There comes a point in a girl’s life when she becomes a woman.
And with a mix of the right factors, it is certain this woman will become a strong one.
A strong woman is forged like iron pounding on hot steal. When left to her own devices, the delicate yielding and nurturing spirit that is so essential to her character slips into an icy winter where survival becomes the norm. That is not to say that the strong woman is less of a woman.
But from my vantage point, I am only half as powerful as I could be without you by my side.
I know that you are taught not to admit that you are afraid, like we are. Because we are afraid of you as well. You see, somewhere in the mix, on the way to being the woman you need me to be, I hurt a lot of men—and I was hurt by a lot of men. I was coy, seductive, manipulative, and I thought I was doing it because that’s what you wanted. I did my best to strike the balance between innocent and depraved. But it was a ruse.
I learned to stop being real with you, because I didn’t trust you would be true to me. But I see, if I look deeper into your eyes, you want what I have to offer. You want to come home to our home. The one we built together, and not the one where we fight over the kitchen remodel or the color of the curtains in the guest bedroom.
You want the profound and not the petty. And all this time, I’ve been confusing your desire for simplicity as stupidity.
You are not stupid.
After a day of navigating going to the gym, driving to appointments, making and taking important phone calls, ensuring that I have enough income, focusing on making more, eating right and taking care of my home, I’ve had enough. It’s a good life, but its overwhelming to do it all alone.
I need you next to me, taking action with me. I need to be given space enough to give back to you. I’m not sure if you think that an independent woman has no room for you in her life. The truth is, she needs you to come help her make room in her life so she can be the woman you have been longing for.
Can we let our obligations rest? And can you give me moments to yield to you? These simple gestures of sharing, soft kisses and affection are gifts given as opportunities to surrender.
And in surrender, there is no end to my loving. My arms, my orgasms, my creativity and my passion are infinite. But I will rage against you if you falter.
That is not to say you cannot fall—but I will ask you, time and time again, to rise to the challenge.
Do not fear this challenge, or my gruff disposition. Do not mistake them for the things you fear in your own reflection, because you can be certain I will be that.
I will ask you questions you’ve not yet prepared for—and so, it will feel like a test you can’t pass. But I’m asking you to help set me free from my own fury—the fury of being a woman trying to be her own man in a gender-fluid world.
I wake every day and play two roles. I make my own money. I make my own way. I work hard. I try to figure out how to let it be easy. I walk with sticks under my heels and frame my smile with red lips. I flirt. I rage. I laugh.
And in all this, I still sleep next to the longing to have you by my side.
I wish you were rubbing my feet right now. I wish I was cooking your favorite meal. I wish we were cleaning the house together. I wish we were making love.
And I wish you would stop being afraid of me. I want you. And I want you to know, I appreciate you for all that you are.
Author: Rebekah McClaskey
Editor: Nicole Cameron