Warning: adult language here, obviously.
Here’s to you, bitch.
Here’s to the bad women, the loud ones, the ones who say fuck. The ones who explode with anger and aren’t afraid to call people on their shit, even when they know they will be considered “nasty.” Here’s to no filters and not being silenced. I stand with you. Be fucking brash.
Here’s to the people-pleasing women, the quiet ones, the cookie baking, over-involved ones. The the ones who agree to every request, go on every committee, and spend all their energy trying to prove their worth. The ones who believe pretty and nice are the only ways to be. I see you crumbling.
Here’s to the slutty women—the trashy, the flashy, the loose, and the dirty. The she coerced him, she deserved it, the home-wrecking and double timing ones. Too easy to blame, too easy to use, and too easy to care. Here’s to creating conversations about each other while dismissing the men from fault. I hear you screaming.
Here’s to the lesbians, the transgenders, and the undefined who choose to be and love authentically. Here’s to being judged, labelled, and defined by small minds. Here’s to looking over your shoulder every day of your life just for existing. Keep being fucking gay.
Here’s to the rape victims, the abused ones, the cheated, and the gaslighted women. Here’s to a life of struggling to remove images of your spirit and body being violated, here’s to being held by someone you love and having flashes of evilness that make your body shudder. Here’s to the smirk on his face when he knows it’s your word against his. Here’s to a lifetime of being on edge. I believe you.
Here’s the whistle-blowing women, the jealous ones, and the crazy ass lying ones—it’s all the same, isn’t it? The ones who stand up against a man, knowing they will be dragged through the mud. Here’s to being power hungry and too big for your britches and too fucking bold. Here’s to wanting justice but having to wade through the shit to get there. I’ll wear the mud on my face for you.
Here to the mentally ill, the depressed, and poor functioning. Here’s to hiding it too well and pretending to hold it together while no one knows you’re coming apart at the seams. Here’s to the messy ones, the sad ones, the ones riddled with anxiety and physical pain. The ones who don’t know if they can keep going. I’ll sit with you until it passes.
Here’s to the crappy mothers who went back to work to avoid parenting and here’s to the lazy ones who chose to stay home. Here’s to the pampered, the baby factories, and the women who don’t want kids. Let’s drink copious amounts of wine while we discuss that no matter what path we take, it won’t be right.
Here’s to the sexy women, the fat women, the women who should cover up their curves whilst simultaneously showing just enough to be alluring. Here’s to the body-shamed and soul-shattered. Here’s to the ones with too much makeup, the masculine ones, the athletic ones, and the too old ones. Here’s to thick thighs, mummy tummies, the she must be sick kind of skinny, and the “obviously had them done” women. I criticize my body enough on my own—let me save you the time.
Here’s to tearing each other apart to mask our own insecurities. Here’s to sabotaging each other because we fear we can’t both be successful at the same time. Here’s to it never being enough or always being too much.
So, here’s to all of these bitches. And everyone who’s ever been called a bitch. If you’re not one of these, you’re all of these. (Perhaps toxic masculinity isn’t the entire issue.) Reminder: we’re all in this together.
Here’s to you, bitch.