What I Hate Most About Being A Woman

Trigger Warnings: Sexual Assault and Domestic Abuse

Being a woman is not easy. That’s the first problem.

I truly don’t believe that your gender should set expectations for your behaviour, personality, or identity. Yet somehow, it does.

I grew up in a conservative Catholic Mexican household. My family truly believes that women have certain roles that they are tied to, regardless of their own desires and aspirations. Over and over again, I have found myself battling against their expectations for my life. Without notice, being a woman in my family gave everyone else a ticket to manage my life in many aspects.

My mom and her family always encouraged me to learn habits that would prepare me to be the perfect housewife. My success was measured by how well I could cook, clean, and keep silent. I would get praised if I was seen cooking in the kitchen, but reprimanded for reading books and studying.

I was also constantly judged on my appearance, with aunts always criticizing my clothes, my hair, and body. I would walk into a room and overhear conversations about diet pills/teas that could help me lose weight. If I ever decided to wear makeup, my uncle would always make sure to make jokes about it, comparing me to clowns and witches.

I believed and applied all of their teachings for the first 13 years of my life.

The consequences were low self-esteem, body dysmorphia, and anxiety. No matter how much I would try to brush my hair, pick nice outfits, and choose the right face to wear, it was never enough.

I was taught to respect men, and learn to accept their habits and words no matter how wrong they were. I grew up seeing domestic abuse around me all the time. Men in my family would hurt their wives and still expect a clean house and a hot meal when they came home. My father was one of them. Too many times, I wondered whether this was normal, getting hurt and apologizing to the person who hurt you for something you didn’t do.

I never challenged these ideas and teachings until I was sexually assaulted. Over the course of months, I was molested then raped by a then-uncle. That broke me spiritually, emotionally, mentally, and physically. What little bit of childhood I had left was taken from me. I was forced to look at my body and myself differently. It also made me realise just how messed up my family’s ideologies were.

This a warning before I go on, I have forgiven my mother and some members of my family for what’s happened since. My mom grew up in a similar culture that I did. The difference is that my voice came from studying and learning about feminism at school, something that she didn’t have access to. She and I have reconciled and healed those wounds on our own.

That being said, I remember keeping those events to myself. I didn’t know how to tell anyone although I knew deep down that something was really wrong. It took me a few weeks to finally open up to my mom. When I did, her reaction was to ask “Why did it take you so long to tell me?” and “You probably enjoyed it then, didn’t you?”.

That was the first time that someone tried to blame my assault on me. It was definitely not the last. When I finally reported it to the police, almost every single member of my family turned to question me and judge me, never once questioning the 40-plus-year-old man who abused me. The only family member that didn’t question me was one of my uncles, who immediately came over to console me and help me figure out what to do next.

In the end, I didn’t press charges because I was too worried about how others would feel. I didn’t want to hurt his children. I didn’t want to disappoint my family. I also felt incredibly alone and betrayed.

I started to learn the hard way that I would have to advocate for myself, even if it meant rebelling against my family. I would have to reject those teachings of womanhood and the ideas about my role as a woman in order to grow.

Slowly, I started to stand up to the men in my family. I got to a point in which I wouldn’t let my uncle or my step-father raise their voice at my mother anymore. I was called disrespectful and rude, but I didn’t care what they thought about me, because they didn’t care about me enough when it was necessary.

My body dysmorphia helped me ignore their comments about my appearance, because I was too hurt to care. I wore makeup up when I felt like it, and decided to keep my hair in a messy low-ponytail because I was done trying to style something I didn’t care about. The next time one of my uncles tried to throw in a comment about my weight, I told him I would start worrying about that when he stopped drinking. He doesn’t make comments about that anymore.

I’ve also learned to accept that I won’t change their ways of thinking either. I’m not trying to throw my family members into flames for their actions or words. My goal is just to show all the other girls in my family that they have power. They can speak up for themselves and against inequality, because they deserve to live their lives without constant criticism.

They should choose who they want to be. Whether that’s a doctor, teacher, or president, mom or housewife, you should get to choose instead of being forced to pick from pre-selected choices. They should also be allowed to love as they please, whether that means being single, married, or other forms of relationships.

Not all women need to get married, and no, it’s not because they “haven’t found the perfect man yet”.

Being single is an option, and one that should be accepted and taught. Single mothers shouldn’t be looked down upon, and neither should divorced or widowed women either.

The older I became, the more comments I would get about my dating life. I was criticized for my lack of romantic partners. There was hope that I had a secret love, and when that faded, my family proceeded to discuss and question my sexuality.

I don’t think they ever stopped to process how much my sexual assault changed me, and how much it affected my view of my body. In my mind, I was now a used product with less value, not worthy of love and affection. I vowed to never date anyone, never get married, and to never have children.

(I still hold those vows to my life now but with more positive reasoning behind them.)

Now, I’ve learned to be proud of being a single Mexican woman. I have achieved a lot of things in my short life. I’m the first person and woman to graduate high school and get accepted into college in my family, as well as the first woman to get a driver’s license. I am also the first in my family to challenge the ideas of toxic masculinity and to speak up against men who earned their respect through abuse and violence.

The end goal, however, is to not be the only woman to do so.

If you or someone you know is experiencing domestic abuse, you can reach out to the National Domestic Abuse Hotline by calling 1-800-799-SAFE (7233) or find resources by visiting their website. For sexual violence victims looking for help, you can reach out to the RAINN's national sexual assault hotline at 1-800-656-HOPE (4673) or visit their website.