So I Am A Woman
So I am a woman. I am a helper. A lifesaver. Right? If Adam sat rib to rib when I made the decision that I made, how can I help him if I could not help myself? Why do I want to help him if he did not extend an index to help me? And why did God punish me consistently for the decision I made when my role is the helper and Adam’s is the leader? The owner of life? The man.
I am left in discouragement with the definition of a man. Does nurture ask him to be tame? To be more like a woman, in all of her tranquility? And in this definition of a woman I am more put out. I am not a hopscotch, jump rope, play-it-safe kind of girl. I desire adventure, much like a man does, or did before the finger was pointed back to the woman who asked the man to be more settled in his behavior, like she. All these extended fingers leave me with many restless questions and anger. Are men only men when they can lean on the backbone of a woman? Are men perishing inside because of some unspoken word of manly suppression? And finally I ask myself, I cry out to God. “Where are all the good men?!”
Good men. What makes a good man? Is he nice? A servant? A leader? A safe man? A good man is a “real” man, but what makes a real man? Is it someone who drinks protein shakes, bench presses 300 lbs and is nick named Boomer by the guys at the gym? Is a real man sensitive, vulnerable and open about his feelings? Is a real man somewhere between the two extremes?
Through this relentless banter I have only with myself, I come to more questions still. Will there ever be a man, a real man, a good man, whatever those titles may mean, who will sit rib to my rib and show me what it means to take action out of my questions? To demonstrate the believe that he wants the best for me, and that is what makes him so good? I struggle still with the fact that a man, simply another human error, will direct my way in one form or another.
One day a man will take my last name, he will love me with passion and hands, he will give to me his ability to multiply, he will make me suffer from a chamber in the heart that is so powerful I have yet to know it myself. He will do all these things to me, not because he is a bad man, but because he is a man. And as a man nurtured by women to be more like women, he will know only the masculinity which comes from femininity, which is none.
My thoughts now boil down to one question. A question that wraps up all of my other questions neatly with a ribbon. If there is constant concern about men being nurtured to behave more tame like women, then how, as a woman, am I called to the role of the helper, the lifesaver, if my nurturing mannerisms are emasculating a man?
The fingers are still extend.
I am left in discouragement with the definition of a man. Does nurture ask him to be tame? To be more like a woman, in all of her tranquility? And in this definition of a woman I am more put out. I am not a hopscotch, jump rope, play-it-safe kind of girl. I desire adventure, much like a man does, or did before the finger was pointed back to the woman who asked the man to be more settled in his behavior, like she. All these extended fingers leave me with many restless questions and anger. Are men only men when they can lean on the backbone of a woman? Are men perishing inside because of some unspoken word of manly suppression? And finally I ask myself, I cry out to God. “Where are all the good men?!”
Good men. What makes a good man? Is he nice? A servant? A leader? A safe man? A good man is a “real” man, but what makes a real man? Is it someone who drinks protein shakes, bench presses 300 lbs and is nick named Boomer by the guys at the gym? Is a real man sensitive, vulnerable and open about his feelings? Is a real man somewhere between the two extremes?
Through this relentless banter I have only with myself, I come to more questions still. Will there ever be a man, a real man, a good man, whatever those titles may mean, who will sit rib to my rib and show me what it means to take action out of my questions? To demonstrate the believe that he wants the best for me, and that is what makes him so good? I struggle still with the fact that a man, simply another human error, will direct my way in one form or another.
One day a man will take my last name, he will love me with passion and hands, he will give to me his ability to multiply, he will make me suffer from a chamber in the heart that is so powerful I have yet to know it myself. He will do all these things to me, not because he is a bad man, but because he is a man. And as a man nurtured by women to be more like women, he will know only the masculinity which comes from femininity, which is none.
My thoughts now boil down to one question. A question that wraps up all of my other questions neatly with a ribbon. If there is constant concern about men being nurtured to behave more tame like women, then how, as a woman, am I called to the role of the helper, the lifesaver, if my nurturing mannerisms are emasculating a man?
The fingers are still extend.