We mold our womanhood from a thousand bits of clay, not the cool wet river mud of our deepest stories, but countless social scripts that shape our permissions. We learn to bypass our biology and ignore the quiet moments with our mothers in favour of the symbols and rituals of an artificial construct. But bring time into the equation and that construct begins to fade away.
I spent much of high school hiding out in my boyfriend’s basement, a precious geode of shimmering pop cans and pizza boxes. We gorged on Star Trek and our own future fantasies. And, his parents got HBO…Sex and the City! Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda glowed white hot in my little cave. Whatever chaos was rumbling above ground, I knew 100% that I would someday join those girls in their life-sustaining glamour. It was inevitable; those man-eating Manolos would be mine. Faith takes many forms.
Now I’m the age they were, still are, and always will be. Two nights ago I found myself youtubing all my favorite scenes with an almost frantic desperation. I just couldn’t catch hold of that familiar glow. I’ve felt the fantasy, with its comfort and safety, slipping for a while now, but I’ve been so reluctant to let it go. I had to burrow my way out of my boyfriend’s basement all those years ago, and I know that to stand blinking in this new sun I have to leave Sex and the City behind. I haven’t been able to watch a full episode of Star Trek since the breakup and I wonder if this will be the same?
Womanhood is an evolution. Our clay never dries. And now, as I move into an exciting new stage, I’ve found my own glamour – which looks very different – and reached into the very bowels of existence to claim its voice. Don’t be afraid of your own evolution, or your biology. Your strength and beauty are yours to define. And your new story will find you when you’re ready.
But, just for the record, I’ll always be a Samantha ~wink.