Age 6. I get a “3” on the 1-6 scale on my report card. I come home sobbing, a failure. I’m convinced I will never outgrow this horrible mistake.
Age 12. I don’t do my science homework and get a failing grade on my 5-week analysis. I spend the next 2 months on varying levels of house arrest. I never fail a class again.
Age 12. I get called a home wrecking slut because I dare to stay friends with a boy after a friend dumps him. This won’t be the last time I make enemies that way.
Age 13. A beautiful boy, much cooler than me, tells me he like likes me. When I fall for it and get my heart broken, I’m the one who gets laughed at. Silly girl, you should have known better.
Age 15. I fall in love for the first time.
Age 16. I fall out of love, as children do. I become a life-ruiner. Marked forever as the one that broke him.
Age 17. I decide I want to be a chemist. My high school chemistry teacher, a man I think is the coolest person in the world, tells me not to. He says I can’t take it. I’ve never been told, “no” when I express academic goals before. I learn to excel quietly, so no one can judge me if I fail. I become afraid of risks.
Age 17. I get almost get a C in Physics. I spend hours examining formulas and study guides until I can ace those standardized tests.
Age 18. I get into the school of my dreams. Fear and excitement battle in my mind. I dread leaving the home I’ve come to love, but I’m too stubborn to give up now.
Age 18. My first real love cheats on me. I learn to hide a broken heart. I learn to be cold.
Age 20. I get called a cold, heartless bitch and no one can imagine why. I learn to show just enough emotion, try to show just the right people.
Age 20. I find my passion. I become a biology major, emphasis on Genetics. I watch those around me question, “why not genetic counseling?” They ask my genius roommate, “Why surgery, why not pediatrics?” We have worked our whole lives just to be placed in another box. If you must study a man’s subject, you could at least have the decency to find a woman’s field.
Age 21. You have the nerve, the audacity to tell me that you are more competitive than me. That I am lesser, that I will always be lesser, by sheer virtue of my second X chromosome. I have spent years fighting my way here, working myself to exhaustion, finding the balancing act. The balance. Feminine enough to remain likeable, tough enough to be taken seriously. Pretty enough to grab your attention, sensible enough to keep it. Coldhearted bitch meets intelligent sweetheart. I have worked too hard to get to the top. You can go fuck yourself if you think you can minimize me now.
jacobvanloon
izzy806
blakekathryn
