As I Get Older, I’m Too Tired To Be A Strong Woman

That's Me in January with Some of My Family in the UK. We're Fancy.

Oh my goodness how we praise the ‘strong woman’ these days. Now that feminism has thankfully and correctly reminded women that finding a man to marry you and popping out a couple of kids is not the ONLY success a woman can strive for in life, being a ‘strong woman’ is an absolute prerequisite for any self-respecting feminist in 2019. Right?

Well let me unpack this for you. The ‘strong woman’ trope generally applies to successful and dynamic women in one of these two camps:

1.     The woman who hasn’t gone the kids route, and therefore can provide all the emotional labour for everyone else. Can be the one to work late, to not take leave over the holidays, to drive further, because she ‘doesn’t have a family’. The woman who shoulders massive responsibility, but not the kind approved of for the womenfolk. Also known as a ‘ball breaker’, just for fun.

2.     Disadvantaged women. When being a woman is not enough to take second place in society, endemic discrimination, poverty, lack of access and a profound absence of support ensure this version continues to ‘know her place’ despite all her real achievements.

And I’m sorry that I have to (ball)break this to you. What other choice does either of these women - or any others that don't fall into these cliched categories - have? Being strong is her duty of survival, to herself and to her family - its not in any way an actual choice!

Some of the Strongest Women I Know. My Sister and A Couple of My Brilliant Cousins.

So now that I am older, I've decided that I’m tired. So, so tired. I no longer believe I need to be strong and now I choose to be taken care of by someone else, please. I reject all the faux-feminist Instagram quotes about being - and raising - strong women. I accept that I need to know my place. So who is offering to step up and take care of me here?

Anyone? Anyone?

Thought so. Urgh. Annoying.

More Bloody Strong Women. Also Brilliant. My Besties Gilly and Philly.

PS: Being told hundreds of times in my life that ‘I don’t have a family’ because I chose not to have kids is one of the most hurtful things I have had to shrug off in the pursuit of survival. To those who have said it, I say to you, you don’t know my story at all. And you are absolutely 100% wrong. I have a weird, crazy, demanding, loving, close family, both near and far. I have an elderly mum and dad, a sister, a couple of delicious nieces, a smattering of decrepit aunts and uncles, a slew of wonderful cousins. Real blood relatives, to whom I have very real blood responsibilities. I also have a handful of godchildren and friends that I grew up with, as sisters. And occasionally even their families. Which, granted, I am slightly less responsible for, but not entirely not. So. Stop it. Please.