i am bad at being a woman.
i thought i figured it out when i learned to do the makeup, to get my cheeks to blush just the right amount and my curls to bounce the right way and when i wore the pretty dresses with frills. but i am not at peace with being a woman in the ways that matter most. i have never felt the sisterhood. i have never been any girls’ girl. my friendships with women feel shallow and momentarily lasting before i transform into the next iteration of myself, shedding with it girls’ whose beds ive shared at sleepovers. i will never know what transpires in a girls night out and my wedding will have no bridesmaids. i’ll never know what it’s like to help my girls curl the backs of their hair and zip up the backs of dresses that they can’t quite reach.
i will always be deeply, ravenously envious of meaningful female friendships, yet i am torn between my desire for community and my tendency to isolate. i love women, but it feels as if there is always some invisible wall in front of me barricading the entryway from acquaintances to friends. they will never fully know me and the version of them that i know will never feel like it’s enough. a struggle to be understood, matched with a desire for deeper, more profound connection with the women in my life.
