February 7, 2019

This is for the Women who Refuse to Fit the Mold.

This is for the women who rise to meet a new day with love in their heart and dreams still lingering on the edge of their mind.

This is for the women running their hands through tousled hair as they scoop up babies and think of how to do everything they are supposed to—and somehow still remember who they are.

This is for me, for you, and for any woman who has ever cried herself to sleep wondering if this was it, if this was all that life would ever be.

This is for the women who fit their feet into navy slingbacks as they head out the door to the office across town. It’s for the women who have their baby lulling happily in the sling against their heart as they sip their matcha and try to stretch out last night’s feedings from their already tired body.

This is for the women who somehow are trying to do it all, even if they have no idea how to do it.

This is for the women who know somehow that they are meant for more, that in between the late-night meetings and afternoon PTO there still exists a woman within. One who may be tired, who may question everything, and yet still finds no answers.

This is for the beauty of the unnamed disaster that we often feel like, for late-night talks we have with ourselves in the mirror as we question our wrinkles and try to figure out if we’re proud of them or ashamed. For the women who wonder whether they actually dislike those extra 10 pounds that they carry, or whether maybe secretly they love their soft belly because it gave birth to the children who now hold their heart.

This is for the women who are living in a one-bedroom with three friends, sipping noodles from a cup as they wonder if this is what it means to be an adult.

This is for the woman who is wondering whether or not he’s interested or if she even likes men.

This is for the women brave enough to type “infertility” into their Google search bar for the first time and sigh deeply as they begin their moon cycles each month, their tears falling down their faces onto their bellies, while they wonder if they’ll ever have the chance to grow a life. It’s for the women who have chosen to be childless, to focus on their lives, to live free, to be an amazing aunt or even just mentor.

This is for the women who know that being a mother is not part of their life plan and don’t feel the need to justify or apologize for a decision that is as close to the heart as one can get.

This is for the women who know they are meant for more, who know they are more than just a mother, more than a wife. Those who love their lives but still wonder if maybe, while this life looks good, it certainly doesn’t feel like theirs. The women who made all the right choices, who followed the line and did what they were supposed to and still wonder sometimes that if they disappeared, would anyone miss them?

This is for the women who are knee-deep in tulle and cake samples, who are starting their lives and not believing that one day they may roll over to find themselves sleeping next to a stranger or, worse, that they’ve become a stranger to themselves.

This is for the women who are debating between marriage and traveling, for those who can’t decide whether to join the family business or to run that small start-up that they’ve been dreaming of.

This is for the women who ever let someone else—for even one second—make us feel smaller than we were, make us question our worth. For the women who somehow felt that they were only of need to a man as long as their legs were spread and their lips were closed. The women who never had fathers growing up, and so they unconsciously let themselves be used by men because that was a wound that never was able to heal.

This is for the women who know in their hearts, their souls that they are meant for more. The women who roll over and embrace the man next to them, kissing his soft beard. The women who rub their partner’s feet after a long day, still shaking their head that somewhere someone still believes their love is wrong simply because it doesn’t look like theirs.

This is for the women with luminescent, pale, brown, or even freckled skin. The women who are at the top of their game—and those who are still building themselves back up. The women who refuse to stay down and have learned to weed out the voices of “I can’t” amongst the sweetness of their dreams.

Because within you, within me, within all of us there beats a purpose, a reason, and a melody for living this life, unlike how we are told it should be. It screams that I will not be kept, perhaps I will never be a wife, I will never fit any mold that someone else created to contain us. It whispers softly to hold me, to kiss me here, and it’s a thousand and one melancholy sonnets in between, because we’ve realized we’ve fit ourselves into boxes for far too long.

This is for the women who are beginning to listen to that inner voice. The women who are taking deep breaths and saying what they want for the first time in their life, the ones who still may be scared of being alone, but are willing to take that chance if it means being free.

This is for the women who know they are meant for more.

The women who know that, while maybe we don’t have it all figured out, we’re making the commitment to try, to slowly learn how to say no, to say yes, and to say this is how I want to be touched.

We’re learning to find us in a world that has said from the beginning we’re not enough.

And maybe for the first time we’re finding that not only were we meant for more, but we are more.

We are women, and this is our time.

Our time to give ourselves the chance to not just fall in love with our life, but to fall in love with ourselves.

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