Humans, by their very nature, are fallible. As women, we tend to ignore our fallibility and maintain this quest to be the perfect mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend or career-woman. Couple that with the enormous pressure we place on ourselves to look a certain way so our men can venerate us but when the same men don’t reciprocate or appreciate or acknowledge that effort, our self-worth is lost and our souls destroyed due to a lack of validation. It’s a tragedy.Recently I heard the story of a woman who was so lost in her heartache that her only option was to kill herself and her two children rather than live the life she had. It’s the saddest thing for me to contemplate the despair and hopelessness this woman found herself in. Sadder, that she found no comfort in anyone or anything.
I am fortunate enough to be surrounded by an army of women who I know truly love me, who afford me the luxury of being my authentic self, who embrace me when I am feeling low and who regard my failures without judgement. I know that a lot of women aren’t that fortunate. So today ladies, lets each embrace our womanhood. Let’s revel in the glory of what we have overcome, for what we are doing right. Let’s consider the past as a stepping stone to greater things. Let’s congratulate ourselves for having endured all we have and survived it. Let our hurt, anger and pain become an internal mellifluous flow that reminds us of the fact that we are alive and inspires us to live and love again. We are survivors and we will continue to survive. Let us be kinder to ourselves and resist the temptation to be everything. Let us enjoy the quieter moments in life without the pressure to conform. We are all phenomenal, each of us, in our unique way.
To my army of phenomenal women (you know who you are) you are all loved beyond measure. This poem by Maya Angelou is dedicated to all of you to remind you that when times get tough, I am here.
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies. I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size. But when I start to tell them, they think I’m telling lies. I say, it’s in the reach of my arms, the span of my hips, the stride of my step, the curl of my lips. I’m a woman phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman, that’s me.
I walk into a room just as cool as you please and to a man, the fellows stand or fall down on their knees. Then they swarm around me, a hive of honey bees. I say, it’s the fire in my eyes and the flash of my teeth, the swing in my waist, and the joy in my feet. I’m a woman phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, that’s me.
Men themselves have wondered what they see in me. They try so much but they can’t touch my inner mystery. When I try to show them they say they still can’t see. I say, it’s in the arch of my back, the sun of my smile, the ride of my breasts, the grace of my style. I’m a woman
phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, that’s me.
Now you understand just why my head’s not bowed. I don’t shout or jump about or have to talk real loud. When you see me passing it ought to make you proud. I say, it’s in the click of my heels, the bend of my hair, the palm of my hand, the need of my care, ’cause I’m a woman phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, that’s me.