I’ve spent my whole life believing in the wonder of women. I’ve known how powerful we are, experienced the strength we can harness and believed that our hearts give us our most formidable abilities. We can create love, we know sincere compassion, it’s in our blood; we have secrets in our hearts that no one will ever know and yet with a look, a touch, we as women can know each other better than people who spend hours and years and lifetimes talking. We are spectacular.
There was a part of me that thought that commemorating women with a special day couldn’t be a good thing – it smacks of the kind of tribute you give to those whom you want to keep silent – after all, commemorating something is the best way to forget it (I read that somewhere – can’t think where). But no, I’ve chosen optimism (call me foolish). I think it makes total sense – we aren’t being commemorated. We are being celebrated. We really deserve it, too.
We are the most wonderful things in the world. Silent through pain, we drink our tears. The truest voices of love, we channel hope. Resilient in adversity, we fight to move forwards.
I had to write this. Being a boy seems so appealing sometimes. But I want more. I want to be a woman.