I like women who share with other women what they learned late. Because, whether we like it or not, our pains as women are the same in all our lives. We all go through it somehow as a rite of passage. What one woman goes through, there are 1000 others who’ve been through a similar experience, and there will be others to come. That will always be a woman’s fate.
I wish we told each other.
I wish we warned each other.
Above all, I wish we listened to each other.
But no, we always want to learn by burning. We are stubborn creatures. We want to experience it, and we want to hope differently. We want to surrender to that blissful feeling that comes with giving in. It burns, but we stretch our fingers anyway, hoping it won’t consume us. We can endure what comes with the burn, just to feel for a little bit.
They say pain is how you know you’re alive.
A woman feels pain all her life. Her shoulders ache from carrying the weight of her family, of her children, and of her lovers. Then her heart aches from carrying the weight of her unconditional love, of heartbreaks, and of betrayals. Then her womb aches from the weight of her creativity, of her desires, and of their anger every month. Her honey pot is her source of shame in society. Preached against, and still the most abused temple. People would do anything to worship there: they would lie, they would act, and they would masquerade. Just for a chance to feel again, even for a few seconds.
To feel is to live.
A woman feels pain, and she bleeds. She has to bleed so the pain can be regulated, otherwise it might just consume her. Bleeding becomes a gift from Mother Nature. A break from the pain life has been serving. That will always be a woman’s fate. She is tasked to feel for the rest of humanity while they numb their pain. Someone has got to do it, so we don’t all go mad.
