For all the praise women get for being strong, nobody talks openly about what that strength quietly costs. Folk’s love calling women “independent,” as if it is always some badge of honor, but baby, they do not say much about how lonely it can feel. I am talking about when you have become so used to carrying yourself that softness starts to feel like a luxury.
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Specially for women who are healing. Women who are minding their business. Women that are raising children, working, and or staying celibate. Oh, are women who are being blunt by refusing to keep entertaining men who bring confusion instead of peace. There is a kind of emptiness that comes from going so long without safe affection, real tenderness, and the kind of presence that lets your whole body yearn.
I am not talking about anything all in your face or performative. I mean simple acts. Acts of being held. A kiss on your forehead. A hand to hold. Somebody rubbing your back after a long day. Hell, just feeling safe enough to exhale around somebody. Some people see a woman choosing solitude and swear she is cold and detached when that woman may be tired. Tired of fake intimacy. Tired of half ass effort. Tired of having to explain why peace matters.
You see down here in the South, a whole lot of women know how to look fine, smile pretty, and keep going while carrying more than anybody realizes. However, just because a woman carries it well does not mean it is not heavy. We also are not referring to the wagon she may have. Wink, wink.
But maybe that is the part people miss to pay attention to too. I say this because sometimes what looks like distance is really discipline. Plus, what looks like independence is a woman finally refusing to starve herself for crumbs falling from an already unstable table.
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