Thinking of You, Ladies: from a recovering tomboy

I know what it’s like to want to be one of the guys. I was a tomboy for all of my youth and into early adulthood.

In my case, I became one to become closer to my father, who had always wanted a son. Before I’d hit 12, I was outdoorsy and rugged, and had learned how to pitch a baseball (overhand), shoot hoops, and box. In school I was always more comfortable with guys, feeling I had little in common with other girls.

In retrospect, I’ve come to realize how harmful tomboys are in the quest for equality, however. By working so hard to be accepted into a male group, we inherently adopt male mindsets and are much less likely to defend the value of the female gender (which is widely under “passive” attack in casual culture). We are simply not in a strong enough position to do so, having effectively assumed the position of imposter males.

By allowing any gender-based stereotypes or slang to persist in our presence, we allow the perception of the division to continue.

As I grew out of my tomboy phase, I thought I had reached a point of acceptance of myself as a female. In fact, I had merely managed to overlook that fact, and consider myself as human. It is not good enough to be unisex, omnisex, or asexual because the male “half” is so abundantly dominant at this time.

We must become the female half to speak with a voice that carries the strength and commitment needed to regrow this society. We must continue to empower ourselves and the females and female aspects of those around us.

Remember: “When she wins, you win.” -Gail Kelly

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You don’t know Jill

Though I’ve said my identity before on this blog, and it’s true that you may know my name, it’s also true that you don’t know “me”. To be clear, I don’t know me. Who I am is on the path of who I will become, as it is with each of us. Que sera, sera, whatever will be, will be.

That said, I realize there is a very real human connection that exists outside of the clouded webs, perpetuated by instances of shared electrical patterns, or thought. As you read these words, we walk together down the same synaptic path, our identities merged in fleeting moments of time. This effect is even more profound when you remove the concept of time (and let’s never forget: time is a concept) from the equation, enabling the realization that when you read a dead author’s words, you read them with the minds of every brain that ever traced the same electrical route.

Energy is never destroyed, nor created, after all.

We may not know each other, you and I. But with our magical brains and eusocial hearts we share something special.