Under Pressure

I’ve realized that in order to be a happy person I need to understand the following about myself – gender is completely unimportant to me on a very basic level. I have no innate tug towards femininity. The things women are stereotypically supposed to want- big white wedding dresses, flowers, church weddings, big shiny rocks, perty clothes, makeup, pink and pastels, chick flicks, relationship-y things, none of them appeal to me. In fact because I’m supposed to like them I find them repugnant.

I dress femininely because I am expected to, not because I’m into it. I wear my hair at medium length because my husband likes longer hair. I wear makeup to my inlaw’s house and to interviews, and that’s pretty much it. I am feminine when it “counts.”

Most people who read this would think, oh, so she wants to go hardcore the other way. Butch out, dawg. Wear those wifebeaters and cut your hair short. Because most people are idiots unable to ponder the possibility of in-betweens.

I lean a bit towards masculine but I don’t want or need to go all the way over there. I wouldn’t mind being allowed to wear jeans, tees and flannel shirts, much like was acceptable during my teens in the grunge era. And I don’t think I’d ever cut my hair super short. Pixie cut is maybe the most I’d go. With my shitty fine thinning hair it’d probably be for the best anyway, but not gonna happen. Mainly because my husband holds out hope I’ll magically wake up one day and be the way he deep-down thinks a woman should be – soft and powdered with beautiful thick long hair.

Wouldn’t it be nice? Wouldn’t it be nice if one day I could wake up as a caricature of myself, happy in the roles forced upon me. Not angry at the fact I have been mashed into a mold I never agreed on. I’d be the perfect soft super-feminine wife who cooks and bakes and tends to my husband’s every need without ever asking anything back, self-sacrificing, uncomplaining, never asking for help or anything in return. No pain. No thought. No time wasted on silly things like reading, personal development, and hobbies.

Oh, life would be easier if I could be that way. I think his hopes are in vain. Maybe some day it will reach a boiling point – the fact that I will never be the wife he sub-consciously wants. He claims I am attractive the way I am, but I know deep-down I am not. Not in the way a woman is supposed to be. He says I am beautiful but I know it’s in the way *every* woman nowadays is beautiful. A meaningless word.
Do I think my marriage is ultimately doomed? Maybe. It depends on whether he can accept the fact that I will never be a proper woman.

I can never be what I am supposed to properly, easily, be. It is the cause of a lot of the pain that I feel. Never belonging, never being accepted, just because I can’t force myself to accept what I perceive to be a unbending, rigid system of limitations.
This world seems so stifling sometimes. You’re one thing or another. On or off, black or white. Total binary.
What’s absolutely funny is that people say “Oh it’s not that way!” Go fack yourself and live in the real world.

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