DISCLAIMER: this is the text from an event I spoke at on Tuesday, potential trigger warning for abuse victims.
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Growing up I had this idea that it was a mistake to be born a girl.
When I was 6 years old and the neighbourâs boy held me down underneath his front porch, reached under my clothes, and then beat me when I tried to run away.
When my father let me play computer games at 2am while my mother was working backshift so he could take advantage of me. I didnât know any better; that other girls fathers didnât do these things to them.
When I was 10 years old, and we had left my father I wrote my mother a letter that said I wanted to die; my father had screamed at me over the phone and I didnât understand why he didnât love me anymore.
I could play football with the boys, but only if I were inclined to suffer the indignation of being picked last for the team, every time.
The indignation that followed because this was not based on my merit or knowledge of the sport but was a function of my genitalia.
The indignation that followed when I inevitably made an unfeminine sound or got sweaty from exertion and was taunted.
When my breasts developed, early, and I wore a hoodie to school every day to protect myself from unwanted attention. The people that commented âwow you must be warm with that big sweater onâ in the middle of April were the same people that stared openly when I dared to wear a t-shirt. When the class watched a movie and two boys tried to touch me while the lights were dimmed and I was too ashamed to bring it to the teacherâs attention. This was my lot, after all, since I had left my sweater at home and I was born a girl.
I got older still, I went to therapy at various times and with varying results, I brought a host of problems and insecurities to all of my relationships. A boyfriend in high school broke up with me because I wouldnât âput outâ.
It took me until I was 18 to feel happy I had been born at all. It took me even longer to embrace being a feminist, to accept that being âweirdâ just meant I had my own interests that men didnât consider safe. To celebrate kindness and female friendships when I had spent years trying to be âone of the guysâ and hating other women for their femininity.
Growing up I had this idea that it was a mistake to be born a girl, but I was wrong. The mistake was every man who made me feel like being a girl was not enough; that being a girl made it impossible to be a whole and independent person. The blame lies with every man who tried to break me, use me, or stood by and watched while other men behaved this way. Â I am blessed, and I am relieved to look inside myself and glow pink with love.Â
I am not a mistake, we are not a mistake.
