty two year old woman, spent my whole life denying that the two could be reconciled. There was no warrior if there was femininity- there could be no femininity if there was a warrior. I spent most of my life denying myself of a huge aspect of my existence- of feeling sexy, beautiful, feminine. And I did not know I was keeping myself from feeling powerful and ferocious by refusing all those pieces of womanhood I felt a warrior would never accept.
It’s thanks to all of the women that I listed- Feyre, Mor, Aelin, Elide, Helene, Laia, Nina, Inej- it is thanks to them that I have embraced myself entirely. In all my ferocious, beautiful, raging, feminine warrior glory.
It might be foolish- but it makes me happy to think that they would be proud of me, and would all be more than happy to walk into battle beside me.
Hayat bint Sulaiman bin Hassan Sindi earned her doctoral degree in biochemistry from Cambridge University in the United Kingdom, becoming the first woman from any Arab state to earn that degree at any institution. She is currently a visiting scholar at Harvard University in the United States, but she returns to Saudi Arabia often, where she serves as one of the first women ever appointed to Majlis Ash-Shura, the Saudi Consultative Assembly.
Number 227 in an ongoing series celebrating remarkable women in science, technology, engineering, and mathematics.
Can we seriously talk about how nearly every argument terfs use is a strawman? Like, their entire ideology is based in fundamentally misrepresenting the statements and actions of trans women, and it’s so so dishonest. Like they seem completely incapable of accurately representing trans women.
It’s amazing the things we’ll do to a woman,
to sell a product.
We whittle women down
to fit on the covers of magazines.
We lighten their skin and plump their lips,
Piece women together like mosaics and call it art.
If I learned anything from the media,
it’s that my body is wrong
and I’m probably not pleasing the man in my life.
I learned two wrongs don’t make a right,
but, apparently, three nos make a yes.
That it’s sweet and romantic to pester a girl
until she agrees to go out with you.
It’s no wonder so many boys view rejection
when we teach them the key to true love
is bargaining past lack of consent
and kissing girls who do not want to be kissed—
So when boys turn touch into weapons,
girls are taught to expect it.
No, if I learned anything from the media,
it’s that my sexuality only exists on a man’s terms:
that I can be sexy on the covers of magazines,
but only if I’m ashamed of it.
Because everything always boils down to either
too much or not enough.
I must be available:
Shameful and repentant.
Because we seem to think that once a woman opens her legs,
she doesn’t get to close them.
Because if a woman likes sex
then she’ll like it with YOU.
And if she doesn’t,
she’s a whore, a bitch, and a liar:
All the things the television has been saying
since long before you ever touched her.
What I learned,
being a woman,
is that I made to be touched,
just not by myself.
Is that I am meant to be virginal,
but know how to get a guy off.
That if I am not absolutely perfect,
then I am not worthy of love,
and should be content for scraps
from love’s table.
What I learned, being a woman,
is that inevitably, the men in my life are going
They will have all the right intentions.
They will have no idea what they’ve done.
And it will feel like true betrayal.
Because the stranger on the street
can scream as much filth at me as he wants,
and it will never hurt as bad
as the casual rape joke.
As the unthinking sexist pun
from the mouth of someone who I thought
From the mouth of someone I love.
What I learned from the media
is there is no such thing as good enough.
That the wacky, loveable side-kick
always gets the beautiful girl, but
girls who look like me
don’t get anyone.
We are killing ourselves
over the photoshopped lies
they sell us in Cosmo.
I’m not even angry, anymore.
Because they went and put a price tag
on all things beautiful, and now
they’re trying to sell us back
And the joke?
Is that they don’t even think we’re worth
the price of the ink it takes
to remake us.
And they’re not even subtle about it.