Dear women.

Dear women living in 2025, under the thumb of a cruel wanna be dictator. Under the unyielding dome of “religious beliefs,” and incessant push to remain rooted inside traditional societal roles. It’s me, and here’s your friendly, non-controversial PSA. 

You’re allowed to eat. 

You’re allowed to stop dieting or not diet at all. Or remove the word “diet” from your vocabulary. You’re allowed to bond with other women about things other than losing weight.

You’re allowed to love your body as it is, however it is.

You’re allowed to have hair. (You’re allowed to have hair everywhere).

You’re allowed to age, gracefully or not. You’re allowed to age however the f*ck you age. And you’re allowed to slather on beauty oils, and seek treatments, if they make you feel good. You’re a bad ass either way. 

You’re allowed to wear whatever you want. Clothes are clothes and you can wear whatever the f*ck you want.

Except for a f*cking red hat. Please. For the love of everything, don’t. 

You’re allowed to not settle. You can be single. You can live alone. You can eat alone. You can buy your own things. You can pay your own bills. You can save your own money. You can carve out alone time. And you can be…left alone. 

You’re allowed proper medical care with proper medications and proper pain killers and a proper doctor who answers your questions and doesn’t make you feel like you shouldn’t feel the way you feel. You’re allowed to ask more questions. You’re allowed to ask a million questions more. You’re allowed to know what’s happening inside and outside of your body, from start to finish.

You’re allowed to not be gaslit or bread-crumbed or benched or ghosted or belittled by some guy who thinks he’s better than you and can therefore “get” someone “better” than you. Because that’s what he thinks. He’s small in all ways and has no idea who you are. Because who the f*ck could possibly be better than you, my dear? It’s not his decision anyway, it’s yours.

You’re allowed to tell the truth, and yell the truth. 

You’re allowed to speak up without being zip-tied and dragged by “security personnel” who do not identify themselves. You’re allowed to sue them for assault.

You’re allowed to be difficult and complicated and ornery and opinionated and well-read.

You’re allowed to persist and exist and resist.

You’re allowed equal pay.

You’re allowed to play sports hard and mean and competitive. 

You’re allowed to go to a party and have fun without getting knocked out. And then raped.

You’re allowed to name your rapist. The rapist already knows his name by the way. 

You’re allowed to speak truth to power. 

You’re allowed to want body autonomy and live in a country that values you and your decisions about your body. Beyond incubation duties. Beyond motherhood.

You’re allowed to stop faking it. 

You’re allowed to ignore “mansplaining.” 

You’re allowed to live in your own world (instead of his).

You’re allowed to be different, and indifferent.

And not be the only one who scrubs the toilets.

And not be in charge of dinner. Or schedules. Or birthdays. Or Christmas.

You’re allowed to sleep.

You’re allowed to take action. 

You’re allowed to march.

You’re allowed to say no. No way in hell. No f*cking way. No thank you. 

You’re allowed to be. 

Simply be a woman.

A strong woman.

A woman who doesn’t smile gratefully, 

under the patriarchal thumb.

~