Jonathots Daily Blog
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Dear Man: I hope you don’t mind me sending along my ideas and feelings in the form of this note. I just didn’t want to sit down and have a face-to-face discussion, get interrupted and lose my train of thought.
Even though I see us making gradual progress to understand one another, I feel there is one large hurdle that we just can’t seem to get over.
You think I’m weak.
It’s not your fault. You were taught to do it. All the television shows portray women as having great intelligence, but falling apart under pressure.
You and I were born practically equal.
For the first ten years of our lives, our bodies were almost the same. I ran as fast as you, and you cried like a girl when you fell down and skinned your knee. Then the natural order–Mother Nature–came along and changed things to make sure that our species would be able to have a mother and a father to push the plan ahead.
I got estrogen, which gave me breasts, a period and hormones of sensitivity. You got testosterone, which gave you balls and a single-mindedness toward single-handedly procreating the species.
I no longer could run as fast as you could.
I couldn’t lift as much weight.
A few days every month, I found myself nearly out of commission due to my menstrual cycle.
At that point, you looked upon me as weaker.
It infuriated me. I could still think, feel and react with as much smarts as you, but because of my lesser muscle mass and need to mother children, I felt that I lost respect in your eyes.
I hate that.
It seems ridiculous to me that we view one another based upon the conditions of our genetic responsibility instead of realizing that we are both human beings and share almost everything in common.
I am tired of being the weakling–but I’m also tired of apologizing for having an emotional side which you may or may not understand.
So you try to be sensitive to my lack. That can make you consider me the weaker sex, which can end up with me being nothing more than “the little woman.”
Do you understand? I can’t be just “the little woman” and stay sane. I have to be more than a birthing chamber that ovulates three or four days a month.
I yearn for the time when we were children and had a childlike appreciation for each other. There were no “girl baseball teams” and “boy baseball teams.” We played all the games together.
I don’t want to be your weakling.
I don’t want to struggle to get respect because I’m seen as inferior. I don’t want to be viewed as bitchy and pushy.
Do you understand what I’m saying? Can you fathom how horrible you would feel if you were deemed second-rate? Why would it feel any different for me?
I thank you for reading this.
I’m not trying to blame you–I’m just curious if you can comprehend my heart.
Can we escape the futility of separating the sexes into Mommy and Daddy?
You don’t need to respond, but if you do, be candid and not afraid to share you heart.
I was thinking of you.
Woman
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